Fluid || Finnick Odair

9

It wasn't a surprise that Rio awoke with a start the next morning. In the recent week or so, he had been through more than anyone could have possibly imagined. Now, he would see the fruits of his labour. He would see whether or not he was worth saving.

Today was the last day he might ever live. The Bloodbath was known for wiping tributes out left right and centre. Who was to say he wouldn't be one of them... he wasn't immune to anything, and this was real.

     For the entire morning, Rio saw no one but Kis, not even Ondine. The final dressing into the clothes that he would die in happened beneath the arena itself. His team prepped him before they travelled, but still, it did not detract from all of the thoughts running through his mind.

     They had a strategy. Finnick had drilled it into his mind. If he didn't want to work with anyone, that was okay. If he wanted to run and hide, that was okay. If he wanted to fight, that was okay, as long as he protected himself. He just had to put himself first. His family would be, his team would be, so he was the last one who had to. On reflection, it wasn't much of a strategy, but it would work.

     When the hovercraft picked them up, there was a sinking feeling in Rio's stomach. If he thought that he could escape, then he was wrong. From this moment on, he was a goner.

     His hands grasped onto the ladder which had been dropped down; it lifted him inside in seconds flat. A woman came to him, metal device in hand, before sticking it into his arm. Only then did they explain that it was a tracker. It was the nail in his coffin. Every move he made, they would see, they would know.

     President Snow must have been one sick bastard.

     They had lain a table fit for forty kings. All of it was for him. Though, he wasn't stupid. Despite the sickness he felt in his stomach, Rio knew that the best option was to eat. He didn't know how long it would be before he had the opportunity to again. Though, he would have to be careful, because if he ate too much then he would incapacitate himself.

    Everything they offered could have been a trick, or it could have been genuine help. They knew exactly what they were doing. It was a good thing that Rio did too.

     The fruit was as delicious as it always had been, only now there was a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. He supposed that it was him, and not the food. Once in a while, he was allowed to be petty. Today he was allowed to be petty.

     They were taken into a room beneath the arena, and Rio knew what it was. For as long as he could remember, they'd called it the stockyard, though that was only slang. It was the launch room. This was the last room he would ever see, most likely.

Everything was new there. The floors were pristine, the furniture bespoke, and the most grand mirror hung on the largest wall. They were built especially every year for the new arena. He was the first tribute to ever set foot in that room. He would also be the last.

What a dreadful existence he lived, if it could be called that. Rio was more inclined to call it hell, because there was nothing else he could compare it to.

Kis sat him down on the most comfortable chair he could fine. It was just them. He sent the others away as soon as he was able. He believed that in what may have been his final hours, Rio deserved to say whatever he liked. With so many others there, it was near impossible to coax out the truth.