— — ONE SHOT — —
The Hunger Games was an annual and brutal fight to the death that was televised to watch tributes compete against each other.
There are twenty-four tributes, two from each district.
Only one victor remains in the end.
And while there is a reward…
It’s for another life.
Bad hated that he’d been called to play. He hadn’t asked for this. He hated that he could tell Alyssa was shaking when they’d been pulled away from each other to be put in their separate gates. He didn’t want to kill his friend. He didn’t want to kill anybody. You don’t have a choice.
A piercing whistle echoed in his ears and he darted forward, sweat already making his hands and the back of his neck feel clammy.
He wasn’t going to Cornucopia. That’d be a death trap. Between landmines and the swarm of people he could see heading that way, he couldn’t bring his shaking legs any closer to it. There was a backpack a few feet ahead of him and he hunched down to scoop it up, stumbling slightly before regaining his momentum.
He darted into the forest and didn’t look back even as he felt a dry sob gathering in the back of his throat.
It took a while before he calmed himself enough to stop sprinting. He needed to rest, gather his strength, and go through the supplies he’d gathered.
Bad set the backpack on the ground with a shaky sigh before kneeling beside it and gently opening the flap, keeping an ear open for any possible approaching threat. Inside the backpack was a couple bags of dried food, a single water bottle, a small medicine kit, some wrapped pieces of what he suspected to be coal, and a coil of fishing line.
Above him the sky darkened as he strategized. Finding a water source would be the most important. I can use the coal and string for traps and cooking.
A tiny part of him knew the traps should be for people but he couldn’t bring himself to think about that, pushing aside the idea with a full body shudder. The movement caused him to realize how it had gotten colder, twilight approaching as the sky darkened.
A giant flash of red caught the corner of his vision and he clung to his backpack, heart pounding deafeningly in his ears as he whirled around in the direction it’d been. He hated that he relaxed when he realized it was the kill announcements. He hadn’t even realized the cannon had gone off.
His heart lurched in his throat again when it sounded off again. That was at least two. His mouth felt dry as he waited, head gazing up at the sky, as he waited for the profiles of his lost competitors.
With each visible person that flickered up in red across the simulated area he felt more and more like screaming. It had been a bloodbath. Five. Five people had died during the Reaping.
An older teen with long pink hair and furious red eyes from District 1 named Technoblade, killed by another competitor named Purpled from District 8.
A pretty brunette with a pink rose tucked behind her ear from District 7 named Hannah, killed by another competitor named Schlatt from District 12.
A girl who had a similar look to Technoblade’s, pink hair tied up in two knotted buns from District 9, named Nikki, blown up by a landmine.
A boy with dark hair and clout goggles that hid his eyes from District 10 named George, killed by another competitor named Ponk from District 3.
A ravenette with milky white eyes that spelled out their doom the moment their name has been called as tribute from District 1 named Eret, blown up by a landmine.
He clutched the bag even closer to his chest, nails digging into his arms as he tried to take a calming breath. District 1 has already been completely eliminated.
The only thought that gave him comfort was that Alyssa was still out there.
Bad couldn’t avoid confrontation for very long. During the night of the Reaping he’d been unable to sleep, adrenaline still flooding his body. So the next best thing he could’ve done was find a clean water source.
And somebody must’ve been watching down on him because he stumbled upon a flowing stream after only a couple hours of searching. He knew how lucky he was for it. He wasn’t sure how far he’d run from Cornucopia but decided to risk building a makeshift shelter as he figured out what to do.
He really wanted to find Alyssa. Survive together, talk the gamemaster down from a murder spree.
He was building a shelter when he heard somebody approaching. Please. Please, please, please, no! Please!
He hoisted his backpack over one shoulder and leapt over the stream, one foot not quite making it and water soaking into his sock as he scrambled for a hiding place. A tree with lower, sturdier branches caught his attention and he didn’t blink before jumping to grab the one closest to the ground, hauling himself up and scrambling to climb higher before freezing against the trunk as he saw color approaching.
Silvery white locks caught his attention first and the faintest feeling of hope sparked in his chest when he realized it was Alyssa. He opened his mouth to call out for her only to go completely stiff when he saw a second person pursuing her, dark red hair standing out in the greens of the summerlit forest.
She paused near the halfmade construction of his shelter before pausing at the stream and leaning down to pick up a large, sharpish rock, spinning around and throwing it at the other teen, who dodged it. He held a makeshift spear in his hand, though really it was just a sharpened tree branch.
Alyssa groped behind her, trying to grab another rock without taking her eyes off the boy. Bad’s breath hitched when she stumbled and she glanced back, falling back slightly into the stream. The tribute took the chance to attack and the tree branch whistled through the air, impaling her abdomen.
Blood rushed out of his face as he clamped one hand over his mouth to muffle his cry, tears building up and flowing out of his own eyes as the boy approached Alyssa, who was pawing at the branch weakly, her own blue eyes wide with shock as they slowly began to dull. He removed the branch again, dripping with blood and kicked her body out of the stream before gazing around his surroundings. His steely brown eyes focused on the half constructed shelter before he stalked into the shadows.
Bad couldn’t make himself move, not even as the drones came to collect the body of a friend that’d been dear to him. He was the only one representing District 2 now. The thought had his stomach rolling but still he couldn’t bring himself to move even as the cannon fired.
He didn’t know how long he stayed in the tree but his frozen limbs tensed even more when he heard footsteps approaching his makeshift camp once again. The cannon had fired once more in his hours hidden in the leaves. His muscles were beginning to cramp, he needed to get down soon. But not now, when he could decipher two pairs that didn’t seem to be in any sort of rush.
Confirming his theory, two other competitors entered the clearing where the boy had killed Alyssa and both abruptly stopped upon spotting the blood staining the ground and the discarded spear.
“Who do you think it was?” One of the boys, a blonde that looked a year or two younger than his partner asked, face softening with what appeared to be genuine sadness.
The other, whose own blonde hair had dyed bright green streaks, shrugged. “Not sure. Probably an alliance gone wrong.”
“You wouldn’t do that right?”
“Not unless I had to.”
The second teen gracefully cleared the running stream. “I’m leaving whether you follow or not.” He called without a second glance over his shoulder.
The blonde’s face fell into a frown, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he glanced at the spot Alyssa was stabbed in once more. His gentle green eyes shifted over to the partially made shelter, brow furrowing before he glanced around, looking for any possible trace of the owner. Bad sent a silent prayer to remain unnoticed.
The blonde spun around, studying the area one more time before his shoulders slumped. He reached inside his own smaller satchel and pulled out a small white lily, placing it between the shelter and the blood stained grass before dipping his head in mourning.
“Dream!” The shout echoed through the forest in the direction the other had vanished.
“Coming Slime!” He yelled back, darting into the deepening shadows the canopy cast. Bad watched the blonde, Dream, retreat, reluctant appreciation rising in his chest for the younger boy. It didn’t appear the two of them were from the same district but they seemed to have some sort of alliance for their own benefit, likely until they found one of their own competitors and turned on the other.
He slipped out of the tree to follow them almost without thinking. Dream had been carrying a sword strapped to his hip and Slime had some sort of hatchet across his back. While the idea of killing somebody still hurt the very fiber of his soul it’d been made very clear carrying a weapon was a smart decision.
It took half an hour to catch up with them. He very nearly skipped over their camp because of how clever it was. They’d decided to sleep in a tree. That couldn’t have been comfortable. But it works.
He quietly stepped forward and scaled the trunk, freezing every time one of the other boys shifted. He reached Dream first, who was closer to the ground. Muffin. He silently cursed. He’d wanted it to be the other guy, Slime. The little respect the blonde had shown to the dead made him hope the boy would stay alive longer. But he needed a way to protect himself.
He worked quickly, thanking the years he had working in his family’s renowned bakery for his quick and steady hands. Finally the strap knotted around the sword loosened and the hilt slid into his grip.
Bad let out a quiet puff of relief and began sliding down the trunk before freezing as the blonde mumbled something in his sleep and turned toward him, almost falling off the branch.
His eyes widened when he recognized the face.
“Are we almost done?” He grumbled from inside the car, exhausted from all the walking the day had brung.
“Almost dear.” His mother laughed kindly. “Our last stop is District 9. Once we finish up there we can go home.”
“Okay…” He dragged out the word, staring boredly out of the window. It wasn’t too long before they passed the border into the ninth district, the final district that could afford buying their products, all though only barely.
“We’re here Bad. Give me a few minutes okay? We’ll leave soon so don’t wander too far.”
“Okay mom!” He had practically flung himself out of the car trying to get out of the uncomfortable atmosphere it brought, stretching out in the sunlight on the dusty road with a satisfied smile.
He turned to watch his mother greet another older man like a friend before hoisting the basket of sweets to her hip. He invited her inside and the door closed with a soft creak. Bad continued spinning in a slow circle, taking in everything there was to see as he held a muffin in one of his grubby child sized hands. He stopped abruptly upon spotting a smaller face staring out at him from the nearby woods, green eyes fixated on the muffin.
The blonde startled when he realized he’d been caught. “Wait, don’t go!” Bad called as he began to retreat, offering a big grin. “We can share it!”
“Really?” The young boy asked, voice slightly croaky, as if it hadn’t been used in a long time.
“Sure!”
Red startled him out of his memories as he quickly made the rest of the way down the tree, frustrated and exhausted. Of course that boy he’d met years ago and had completely forgotten about would end up here. He landed on the balls of his feet, trying to soften the landing before gazing up at the sky, trying to make out the kill list beyond the treeline. Oh…
Alyssa, one of his longest childhood friends, killed by the tribute he’d seen earlier, a boy named Velvet from District 5.
A ravenette with a white headband from District 10 named Sapnap, killed by another competitor named Schlatt from District 12. District 10 is out. He frowned faintly, the name sounded somewhat familiar but it was replaced with another image and he brushed it aside.
A dirty blonde with slitted purple eyes from District 8 named Purpled, killed by Velvet from District 5, the very same person who’d killed Alyssa. He shoved his bitter feelings down once more and hurried off into the night, gripping the stolen sword as he escaped, desperately trying not to think of home and the bakery and the lower districts.
A brunette with a dangerous, bordering on insane gleam in his eye from District 6 named Wilbur killed himself by eating poisonous berries.
A boy with dark green hair and even darker eyes from District 11 was killed by a snake bite that turned out venomous.
Bad manages to create a fishing rod, ending with an empty stomach but survives the second day.
The youngest competitor in the games, a blonde boy from District 4 named Tommy was killed by another competitor named Philza from District 12.
Bad remembers a song his mother used to sing to him was little and hums it under his breath as he survives the third day.
He runs into Dream on the fourth day. He sees the blonde recognize the sword. He knows he can’t bring himself to attack him. Does he remember me?
“Were you the one who killed that person at the river?” His voice is soft, sad, accepting. It’s breaking Bad’s heart.
“No.” He breathed, chest tight.
A twitch at the corner of his lips hints at a smile as the boy takes his answer without question. “Okay.”
“Where’s your friend?”
Silence before he ducks his head to stare at his boots, shading his eyes. “You’ll see.”
A shiver ran up his spine, it had felt so much like a threat at the time. They’d parted ways not shortly after. Now, staring up at the fake stars as a red figure is projected in the sky for everyone to see, he understands.
Slime, the boy Dream had been traveling with, a tribute from District 8, had fallen off a cliff and died. If it had been anybody else Bad would’ve suspected foul play. But he couldn’t bring himself to believe he’d done it, not when he’d seen the sorrow the blonde had tried to hide at the question. District 8 is gone now too.
The other death had been the teen named Schlatt, who’d been killing the other competitors without a second thought, from District 12. It had taken Bad a moment to figure out why he’d felt relief and a bit of triumph when he saw his name and face splayed across the sky before he recalled the first couple of days.
It felt like it had been years ago now.
Bad panted for breath, trying to both steady it and force it down into his chest so he’d be quieter as he pressed his back against a tree trunk, shaking. He’d only just woken up to the sun’s rays attempting to blind him when he’d heard the arguing.
Apparently there’d been a semi-large group of the remaining tributes who’d teamed up to discuss a game plan for stragglers like him and how to take them out. It’d turned into an argument and the next thing he knew there were suddenly traps erupting from the ground and people attacking everyone they could get their hands on.
One randomly flailing limb had knocked into his chin, almost dislodging his glasses as he stumbled away from them. The person, a boy with dark messy hair and a blooming black eye, had thrown himself back at him, eyes wide, almost unseeing as he was supposedly fighting for his life.
He’d almost managed to trip Bad and pin him to the ground before Dream was suddenly there, shoving him off and sprinting back toward the safety of the forest, tugging him along. Bad didn’t question it and had almost tripped over his own feet when the younger blonde let go of his hand. He could hear something crashing behind him and startled when Dream dove into a bush, hiding himself from view.
He’d followed suit, using the thick trunk of a nearby tree as cover and praying nobody would notice. The people they’d heard chasing behind him rushed past them, both gasping for air, one deadset on catching the other.
The first was a brunette, definitely leaning toward the younger spectrum of the competitors, fleeing as the teen who’d attacked Bad earlier chased after him, eyes narrowed in desperate determination. Moments later the cannon went off from behind them, where the brawl had started and he squeezed his eyes shut. Why is this happening to us?
They stayed in their respective hiding spots of bush and tree until the sounds of fighting had stopped. Every once in a while the shrub Bad knew Dream was hiding inside rustled slightly, a shiver or position adjustment from the teen.
He slipped off as sunset began approaching, wondering if he’d imagined the faint cough and sniffle coming from the blonde’s space. He brushed it aside as a new red face appeared in the sky.
The younger boy who’d been running earlier from District 6 named Tubbo, killed by Bad’s attacker, a competitor named Skeppy from District 3.
A boy with silvery white hair that reminded Bad far too much of Alyssa from District 3 named Ponk, killed by another competitor named Antfrost from District 5.
A girl with fluffy white hair that matched her name, Puffy, from District 4 killed by the very same Antfrost from District 5. Both District 4 and 6 are out now… How many of us are even left?
Velvet was dead. The dark redhead who had killed Alyssa early on in the games, from District 4 had been killed by a trap set up by Philza from District 12.
Bad couldn’t deny he was a little happy about it.
He’d stayed up all night. His brain hadn’t been able to shut up but truthfully he felt safer being aware of his surroundings. The only thing he had to be wary of was the reflecting firelight from about half a mile away but he’d already scouted it out. Upon discovering it was Dream’s camp, he’d left. There had been two other deaths last night following Velvet’s from earlier in the day.
A boy with icy calculating blue eyes named Punz from District 11, killed by another competitor named Callahan from District 7.
And the other tribute from District 4, a boy named Antfrost, killed by Philza from District 12. He’d need to keep an eye out for that one, but that was only if Bad could recognize him without getting himself killed. District 11 and 4 have been eliminated. There were no district partnerships among the remaining five.
Bad couldn’t remember who Dream’s fellow tribute had been but he found himself hoping every day to see the younger blonde, just to see if he was alive, if he had survived another night. The kill announcements weren’t enough when they wouldn’t happen again for another 24 hours. I hope he’s okay.
It was almost midnight, marking an entire week being locked inside but Bad couldn’t afford to focus on that right now.
They were down to three.
Skeppy, the only person who had actually tried to kill him, had struck again, killing Callahan from District 7. But that wasn’t what was pounding through Bad’s head as he rushed through the foliage, seeking out the fire that had seemed to make itself known in the same place over the past few nights. The fire that wasn’t lit for the first time since he and Dream had been circling around each other with an uneasy truce.
Dream had killed someone. Philza from District 12.
He had to know why.
It had been self defense. His friend, his friend, had come down with a fever. Philza had been the one to strike first, sensing the weakness and trying to take advantage of it while the blonde was sharpening a homemade dagger.
He’d heard the dry twig snap under Philza’s foot and had panicked.
Bad couldn’t bring himself to leave his side after that, not after seeing how Dream was shaking, how the bloodied dagger remained where the body must’ve fallen, clearly left untouched, how he was still sick.
He hated himself for growing attached to somebody in the middle of the games, when only one of them could survive. He knew this wouldn’t last.
None of that stopped him from holding the younger close through the night.
Nothing happened until day ten.
Dream had just gotten over the worst of his sickness. They’d been moving from one strip of forest to the open plain, skirting around the edge of the Cornucopia toward the other side of the forest that stretched around it, hoping for a little more time to come up with something. Because he couldn’t kill him. He couldn’t do that to Dream.
Skeppy had been waiting.
They’d both been weak, having lived off squirrels, berries, nuts, and very little water. The dehydration had been getting to both of them. They had a fishing rod, a sword, and a dagger between them. Neither knew what Skeppy was carrying minus the slingshot he had out with very strange shaped missiles, small and red and compacted but too large to be any natural berry.
It looked like a-
Smoke and dirt slowly drifted down as Bad propped himself up on his elbows with a harsh groan, head throbbing painfully. There were burns and bruises blossoming all across his body and he could feel a trickle of blood make its way down his face from an injury hidden by his greasy hair.
He blinked at all the blurry figures around him, desperately trying to get the world to stop spinning.
It had been a landmine. Skeppy had managed to dig one up and avoid setting it off long enough to use the sling shot to shoot it at them. He coughed, chest throbbing as his ribs shook with the movement and he felt something wet build up in the back of his lungs. That probably wasn’t good. Wait. Where’s Dream?
He forced himself to sit up with a stifled hiss, scanning the area. The ground nearly gave out underneath him when he saw Skeppy a few feet away, gazing down at Dream’s still body, blonde hair sticky with blood. No.
“No…” Skeppy turned toward him at what he thought had been whispered words, eyes filled with determination as he limped closer, knife in hand. Bad’s heart thumped rapidly as it tried to escape its own fate but he couldn’t bring himself to move or even scoot away from the pain and shock that flooded his brain.
“I’m sorry.” The dark haired boy stated firmly when he was almost standing over Bad. “But it has to be like this.”
The tip of a sword pierced through his stomach in reply.
It had been almost a month since Bad had won the Hunger Games. He remembered the freak out that had taken over the crowd when Skeppy fell to the side to reveal Dream, soaked and barely standing with the very sword Bad had stolen from him in the beginning.
He had lost his balance almost immediately after, collapsing into Bad’s arms. He remembered the despair that had consumed him when he felt Dream’s breath stop against his neck, his heart stuttering to a stop as his fingers, which had previously been clenched tightly around Bad’s hands, had gone icy and limp.
He didn’t understand why the blonde had become so important to him in only a week. How he could have possibly begun to love somebody who was supposed to be his enemy.
The sound of the door bell brought him out of his thoughts as he reluctantly moved away from the couch where he’d sat down with a book, refusing to even acknowledge the idea of turning on the TV, which were still reactions and announcements about what had happened to the other tributes and how their district had been effected.
“Yes?” He asked tiredly as he opened the door, startling when he recognized one of the members of the film crew from before the games had started. They wordlessly shoved a small torn up satchel into his hands before turning their back on him and heading down the steps.
His breath picked up despite himself. He knew this bag. He was struggling to unbuckle the strap without even leaving his front porch, desperate to get it open. It finally popped open and Bad’s heart lurched at the remnants inside.
A small, rock hard object wrapped air tight in plastic. The muffin.
