¹ THRONE ─ the hunger games

[ 010 ] fifty words for murder

AS SOON AS IKO HAD SPLIT OFF TOWARDS THE SHOOTING RANGE, Alex picked a spear off the weapons rack, testing the feel of its weight in his palm. He'd thrown at least a million spears in his lifetime, and could tell which ones would fit him at a glance, which had saved him a lot of his training time. But these spears were Capitol-grade, made of a lighter material than the ones back home, which meant he had to reacquaint himself with the balance and the weight.

On reflex, Alex made to turn to make a comment about it to Iko, but caught himself in time. Irritation feathered his jaw. They should've been standing together, waiting for the other Career tributes to approach them, establishing themselves as a formidable duo.

It was something that stuck since they began training together at the Academy, no matter the circumstances, no matter where they were, they were two parts of a whole. After a set of standardised assessments to evaluate their abilities, every trainee was tethered to a partner of complimentary capabilities. The moment they were assigned to a partner, they lost the right to be an individual. Operating on a pair-based system drilled a binary solidarity into every movement, every reflex, every instinct, every fibre of their being. His success was her success. Her failure was his failure. Where one went, the other was never far behind. Together, they trained until they smoothed out the flaws and began working like twin parts of a flawless machine. Failure to obey the strict rules of the system resulted in brutal punishment.

This time, Iko wasn't even within hearing range. Ever since the Reaping, she'd made it a personal mission to put as much distance between them, which was an understandable response to his blindsiding her when he'd volunteered. It gutted him, too, that only one of them would make it out of this alive, but he shoved down the eminent thought, tried not to think so far into the future. His only duty now was to watch her back. And they couldn't afford to fall apart now. Not here. Not when their unity was their greatest advantage.

She'll come around, he thought, but it was without conviction as he readied his throw. She's smart. She wouldn't jeopardise her chances of going home.

His first spear skewered the target through the bullseye. He forced himself not to check if Iko was looking.

It was when he was going back for a second that the boy from District 1 approached him and struck up conversation. Titus, he'd introduced himself, and Alex was a little smug that the boy come up to him rather than the other way round. That was the way it should be. Shortly after, Opal, his district partner realised that she wasn't going to be approached by any of the Career tributes, finished up at the swords station, and made her way over to the two boys to make her introductions. They trained together at the spears for awhile, Alex taking the lead in distance throws, and Titus making his valiant attempts to best him.

In that short space of time, Alex learnt a great deal about his allies. Titus had been training since he was old enough to run, couldn't stand failure, and carried his pride like a vital organ in his chest. Things going his way had always been the way the universe worked. Alex wondered how that would play out in the Games.

Opal, long-limbed and made of pure muscle, wasn't that different, except she didn't bow to her pride like Titus. Instead, she bowed to old gods and dead saints and sought counsel from ancestors. Religion had been rescinded in District 2—gods didn't exist to them; prayers weren't holy. In District 2, belief wasn't placed in the hands of anything suppositional. Only the idea of success and brutality and discipline were indoctrinated into children from the day they were born. They relied on weapons and training and results. Religion—or anything as arcane as that had no place in their cold, clinical world. Alex found it a little difficult to understand why she held onto the cross around her neck like it granted her salvation. But he deigned to comment. One saving grace of sticking with the District 1 tributes was that Opal was more reserved than Titus, a little like Iko, who saved her words for where they mattered, and pointed out flaws in other tributes under her breath so only Alex and Titus could hear. Even though her aim held true, even though she matched him in his spear-throwing abilities, Alex found it even harder to pinpoint where Opal's aggression came from. Hand-in-hand with her faith, she seemed level-headed, calm to the point of no reaction when her spear missed the bullseye by a whisper, unlike her district partner who snarled each time his spear fell a smudge short.