𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐈𝐄 ━━ finnick odair ✓

𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. ( family )

           By the time we find civilization, we're uncomfortable at the prospect. Months on the road have left us wary and unprepared for contact. The catalyst for these revelations is only a simple dilapidated barbed-wire fence, but it sparks hot debate nonetheless.

"I don't think we should risk it," Gloss says, fervently shaking his head. "If we've crossed into District 8, it means we're under a thousand miles away from District 13. It won't be more than two months of travel."

"Yes, but it could be only a few hours of travel if District 8 is aligned with the rebellion now," Ronan argues. "They could call for a hovercraft from District 13 in minutes."

"What do you think?" Gloss turns to me, fogged breath billowing out in front of him.

"I think we should keep moving alone. Slow and steady wins the race, you know," I answer.

"Fast goes faster. That wins the race. Always," Ronan retorts, eyes rolling.

"You've never heard of the Tortoise and the Hare ?" I ask, pleasantly reminded of posing the same question to Finnick eons ago on my Victory Tour.

"You're not helping my case." Gloss groans and turns away from me. "You're rash, Ronan, you make decisions that get people caught."

"Since when are you the authority on curbing impulses?" Ronan fires back. "You were the one who wanted us to find a train back in District 9, and we see how well that worked out."

"I have impulse control," Gloss scoffs, hair swishing as his head shakes.

"Did you or did you not have sex with a seventeen-year-old on a whim?" Ronan glares.

"In my defense, I was young and dumb at twenty-seven years old. Also she was eighteen, not seventeen." Gloss smirks at me, I can't help but to laugh.

"Neither of you are good at impulse control," I meditate. "I'm the only over-thinker here, and I say we keep walking."

In the end, our two against one argument somehow concedes in Ronan's favor. He at least agrees that we should try to find a small outpost first before charging into their central hub. The plan is information extrapolation in order to gauge how safe it is. In theory the small villages won't have many peacekeepers present, just few enough that we could fight our way out if necessary. Gloss's inventory of our four bullets leaves us jumpy and irritable on our walk. Nobody mentions that it won't be enough to last us two months if we do have to keep trekking, no matter how accurate Gloss's aim is.

Our formation is tight, on guard, with Gloss in front and Ronan taking up the rear. All of our heads are on swivels, taking in as much of our surroundings as possible. Not an hour later, we see the telltale sign of smoke on the horizon. Gloss points it out and pulls up short. My heart thumps in my chest as we brainstorm a plan. It's filled with more heated debate, each of us running on a short tempers from tension. It takes impossibly long to finally settle on something.

The land is flat, so we'll be spotted soon enough without the opportunity to scout. I'm supposed to enter the settlement first, being that I'm the least recognizable right now between the short lop of hair and skeletal form. I shouldn't draw any attention to myself, instead just try my best to observe what I can and come straight back to the other two to report. I wholeheartedly agree that it should be me doing it, despite Ronan's fretting. It's the safest option.

Though my agreement was stout and assured, my resolve to bravery crumbles when I find myself actually breaching the border to the tiny town. There's a few rows of houses organized around a central street. There's maybe fifty homes in total, none larger than one or two bedrooms, most just small square plots of brick and wood. There's a well in the center of the block and two large buildings that look like a school and a warehouse respectively. Way too late in my exploration I realize that there's no shot blending in. There's nobody in the streets, everything is completely empty.