MPHFPC ➵ The Hunger Games AU (DISCONTINUED)

Chapter 7

(Repost. Blanche was replaced with Althea because it makes more sense and I decided to only do canon characters.)

.☆ POV- Millard

Our giddily excited stylists lead the other tribute and me to the bottom level of the Remake Center, where the opening ceremony will be held.

We were supposed to represent District 5. We were a symbol, not only of where we came from, but where we were to go, and who we were to die for. The Capitol.

Eventually, after anxiously going through previously recorded opening ceremonies in my head, it was District 5's time to shine. Or ruin everything. Either way, we were shoved out into the scene, to prove to the world we were worth sponsoring, whatever else.

We walked, the girl and I, and heard cheers. There was "Millard!" and "Althea!", which I assumed was her name.

Althea took quivering steps across the ground, and my gaze met her face. Her yellowish-skinned, wide-eyed face. How hadn't I realized it before? Apparently, I hadn't gotten a good look at her, but it was now abundantly clear that she was a morphling addict. Which, surprisingly, explained a lot. Why she was always muttering to herself, why she screamed at odd hours, how she seemed to have multiple serious injuries that never ached.

The short, skinny girl stared uneasily at her feet, whimpering to herself.

"Are you okay?" I asked her under my breath.

Althea sputtered some nonsense words before making out, "Fine."

I just nodded and continued on, one step in front of the other. I wondered what the people in the audience were thinking. Who would sponsor a morphling addict?  But at this point, I was willing to believe anything could happen. Even someone putting their money on a small girl with an addiction to a drug that the arena would cease to supply.

As I ambled ahead, I weighed my options. Kill Althea first, get the easy target out of the way? Team up with her? Or avoid her completely? She was obviously not physically gifted, what with her shaky legs and thin build. But how far would her loyalty go? Could there be wisdom beneath her dull eyes? How valuable could she be to me?

As much as I felt bad thinking about the tributes like objects, it seemed to be only logical. I would have to kill these people if I was to get out of the arena alive. Which, though unlikely, would be favorable.

Althea stared at me with those dull, animal-like eyes. Like she could read me. Uncomfortable, my skin crawled and I focused on the ground. But I could feel her gaze burn into my back.

Like she knew.

.☆ POV- Hugh

I caught Bronwyn cracking her knuckles and pulling her pinkies a bit, and a vague memory of her doing this doing school tests crossed my mind. Her nervous habit.

"You good, mate?" I asked.

She swallowed and looked at me, her head tilting up slightly. We were about the same height, both tall for our age, with me being only a few inches taller at most. "I'm fine," she answered, but her off-cast glance at the ground said otherwise.

I shrugged it off, though, and looked ahead. As I briefly took in the new scenery, we were pushed and moved around.

And before I knew it, suddenly, there we were.

In front of the audience.

Bronwyn was cracking her knuckles again. Which looked sort of funny with our tree costumes, but I didn't say anything about that. She looked at me, and I tilted my head.

The brawny 16-year-old shook her head. What's she worrying about? I thought. She could have just been anxious, like all of us tributes. Or there was... someone in the audience... that...

Bronwyn was flicking her pointer finger, ever so slightly, in the direction of someone in the audience. As we walked forward, the people offering lazy applause, I zoned in on the area. And then I saw it. Or rather, him.

It was Bronwyn's brother, Victor.

My eyes widened. What was he doing here, at the Capitol? I turned back to Bronwyn, alarm ringing in my head. We both shifted back to staring at Victor, who finally realized our gazes were trained on him. He waved and smiled, and I fought back slapping my head sarcastically. Victor was a friend.

Well, used to be a friend. Before I was forced into a situation where killing his sister was inevitable. I was supposed to hate him. Wait, no- he was supposed to hate me. But there he was, a stupid grin plastered on his face. Like this was one of the clever pranks we would pull back home.

It really wasn't.

I laughed. Usually, it would be from his illegal appearance here. The epic joke. But at that point, it was because it was the only way to form my emotions into some nonverbal cue. I could have screamed or cried, from knowing that Victor would be targeted from the Capitol (for once, his actions might have a serious consequence), even killed.

Bronwyn looked at me like I was crazy, then focused back on Victor. The crowd was beginning to look at him, too. Quite frankly, I wasn't sure whether the requests for government officials to come in were in my head or in the same room as I.

And then it happened. The important people must've finally realized that the audience wasn't enchanted by our stunning tree costumes, but rather honed in on the District 7 boy who wasn't supposed to be there.

The enforcements were rolling in.

Capitol members stepping aside and pushing in front, and shoving and yelling. Everything was suddenly chaos. Why couldn't Victor have visited us before? Why now, when he could be captured, turned an Avox?

Victor's brown eyes pulled away from us, but by the time they did, there was no turning back. A tall woman gripped his shoulder. My heart plummeted as he struggled to get away, and I felt my legs poise to run. Then Bronwyn holding me back, her strong arms grabbing my torso. Tears running down my cheeks. Yelling. Pleads for justice.

And then everything stopped as I watched the woman drive a bullet through Victor's skull.