Flash Back Games (Closed)

It was silent, a dull thrum of noise in her ears, and she was in a curled up position. White noise, not from pain, but from terror and fear built in her chest like a plague.

She could vaguely make out the chatter to her left, Amadrya and Everest, talking about the chances of family and the district’s being safe. But she couldn’t care, wouldn’t care, about it.

Why?

Why should she care about the Districts? No one was alive for her, not anymore.

She wanted to laugh at the irony of the situation, her life, a constant buzz of unease and unhappiness. Fate hated her, it really, really did. Yet Louden warned them, and she knew pain would come soon.

Holly stared to her left, at Everest and Amadrya, and something like jealousy built in her chest. Even in the darkest situation, they still had someone to lean on, each other. Yet everyone Holly loved? They were gone, away from her, or didn’t love her back. Her mother was dead, her father was gone, and Burton? Button would never like a girl such as her. She was sarcastic, demeaning, and extremely secretive and blunt. He dealt with her, but it didn’t matter in the end.

Regardless, she had to come to terms with the fact that the rest of her probably short life would be full of constant pain and misery, and most likely lived out in a cell.

A small lull appeared in the conversation, and Holly’s green eyes rose towards President Louden and his peacekeepers. She wasn’t listening to him, tuning everything out, forcing herself to distance herself some. Because she knew, she knew what would happen.

That’s why she didn’t move, nor speak, nor react when they opened Everest cell and beat him. At least, she didn’t seem to, and she didn’t want to.

But as she listened to his pained grunts, every kick, and hit of a baton, her anger grew, festering and spreading like a flame. Amadrya’s cries landed on her ears spurring the internal fire, but her expression remained apathetic. She was used to misery, she could tune it out. She cried like that once, like Amadrya, for her mother, but it didn’t change anything, it only gave more fuel to the budding fire. Her annoyance built, not specifically at Everest and Amadrya, she wasn’t blind, she saw the growing feelings between the two, but they were being too open about those feelings, and Louden would use it against them.

And he was using it against them, sending a malicious grin at Amadrya, and his peacekeepers stopped. But it was all blurred and odd, she couldn’t detect the words, and she could tell by her softly speeding up breaths that she was panicking, her gaze dizzy, her anger built. Her breaths were fast, almost panicked, memories flashing in her eyes, her mother dying, her in the arena, escaping.

And what snapped her out of it was a clink, metal hitting ground, right before her, and instantly her vision cleared, and Everest was trying to escape to her left. He yelled out something, something that forced Holly into action.

“Don’t touch her!” he said, and she found herself uncurling and crawling towards the baton, and reaching forward while Louden and the peacekeepers were distracted with him. Her hand extended completely, reaching beyond the cell, the baton just in reach, but her finger’s just skimmed it.

Everest was in pain, but he was fighting back, and so could she. She heard his heavy breaths, and Louden locked his cell. He was going to hurt Amadrya, try to destroy Amadrya’s fire, to break her, and Holly couldn’t stand it.

Her fingers curled around the baton when Louden locked the cell, her fury built. How dare he cage them like animals?

“Oh, you stupid boy,” Louden started, and Holly grabbed the baton in both hands, looking at her target and taking a deep breath. She knew already what would follow, what she was risking. But if she didn’t...she would be giving in to him, letting fear control her. And right as she heard his voice pipe up again, she raised her hands back, protruding them through the bars for better aim, and as hard as she could at the moment, given the circumstances, she threw. “did you really think-“ and with a satisfying stop and a silence falling like fog over the room, she smirked, raising her head proudly, forcing her posture to raise while retracting her hands back, and crossing them.

Louden’s red face was enjoyable, his embarrassment and fury, it felt like revenge, and she forced herself to stand proud even as he changed the direction of his target from Amadrya to her.

And as soon as her door opened, and the first strike came, she forced her mind to shut off slightly, detach to elsewhere, her home, District 8, was lonely, so instead she forced herself back into the arena, with Burton and their group.

Yet still cries came with each strike, and pain enveloped her body like a body of water, slowly drowning her. Yet she refused to plead for them to stop, she refused to beg. Louden wanted her to beg, and she wouldn’t do it out of spite. Each hit increased her hate, and every blow brought her closer to breaking, but she refused to.

“I miss District 8-“ Burton had said, and she forced herself to remember the conversation, it helped her lock out the pain, and with every blow she was more engrossed in the made up world she forced herself into.

“Part of me misses it too,” she had said, sitting on the roof of their base, glancing at the skyline. “But part of me is glad to be here, because I met you,” she commented, she had known at the time that she had a tiny blush from the comment. He thankfully didn’t read too much into it.

“Yeah, Same here,” he had replied, turning to smile at her, and she had smiled back.

She had went to lay down, staring at the sky, and that’s when she broke back into reality, a hit landing on her side, causing her to curl up into a ball, a small whimper escaping her despite her best attempts.

When Louden finally decided enough was enough, and raised his hand, she glared at him, laying down still, and her hate was obvious. Of course it was, she wanted him dead, more than she had ever wanted anyone dead in her life before.

Then he warned her that he wasn’t done with her, that she already knew it. And as soon as he left...

She needed to address an issue, the issue that was the overly protective probably soon-to-be couple to her left. That is, soon-to-be couple if they survived, which they wouldn’t if they didn’t shut up.

“Are you two okay?” Amadrya questioned, and Holly normally would have even delighted by the kindness, but she didn’t respond at first, not in the way Amadrya would want. Was Holly okay? No.

She forced her emotions into her voice, careless to if her pain laced it or not, “You two need to be quiet,” she hissed “You heard the man, we need to keep our emotions to ourselves. And no offense, but neither of you have done an especially great job of that so far. If you keep acting like this he’s going to end up using the two of you against one another, and you don’t want that.”

“You’re right,” Amadrya nodded, agreeing, “of course, you’re right. I don’t want that at all.”

Holly was glad at least Amadrya understood what she was saying, but she wasn’t now in the mood for her usual silly jokes or teasing games, she had enough of Games already, and her voice came out rough and to-the-point, “Then zip it.”

“Fine, but you have to look after yourself,” Everest said, “you don’t say anything either.”

Holly did not respond. She wasn’t going to either. She wasn’t about to agree to those terms. Unlike them, no one loved her, the Capitol had no one they could use against her except herself. Both of them had some family, and she did not. She had one goal left, and that was to see Louden suffer.

Before either of her comrades could demand her agreeance, Louden returned, and she forced herself to a stand as he came before her cell. She didn’t even let him talk or begin to think of it, her voice was angry, forcing out her emotion.

“You’re never going to win!” she was saying “I’m never going to stop fighting you. You can beat me, make me speak to the Capitol in stupid frilly dresses, but it isn’t going to change anything. I’ll always hate you and everything you’ve done, and with every bone in my body I want to make sure that everyone else in Panem hates you just as much as I do.”

“Yeah-“ and just like that, Holly felt her anger boil over more, snapping her glare towards Amadrya, along with Louden. Amadrya got the message, especially after Louden’s threat of more torture to Everest, it seemed, and fell silent, and Holly glared at Louden as her cell was opened and when he went to grab her arm, she slapped his hand away, and walked out instead, and like that, a peacekeeper came and grabbed her arms, forcing her forward.

She had no idea what she was about to face, but she knew she still had plenty of anger and sarcasm all stored up for it. So when she walked for multiple minutes, and they stopped before a room, stopping at the doorway to it, where a stage sat with an empty theater, she was a bit confused, that was, until she spotted the camera.

“Smart idea,” she said, her sarcasm thick, “Put me in front of a camera, I dare y-“

“Shut it,” Louden ordered, and she closed her jaws like a snap, glaring his way. “Do as I say and maybe you can have a peaceful rest of your day,” he offered, though his voice wasn’t kind in the slightest. It was an order, but she didn’t listen to rules anyways, she wasn’t about to start. “Sit there and be silent, the example you are meant to be, and you can return to your cell and get rest.”

That’s when he walked further into, and she was still restrained by the peacekeepers around her. Yet he walked before a camera, straightening his tie quickly, and folding his hands behind himself, standing proud and tall. Yet Holly was happy to see some fury and annoyance mixed in his gaze as well, her goal accomplished.

“Citizens of Panem,” he started, boring his eyes at the lens of the camera, “Let this be an example to the tributes who escaped the Arena,” he hissed, “And to all of Panem, the price of rebellion.” The camera shifted her way, and Holly glared at Louden as she was pushed forward by the peacekeepers, though she kept her balance, righting herself, and glaring at him,

His gaze returned back on her, like he expected her to agree with him, to admit she was wrong or something. Oh please, she would never do that.

“No-“ She started, voice angry, and filled with pain as well, and her sentence was cut short, her snark silenced as a baton hit her back, sending her to the ground as more swings were taken.

Think about the arena, of Burton, and of the jokes, and of everything.

And she went silent again, her vision became blurred, and voices fell on deaf ears, her body was trying to shut itself off, push out everything happening around her.

She almost lost conscious, and Louden’s last words of warning to the others was lost to her as she was forced to her feet, a groan of pain escaped her, blood dripping from various cuts, she couldn’t even count how many.

She thought Macaria tortured her, she was mistaken.

It stopped, the beating, and several painful moments, maybe minutes passed as she gained her breath back, her gaze clearing just a tiny bit, and small, painful wheezes escaping her.

“Now,” Louden said, and she shifted her gaze upwards, the camera was pointed a new direction, and was off by the looks of it, and her blurry gaze had to readjust to her surroundings, specifically Louden’s form before her. If it wasn’t for the peacekeepers picking her up, she wouldn’t be standing. “I don’t think you can take much more, so let’s just have a nice chat.”

She growled at him, his dumb smirk, and his dumb face. Despite the blood dripping from her chin, she shot back a retort, “Yeah right!” She seethed, “It’s not going to be nice if your involved,” She snapped.

“Now, now, Holly, I think we got off to a bad start,” Louden said in reply, smirking at her glare. The peacekeepers seemed to vanish some, but she knew they were near. The ones that were helping her up set her in a nearby chair, across from Louden. A table sat next to them, two mugs lay dormant, and a knife that was in his hands was set down on it as he sat. Probably for torture or protection should he need it. She had no clue why, really, and she didn’t care.

“You think?” She snapped back, taking every chance to retort that she could.

“Why yes!” He replied, before shaking his head, “I didn’t properly know you then, but now, now I know a lot about you Miss Alandria,” he said, voice falsely calm, the annoyance still lingered in his eyes, and she found her head spinning even more with a newly set in panic.

What did he know?

“Like what?” She decided to ask, she wasn’t the most alert, but things were slowly piecing back together, and something stood out to her. He knew something about her, and what it was was the mystery. But she didn’t like that, she liked having her secrets, her walls.

He gave her a glance, “District 8, orphan,” he commented, voice smooth, watching her above a mug he had picked up from the nearby table. He even had one for her, filled with who know’s what, but she ignored it.

“Wow, it’s like you know my life’s story,” if he thought that was anything, he was clearly dumber than she thought. She felt relieved, like her stress had been for naught.

“Oh, that’s not it my dear-“ he began, but her voice snapped him out of his sentence just as fast.

“Holly,” she commented with a smirk, a bloody, angry smirk, “I prefer people to speak my name when talking to me.”

His annoyance increased, “my dear,” he repeated, “I heard of a certain event, apparently your mother and something about being hung in public?” He asked, gaze already resting on her, victory set on his face. He knew he hit a weak spot.

She froze, her breath ragged still, probably from various broken bones and her various cuts, but also possibly from the shock and upset his phrase brought her. The panic came back full swing, as did anger, and her and clenched on her lap.

She remembered the day as clear as glass, and yet she kept it locked away for a while. And he was bringing it back, to use against her. Her mom, the only person who ever truly loved her, and he was using her against Holly, and that wasn’t allowed.

“You see, I heard you cried for her, begging for them to st-“

”Stop,” she hissed out, already tensing up like an attacked animal, her voice turned from snarky to something akin to feral, demanding and oddly dangerous. He wasn’t allowed to bring her mother into his games.

“Oh, did I strike a spot?” Louden asked, sipping his tea, that ugly smirk still on his face. “Now, you don’t want to be hung like your mother, do you?”

“I don’t care what you do to me,” she snapped again, she knew her palms were bleeding, her knuckles white, from how hard she was clenching her fists. She could feel the fingernails biting into the skin. The soft sting didn’t help her calm any, it went mostly unnoticed, “Go ahead and kill me, make me a martyr for the rebels, you’ll be shooting yourself in the foot.”

She didn’t want to die, but she didn’t care. He wasn’t allowed to bring her mom into his games. He just wasn’t.

“And I heard your father left-“

“Stop!” She snapped, watching the victory build on his face. He did know, and no one should. Those were her secrets, her walls, and we was breaking through them like a hot knife through a stick of butter.

“And everyone left you-“ He added.

“I said stop!” She screamed, forcing herself to a stand, her movements no longer controllable in her fury, her panic, her need for him to stop. So when the glint of metal caught her eyes, she acted on instinct, grabbing his discarded knife from the table. It was a move he clearly didn’t expect as his eyes filled with fear. She enjoyed that, his fear. She was going to make him pay.

Feral in her actions, she turned, lunging for him next, aiming the knife at his chest with a certain bloodlust to her eyes, uncontrollable fury hidden in the emerald depths. It was quick, but the peacekeepers were fast as well...

All that registered was the gunshot, and her body hitting the ground as the knife fell from her hand, before everything faded to black.

—

Burton had awoken a little before Halina, to be greeted by the smiling faces of four individuals around him. He had thought he might be hallucinating for a moment, or that he was dead, because there was no way these people were here. There was no way. He had thought he would never see them again, in fact he had come to peace with that in the Arena.

It was clear the Arena hadn’t left him yet either; he was dirty, the dust from the air having settled in an almost permanent layer on his skin. His hair was messy, and his eyes were still wild. He was very much in survival mode still.

But he was seeing them.

And when he reached out to touch the closest figure, he realised it was all real. They were really there. The memories came flooding back; the Arena opening, Burton escaping with his friends. The hovercrafts.

And so, with a beam on his face, he embraced his family. His mother and his father, and then his younger sisters. Lea and Twylla both looked older somehow, despite the fact Burton hadn’t been gone even a month. It was clear that what had happened to their brother had taken a toll on the two girls too.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he murmured into the shoulders of the two younger girls who looked so much like him. He was sure that while he was unconscious none of the other tributes had experienced any problems figuring out whose family they were.

Over Lea’s shoulder he could see many people around him. Stylists and mentors, and the families of other tributes. He recognised the faces of the tributes in some of them. Some of them he knew had lost that children that day, the kids who hadn’t gotten out of the Arena despite the plans.

His gaze was drawn towards two figures, though. Alistair and Diana, two of the stylists for the Games that year. Diana seemed to be heading over to talk to Halina, who had just woken up. The stylist was one of the stylists who had undergone little to none of the augmentation that was so common in the Capitol. She was graceful, with cool blonde hair. But she looked concerned.

Burton looked again to his family.

“Some of the others are missing,” he realised, “where’s Holly?”

Holly wasn’t there, she was missing. Where was she? Did she not make it out? And for that matter, where were Everest and Amadrya?

But a voice on the TV screen soon answered that question.

On the television was President Louden, his eyes boring fron the television in a mixture of fury and annoyance. “-Let this be an example to the tributes who escaped the Arena,” he hissed, “And to all of Panem, the price of rebellion.” The camera shifted left, and Halina backed up at the sight, blood dripped from the figure standing to the side of Louden, bruises dappled their skin, and a hollow glance was in their eyes.

“No-“ The figure croaked, and Burton’s heart dropped seeing the brokenness, the pain. It was Holly, and Burton felt sick. She should have been safe. He shouldn’t have ran ahead, he should have stayed with her. Even if it meant being in the Capitol with her. He should have protected her, he should be protecting her now. Like she had always protected him, because that was just what they did for one another, right?

A baton swung down on Holly. There was a horrified sound, and Burton wondered distantly if it had come from him. He couldn’t really be sure anymore. He felt a sickening mix of anger, fear (on Holly’s behalf), sadness and guilt. His sisters moved closer to him.

Louden turned back to the camera, “Let this be your warning, rebels, of what happens to those who defy the Capitol.”

The room filled with a horrified silence, before it became chaos.

Burton couldn’t watch after that point, he couldn’t see the horrified reactions of the people watching, he couldn’t take the guilt. Why had he gotten out and not Holly? She was braver than him, tougher than him, and every inch more of a fighter.

His feelings for her were complicated, and their relationship no less. What were they right now? A little more than friends, less than lovers? It didn’t matter, all he knew and the only way he cared to label it was that he cared about her. They stuck together. They might have been out of the Arena but they would have still had one another’s backs like they had when they were in there. She’d had his back when he was injured, and so many other times, just like he had made sure to have hers.

How could he have let this happen to her?

It seemed he was not the only one who felt guilty; the shine of guilt that was in his own eyes was also visible in the downcast faces of Halina, who obviously felt guilty about her little murder attempt in the Arena, and Ari. The boy had obviously just realised that the same fate had befallen Amadrya that had befallen Holly.

But his gaze was taken by an unfamiliar man, someone he didn’t recognise and couldn’t link with any of the tributes in the room, or even any of the dead ones. Who was he? He looked shaken, too, by what he had seen on the camera.

Curious, Burton broke away from his sisters, to approach a small group of the other tributes. Ari sat relatively close to Macaria and Alessandro, but the boy still left a clear gap between him and them. Even in his sadness he would not be seeking comfort from those two. Understandable.

“Do any of you know who he is?” Burton asked with a nod towards the gentleman. He then fixed his gaze on Macaria. “Is he related to Everest?”

He was sure he wasn’t, since both of Everest’s parents were victors and so he was sure he would have recognised the man if he were, for example, Everest’s father.

As he looked at Macaria, he could see sadness in her eyes too, a kind of heaviness that he had never seen before. Her gaze had always been sharp and keen, intelligent and deadly. He remembered those eyes glinting at him before she wounded his leg. But now her gaze was sombre and heavy, despite the fact that Alessandro was next to her and safe.

Did she feel bad about Everest? Despite the fact that the group had broken up? Perhaps so. He was from her district, after all. It just surprised Burton to think that the District 2 girl might actually have feelings.

“No, he’s not,” Macaria confirmed, “sorry.”

The sorry was unusual. He didn’t know whether she was apologising that she couldn’t help him or whether she was apologising for something greater. His pain at losing Holly? Perhaps.

Burton could get used to this Macaria.

But now he turned his brown eyes to Ari, who seemed to be staring off into space.

“Ari?” Burton asked “is he related to Amadrya?”

“No,” Ari replied with a shake of his head “that’s her uncle and cousins over there.”

The District 7 boy nodded towards a group of four males stood together, all tall like Amadrya, and with brown hair. There was an older man who was obviously her uncle, and then three young men who were clearly her cousins. They all looked tired and heartbroken. Burton quickly realised that when Ari was staring into space he had been staring in roughly that direction.

“Alright,” Burton said with a nod, “and Ari? I’m sorry about Amadrya. It wasn’t your fault.”

He wanted to make sure Ari knew that. The younger boy nodded, but Burton got the feeling he didn’t really believe him. That was okay, he couldn’t believe that Holly getting taken wasn’t his fault either. Guilt was funny that way.

But the District 8 tribute was still determined to figure out exactly who this man is and so he decided the best way to learn the man’s identity was just to ask him directly. And so that was what Burton did, approaching the man.

“Sir?” he asked “I’m Burton, but I’m pretty sure that introduction is redundant now.”

That much was true; this man will have been watching the Games for the last few weeks and would know for sure who all of the tributes were.

“I know who you are,” the man replied, looking at Burton

“I’m sorry, I just had to ask,” Burton continued, “but a lot of the people here are family to the tributes, and I just wanted to know who you are.”

“I’m a relative of Holly Alandria,” the man said, “it surprises me that you wouldn’t recognise a family member of hers, with how much time you spent together in the Arena.”

“Holly?” Burton asked in surprise “but Holly…”

She was an orphan, wasn’t she? She had grown up alone, had no family. That much he had learned about her. Her cat was the thing she had been most concerned about leaving behind in District 8!

“I’m her father,” the man revealed

Her father?

What?

That revelation but shocked Burton and made him feel more sick. Holly’s father was here, and she didn’t even know it. Her father who had been gone for years was finally back and she had no idea. She could have known if Burton had protected her and not let her be taken by the Capitol.

He had to go, and so he excused himself rapidly and left the crowded area to explore. He wanted to know more about where they were.

The boy walked through hallways, looking around and trying for the life of him to figure out where they were. A hidden place in the Capitol? Unlikely. One of the districts? That didn’t seem likely either. Burton had no idea where the Arena they had initially escaped from had been, and he didn’t know whether they had been moved or not from that place. It seemed more likely that they had, because why on earth would they stay when the Capitol would be looking for them? No this had to be some kind of headquarters. But he had no idea where this place was.

But he walked past a room with a door that was open, and as he looked inside it seemed to be some sort of armoury. Weapons and armours in a disparity of sizes. Some for the mentors and stylists; he could see the stylists had played no small part in designing them either. A couple he identified as being for Diana and Alistair.

But he could also see armours for the tributes, dark uniforms. What? Why were they expected to fight? He could see one especially designed for Macaria, light and with a place to store throwing knives. One that was just his size. Others were clearly designed for Halina, Alessandro and Ari. But what hit him most were the other armours.

There was a uniform for every tribute who had been alive shortly before the Arena was destroyed. A one for a tall female that he could only assume was designed for Amadrya, a one for a shorter and more slight girl. It hit him with a pang; that armour was for Holly. One for Everest, one for Corvina and Sapphire and Robin and others. One for every tribute who hadn’t made it out.

And a couple of doors further down he could see TV screens again, but they weren’t showing Louden’s monologue with Holly. Instead they were showing chaos in the districts, people rioting and attacking peacekeepers. Banners with the faces of fallen tributes flying in the air.

There was a rebellion, the districts were finally turning against the Capitol. The stylists and mentors must have gotten them out of the Arena with the help of a Gamemaker sympathetic to the cause. He couldn’t help but wonder which one of the men who had been watching the tributes when they were training back in the Capitol had been the one on the side of the rebels.

But it didn’t matter now.

The Games could be brought to an end now. The 90th annual Hunger Games could be the last ever if the rebellion was successful.

And he planned to fight. For Amadrya and Everest and all the tributes who had died in the Arena.

But most of all, for Holly.