m-entities

[m-entities]

I'm sorry. Sorry for what? Sorry for the choices she had to make to go where she was destined to go? Sorry for the Cornucopia? For the nights they spent apart? The help they couldn't give each other? What was Farina, of all people, sorry for?

And then the blade cut into his fingers. It didn't sever; it hardly even scratched. But it was enough for them to release. He brought his hand in front of his face to look at the small drops of blood that started to float just above his eyesight. He couldn't feel the wind as it rushed past his ears, or hear anything as he fell. He could just look at her, with an expression of stern surprise, as she shrunk smaller and smaller above him.

You're so close, a voice said to him. You're so close, Olly Olly Oxen Free.

His face found its way to a smile. "I know," he replied to the wind.

I'm so proud of you. I'll be waiting for you.

"Okay."

He could feel his sister smile. Flor had always been there, in the Arenas and in the blades. In the guards and in the other Tributes. She would guide him, and he knew it. So when his body slammed, mangled on the tracks, he was not afraid. He felt Flor there, stopping the pain of a snapped leg from reaching his brain. She was with him as his entire body vibrated, the power of the roller coaster shaking his form to the core. And as he turned his head to see the coaster car barreling towards him, he could see her there, too, riding in the front.

Her eyes were soft and warm, the same honey brown he remembered. Her mouth was pulled into a wide smile, showing off the twisted snaggletooth that had always defined her, and her dusty brown hair billowed out behind her in the wind. Her arms were up, and she was having the time of her life. Ox laughed, feeling her joy radiating off of her memory.

She saw him, and he saw her. She smiled wide and nodded, reaching out a hand to him. He nodded back and reached out to her, though he could do nothing but lay there on the track. The cart hit his body head-on and lurched from the tracks, spiraling out into the darkness of the coaster as the first District Nine firework exploded overhead.

But Ox was still on the coaster. He was there as the memory of a cart hurtled down the tracks, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He and his sister, in the front row of the car, their arms waving in the wind as it rushed past. Their laughter bounced around the metal structure as the sun, bright in the blue sky, shone down on them. The coaster turned, spun, and looped, and Flor grabbed onto Ox's arm, shrieking in delight.

He laughed, squeezing his sister's hand. "I've missed you!" he called out over the noise.

"I'm so glad you're here!" she yelled back. "I'm so happy you made it!" The phantom coaster gently slowed to a stop, resting at an empty loading station. "But this is our stop."

He looked at the bare platform, then back at his sister. A mischievous grin pulled at his lips. "One more time?"

Flor rolled her eyes at him, but ultimately gave in. "Fine. One more time, Olly Olly Oxen Free."

With a bright smile, Ox threw his hands into the air. After a moment, Flor reluctantly joined him, and the coaster thundered off again.

She fell and rolled, watching all of this sideways and as if in slow motion. Even over her own coughing and gasping, she swore she felt the loud pop vibrate through her own body when Oxford's arm was violently torn from its socket. Something like that wasn't uncommon in Nine, they came into the apothecary from time to time. Accidents with the sythe or large equipment. If this were Nine, she could fix it right up and help take the pain away.

This was not Nine.

Trembling, she pushed herself to her feet, knife drawn. Oxfords pleas made no sense. She couldn't tell if he actually didn't know what had happened to him, or if he was trying to trick her.

Slowly, she approached the precipice where Oxford dangled. Her breaths rattled between her ribs, as though intentionally reminding her of what he'd did. What he could do.

"I'm sorry," she croaked, then stabbed the knife down into his taut fingers clinging to the railing.

[m-entities]

He could feel it. He was winning. His arm against his opponent's windpipe. Against Al's windpipe. Against Chance's. He could see them, all the Tributes in the Arena, flashing through almost like a marquee on this blank face in front of him. Farina's face never appeared.

But then she was gone. One moment, he was pressing the life into his own victory, and the next he was pressing into air. His foot, bare and beaten, twisted in the blood, which had made the metal grating slick. He fell forward only half a step, but that was all that was needed. The railing hit him just below the hips, and his giant form, following inertia, continued forward. He could see it all - the fire, the tracks, the railing, the arc of blood as his legs flipped up and over.

The only thing that stopped him from fully tumbling into the darkness was his grip. The machete clattered to the ground, threatening to drop off into the flames. His hand, wanting security, grasped, closing around the metal bar as he fell. There was a pop, loud enough to be heard over the roar of the coaster, as Ox's full weight plummeted down on his overextended shoulder and the tendons ripped bone from joint. A scream, starting deep in his stomach and boiling over from days of agony, ripped from his throat.

And there he was - dangling over the gaping jaws of the coaster, one arm made useless, but still gripping to the bar, the other flailing, trying to make purchase. And then he saw her - Farina, his District partner - the only ally he had had in the Arena.

"Farina!!" he called out, tears cutting clean lines in his ash-smeared face. "Farina - I don't know who -- someone attacked me! Farina help me!"

Her foot started to slip on the metal, wet with... something. She dropped a couple of inches, and the bar behind her was cutting into the nape of her neck now, Oxford's forearm now squeezing her windpipe.

She gasped and struggled, stars popping in her vision and what little air she was getting squeaking in her throat. Oh God, this is it, this is it, I'm so sorry Momma, this is it--

The approaching rumble of the roller coaster drowned her thoughts. Her feet slipped more as she frantically struggled for purchase, one final, clear idea striking her.

She went still, waiting until she was sure he was applying maximum pressure. If she did it right, Oxford might slip and fall forward, allowing her to slither free-- and free her throat from his arm so she could breathe again. In one swift motion, she dropped her own legs out from beneath herself and arched her back with all of her remaining strength, desperate for air again.

[m-entities]

"What the fuck?!" he replied, as if he couldn't understand what was happening. What was going on? Why was she... why was she scratching him? Pushing him? Fighting him?

It had to happen, of course. But for Farina to turn on him like this... he hadn't been expecting that. But fine. Be that way. He tried to bring his machete up, but they were locked together. The blade flicked up, and he felt it slice a small cut through his own side as he tried to use to to wedge them apart.

He grunted with exertion, and felt something give in his leg. The snake bite burst open anew, sending blood cascading down his leg. Who was this in front of him? Quarry? Summer? Who was he fighting with?

At first she thought he was playing around, or maybe trying to make her pause to hear him out. Then her back hit the metal bar, hard, and Oxford's arm was across her chest. "What the-- what the fuck?!" she demanded.

She knew exactly what he was doing now, though, and the realization stung-- he had lied to her. He had never intended for it to be one of them, only him.

The roller coaster rumbled overhead, and the scaffolding creaked. The fire drew closer, less of a distant crackle and now a constant drone.

She tried to shove back, then wrapped her hands around Oxford's arm, digging her dirt-caked nails into his skin and grunting with the effort. He was twice her size, and panic was starting to close in. This was going to be it. And it was going to be Oxford who did it, after everything.

[m-entities]

Ox gently took the offered cracker, watching her as she took the smallest, birdlike bites. For him, the cracker disappeared instantly into his mouth, consumed before she had even started another word. He gratefully took the wipes from her as well, nodding his thanks. He pulled one out, took a breath in, and slapped it on to the bite on his calf. The sting was immediate, and he bit down hard on his cheek.

"Thankssssss," he hissed on an exhale. He looked over at her, and figured now was as good a time as any to broach an awkward subject. "Any chance I could also get the machete back? I'll keep it in my bad hand."

“I’m tryin’ out here, asshole,” Finch called to no one but the open sky. She hoped a camera would pick it up, so the message would make it back to the mentor. “Thanks for the shit,” she added with a smile as she ripped open the packet of crackers and pulled one out to nibble on.

“S’uh from Mahlon. One’a Twelve’s mentors. He ain’t really around a ton, but he came through on the good stuff, so—” she shrugged. “Think I can forgive not seein’ his face much.” Finch put her unfinished cracker between her lips and pulled another from the sleeve, passing it over to Ox between her index and middle finger.

She examined the packs of wipes that were also in the canister, tearing the edge of one and sniffing it. She couldn’t decipher the writing, but the smell told her everything she needed to know. Her nose wrinkled at the harsh odor of the antiseptic, almost making her cough. “These might help you out,” she said as she tossed the open one to Ox. “For your leg.”

[m-entities]

Just leave it to fate. It was fate, wasn't it, after all - all of this. This Game. This system - just a trick of the world that cataclysmized into the two of them, being here. She wanted to split up - and he understood. He did. The longer they stayed together, the higher the chance one would have to do something neither wanted to.

And yet. It would have to happen. One way or another. If not her, someone else. If not now, later. And if now, wasn't that all the sooner? Thoughts collided in his head. Nothing made sense. Nothing at all.

His arm shot out to stop her. The machete stayed down by his side, but his free hand grasped for her shoulder. It wasn't until he had taken a step forward, shortening the distance between them, that he even realized his body was trying to push her over the railing.

"Just leave it to fate, Ox," she said impatiently, looking again nervously at the fire, hands trembling despite being clenched into fists at her side. She felt tense, strung too tight with nerves and anticipation, and standing still was threatening to send her over the edge. "Fine. Fine, if you won't, I will. I really hope it's one of us. I really, really do." She brushed past him to exit the platform in a hurry, not interested in still being here when the flames got here.

[m-entities]

A rare smile found its way to Oxford's face, small and reserved, but there. Even in the face of death, even in the face of murder, the two of them had found a moment, ever-so-brief, of joy. How they had managed it was beyond him, but it didn't pass him by.

He watched as she burrowed through the canister, and pretended not to see as she pulled out a few choice goodies. He quickly averted his eyes, though, trying to dampen his natural curiosity.

He glanced down at the actual words on the paper, reading them out. "Halfway there. Don't die, dumbass." He flicked his eyes up to her. "That's what it says. Not me. From an M.M." He furrowed his brows. "M. M. Huh, I don't know anyone with those initials."

"Oh, c'mon," Finch rolled her eyes, but she couldn't stifle the laugh that came with it. "I can't read. Doesn't mean I'm an idiot," she pointed out. Their crashing Orsini's party felt like a lifetime ago now, even if it had only been a few days. "'Sides, if it is from Orsini, I'm expectin' a big fuckin' feast in this small ass container. I know they're good for it, and they know I'd eat it."

Finch started to rifle through the container that had been dropped to her. She pulled out the small knife first, turning it over in her palm to inspect it before unceremoniously stashing it in her pocket. It would be a damn good thing to have on her from here on out, but she wasn't about to make a show of a weapon in front of Ox. Next, Finch pulled out what remained in the container: antiseptic wipes and a sleeve of crackers. "Read it for real, and I'll share with you," she offered, showing Ox the loot she'd received.

[m-entities]

Ox's head was starting to throb - perhaps the snake had been venomous, or perhaps he had just lost that much blood from its bite, and the fight with Mack, and the destruction of the Arena, and the... and the...

He blinked furiously, trying to bring his thinking back to the present. They were so high up. It was dizzying, the concept. The noise. The Arena.

"We can't go back," he fired back, his voice tense. "That fire will..." he didn't need to finish that sentence. He paused for a moment, lagging behind her. "I do," he said suddenly. "I want it to be us. Because if it's not us, then that means." His mouth pulled into a sharp line. "It should be. One of us. Who takes it home."

The flames were creeping nearer-- she could feel the sharp burn in her nose and lungs as the smoke started to choke the Arena. She startled slightly as the roller coaster roared past them, Oxford commenting on it as if on cue.

"Why would I know?" she snapped back, peering toward the edge. Her vision swam nauseatingly at the drop below, the winding metal tangle of tracks between here and there. "Oxford, I don't think we can stay up here. I think we need to run, we need to split up. I don't want it to be--" Us. Only us left. I don't want to kill you. "You know."

[m-entities]

Ox followed at a slight distance, keeping a close eye on all the things she had: all of his weapons, his bag, his canteen. His, his, his. Just his shield remained with him, buckled onto his forearm. It felt ridiculous, being led by this small girl like a dog, but with a limp becoming more and more evident, Ox knew he was in no position to lead.

So up they went. His breath didn't hitch, though, and his good leg held up just fine. All those years of running through the fields of Nine must have done something for him, though the snakebites throbbed mercilessly and the shirt tied around them had grown heavy with blood at the exertion. He leaned his back against the cold metal railing, briefly glad for the chill.

He watched with furrowed brow as a Sponsor package landed - clearly aimed at her. For a moment he considered snatching it from her; he could have. He was tall enough, quick enough. But up here, there was nowhere for a fight to happen. So playing nice was the only option. He took the small paper from her, speaking for the first time since they had left the tide pool behind.

"Private party for Spurius Orsini," he said, his face deadpan.

"Kinda," Finch answered. "I've been around this area a bunch now, so I know my way around a little." Ox seemed steady enough for the trip. "That slide," she pointed up to the funnel. "S'like a big bowl. Way up high like that? I don't think any animals are gettin' up there." Breaking through the gate might be a challenge, but beyond that it was just stairs. If Ox could walk fine, then he could probably manage them if they went slowly. Finch moved to the front of the pool, helping Ox collect his belongings so he wouldn't have to lug as much with him. "Jus' carryin' 'em," she told him, so he didn't think she was running off.

Finch moved mostly in silence. Occasionally, she stopped to make sure that Ox hadn't fallen behind. When they reached the gate to the water slide, there was a sign and a padlock warning potential visitors away, but Finch couldn't read the sign, so it didn't much matter to her. The padlock, on the other hand, was an inconvenience. She could probably scale the fence, but she figured Oxford's injury would keep him from doing the same. She flipped the machete in her hand so the hilt was down, and she used the blunt force of it to hack at the padlock. To her surprise, the padlock was rusty, and it didn't take much strength to get it to crack. A little elbow grease and a bit of sweat on her brow, and Finch was pleased to see the lock clatter to the concrete below. "Easy," she stated, pushing the gate open.

The climb up the stairs seemed never ending, and both she and Oxford had to take a few breaks before they'd managed to make it to the top. When they were all the way there, Finch practically crumpled to the ground, crossing her legs beneath her and leaning back on the bars of the railing fence. She was exhausted, but she felt safer up there-- with an incredible view of the Arena-- than she had on the ground. As she sat catching her breath, the soft chime of a gift sounded in the distance. It grew louder until the parachute was in sight, close enough to pluck down out of the air. "Read it for me?" She asked, peeling off the note and passing it to Ox as she popped open the container to dig inside.

[m-entities]

Ox's voice responded before his hand did. He was roaring in pain long before he felt it - perhaps that was the most miraculous thing of all; that his voice knew what his body didn't.

"FUCK YOU!" He screamed, trying to tear his hand from her bite. But when it didn't budge, his other hand came careening around the corner too, leading his body to pivot and bring a fist down at her head. His knee tried to lash out too, but only found the hard brick of the building as he mistimed his turn.

If it was a fucking fight she wanted, it was a fight she'd get - and whether that was blood pounding in his ears or the thrumming of something else, he'd just have to deal with later.

Mack thought of responding, but her mouth was salivating, her tongue tingling numb. Ox's voice was a bane and a boon. He'd hunt her, fight her, but she wanted that. Mack was tired of running, tired of dodging and weaving, ready to draw more blood.

So when Ox swung, Mack dove toward the blade, or, rather, a few inches above, clamping her teeth down into the skin of his hand and wrist. If it was going to end poorly for her, like he promised, then it would fucking end for them both.

[m-entities]

Finally on the ramp, Ox took a moment to look behind him. The flames seemed - at least momentarily - stymied by the concrete walkways, and while the heat came across in waves, it appeared that there was a moment's breath to be had. But he knew it wouldn't hold long, and the fire would find something new to devour and endanger them.

"No," he said, his breath heaving in his chest. "Just sprung up. I was hiding out by some food stall, and a buncha sparks just hit it. Went up instantly." He led the way forward and up the ramp. The coaster thundered overhead. "What's up with this?" He didn't want to say it, but he could feel they were close. The two of them.

She’d never felt worse in her life, like she was adrift somewhere between life and death. Everything hurt, she was completely drained, and she had half a mind to walk into one of the rides that looked deadliest and declare it all over.

Instead, Oxford emerged into her field of vision, urging her to run. Her body listened— she wasn’t even sure why that worked, but it did, maybe a survival instinct born into her from a long, long time ago that her body knew, but mind didn’t.

She followed him up to the platform, realizing he was yelling about fire— and sure enough, there seemed to be a bright, hot wall of flames seizing the corner of the park, threatening to swallow more. She had seen enough prairie fires to know it would be on them in a few minutes time.

“Did you start that?” she blurted suddenly, turning so quickly toward Oxford she had to grab onto the railing for balance with one hand.

[m-entities]

"This doesn't end well for you!" He barked out, still continuing his march forward. Maybe whoever this was would be like the girl at the Cornucopia, all those years ago. Had it really only been days? It seemed impossible - especially given that all he had to show for it was a snake attack and some light sunburn. Ox didn't like the thought at the back of his head, telling him You have this. You're going to go home. Only a few more.

If this Tribute was like the girl from Ten, it would be a simple matter. An intimidation, a pleading, a begging to be let go. But he wouldn't let them go. If it was a fight? So be it. He had a shield and was easily the biggest person in the Arena. If it was an animal? Who cared. It, too, would die.

Ox approached the corner of the building carefully, choosing not to call out again. It had to happen. It had to be now. With a lunge, he swung the machete at chest height around the corner.

Mack clutched the sunscreen, the bottle in one hand, Cain's note in the other.

For soft-skinned kiss asses. -C.G.

It made her smile, the first spark of joy she'd felt since being thrown into the arena. Mack slipped the paper into her pocket and flipped open the sunscreen, the smell stronger than she imagined. In response, she crinkled her nose. It lathered easily, the whitecast lingering, and Mack wondered if this was what the Capitol smelled like in the summers. If this was what Cain smelled like then.

There was a noise in the distance, and Mack paused, snapping the bottle's lid shut. She slipped it into her pocket, eyes searching between the rides, catching the shadow of a figure stretching out on the pavement and deciding she wasn't interested in sticking around. Mack dove behind a building, but it was too late. They'd spotted each other. There was no ignoring it.

[m-entities]

Ox nodded, trying his best not to look at all the blood in the water. How much of it was his? How much of it was the snake's? He rolled sideways, wincing at the pain in his calf. However, it seemed mostly to be just shock than actual injury, because as he brought himself to standing, he found his leg held up quite well.

He took a few steps forward, sloshing out of the water, and was relieved to find his leg still supported him. However, he could feel the warmth as blood ran freely from the multiple bite marks. "I think... I think I can walk," he said, gently approaching his stuff. He scooped up the damp tee-shirt and took a moment to wrap it around most of the holes in his leg, where it instantly stained a dark red.

"I don't know that I'll be running from anything anytime soon, so maybe you're right. Somewhere outta the way might be best. You know a place?"

Finch held the machete in her hand, not quite ready to give it back to Oxford. He could probably kill her without it, and she didn't need to give him the added leverage. Instead, she let the hand with the blade drop to her side. She wasn't going to turn it on Ox, but she wasn't giving it up either.

She gazed down at Oxford's leg with a grimace, but the true extent of his injury was hard to make out in the water. There was blood, but it was impossible to tell how much, and she didn't know if the snake was venomous. Either Oxford would be fine, or he'd be dead any second. Finch didn't have anything to help him, so she'd sort of done what she could either way. "I wasn't gonna leave ya," she admitted honestly. "I get we're all doin' what we gotta do." Finch had killed, but it wasn't like she'd wanted to. She'd been attacked. She wasn't looking for bloodshed. "But that ain't really my style."

"Can ya walk?" She asked. "Since they cut the power the Arena's been crawlin' with animals. Might be good to get somewhere outta the way, but if your leg's gonna be tricky, maybe don't push it."

[m-entities]

@farina-bancroft

Oxford had lost track of the cannons and the fireworks. He had lost track of the faces in the sky and of the locations in the park. He had lost track of the last time he had eaten, of the last time he had water, and - most of all - the number of Tributes he had killed with the machete still clenched tight in his fist.

His leg was in rough shape. His foot had gone numb from the lack of shoes, or the snake's attack, or from something different altogether. He could feel the numbness working its way up his leg, but for now, it was still functional. And that was all he needed - to keep moving forward.

Sparks were flying through the air, briefly illuminating the otherwise dark night. Lamps flashed on and off, fires were building. And all Ox could do was move forward. A figure appeared ahead of him. He slowly raised his machete, but then he clocked who it was. "FARINA!" He roared, dropping the blade to his side and rushing forward.

"Farina, we have to move! The fire is -- the fire --" He indicated behind him, where hazards abounded. He pointed forward over her shoulder, where a roller coaster thundered along. "We gotta get to the queue!" An inclined ramp led up towards the coaster, where the flames wouldn't be able to reach them.

[m-entities]

Almost as soon as the fight had started, it was over. The giant snake released its tension, and with a concerted effort, Ox was able to pry the beast's fangs from his leg. But now he was in quite the predicament: he was hurt, and another Tribute had his machete.

"It... uh. Yeah." He stayed where he was, seated in the water, not wanting to provoke an attack. It was stupid, he immediately realized, to admit he was hurt. "Not too bad, though," he quickly attempted to right-size.

He considered Finch for a second. If he could get his hands on her, he could probably still deal with her. But not while she had a blade. No - the better play was diplomatic. Gentle. "Thanks," he said. "You coulda just left me. Appreciate that you didn't."

It seemed that in the past few days, Finch had lost track of everyone. She couldn't find Ash or Mack, Farina had disappeared, even Linden was nowhere to be found. So, Finch had existed on her own. It was strange to be a person without a group. It wasn't the hunger that was getting to her, although her stomach growled ravenously. It wasn't the thirst in the stretches between being able to refill her large cup. It wasn't the heat and humidity, even though sweat clung to her skin with nowhere to go. No, it was the loneliness that gnawed at Finch-- constant and pervasive. Finch found the Arena was a place of deep loneliness, and the alternative of trusting anyone for more than a moment might've been a deadly risk she wasn't quite sure if she could take.

She'd spent most of her time since the first day hiding. She hid at night while the guards patrolled. She hid last night, when the guards never came but the darkness did. Without anything to defend herself, Finch hid from the mutts that prowled the Arena, and she hid from the tributes who prowled along with them.

Finally, on the fourth day of the Games, Finch made her way back to the water park area of the Arena. She knew it better than the other areas of the park, and by now, she was pretty sure she understood most of its threats and rewards. Maybe she could swing by the Surf Shop again, or clean herself in the pool like she'd done a few days before. She could look for food or refill her water.

Instead, she found Oxford already having claimed the pool, which was significantly more shallow than the last time she'd visited. Ox and her had gotten along okay in the Tower, but all bets were off here, and Ox was a massive guy compared to Finch. She'd just grab some of his stuff while he was distracted and be on her way. Finders keepers was a fine enough rule in Twelve, it'd work all the same here. Or at least that's what she thought as she surveyed his things outside of the pool and picked his machete up in her hand, testing its weight.

Suddenly, she heard Ox shout, and it made Finch jump with the fear that he was shouting at her. Finch's head snapped up, finding Oxford trying to drag himself out of the water towards her and towards the blade. Her gaze traveled a little farther, and her eyes locked in horror on the snake that coiled around his waist. Finch could've left him. It would've been the smart thing to do to grab whatever valuables Ox had and leave him to die-- one less tribute between her and freedom-- but she couldn't do that. At the end of the day, it just wasn't who Finch was, and no Capitol death game was going to make her into a person that left someone to die.

Finch darted into the water, her shoes splashing noisily through the shallow depth. She raised the blade high and brought it back down again, hoping it would embed itself in the flesh of the snake instead of Oxford. The snake hissed as the machete sunk deep into its flesh, blood seeping out into the draining water. Finch yanked the machete out, and with a guttural noise, she threw it down again. She hacked and hacked until the snake twitched and fell off of Oxford, limp into the water. "You okay?" She asked, panting as she used the tip of the machete to float the dead snake down toward the deeper end of the pool. "Did it bite ya?"

[m-entities]

@mack-montresor

It had been an awful day. His leg was still throbbing, with a small trickle of blood still running down from the snake's bite. Oxford's bag was gone, and with it a knife and a canteen, but he still had his shield and machete, so that was something. His shirt was still soaked, and now torn so badly it may as well not exist. Maybe he should have chased Finch down and killed her - but with his leg in this state, it was unlikely he could have without grievous injury. So fine. She could have his stuff. He had what he needed, and she'd be back soon enough.

The sun beat down on his shoulders, granting brief moments of warmth between his body racking with shivers from the chilly water. The metal of the shield on his forearm only worsened the sensation but Ox was fully unwilling to leave it behind.

Maybe it was the thirst, maybe it was the sun. But something moved ahead of him, direct in his path. At this point, it didn't matter: animal, guard, Tribute... if it moved, he would attack. He had to. He raised his machete to parallel and lifted his shield, continuing his relentless march forward.

[m-entities]

@finch-farran

Oxford had never been so glad to see the sun. The third day passed without much interest - perhaps there were other fights or actions happening across the Arena. Oxford had done his best to stay hidden, feeling more confident now that his shield from Enna provided him with a bit of a buffer between whatever might come at him. He tried not to think of the previous night, but it was no use: all throughout the day, he could see the face of 2 and Al as they fell to his machete.

He walked gingerly forward, the bruises from his fight with 2 growing deeper by the minute. There was no rhyme or reason to his exploration; he simply wanted to find someplace new that would allow him to hide out from the sun for a while. He found it in the way of an abandoned popcorn stand - the food was inedible, but at least the roof kept the sun off of his back.

Evening fell faster than he would have guessed, and Ox felt the need to hide from the guards. But after the faces flashed across the sky (including Al from Seven, and apparently Quarry Pitts from Two, but notably excluding Farina), the announcement about security that had rang out the past two nights didn't repeat. Instead there was a dull, electronic hiss, and many of the residual lights went out. Darkness - again.

Oxford fell into a fitful sleep. He was cramped in the small stall, and it seemed like movements were everywhere outside. But he couldn't fight his own exhaustion, and he eventually did pass out. The morning sun woke him all too soon, though, and he knew he had to strike out again.

The dull morning sun lit his way forward as he crept from shadow to shadow as best he could. That's when he saw it: the water park. With a short bark of relief, he rushed forward towards the tidal pool.

His approach was halted, though, by the overwhelming chemical smell of the water. It was clearly unfit to drink. That was a disappointment, to be sure, but that wasn't all water was good for. He approached cautiously and dipped a toe in. The water was lukewarm, and he didn't immediately feel any pain. He sunk his whole foot in, and was relieved to find it overwhelmingly welcoming. With a choked sob of gratitude, he dropped his gear, including his shield and bag, at the shallow end of the pool, and waded in up to his knees. He dunked his machete into the water, and watched in fascinated horror as days of blood washed away into the pool. Satisfied that it was clean, he gently tossed the blade back to rest with the rest of his stuff.

He waded out a bit deeper into the water and gently peeled his shirt off over his head. Dried blood cracked and popped as it failed to glue the fabric to his skin, and his bruises screamed at him with the effort, but he was glad to find very little of the blood was his. His arm was still scraped from his fight with Mack, and he could feel his face also bearing the battle wounds, but otherwise he was in pretty good shape.

He dunked the shirt under the water and it, too, created trails of red in the artificial blue. He gently dabbed at his body, cleaning viscera from his arms, his face, his torso. It was such a relief. He took a moment and sat on the bottom of the pool, allowing the water to reach about up to his shoulders, and briefly submerged his head, taking a moment to scrub the past few days out of his hair. The chemicals gently bit into Mack's scratches, but it was almost nice. It felt like healing, in a way.

It was odd, he realized, that the water was so stagnant. He could see from the blue tiling that the pool was meant to have much more water than it currently did. He scanned out over the pool and saw the culprit. A miniscule whirlpool could be seen, slowly turning a massive amount of refuse and greenery. There was a drain there, nearly fully clogged by debris. The pool must have been draining all night, but with the blockage could only drain so much. Oxford wasn't complaining, though. As long as there was water here, he would relish in it.

Ox knew it was stupid, perhaps, to spend the full day so exposed. Water was needed soon - he could feel the parching of the back of his throat. Hunger, too, was starting to gnaw at his belly. But there was something peaceful about this morning - at least as peaceful as the Games could ever get. So if he could grab a few hours, or even just a few minutes of reprieve, he was going to take it.

He spread his shirt out to dry in the sun, and then laid down next to his gear, tucking his hands behind his head and letting his feet dabble in the shallow water. The cool tiles were a balm on his back, and the sun wasn't yet blazing enough to be uncomfortable. Instead, it felt like a warm blanket against his bare chest.

Ox's eyes fluttered shut. Perhaps if they hadn't, he would have seen the only sign of danger: a small ripple on the surface of the water. But even if he had seen it, would he have known? Or would it have just been seen as his own doing? Either way, Oxford was fully unprepared for the attack.

He felt the fangs sink deep into his calf before any other sense had a chance to register. His sight was next: he looked down to see the snarling, smiling face of a giant snake emerging from the water. Even before the pain set in, the massive anaconda had begun wrapping itself around his leg.

Then the pain hit. It was worse than anything the had felt in the past days, and in fact, his life. An acidic gouge, deep into his leg. He tried to yank his leg away, but this snake was way too strong and way too heavy. It lashed out with its body, jerking Oxford to the side. He kicked at it's face, but its eyes retracted into its skull, and his attacks went useless.

His machete. Where was his machete? He grappled for his shield, his blade, anything. But the snake had pulled him towards the water, the tiles slick against his skin. He yelled in frustration and did the only thing his body could think to do: he grabbed the snake by the head. He dug his fingers under its mouth, hoping to pry it from his leg.

The snake lunged again, hissing. Ox wasn't fast enough, and it managed to reposition itself higher on his leg, wrapping more of its serpentine form around him. It pulled back, and Ox was yanked up to his waist in the water.

"NO!" he roared, trying to reach for his blade again - but it was no use. It was out of reach, and this snake was only getting stronger the deeper into the water it got. He hammered his fist on the snake's head, nose, eyes. No - this would not be how he went out.

[m-entities]

A silver parachute drifts slowly to the ground. Attached is a canister containing a shield. Inside is a note from Enna Lydonsbee. The note reads "To keep you protected. -E.L."

"Thanks, Enna," he muttered genuinely, hopefully low enough that a guard wouldn't hear but loud enough that a camera might. He quickly strapped it on his forearm, and was pleased to find the machete still swung perfectly fine around it.