The Games - A YouTuber Fanfic

The Games Part Eight

(DISCLAIMER: THIS PART CONTAINS SCENES OF VIOLENCE AND STRONG LANGUAGE. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.)

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DAY FOUR – SECOND DAY OF THE GAMES

Mitchell woke up to the sound of his teeth chattering. A fierce wind was whipping around him, chilling him to his core.

“What the f-fuck?” He said aloud, wrapping his arms around himself for warmth. Overnight the lush jungle had frozen over and snow blanketed the ground everywhere he looked. After almost getting killed by Chris yesterday, Mitchell had spent the rest of the day hiding in a thick patch of underbrush, undetected. Once night had fallen, he’d gathered up the biggest leaves he could find and draped them over himself for warmth. He snuggled in to the little hole the plant life made around him, and slipped into a dreamless sleep.

Shivering, he stretched his legs out and shook his arms trying to put some life back into them. He brought his hands together and blew air into them, rubbing them together for warmth.

“How t-the f-f-fuck is it s-no-wing?” He stammered out to no one, trying to peer out of his hiding spot. The snow had fallen so thick; it was almost burying him inside his makeshift fort. He had to get up and get his body moving, or the cold would kill him first. He struggled to stand, his legs atrophied from sitting in the same position for so long. He pushed the plants away from him, thick clumps of snow cascading around him. Stumbling, he walked forward to fully take in the scene around him.

Most of the trees in the jungle had fallen under the weight of the snowstorm, reducing the rich landscape to nearly nothing. Mitchell realized with dismay how easily it would be to get spotted now without the protection of the trees. He looked up and scanned the horizon, his eyes landing on a small range of mountains a short distance away.

“Mountains? How are there mount-“ Something occurred to him then and he left the thought unfinished. If he started now, he could make it to the mountains by midday, and find a warmer place to camp out. He bowed his head against the sharp wind, folding his arms tightly around himself. He then began his slow walk, shaking the remaining numbness from his legs as he went.

*

Phillip DeFranco struggled to open his eyes and immediately knew he was in bad shape. His encounter with Ben the day before had left him brutally injured. After sprinting from his place under the fallen tree, he saw Ben engaging in a fight with an unarmed and terrified Destery.

“Hey! Leave him alone!” Phil had called out, raising his long sword high. Ben had spun around and advanced towards him instead, and Destery took the opportunity to flee. Phil’s first mistake was calling to him, the second was thinking Ben was going to stop coming at him. When Ben reached him he shoved him back hard, unexpectedly. Phil went sprawling backwards, his left shoulder colliding painfully with a boulder. Phil reflexively dropped the sword in his hand to clutch his shoulder, his third mistake. Ben leaned over him delivering blow after blow to his face before picking up Phil’s sword. He pointed it at him level with his throat and laughed. He’s lost it, Phil thought. He raised the sword to Phil’s cheek and slid the blade across it, blood spilling from the deep gash into his mouth, where it mingled with the blood from his broken lip. Phil spat on the ground and tried to stand but Ben pushed him back down.

“Consider this a warning, DeFranco.” Ben hissed menacingly inches from his face. Phil could already feel his right eye swelling shut. Ben stood up and started to walk away then quickly spun around and sunk the blade deep into his shoulder, exiting through his back and pinning him to the ground. Phil thrashed around crying out in agony. Laughing, Ben removed the blade and walked away leaving Phil bleeding on the ground.