Merome One-Shots

The Hunger Deans

Mitch closed his eyes, willing the horrific scene to disappear. When he opened them, it was no different. The iron plate under him was identical to the other twenty-three plates under the feet of the other twenty-three contestants. The ring of people, human and otherwise, all looked just as annoyed as he felt. He was here. The Hunger Games.

"Couldn't you have taken me to a nice restaurant instead of killing and eating people?!" A Bacca in a suit, to his left, screamed. Mitch looked around, but everyone else just seemed confused, or hadn't heard the Bacca's shout.

Brushing it off as nerves, or simply insanity, Mitch looked around. Thankfully, he recognized none of the other tributes. At least he wouldn't have to deal with pain of a friend's death, just a stranger's.

He heard a gong-like clang. Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight.

The Bacca next to him started shouting and waving his paws at Mitch. The dull bong of the counter faded away as Mitch strained to catch his words. "Biggums!" The Bac was shouting. "We gonna crush some skulls!" He grinned to himself, as if it were a sort of joke.

Mitch shook his head. "Clearly insane," he muttered to himself, turning away even as he failed to suppress a grin. He focused his attention back to the counter.

Twenty-eight.

The person next to him was staring at him. He blatantly copied the tribute's slack-jawed expression, chuckling when the person looked shocked. He turned back towards the center.

Twelve.

He suddenly noticed, across the arena, on a ring opposite him, a girl wearing clothes identical to his checkered jacket and jeans. 'Pay attention,' he mentally scolded himself.

Four.

Mitch braced his legs, casting a last sly glance around.

Three.

He was surprised to see the Bacca standing, backwards, on his plate.

Two.

"Turn around!" Mitch yelled over at him. He didn't know why, but he felt inclined to help the Bac.

One.

The Bacca glanced at him, grinned, and wheeled around, instantly leaping from his place just as a loud shrieking was heard.

Zero.

Mitch raced forward, all the other tributes blurring in his vision. He rushed to the center, grabbing a stone axe in one hand, some carrots in another.

Aided by some long-ago instinct, he whirled around to find a tribute raising his fists over Mitch's head, about to strike. Mitch slammed his axe into the tribute's side, dragging it up through the flesh with sheer power of will. He pulled it out deftly, and used the handle to flip the other tribute's gold helmet into the air. He expertly ducked under it, and it landed neatly on his head as he began to move.

Mitch started running. He sprinted away, screams of pain and terror shattering the previously quiet air. Other tributes broke away from the center, scattering in all directions. One followed Mitch, despite being weaponless. He quickly fell, Mitch leaving his axe buried in the man's chest in exchange for a sword he found nearby.

As Mitch headed farther away from the center, he began to recognize things. He knew where a chest was hidden, or where a trap was set. Using this knowledge from somewhere he couldn't quite recall, he swiftly navigated around, slaying the few that crossed his path. There was a person made of shifting lava that he had, for some unknown reason, left him alive at the last moment. He'd probably bleed out over the floor and die, Mitch reasoned with the cold, merciless voice in his head.