Deja Vu Battle | Hunger Game 3 (Part 1)

9.

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𝕆ℍ, the things that Aries despises in this vast world are aplenty. But there's one thing that tops it all, even worse than enduring The Hunger Games. It's the dreaded schedule. Living here, deep within the confines of District 13's underground fortress, feels like being trapped in an endless cycle of monotony. 

From the crack of dawn at 7:00, when breakfast is served, to the never-ending kitchen duties at 7:30, and the mundane routine of the Education Center in Room 17 at 8:30, it's all just a never-ending schedule. Every task is etched in indelible ink until the clock strikes 22:00, and it's finally time for a bath. That's when the water-resistant barrier of the schedule breaks down, and the whole thing washes away. The lights-out at 22:30 serves as a reminder that everyone not on the night shift should be tucked in bed.

Aries can't help but feel suffocated as if even contemplating his demise would require a meticulously planned schedule and a set time. "For Fucking-! DO I NEED A SCHEDULE TO BREATH HERE TOO!" he exclaims in frustration, while Dennis chuckles beside him, finding amusement in Aries' exasperation.

His rant of complaints to come was shortened by Dennis's communication cuff began to beep. It looks like an oversized watch, but it receives print messages. Being granted a cuff is a special privilege that's reserved for those important to the cause, a status Dennis for somewhat reason Aries has yet to ask for. "They need the two of us urgently," he says.

Dennis led the way, leaving Aries feeling bewildered as he struggled to gather his thoughts before being thrust into yet another intense Rebellion session. Standing in the doorway of Command, Aries observed the futuristic meeting room, equipped with talking walls, electronic maps displaying troop movements, and a large rectangular table adorned with control panels.

Despite his usual inconspicuous presence, Aries noticed that all eyes were fixed on him, albeit with a hint of nervousness. The rest of the group had gathered around a television screen broadcasting the Capitol's continuous coverage. Aries spotted Katniss on the opposite side of the room, engaged in conversation with a tall brunette. Their proximity spoke volumes, leaving no need for Aries to question their connection. "Poor Peeta," he muttered under his breath.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Aries contemplated slipping away unnoticed. However, his hopes were dashed when Havensbee, who had been blocking the television, caught sight of him and urgently motioned for him to join the group. Setting aside their complicated history, Aries reluctantly approached, wondering what could possibly be of interest to him. It was always the same: war footage, propaganda, and an ominous message from President Snow.

Yet, there was a flicker of amusement as Caesar Flickerman, the perennial host of The Hunger Games, appeared on screen with his flamboyant attire and painted face, preparing for an interview. However, the amusement quickly faded as the camera pulled back, revealing Peeta as his guest.

Peeta appears to be at the peak of health, radiating a robustness that is hard to ignore. His flawless, glowing skin gives off a polished aura that encompasses his entire being. Despite this, his demeanor remains composed and serious, creating a stark contrast to the battered and bleeding boy that haunts my dreams.

As Caesar settles himself comfortably in the chair opposite Peeta, he takes a moment to observe him. With a slight smile, Peeta acknowledges Caesar's surprise at seeing him again. It seems that Caesar had believed their last interview would truly be their last. "I must admit, I thought our last interview was the end of it," Caesar confesses. "Who would have thought we'd see you again, especially after the Quarter Quell?"

Peeta's frown deepens as he responds, "It certainly wasn't part of my plan. Not at all." Caesar leans in, intrigued by Peeta's words. "I believe we all understood your plan, Peeta. Sacrificing yourself in the arena so that Katniss Everdeen and your child could survive."

"That was the plan, plain and simple," Peeta murmurs, his fingers tracing the intricate pattern on the arm of the chair. "But it seems that others had their own plans as well."

Aries, lost in his own thoughts, nods along to Peeta's words. Has Peeta figured out how the rebels used them as pawns? Does Estella know? A million questions swirl in Aries' mind, desperately seeking answers. It's frustrating how things never seem to go his way. If only he could see Estella, perhaps one question would be answered. But as he looks at Peeta, skepticism creeps in. How is it that the Capitol hasn't punished or even killed him? Peeta appears far too well-off for someone who has been through so much.

Caesar leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Peeta. "Why not share with us what happened that last night in the arena?" he asked, his voice filled with curiosity. "We need to understand, to sort things out."

Peeta nodded, his gaze distant as he carefully chose his words. "That last night... it's hard to put into words. You have to imagine the suffocating atmosphere, like being trapped under a bowl of scorching air. The jungle surrounding you, vibrant and alive, with a constant ticking sound, like a giant clock counting down your life. Each passing hour brought new horrors, and in just two days, sixteen lives were lost, some of them protecting me. At this rate, by morning, only eight will remain. One victor. And the plan is for it not to be me."

Aries noticed the beads of sweat forming on Katniss's body as the memories flooded back. Her hand trembled as it slid down the screen, hanging limply at her side. Peeta didn't need a paintbrush to depict the Games; his words painted vivid images in their minds. "Once you step into the arena, the outside world fades away," he continued. 

"Everything and everyone you loved or cared about becomes distant, almost nonexistent. The pink sky, the monsters lurking in the jungle, and the other tributes thirsty for your blood become your harsh reality, the only reality that matters. It's a brutal truth that forces you to confront the fact that you'll have to kill to survive. In the arena, you only have one wish, and it comes at a great cost."

Caesar interjected, his voice solemn. "It costs your life." Peeta shook his head, his voice filled with conviction. "No, it costs much more than that. To take the lives of innocent people? It costs everything you are." / "Everything you are," Caesar repeated softly, the weight of those words hanging in the air.

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