Chapter Text
Just breathe, Orion. It’ll all be over soon.
Granted, it’s hard to concentrate with the sounds of a crowd braying for blood hammering his ears. At first he assumed they were all outside, but now that his eyes have adjusting to the light, he sees that they’re also filling the stands of the amphitheater that they’ve been marched into.
Enough of that. Focus, Orion. First things first, Assess your battlefield.
Not that there’s much to assess. A circle of hard packed dirt contained by old stone walls. There are stands atop said walls, currently occupied by a mob of Capitol onlookers. There are entrances in the wall itself, leading to tunnels, but they’re all blocked by armed Peacekeepers. The tributes - two per district, one boy and one girl, are arranged on metal plates in a circle around a pile of weapons.
Well, if what they wanted from us wasn’t obvious before, it is now. Next, assess your enemy.
And he definitely recognizes some of them. Enemies, targets of significance, terrorist war criminals, as the propaganda from the war called them. Far from all of them, obviously - the vast majority of the rebels were adults, and any kids who got caught up in things tended not to live to see the end of the war. But a few slipped through the cracks, allowed to live long enough to die in a more fitting manner.
Wrex Shipyard of Four. Part of a group of rebels who commandeered a ship and committed several acts of piracy before their ship was finally sunk. Spud Planters of Eleven. Appointed chef in the war camps who had taken to poisoning Capitol commanders’ meals. Ella van Jolt of Five. Frequent participant in rebel propaganda.
And her . Zenobia Ellison, his district partner. The rebel strategist behind the infamous Stone Spire Massacre, one of the few true defeats suffered after the Capitol Siege broke. “Two’s Fell Star”, some of the other young men recruited into military service with Orion had called her.
And once, Orion Hartmann had known her as a friend.
His reverie is interrupted by the President, Maximinius Ravinstill, speaking. The man, dark hair streaked gray with age, stands in a box, separated from the citizens around him. He waves a hand, and some horns sound, causing the crowd to swiftly quiet as they turn their attention to him.
“Welcome, people of Panem!” His voice booms out, imposing as a rockslide despite the encroach of age that shows in his face and hair. “Welcome, to the First Annual Hunger Games! We are here today to celebrate victory - the victory of honor, order, and righteousness over chaos, deception, and fear! For years, traitors and rebels have clawed at our nation, attempting to tear it apart and destroy everything that we achieved. But we survived, endured their treachery, their brutality and destruction with bravery and determination! We prevailed, and our nation is born anew, like the phoenix of yore! Panem today, Panem tomorrow, PANEM FOREVER!”
The final words are echoed by the crowd, followed by rapturous applause. Orion almost wants to join in, to celebrate the victory of the loyal - of his district, even - but he is still a prisoner. And prisoners must stay silent.
“And today, we have gathered here to show the districts the consequences of treason, of biting the hand that feeds, nurtures, and protects. The twenty-four tributes gathered before you will fight and die, punishment for the crimes of their people and kin-”
His monologue is interrupted by the sniveling, skeletal girl from Twelve trying to make a break for it. She makes it three steps before a Peacekeeper’s bullet hits her in the brain. President Ravinstill sneers at the corpse before continuing.
“But the Capitol is merciful! And so, to the last one standing, we offer them life. Their wounds will be patched, and they will be returned to their homes and families.” He raises his arms up and outward. “And now, let the First Annual Hunger Games BEGIN!”
An announcer begins counting down - “Sixty. Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight.”
A tall boy across the pile - Seven, maybe - had already started running, but stumbles to a halt and tries to turn back. He still goes down, to two bullets this time.
“Forty-eight. Forty-seven. Forty-six.”
He wonders what his father would think of all this if he was still here. If he hadn’t been gunned down in a firefight in Ten. Would he be horrified about his son fighting for his life in an arena of rebels? Would he be whooping and hollering for him to kill every last one of them?
“Thirty-six. Thirty-five. Thirty-four.”
He shouldn’t be nervous. He has the best shot of anyone here. He’s a trained - well, mostly trained - soldier. Two, while it was hit fairly hard by bombing and other offensive operations, still remained fed and watered. Enough to keep him standing firm while whelps from the likes of Eight and Twelve are struggling to even stand. He’s pretty sure the boy from Ten’s body has already given out on him. And the Capitol doesn’t want a rebel to win, which takes out the only other likely fighters.
But still. You never know.
“Fourteen. Thirteen. Twelve.”
He feels eyes boring into him, and looks up to find Zenobia watching him. Orion meets her gaze steadily, and runs a finger across his neck.
“Three. Two. One.”
The loud clang of something metal being struck rings out, and the crowd roars.
Orion refuses to start his charge yet. Wait for someone else to move, his old commander’s voice rings in his mind. First to act is the first to be targeted.
And yet, no one does. Whether from fear or following the same train of thought as him, every tribute (except for the two early sprinters’ remains) stays firmly on their plate. The Capitol’s cheering quiets as it becomes apparent no one is going to move. They start to murmur, then boo, heckling and yelling for them to get a move on.
Orion, for a moment, wonders what might happen if nobody moved. Would the Games be canceled and the tributes sent home? Would the Peacekeepers start gunning them down as incentive? Or would they be forced to wait in place until they all fell dead of dehydration and such?
As it turns out, the world may never know, not after the District One girl makes a run towards the pile. She just grabs a sword and starts scrambling back to her podium, but now that she’s moved, the spell is broken. First another tribute starts running in, then another, and then the floodgates are opened.
Orion is off like a shot, desperate to reach the pile before the others arm up. Fortunately, his long legs and prior training give him that extra speed he needs to reach the pile. He grabs a spear immediately- it’s right within reach, and maybe it’ll be close enough to wielding a gun with a bayonet on the end? It’s the best he can hope for, at this point.
He spins around and sees the little boy from Three skidding to a stop at the sight of an armed enemy, the fear in his gaze apparent. But there’s no time for hesitation, or mercy. Not here. The boy falls as the spear rips through his throat, and Orion is already looking for his next target.
He sees what he’s pretty sure is the pair from Six, given the black oil stains on their outfits and faces, running desperately towards a tunnel. He hears a couple gunshots, but he’s distracted from the falling bodies by the sight of van Jolt’s head rolling across the dusty ground.
The rebels are supposed to be MY kills! Orion suppresses an angry growl, instead searching for the killer. It doesn’t take a genius to realize the horrified girl from Ten, the one with a bloody machete and a “holy shit, I just killed someone” expression on her face, did the deed. She screams and runs as she sees Orion approach, but she only makes it a few steps before the spear in his hands is poking straight through her back and out her chest.
Orion rips it free and quickly starts looking around, his head on a swivel. He has to kill the remaining major rebels, or else somebody else might be deigned a more appropriate winner. But the carnage is in full swing now, and he’s having trouble seeing where anyone specific is.
Fortunately, though, Wrex’s own district partner gives him away, charging him with a scream. Orion, now spying exactly where his prey is, charges. The damned pair from One almost trip him in his advance, rolling across the ground and tearing each other like a couple of feral hounds going at it over a piece of scrap meat. Fortunately, though, Wrex is competent enough to not fall yet, sending his district partner falling to the ground with her own knife in her face.
It gets him a second of respite before Orion’s spear cleaves his left ear apart.
The rebel fisherman roars in pain, swinging his own spear backwards in desperation. It forces Orion back for a moment, enough for Wrex to spin around and properly match him. Orion might be a trained fighter, but Wrex (irritatingly) didn’t get through the war on luck alone, not to mention is more familiar with a spear. For a moment, Orion fears that he might actually lose here.
But the fates are still just, and they prove themselves as such when an audience member yells, “ORION, BEHIND YOU!”
Orion thrusts the handle of his spear backwards. His suspicion of an attacker is proven right when he hears a yelp of pain from whoever he just got. That yelp snatches away Wrex’s attention for a key second, long enough for Orion to bring his own spear forth and through the rebel’s heart.
As Wrex collapses to the ground, Orion snatches the other boy’s spear from his hands, not even wanting to try prying his own out. He spins towards his attacker, a now clearly terrified Spud - oh, today just keeps getting better. He slams his spear into the farming boy’s gut, before drawing him closer.
“Not very honorable, trying to stab someone in the back.” He hisses, relishing in Spud’s terror. “But, then, you were never honorable in the first place.”
Spud opens his mouth to say something in reply, only for an ax to come flying into the side of his head.
If there was any doubt in Orion’s mind as to who that was from, the all too familiar muttering of “Shit!” behind him confirms it. Pulling his spear from the fresh carcass’ gut, he turns and finds Zenobia there, another ax raised to throw.
“That was my kill.” He growls.
“Hello to you too, Hartmann.” his nemesis replies. “And I wasn’t exactly aiming for Planters, if that wasn’t obvious.” The two combatants circle each other, a scene all too familiar to Orion. If anyone else in the pit with them is still alive, they’re giving them a wide berth.
“Are you ready to die today, Ellison?” he says, feinting a forward jab with his spear.
“Oh, so eager to finish what you started, huh?” She retorts, swiping at Orion.
“I’m doing my duty as a warrior of Panem. Besides, you know they won’t let you win.” Orion growls, pressing forth with a few jabs. Zenobia manages to sidestep two of them, but the third manages to cut a gash into her side.
“So loyal. It’s a shame the Capitol won’t repay it.” snarls Zenobia. “I mean, how many loyalists did they give anything? Aside from the Plinths, I mean.” Zenobia swings again, her axe passing terrifyingly close to his eyes. “The plague in Six, the Oakgrave purge, the mine collapses, District Thirteen… So much blood, and for what? You’re still just as much a slave to the Capitol as anyone else.”
“Enough talk.” Orion growls, starting to get frustrated, especially with Zenobia still dodging and talking.
“I’d be lying if I said I was sorry about Commander Middleton, but war is never easy. Sacrifices must be made.”
“SHUT UP!” Orion roars, lunging forward in rage. It’s a stupid move, foolish and risky, and he pays for it when Zenobia’s ax bites into his right bicep. Orion screams, the world around him fading out until only him, the pain, and Zenobia are left.
Twisting in a fluid motion, he growls as his spear buries itself into Zenobia’s torso, tearing up and through her body until it bursts through her back, her continued hold on the axe having sealed her fate.
Orion releases the spear, again not wanting to bother trying to tear it out of the body. He tries not to look at her, but still catches a glimpse of her pain filled eyes, almost… pleading… in her least moments, and then he can’t look away. It brings a cavalcade of memories to Orion. Finding her cowering in a ruined house, bringing her back to safety at the camp, joking around about how ugly the sergeant was as they ate their meagre rations. A tentative kiss, stolen in a corner. Finding her standing over Commander Middleton, ripping an ax out of his gut.
Orion lets out a primal scream, and then there is nothing but the desire to kill whatever moves anywhere near him. He doesn’t know what he’s killing, whether it’s other tributes, the audience, Peacekeepers, President Ravinstill, Commander Middleton, Zenobia Ellison. All he knows is that anything in reach is dying.
He comes to about twenty minutes later, caked in blood and his ax (when did he get an ax?) in the chest of what he’s pretty sure was the boy from Eight. There’s a trumpet sounding, and somewhat hesitant… applause? He thinks it’s applause. Maybe it started raining nearby and he’s hearing the droplets.
The first Hunger Games ended in fifty-six minutes, with a victor who killed nine of his opponents.
He was also widely considered to be mad, but no one likes to talk about that part.
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VICTOR STATISTICS:
Name: Orion Hartmann
District: 2
Age: 18
Gender: M
Arena: The Amphitheater
Time: 56 minutes
Preferred Weapon: Spear
Kills: 9 (3M, 10F, 4M, 2F, 7F, 8F, 3F, 12M, 8M)
Current Status: Drunk and alone in District 2
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