Deleted Scenes: A Series of Letters

(Brought to you by Legend, these letters start at the final 8 and continue from there!)

Dear Owen,

How are you? The nurses say you’ll be back soon. They said if I was feeling up to it I should write you a letter. They don’t say it, but it’s in their eyes. They pity me. And it...it’s so disjointing that I don’t know why. It’s like I’m a double leg amputee victim or something. I know I haven’t been...all there, lately. But I’m not a decrepit old biddy yet! So there’s no need to worry about me.
All you need to worry about is your grades! Not that I’m worried there. I’m so proud of how hard you work in your classes! To tell you the truth, I never pulled an A in Biology--pretty far from it, actually. So if your grades aren’t all As, please don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re already doing way better than I ever did, so just try your best!
Weren’t you telling me about the play you got a role in? You really need to tell me when the performance is so I can call off work, I would love to come! It’s Shakespeare, isn’t it? Hamlet? No...it was one of the funny ones. Much Ado About Nothing? You were so excited about it! You don’t smile much these days, I worry about you sometimes. You know you can tell me anything, right? I want to always be there for you. It’s just the two of us after all. Even if it’s about a girl or something--or boy! You know I’d accept you no matter what, sweetheart. But if they toy with my darling son’s heart--ooh! Am I going to have some strong words for them. Don’t let anyone tug you around. Especially if they try to isolate you. Pieces of work like that are only going to chew you up and spit you out.
Guess I’m kindof nagging, huh? I can already imagine you going “Ugh, mooom.”
I hope you’re back soon! I miss you!
XOXO,
Mom







Dear son---
    I’m so sorry, even with this treatment I’ve been forgetting your name here and there. I’m an awful parent. I’m too ashamed to ask the nurse. What kind of parent am I to forget her only son--no, her only family’s name?
    Hold on. I’m going to ask the nurse. I’m not going to get better if I don’t ask when I don’t know. And I have to get better before you come back.
    He said your name is Owen. And that you’re in the Hunger Games right now. I can’t believe it.
    You didn’t take tesserae, did you? I told you, we’d find a way somehow without it. But...I can’t remember very well. I’m sorry. I feel like it’s my fault somehow.
    But now I feel even more motivated to get better for you! I know just how hard you must be working to get home. So I need to do the same. I miss you so much, sweetheart.
    It’s so hard to make ends meet. I wish you’d contact me soon like you said you would. Supporting Owen on my own is harder than I thought it would be. No one wants a fat stripper. And there were some complications after Owen was born, so I don’t think I can even go back to work for another month if I listen to the doctor’s orders. Please, call me when you can.
    I...who was I writing this to? Shit. I did it again. I’m sorry Owen.

    I just got back from therapy. I wanted to scrap this letter, but she said I should keep it to see how far I’ve come later. I’m not sure I believe her, but it doesn’t hurt to try.
                                    Sincerely,
                                    Mom











Owen---

    I feel like for the first time in a long time, time is moving forward. At some point it stopped feeling like that and it all blended together like it happened all at the same time. Like I haven’t been sick, for years.
    You came by to visit today. I was so happy!  I haven’t been able to see you since before I started this new treatment. You reminded me it’s because you were in the Hunger Games...how could I keep forgetting something like that? My heart dropped through my stomach when you said that.
    You looked so sad today. I hope I didn’t disappoint you. To go through the Games just to come back to me? Who can’t remember what year it is? I think I’d look just as sad as you did.
    I heard the doctors tell you I might not ever go back to normal. And that it might be for the best. I’m writing it down before I can forget. The doctors wouldn’t say that unless there was a good reason right? Did something happen to me? You still had all your fingers and toes…
    Maybe you just had a rough time in the Games. You’ve really grown your hair out, and you look so very tired. I can’t imagine how much it must weigh on you. I want to be there for you so badly, sweetheart. I know what the doctors said...I think...but I’m going to keep trying to get better. My therapist said I’m making great progress! And if I get better, maybe this treatment will work for others, too. I just want to go home, Owen. I want to walk in the door, scoop up Pandy, make up a cup of tea, and sleep in my own bed.
    You want to go home together too, don’t you sweetheart? When I suggested it, you looked even more worried. They’ll only let me go home if I can take care of myself, so I won’t be weighing you down if that’s what you’re worried about. You can live your life however you please and I’ll support you!
I hope you stop by again soon!
Love you,
Mom






Owen---

You haven’t been by in a few weeks, so I thought I’d write you.
Slowly, I’m starting to realize the fog I was in. I don’t forget your name anymore, or confuse you with your father. Sometimes I forget when I am, but I wrote myself a reminder:
“Owen was in the Hunger Games. I am in a Capitol hospital thanks to him.”
I remember the reminders you put all around the apartment, in all caps. I’m so sorry, Owen.
It’s all my fault. I didn’t think it was important---I thought if I told them I was a sex worker they could arrest me for prostitution and take you away. I couldn’t bear it. But if I did...even if that happened...you would have had a better life than squeezing out every penny caring for me. You would have been better off letting me die and going into the foster system. I’m so sorry Owen. I ruined your life. You gave up everything for me. I couldn’t ask for a better, more kind, more selfless son.
But the burden falls on me. Don’t blame yourself, don’t feel bad, and don’t you dare feel like you didn’t do enough. You kept your sorry excuse for a mother alive all these years. How did you do our taxes? How did you get to school? How did you get the money? I don’t know. I’m mortified I don’t know. I failed you in every way that mattered.

Apparently the nurses read these. They moved me to a different unit because of “suicidal ideations.” But it’s a fact that I was more of a burden than a child should ever bear. It wasn’t fair, and I will never stop being sorry, Owen. That guilt will stay with me for the rest of my life. It’s so strong I don’t think I can forget it.
I don’t want to forget anymore. I’m so scared of forgetting.  I just want to move forward. So I can be there for you now. Nothing I do now will make up for the past, but I want to be there for you now. I won’t be a burden anymore. And you know me. Once I get it in my head, I’m too stubborn to give up until I do it.
                                    Love you sweetheart,
                                    Mom





Dear Owen,

I’ve been addressing all these letters to you, but you haven’t been the one visiting me, have you? Today we went for a walk in the gardens. We didn’t talk much until you sat down across from me on the benches by the hyacinth bushes.
You said, “I’m not really your son Ms. O’Connor. My name is Ceru. I am deaf. And I knew your son in the Hunger Games.”
I couldn’t even recognize my own son.
“Hey don’t cry,” you said panicking.  “He told me about your condition, it’s okay.” My son is dead. He died months ago and I didn’t even know. Wasn’t the Games compulsory viewing?
I forgot my own son died. It didn’t even feel real.
How could I forget something so important? Owen.
“It’s not okay,” I coughed, choking back sobs. I had no one left. What did I have?
I barely even had my memories of him. You, absolutely beaming as you pulled Pandy out of your tophat. Asking me to pick a card and miraculously pull it out of the deck. You were so proud of yourself.
You and I going up the river past the main dam. You tried catching a crayfish with your bare hands and found out they can be rather pinchy. You settled on bringing back a clam shell instead. It’s still on your dresser. If the apartment isn’t gone by now.
The first night you came back after your first play performance. I couldn’t make it because of work, but you were so exhilarated, so excited that you talked my ear off a mile a minute telling me how it went. At midnight! You had never stayed up so late. I introduced you to coffee the next morning. You hated it, but were bouncing off the walls.
    Not you-him. Goddamnit. Owen is gone. Everything I...even now, it hurts just as much as when you told me earlier today. It’s going to feel like this for a very long time. Just when I started to feel like a whole person again, the rug’s been pulled out from under me.
    “You’re a good kid, listening to an old lady cry like this,” I said after I ran out of tears. It was too soon. Why couldn’t I cry more?
    “You’re not old, Ms. O’Connor,” you said awkwardly.
    “Please call me Linn,” I sniffled, “If I’m not old, Ms. O’Connor makes me feel really old.”
    “Alright,” you shifted around nervously. “Um...if you’d like, I can tell you about Owen.”
    “I don’t think I could hear that today. But I would like that very much.” Anything to fill the gaps. Even if Owen...even if Owen did terrible things in the arena. He’s still my son.  Was. My son.
Owen.
I asked you to lead me back to my room. I had to write this down before I could forget. I have to.
I have to. I have to.
I’m never going to get the chance to make things right with you, Owen.
I was a burden to very end.
I can’t believe you’re gone.
























Dear Owen---

It’s been one year since you died.
I still live at the Capitol hospital. Thanks to your sponsor donors, I can afford to. I haven’t been to your grave yet. I don’t think I’m strong enough yet.
They’ve moved me to assisted living. A nurse stays with me half the day and stops by in the morning and evening. I’m taking things each day at a time.
I miss you so much. So much it hurts. It hurts and hurts and hurts and it’s what keeps me grounded in the present. It’s a blessing and a curse. I wish I didn’t know some days.
I still haven’t watched your games. I’ve seen the pre-Games content.  Between what I’ve seen and what Ceru has told me, you realized Rammie was using you just a little too late. If she won, I would have murdered her the moment I saw her. Ceru told me she got what she deserved.
I’m so glad you allied with such a kind person, but it’s hard knowing just how slim a margin it was that you could have been here instead of him. And Ceru is no replacement for you by any means, but his visiting helps the loneliness, just a little. I don’t understand why he keeps coming back but I’d be awfully sad if he stopped. In a few weeks, Ceru is going to help me choose a cat to adopt. He’s been teaching me sign, too. I’m absolutely terrible at it. Ceru thinks my mistakes are hilarious.  I’m trying my best, but my memory just isn’t there some days.
I’m trying so hard, Owen.  I’m not deluding myself I’m living for you--you’re gone, nothing can change that, and I’m still here. You gave me a second chance I didn’t deserve. So once I’m better, the doctors think with time and a service animal I could go back to living on my own next year.
There’s no way I could go back to school like this, or do anything but minimum wage jobs, but I”ll find a way to keep going. Every time I think about giving up, I remember flashes of those days you worked to the bone to take care of me. How did you find the strength?
I guess it’ll be a long time before I can ask you, huh?
I’ll find a way forward, sweetheart. You don’t need to worry about me anymore up there. Just rest.
You’ve done enough. I couldn’t be prouder of you and the person you became.
I love you so much, Owen.
Mom

Deleted Scenes: The Visit

(This deleted scene is brought to you by ShunKazamis-Girl, AKA Eugene! Thank you so much Eugene!!)

The seventeenth day.

-Anakyn Skyavich, 21, District 3 Escort-

Every day felt like a sucker punch to the face.

Well, only some days, but you know what I mean.

As an escort, Anakyn wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from this gimmicky casino arena this year, even with that surprise meeting from Lux and President Blossius 3 months ago. But it’s making sponsoring unpredictable as fuck because the only things he could control at this point are gaining sponsors, picking either a mystery box or a token, and the notes he wrote. Everything else, he had to only rely on luck for 2 weeks and counting. On top of that, being a mentor (a real substitute one, not just someone who’s acting like one) turned out to be a lot more vigilant and stressful than he predicted.

Sure, whenever he’s sponsoring, the young man can easily socialize with pretty much anybody, be honest yet complimentary towards his tributes and mentors, and likes to flirt if he wants to draw heartstrings (although he played it smarter these days since he’s dating Helen). His status as a top fashion model for 5 years doesn’t hurt either at times like this, and then there’s his, uhh, signature tendency to shatter escort traditions by doing and fulfilling ridiculous requests and shit for money. That is, if a moment presents itself. (But shhh, that’s another story for another day, geez.)

But the worst thing about Anakyn’s job was witnessing his tributes and the ones he cares about die, day by day by day. Those are the sucker punches to his face.

Hearing Henley’s fading pleads directed towards him, to try and help Coda, made Anakyn mentally drown in numbness and dark heat as he struggled to breathe properly, while she slowly died in tandem. Watching Jace being hit by Camellia with his own confetti cannon and then being stung by tracker-jackers 3 days later made the escort cry, stop, and cry again, over and over for hours on end. He even impulsively ran away to the quickest train to District 3 after the cannon struck because he couldn’t take the sudden “betrayal” Jace ended up with as Camellia left him after Elliot was killed. It reminded the Three escort too much of... many terrible things. Now yesterday, as Camellia ended her life with that mysterious pill while bleeding out just after the feast, Anakyn suddenly got whiplashed with a mental meltdown and heartbreak while trying to console Helen through hers. Truthfully, he felt like his sanity was quickly dwindling with every punch and every hit at this point. All because he couldn’t fucking do anything out there.

And it’s making him helpless. Anakyn hates being helpless, dearly and truly hates it.

All escorts (and most Capitolites, period) tend to smile in bliss ignorance, burst out laughs in bloodlust and sadism, and/or draw stiff lines in lips with falsity, only crying a little out of melodrama and half-hearted sentimentality. Only Anakyn cries, and to truly cry because he means how he feels in his heart and head.

He let down Henley, Jace, Camellia...

The only person left I want to save now is Coda. I want to take care of Coda. Even if he’s forgetting me... almost. At least he kinda remembered one of my nicknames, so that’s something?

Today, though, Anakyn wanted some kind of relief from the hurt. That numbing, choking, static, and smouldering feeling of being hurt, being upset, being depressed, being heartbroken, and being angry. Despite the heaviness weighing his brain, his eyes, his throat, and his lungs, he would’ve broken down completely if it wasn’t for something he wants to do before more shit hits the fan.

Okay, okay, 2 things he wants to do. But he’s focusing on the first thing right now.

After Anakyn hastily delivered the regular token to Coda earlier, having spent the last of the money he collected and saved up in the last few days (with leftover remnants of the money originally meant for Jace, Henley, and Camellia) and wrote his note as clearly and neatly as he could in his handwriting (with a glow-in-the-dark pen he found), the rebel escort left the Training Center as fast as he could.

“I need to check up on him... I need- The bunker... where is it???”

He wove through and turned tail many times on sidewalks and streets without being spotted as he ran, trying to keep up with the directions in his mind. Imagination made his surroundings slow but adrenaline made himself fast as a flying bird. The only times Anakyn slowed down a bit were towards one of Main Street’s many flat-screens to watch Coda’s reaction to the now-sent token and note, even at the partial expense of his own name. Then a few minutes later on one of those smaller  checkered flat-screens near the cube-shaped water fountain, Anakyn glimpsed over to find the District 8 boy using that same token to win a lime green sleeping bag. Other than that, he just stayed on the move. He didn’t stop running until he found a sketchy-looking alleyway further away near the outskirts of the Capitol, and then stopped to take a breath.

Anakyn carefully scanned his surroundings as he rested up a bit, for any signs of human activity or anything suspicious lurking around. A resting knife in his hand and a safeguarded gun in his utility belt and holster gave him some kind of security in offense, but he didn’t let his guard down. Other than the city buildings and the whitish-blue sky, there was nobody else around but him. Good.

“No knife for now. No one’s gonna attack me from behind.” The rebel reassured himself quietly as he stowed the blade away and hid it inside the sheath-like pouch next to where the gun was. He treaded towards his destination, the shadows concealing his every move. It also took a lot of climbing, short leaps, and covering up the occasional manhole along the way. Eventually, the next thing he knew, Anakyn was not in the alleyway more, but in cold and gray catacombs instead.

The catacombs... its murky stone and concrete walls enveloped the underground space in a vice-like, angular grip. The flickering light fixtures, distant water drips, and mysterious creaks from further away weren’t helping with the ominous presence of the place either. It reminded Anakyn of an empty indoor parking lot, an underground maze, or the Transfer in District 6. The slight chill felt sickly on his exposed arms and the white T-shirt he wore today, the one that says “WHO’S IN CONTROL” in black writing. He also wore a black vest over it and a spray-painted ombre red mesh scarf with hints of white and black around his neck, although the mesh holes weren’t helping much. The sudden temperature change caused a shiver and a silent curse towards himself for not changing into a combat uniform or at least bringing an extra jacket, despite the increasingly hot weather up on the surface. Outfit-tangent aside, Anakyn shook himself awake to refocus and headed to his intended destination.

His slow, careful footsteps kept Anakyn grounded (pun intended) as the rebel wandered around the halls for a bit, trying to find Numitor and the bunker he’s supposedly locked up in. The same bunker where Montessori, Malloy, and Trap originally resided in after they got rescued last year. Cerena informed Anakyn back in Day 1 that after the shooting, Numitor ended up in hiding in the catacombs somewhere far away from Main Street, the City Circle, and the Training Center to get away from any searching Peacekeepers and military personnel, who wants him arrested and dead after that... protest.

God, that protest. As a rebel, Anakyn will admit that the song “Do You Hear The People Sing” ignited electric sparks in his blood and soul as he sang. But for some reason that night during Phase 2 of the party, he sensed something terrible might happen so singing discreetly turned out to be really nerve-wrecking. As powerful the anti-Hunger Games protest turned out, the results backfired in chaos with the shootings and someone from Upward Voyager probably died, but not remembering who got shot to begin with. Not to mention that something transformed Numitor that very moment-

“Wait, there it is!” Anakyn almost missed the door number while being lost in his troubled thoughts, but luckily, he detected it from the corner of his eye and stopped walking at the right moment. The door’s little window gave a peek at what was inside.

The bunker was practically the personification of bleak, with barely anything except a bed with an iron bed frame, a plastic table, a wooden chair, a drawer for clothes and knick-knacks, a TV with a remote, and pretty much shades of gray and black in everything. The TV was turned on and was currently showcasing little explorations from Coda, Ceru, Owen, and Lonan right now. But despite the TV, Numitor wasn’t watching it, let alone even in the room. So Anakyn knocked on the door to check.

“Numitor?” Oddly enough, nothing. More knocking ensued.

“Numi?” He tried again, this time jigging the doorknob to accompany the repeated knocking. Still nothing, but there was a faint echo of running water. “Huh, he must be in the bathroom then.” Despite this clue, the sound was worrying to the rebel’s ear. He couldn’t tell if the running water came from the sink, the shower, or the toilet. No matter what he did, the door still wouldn’t open. Unluckily, it was locked. But luckily for Anakyn…

The rebel huffed out a frustrated puff of breath, as he said, “Ok, this calls for drastic measures.” Reaching for the pouch on the left side of his hip, Anakyn took out some lock-picking supplies; it’s a good thing Ani remembered to carry them with him today and not accidentally leave them behind in his room, just in case of stuff like this. Admittedly, lock-picking isn’t that drastic, but in Anakyn’s world, this drastic measure is level 1. Don’t ask about the other shit.

Clicks, clacks, twists, and turns were orchestrated between tool uses, but Anakyn did his best to remain quiet despite his efforts, worried about the possibility of Trap, Malloy, and/or Montessori hearing the commotion and finding him out there (or even Wolf if he’s around supervising Numitor and the survivors/Out of Spite members for the day). As much as Ani really wanted to visit them, too, he doesn’t have a lot of time because of the arena right now. That, and other mentors and escorts would be suspicious if he disappeared on the face of the earth randomly.

Finally, a sharp click was heard with a moving door and an open lock; the door was finally unlocked! Anakyn gently kicked his way inside and ran straight across the room to find Numitor.

A surprised yelp echoed out in the bathroom and an object fell down somewhere. “W-W-Who’s there?”

“Numi Mouse, it’s me. AniCat.”

There was no response from Numi for a few awkward moments, until he muffled out a strangled yet confused, “Ani? Why are you here?”

“I-” Great, his rashness just acted up; Anakyn suddenly sensed Numitor’s voice emitting... misery? Annoyance? Depression? Anger? It gave him flashbacks of Numitor’s Victory Tour 6 months ago, flashbacks of the younger boy locking himself in one of the train’s bathroom for some reason. Numi said he was taking a shower, but a strained cry raised worry and anger within the escort as Anakyn struggled to unlock the bathroom door while travelling from District 7 to District 6. Something was wrong and Anakyn probably intruded it. Again. “I just want to check in to see how you’re doing.”

Numitor went quiet, obviously not expecting a visitor at this time of the day, even if it was Anakyn and not some asshole or an enemy. Anakyn would’ve pleaded for Numi to come out again, but detected that his friend’s likely to tell him to go away or something. So his inner broken side took over and decided on something else.

“No, I’m not going to crash in this time like back at the Victory Tour. Can I just sit outside the bathroom and... I don’t know, vent out a little bit?” Ani asked shyly, which was uncharacteristic of his usually confident self.

A pause, then a shuffle of bare feet followed as an unidentifiable object was being moved again. “Oh...... Sure. Yeah, you can do that, I guess.” The young Victor hesitantly replied. Assent was given through a creak from the bathroom door, in the form of a little door gap that peeked in between 2 rooms. Anakyn heard the bathroom noise with slightly sharper acuity with this sound range, but the only things he could see at the moment was the bathroom floor, walls, a blur of slightly pale skin, and a few strands of Numitor’s short burgundy hair.

Numitor let out a sigh, and then started off the unorthodox conversation with, “Ani, I’m asking you again: Why are you here?”

Anakyn sighed as he plopped down on the floor to sit. He let his legs stretch out, clad in charcoal form-fitting pants adorned with buckled straps, a few silver safety pins, and hints of silver paint splatters. “Well, first off, I was supposed to not be here.”

A confused pause must’ve washed over on Numitor’s end, for he inquired, “What do you mean by that? Not being here?”

“I don’t know, man! Cerena banned me from finding you, or the survivors, or even go to the bunkers since you went into hiding after the party!” Ani groaned, starting to feel a headache coming on from the stress that bottled up and exploding painfully every few days. “I don’t know if she said that to anyone else in the movement though; I tried asking Pluto, Chervil, and Helen, but somehow they ain’t hearing anything. Same with Benjamin and Ashton. Wolf didn’t say much other than he sometimes looks after you guys. And I highly doubt Lux would know since he’s being an evil mastermind over there, and Piccolo’s really busy. It’s like the other rebels are trying to keep me confined to my job or something. Tch.” Anakyn scoffed as he said that.

“…That’s weird. But I’m sure she has her reasons, Ani.” Numi replied from the other side.

“Yeah, but she didn’t say why I’m not allowed to be here at this point. It’s not like I’ll blow my cover or where this place is. That rule’s bullshit to me.” Anakyn crossed his arms as he said that and added in a softer voice, “You don’t deserve to be locked up, alone, and… hunted down like a wanted man.”

The rebel wanted so badly to confess as much as he really wanted both of them to end the Hunger Games, stop the oppression, and create revolution to free the country, he didn’t want to damage or kill Numitor just for that.

Which was what the movement is currently orchestrating in the first place these days. Not with him, against him.

But he’ll have to tell Numi Mouse that another time to save the both of them damage. Numi Mouse doesn’t deserve to die for fighting and standing up for what he believed.

“Besides, I broke that rule of not visiting because-” A strangled sound emitted out of Anakyn’s mouth as his eyes unexpectedly pricked with moisture. Again. But this time was strange, normally at this time, it happened when a tribute he wanted to save/live died or got betrayed, but this time, it’s because he’s talking to Numitor. But he’s not truly there.

“I miss you, Numitor. I miss you a lot.”

As soon as Anakyn said that, his position changed as he curled up into a ball and leaned against the wall close to the door gap. Tears threatened to squeeze themselves out of his lapis lazuli blue eyes.

He only heard uneasy silence (not counting the white noise from the Hunger Games showing on TV) from the bathroom and the door gap, which made the rebel wonder how Numitor was processing all of this. Or maybe the District 3 Victor simply didn’t like how this conversation was going at the moment.

There were lots of other things the escort wanted to tell his friend. How did everyone else deal with the aftermath of the Pre-Games Party shootings. His new experiences as an actual mentor. How Tav missed Numitor so badly. Day-by-day happenings about their fellow mentors. Escort drama. His feelings about his now-dead tributes (and Camellia). His travels in recent districts he visited. Stories about ridiculous requests and shit he did as extreme last-minute attempts to get money for sponsor gifts and/or the gifts themselves. Maybe even bring up how Helen is doing (although that last option might not be such a good idea right now, as Numi likes to tease Ani about his girlfriend a lot).

Instead of any of those things, however, Anakyn unfurled himself into a criss-cross applesauce position and spontaneously prompting with, “There’s also something I’m wondering about lately. I bet you won’t take it.”

A little pfft sound came out from the door gap despite Numitor’s failed attempt at stifling it. “AniCat, I doubt whatever you’re gonna say will phase me. And you’ve said and done a lot of weird shit.” Numi chimed and snickered despite himself.

 

Anakyn couldn’t help but to groan. “It’s not that weird! I’m too curious for my own good; I can’t help it!”

“Try me, Kin.” Numitor dared, wanting to cut to the chase.

“Ok.” A smirk showed up on his lips but disappeared quickly as the rebel inhaled a careful breath to steady the next words coming out of his mouth.

“Do you think the rebellion is plotting something against us? Or one of us?”

Another set of stunned silence from the door gap.

Numitor must’ve freaked out a little just from thinking about this possibility, for he nearly yelped out from the door gap, “W-W-What are you saying?!!”

“Dude, think about it. Why do you think Cerena wanted you to attend university as an early acceptance with a scholarship?

“Hey! I wanted to go someday anyway-”

“Why do you think she wanted to make you into a martyr so badly no matter if you lived or died?”

“Ok, now that’s-”

“Why do you think most of the district rebels have been giving us stink eyes and dirty looks whenever we don’t look or act like typical Capitolites, especially while we’re assigned missions?”

“Wait-”

“Why do you think Cerena wanted me to rig the Reapings just to send you to the Hunger Games when I moved to District 3 last year? Seriously, I thought Cerena herself wanted to do it because she seemed really absorbed with her plan until recently! But nooo, it had to be me, the punk-ass mechanic.” The escort was practically spitting out his tirade like peppered bullets as he spoke, but he was too angry to care despite his reduced voice level.

“You’re not-”

“Why do you think they didn’t listen to me whenever I said ‘no’ these days?”

“Are you fucking kidding me-”

“And why would they even want me to work as a stylist in the first place? I don’t get it...” That last part confused Anakyn the most, despite wanting to be a stylist someday as one of his back-up job options if he’s still forbidden to be a mechanic someday... just because he’s a Capitolite (despite being a gifted mechanic and a Mechanical Engineering major in District 3 University). Hell, he even got to design Gabrielle’s chariot outfit in Jace’s place when Jace refused to participate out of blindness and bitterness.

Modelling clothing was one thing, but creating clothing was also a fascinating practice. So were preparing looks (hair and make-up included) and disguises for Out of Spite and even some of the other rebels. But something about this role change was... sketchy.

On top of that, he couldn’t even invent weapons, fix vehicles, program and hack computers, do spy work, and/or partake in combative missions a lot anymore like he used to. It sucks. Seriously, Anakyn’s a lot more talented than that! Or maybe well-rounded would be more accurate.

“But the movement wants Numitor the most. Numi Mouse because of his connections to his parents. Numi Mouse because he’s not the type to rat the movement out (pun not intended). Numi Mouse because he’s-”

“Actually, now that I think about it… the movement values you a lot more than me.” Anakyn slowly said in deduction as a terrifying theory materialized inside his mental image.

Cue the lack of speech from Numi again, obviously sensing that he couldn’t believe it. So Ani decided to elaborate better on his theory, accentuated with a great inhale of air.

“The rebellion already assigned the roles, all the characters at this point. The rebellion has their leaders; Cerena and now Lux. The rebellion has people who can kick ass and... kill, at least if they want to; those would be Chervil, Pluto, and Helen, the Victors. The rebellion has a voice of logical reason and negotiation; that’s in the form of Benjamin. The rebellion has survivors to enact in their play as their undead; that would be Montessori, Malloy, and Trap. Maybe we’ll save more tributes this time, but what are they supposed to do? Act as zombies or vampires? And why even set them up as a whole band in the first place instead of different guises to prevent suspicion in numbers? The rebellion didn’t need an engineer or a mechanic; they already got Wolf since he’s a biomechanical engineering major and the glue of the operation. And I’m pretty sure the movement didn’t even need a stylist from the way things are going; they got Ashton already since he’s a Head Stylist. Everyone else, well, I think they’re supposed to be the literal and metaphorical soldiers, the spies, the pawns. Pretty much the fucking army. They only follow orders. I know there’s lots of district people involved, mostly from outer districts, but I know there’s some from the Career districts and there’s a few Capitolites, too. Their roles vary, but they never back down no matter what. And then there’s you, the living symbol of it all, proving a point on how inhumane the Hunger Games is no matter who or what we are, so...” Anakyn didn’t dare to say the last part, although he knew Numitor was pretty much thinking of the similar question on the same wavelength.

So what does that make me?

Numitor’s silence this time was rather insightful rather than pained. “...I never thought of it that way before.” He said rather slowly with a stunned voice. A short pause, and then Numitor added thoughtfully, “But you have an interesting point.”

“Told ya. They keep trying to extract info from us and how we even know each other, but they ain’t putting all the pieces properly. They don’t even know the truth about us!”

“What truth?”

“You know… that?”

“…Ohhhh, that.”

“Yeah.” Anakyn sighed, then mulled, “If the world really wanted me gone, I should’ve been in the Hunger Games earlier,”

Man, he hated being alone and outcasted… and still does.

“Maybe one of the few places I call home doesn’t want me there anymore. All because I can’t properly act like my own kind. All because I can’t talk in an accent for shit. All because I fight like a street rat half the time. All because I’m either too plain or too pretty. All because I challenge society too much. All because of my family. All because of my past. All because I think weird. All because I know too much than I should’ve. All because I care too much except when I fight. All because I’m too unconventional? All because I can’t really fit in anywhere. All- because- I……..?” Shit, now the rebel’s racking up more tears and uneasy breaths.

His normally cheeky, mischievous, and charismatic self crumbled into a terrible sense of vulnerability now. While being vulnerable is ok and there’s nothing wrong with it, this vulnerable state was the kind that would make his soul desperately seeking escape from the physical confines of his body, exposed and anticipating incoming damage.

“Anakyn?”

The rebel barely made any physical or verbal indication in response; too many negative feelings and thoughts flared up and submerged his mind while curling up into a tighter ball.

“Um, are you ok......?”

For a moment there, his vengeful side struck as unconfirmed images of several people flashed and splattered in various shades of red in his mind, followed by caressing tendrils of darkness before they lashed out in revenge… He’s a rebel in blood and spirit! How could they fucking do this to him?! How could they fucking do this to them?!

“Anakyn...”

The more he thought about it, the more Anakyn... doesn’t even feel like Anakyn anymore.

Not Ani. Not Kin. Not Anakin with an “i”. Not even AniCat. Even his last name sounded wrong.

What just- why?!?!?!? What the fuck is wrong with me?!

I feel like dead weight. Hell, I am dead weight.

I’m not even supposed to exist in the first place!

Anakyn couldn’t stop crying, holding his breath, spreading the dry heat in his throat, and heavily swallowing again in the form of hyperventilation, his lungs weighed down like heavy metal while the fallen tears turned into a lukewarm puddle below his legs. His heart and lungs were heavy as he kept on drowning. His will to be quiet was hard to keep because of the meltdown though, so his senses were currently assaulted. This complicated circuitry of negative feelings happened to him lots of times whenever he’s upset and depressed about something, but the very worst he ever felt this way was after his dad got shot, the period of time after it, every Hunger Games he or his mom worked in, and during the entire 126th Hunger Games when Numitor ended up in the Games last year-

The bathroom door creaked wide open and the rebel swiftly found himself being slammed against the wall with a head bang and arms encasing around his now-unfurled torso. “Ouch! Damn!” Fuck, that hurts. Anakyn felt like being hit by a cannonball now, not a sucker punch. He was pretty sure he would’ve fell down sideways on the floor too if it wasn’t for his feet stopping the traction, skidding in red ankle boots covered in black graffiti.

Blinking his tears away and opening his eyes properly, Anakyn found Numitor locking him into an embrace despite the awkward sitting positions. Sometimes being touched unexpectedly hurt, but today was not one of those days. “He must’ve come out of the bathroom while I was crying. It’s nice to actually see Numi Mouse’s face.” Ani thought. A set of familiar eyes pierced him into place despite the bangs getting in the way; one deep hazel-ish brown and one beautiful bright blue, none with the usual contacts. Burgundy hair was messed up more than usual and slight freckles dotted his cheeks even when they weren’t showing up under the underground light bulbs. But Anakyn can definitely tell that he’s facing his childhood friend for real, even as Numitor’s growing into a more deceptively unearthly aura and appearance since the speech and protest. The same as-

“Anakyn? D-D-Don’t c-cry...” Numi stammered and tried to stay strong despite obviously wanting to cry as well. The younger male burrowed his head on Ani’s right shoulder and ended up spilling tears and snot on his shirt sleeve, vest, and scarf. “P-Please don’t c-c-cry...”

Perhaps it was the effects of their friendship together or the fact that both boys (but especially Numitor) hated seeing their loved ones upset, but the physical contact was surprisingly soothing enough to bring the young rebel out of the stormy clouds and back to earth.

The sapped-up energy from his meltdown, pain, and tears dissolved into tiredness and exhaustion; it was usually more detectable in Anakyn’s eyes and voice, but not often expressed on his face (being the bright and energetic type in personality). His shoulders slacked and he ended up resting his head on Numi’s left shoulder, strands of sandy blond hair with dyed streaks and highlights obscuring the rest of his head.

“I feel terrible,” Anakyn mumbled from his current position. “About everything.” Saying it probably meant more than simply saying ‘I’m sorry’.

“Me too…” Numitor agreed with a whisper. Ani shakily wrapped his arms around his childhood friend and did his best to take deep breaths despite his pained throat.

For a little while, the two of them didn’t say anything, didn’t even need to. They just held each other in the hug and gently breathed in and out to calm down. Sometimes, either one of them sniffled, peeked at the ongoing TV screen, or smoothed out each other’s hair from wherever they reached. Other than that, both boys felt warm and comfortable being held like this, wanting to not move and just stay here a little longer.

Ani could’ve swore Numi was trying to tell him something despite sounding muffled from the sobbing. What he did hear was, “A-Ani…. D-d-d-don’t t-think t-t-t-that. You’re brilliant… you’re brave… you’re…… you’re Ani.”

Anakyn was mentally taken back in surprise at what Numitor just said. “…H-He thinks that?” More tears were squeezed out while he sniffled and breathed in and out. The fragmented words inflicted something foreign yet comfortable inside of him.

Numitor got a point though: Just because Anakyn’s pushed back doesn’t mean he doesn’t matter. After all, he fights for what’s right and what’s important no matter what or how he did it. Wasn’t that how he pretty much managed to stay alive despite everything?

“I want to drive the rebellion forward.”

In order for him to do that… “But maybe I can do that in my own way.” He’s not sure how, but he’ll think of something. After all...

“There’s a million things I haven’t done but just they wait. Just they wait.”

Even if this visit wasn’t how he originally envisioned it would be, Anakyn wouldn’t have it any other way after the hell they’ve been throughout the entire year and the entire Hunger Games right now.

“Numitor, thank you, by the way.” A soft smile managed to grace his lips.

“For what?”

“I don’t know. I just... I just want a reminder to keep living much longer. To... fight for what I believe and who I believe in. To... exist again.” Anakyn wasn’t sure if his choice of words or sentences were making actual sense, but he didn’t care right now. Slowing down his currently cadenced voice as he spoke pushed down his regressed negative feelings and any plans of future questionings or interrogations for now.

A full minute later, Numitor’s tightened arms turned out to be the only confirmation he needed, although the younger male peered up again to directly face Anakyn and he managed to quietly say, “You’re welcome.” with a shy smile.

This was the most peaceful Anakyn has ever felt since the shootings and the arena, in a very long time.

Every worry felt so far away.

This little moment of comfort was really nice and healing…

Numitor spoke up after a long while. “Hey AniCat-”

“You thought it was funny, huh?! You little cheat!”

Ani’s head shot up in surprise while Numi covered his mouth with both hands, his eyes wide in huge astonishment. As if that statement suddenly came out of his throat without even saying it. “Woah, dude! Did you just say that?!” Anakyn couldn’t help but to comment. But if anything, this voice is a little deeper than Numitor’s; in fact, it came from-

The young Victor squirmed from the hold to face the still-turned-on TV a little further away. “Coda, he’s…” Numitor squinted to check and then said, “Lonan’s doing something to him.”

“WAIT WHAT?!!!” Anakyn exclaimed out of shock but suddenly clamped his own mouth shut with his hand since he momentarily forgot to be quiet. Oops. Both boys scrambled their way out of their embrace and crawled towards the front of the TV to see what just happened.

On the TV showing the arena, Coda must’ve tried to sneak up around Lonan like he did with Ceru earlier. But it backfired as Coda tried to catch Lonan off-guard with an attack but got caught. Oh no…

Both rebels ended up sitting there horror-struck as the bunker was now filled with the sounds from Coda’s pleading screams and Lonan’s prolonged torturing. Anakyn wanted to yell in anger and rage, but he didn’t have the heart to do it somehow, so his mind instead screamed, “Don’t kill Coda, please don’t kill Coda, please!!!!!” Even a few tears came out of Anakyn’s eyes against his will, but he’s afraid of having a meltdown again.

Subconsciously on the cold and hard floor, Numitor’s splayed hand shifted and then Anakyn’s fingers impulsively inched over soon after. They ended up holding each other’s hand as they watched the whole ordeal between Lonan, Coda, and Owen in tension.

Suddenly, it was as if they weren’t rebels anymore. Or an escort and a Victor. Or even a famous model and an average Capitolite. No, if anything, the whole scenario felt as if they were outcast boys again. The outcast boys who hate the Hunger Games despite being under the Capitol rules and soil for many years. Forced to watch years of torment but dream and strive to end it despite everything.

Meanwhile on the screen, blood gushed out after Owen struck his ex-ally on the back with his cleaver and a quick death came out of the blue. It was so shocking and gross that Anakyn almost wanted to vomit if it wasn’t for his almost-empty stomach from yesterday’s loss of appetite. Just as Lonan died by his own ko-naginata, which was used by Owen, the District 5 boy shakily faced Coda. Coda, despite Lonan’s blood spray residue on his face and multiple bleeding spots from his wounds, wasn’t badly cut up as he stubbornly pushed himself back on his feet.

“You... Think... I... Won’t... Fucking... Fight...” Coda said through clenched teeth, giving Owen a defiant look through the pain he was obviously feeling.  On Anakyn’s end, something similar simmered and tingled in his veins as the Eight boy said those words; the rebel can relate here.

Suddenly again, with the drama of a thunderclap, Owen and Coda suddenly froze in place mid-lunge. They were about to attack each other and fight to their end, but their limbs stiffened like statues while Coda’s injuries temporarily stopped bleeding... was Coda healing?!?!?

“Now now, you two will have plenty of time for that later.” Lux Hastings trilled over the loudspeaker as he came without warning, although Anakyn’s perceptions also picked chiding, condensing, and mocking undertones in the Head Gamemaker’s voice. A growl vibrated out of the rebel’s throat in response.

Anakyn and Numitor’s hearts almost dropped down and their throats felt painfully tight as they watched Owen and Coda, along with their weapons and surrounding bags, being suddenly taken away in floating vertigo while another switch of footage revealed Cerulean going through the same thing further away. Lonan’s face was projected early in the sky-like ceiling despite the day being mid-afternoon right now, while said Ten boy’s body hovered up in the distance. Numitor trembled in panic while Anakyn froze in shock, his mouth gaping incredulously. Everything and everybody out there looked as if they were floating on zero gravity and being sucked up into a UFO at the same time. What the hell is this shit?! At this, Lux’s voice gave an official announcement on screen.

“Congratulations to each one of you. Lady Luck has smiled upon each one of you.”

Anakyn’s mind suddenly downloaded something into overdrive.

“Please, stand by, tributes...”

This meant the Hunger Games was almost over. This meant only 3 male tributes were left now: Owen “Nines” O’Conner, Cerulean “Ceru” Elpharae, and Coda Fukai. This meant... oh god.

“...Final proceedings will begin immediately.”

A clammer of footsteps, shouts, and crashes from fallen objects echoed out from a few walls down. Both boys winced at the loud noises. Their trances snapped alongside the cacophonous wake-up call. Shit, the survivors must’ve found out about the sudden turn of events on TV, too. And they were probably waiting for Numitor to watch it all together.

“AniCat,” Numitor looked over at the door ruefully as he told his childhood friend, “You have to go. If you stay longer and get caught, you’ll be in huge trouble.”

“I know, but-” Anakyn ended up cutting himself off with a frightened gulp, scared to finish what he was about to say.

I don’t want to leave you.

I don’t want to leave you again.

Those realizations alone almost made the rebel sad again despite his earlier healing. Unless...

“Hey Numi Mouse?” Anakyn suddenly piped up. “If we get through this Final 3 alive... want to do something fun together after? Just you and me?” He shifted his legs and knees around to anticipate leaving without a trace. He did manage a smile despite himself. “You know, pillow fort, fairy lights, chess, hot chocolate... the works?”

At this sudden offer, Numitor squeaked a bit as his heterochromatic eyes widened in surprise. Still, he eagerly nodded yes with hopeful sparks showing through, before he said this in insistence, “Just go, Ani. I’ll be fine. And... good luck out there.”

With new resolve, amidst the salty residue of leftover tears, Anakyn rose up from his spot on the floor and headed over to the hallways and out of the catacombs without looking back and without being spotted. While doing so, he was steeling himself to face fate, chaos, and the upcoming Final 3 battle on screen in the Capitol streets.

If I really am a freak, I might as well start acting like one.

If I really am a rebel, I might as well start acting like one.

No matter what happens.