7- The Bloodbath

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There was nothing but white noise in his ears the second the canon went off and the games began. He jumped off the podium and landed on the dirt ground with a thud, racing to the closest backpack and not stopping as he slung it over his shoulder and turned right. Leaving a trail of dust swirling the ground around him, he pumped his arms and breathed in deep, ignoring the falling bodies and screams around him. A knife flew just past his shoulder, but he refused to see its victim, eyes zoned in on the cluster of buildings in the direction Shoto revealed.

He sprinted fast, targeting on a large building that promised shelter, and willed his legs to move fucking faster as he became hyper-aware of his environment. In the few seconds since the game started he'd heard nothing but his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, but now the deafening sound of the canon going off every time a Tribute was killed was too frequent for his liking. No doubt the careers were having a fucking field trip in the Bloodbath. 

There was a figure in the far corner of his vision, so he slipped between two buildings and prayed the hanging glass shards of whatever windows were left didn't fall and fucking impale him. He ran and ran until air became scarce, deciding to head into a small high-rise block of derelict flats, both for shelter and to scout for anything useful. 

Of course all of the taps had no fucking water, or what came out was so dirty even the purifying tablets wouldn't do much for whatever was floating around in it. The cupboards were empty but he found a small packet of crackers that he stored for later. Crackers would last, but he might end up needing them soon due to the lack of game likely to be living in this kind of arena. He scouted the three apartments before hiding out in the second one, finding a window that provided cover but also a direct view of the north-east. 

No matter how hard he looked it was wasteland for miles, he couldn't fucking see whatever Shoto was guiding him towards. But he had nothing else to do but to move, stay aware and keep surviving, so he would head north-east until the fucking barrier electrocuted him. Well, he would fucking watch out for it, he wasn't an idiot. 

All the running and manic searching left him huffing for breath and exhausted, so he moved a tattered chair over to the window and sat down, hauling his backpack off his shoulder to check what he'd scored. 

◢✥◣

Piercing blue eyes tracked his every move, as he added to the bets and focused his screen on one particular Tribute.

"He scored high in the assessments." a rough voice mused, stern but refined due to the group around them.

"I've got a high wager on him. It would be a waste not to see how he fares."

"A wager, you say? Let's hope you aren't wasting my money."

"Of course not."

◢✥◣

A fucking cantine. Deku the fucking nerd was right. It wasn't big, but the cool black metal promised a good amount of clean cold water if only he could find a fucking water source. There was also a small black sleeping bag, glasses with a weird tint that made his eyes burn when he tried them on. He hoped they were night-vision glasses, that would be kinda bad-ass. There was a small box of matches at the bottom, so a fire would be possible to keep him warm as long as he found shelter to hide the light. 

It wasn't too hot right now, but the possibility of freezing nights wasn't completely out there knowing the sick minds of the Gamesmakers. 

Whilst regaining his energy the canon went off eleven times in a row, revealing eleven Tributes had been killed. Fuck, he was pretty sure it hadn't even been an hour into the games and nearly half the kids were dead. He knew the Careers were responsible for most of them, unless one Tribute was dumb enough to trip over a spear and have it impale them. It had happened once, and Bakugou had laughed before he grew older and understood the fucking horror of the games. 

The Careers were taught to fight since birth, and probably knew how to kill someone ten different ways. It was technically illegal, but since Districts 1 and 2 were always cosying up to the Capitol the bastards got away with a lot more than everyone else. If anyone in his District tried fighting with a sword it would have been shot out of  their hand in an instant. He wondered whether they were fed the same brainwashing shit about the saviour that was the Capitol and how The Hunger Games was a chance at repentance and eternal glory.

By the end of this, he'd probably only win back his life and eternal mental health issues. He could already feel the strain of remaining hyper aware, eyes constantly drifting between the window and door that he'd barricaded in with a table. For his own sense of safety he held his knife firmly in his hand, having put the water purifying tablets in his backpack, and was flipping it back and forth, deciding to wait a little longer before making a move...

The sun was beginning its descent by the time he left the building, moving slowly and silently down the dusty stairs before making his way through the wasteland city. The shards of glass in window panes now glowed a dangerous orange, almost a red colour, and he imagined some of them dripping with blood by the time the games were over. No doubt a Tribute with some brains would put them to use. 

But Bakugou wouldn't. He was there to tough it out and survive, he wouldn't take another innocent life. Even one of the Careers. Only if it meant life or death would Bakugou make sure he was the one walking out alive.

There wasn't anything to guide him, to assure him that he was heading in the right direction and not somehow circling right back to the fucking Cornucopia. But he trusted his gut and didn't look behind him, only checking around corners and in shadowy doorways. Once, he heard the thudding sound of boots on the ground sprinting right behind him, but they soon disappeared into the distance and all he could hear was his own breaths and his own footsteps, steady and strong. 





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