Cytoverse Hunger Games

[TheRavenHasLanded he/him]

4 minutes ago, The Wandering Wizard said:

The door blasted open and two men in rebel uniforms walked in. 

Hurriedly they dashed over to Emma, "are you alright Madam?"

She shook her head slowly, acting dazed. "Yeah I think so Vern." 

She smiled at them both, "I'm just glad the plan worked out and their tyranny is at an end."

"Us too," murmured both of them, not quite believing it was true yet. It was such a far fetched fantasy but yet...they'd done it. They'd really done it and freed the districts.

At least that was what Emma let them think, let them think she was Madam Ahna, kind, compassionate and with the best interests of her people. She would play the part for a time and she would enjoy it, it would be good to allow herself to feel again, to care. 

Perhaps she was insane, she honestly didn't care. It may have been the years but she'd found this way to loop the world. Faking her death or appearing as another person until they forgot her, no one had seen her true form in years and she...she...was okay with that...

She had a bet with Madam President, and she wanted to win it. Or maybe not, it wouldn't be so bad what happened if she lost. But it would be incredible if she won, so she'd corrupt these rebels, and quickly. Before the next games were over, they'd be just as violent and bloodthirsty as those who enslaved them, forced them to fight for their entertainment. Their hatred would be a very powerful tool, one she merely had to wield. It woul-

"Madam?" A voice intruded on her thoughts. "Madam are you alright?"

"Hmmm, yeah I am." She winced, "I think so at least."

"Well the council is hailing you."

"A-alright, I'll answer in a minute. My head is pounding."

 

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pffft- vern?

 

[The Wandering Wizard he/him]

Just now, TheRavenHasLanded said:

 

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I'm terrible at names okay xD

 

[Edema Rue she/her]

2 hours ago, The Wandering Wizard said:

The door blasted open and two men in rebel uniforms walked in. 

Hurriedly they dashed over to Emma, "are you alright Madam?"

She shook her head slowly, acting dazed. "Yeah I think so Vern." 

She smiled at them both, "I'm just glad the plan worked out and their tyranny is at an end."

"Us too," murmured both of them, not quite believing it was true yet. It was such a far fetched fantasy but yet...they'd done it. They'd really done it and freed the districts.

At least that was what Emma let them think, let them think she was Madam Ahna, kind, compassionate and with the best interests of her people. She would play the part for a time and she would enjoy it, it would be good to allow herself to feel again, to care. 

Perhaps she was insane, she honestly didn't care. It may have been the years but she'd found this way to loop the world. Faking her death or appearing as another person until they forgot her, no one had seen her true form in years and she...she...was okay with that...

She had a bet with Madam President, and she wanted to win it. Or maybe not, it wouldn't be so bad what happened if she lost. But it would be incredible if she won, so she'd corrupt these rebels, and quickly. Before the next games were over, they'd be just as violent and bloodthirsty as those who enslaved them, forced them to fight for their entertainment. Their hatred would be a very powerful tool, one she merely had to wield. It woul-

"Madam?" A voice intruded on her thoughts. "Madam are you alright?"

"Hmmm, yeah I am." She winced, "I think so at least."

"Well the council is hailing you."

"A-alright, I'll answer in a minute. My head is pounding."

 

The girl was still on the floor. To their eyes, she was unconscious, though not exactly peaceful.

But that was a grave understatement.

Her mind raged.

There was a battle, no, a war, between every piece of herself. She stumbled across the killing field, terrified, but no, no, she was the killing, she was the dead and she was the murderers, she was the children, killed for no fault of their own, and she was their gleeful killer, and...and...and...

And a thousand other things.

No. A thousand more and's wouldn't begin to cover it.

She was all of it, but she was none of it. 

And the parts she was the most...the most dangerous parts of the battle...Victor. Cassian. She loved him. She could admit that to herself, now that he was gone. Gone because of her knife. Gone because of her ambition. She loved him, she was mourning, he was gone, gone forever, her precious sunshine, the thing that could warm even the most shadowed pieces of her heart-

No. No. She hated the sunlight. The sunlight burned. She didn't love the boy and never had. She was hungry, only hungry, the only reason to mourn his death was because of the waste of food, the waste of a perfectly good body filled with perfectly good blood, he was not something to weep for.

On the floor, the girl trembled.

But in her mind, she found a swirl of peace. A place where there was no fight. A place deep inside herself, where all the hidden desires that made her who she was lounged freely.

I will be on top of the world.

I will be on top of the world.

I will be on top of the world.

The words were as much a part of her as her own heartbeat, as her own breathing. To take them away would be to change her from a person to a beast. And so the girl found a form of calm through the words. All parts of her agreed, and whatever she was now and whatever she became...

She would come out on top of the world, because that was where Siylna Beunar belonged.

@Ookla the Yellow Sock

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(For when you come back. Because it includes our precious baby boy.)

 

[TheRavenHasLanded he/him]

9 hours ago, Edema Rue said:

The girl was still on the floor. To their eyes, she was unconscious, though not exactly peaceful.

But that was a grave understatement.

Her mind raged.

There was a battle, no, a war, between every piece of herself. She stumbled across the killing field, terrified, but no, no, she was the killing, she was the dead and she was the murderers, she was the children, killed for no fault of their own, and she was their gleeful killer, and...and...and...

And a thousand other things.

No. A thousand more and's wouldn't begin to cover it.

She was all of it, but she was none of it. 

And the parts she was the most...the most dangerous parts of the battle...Victor. Cassian. She loved him. She could admit that to herself, now that he was gone. Gone because of her knife. Gone because of her ambition. She loved him, she was mourning, he was gone, gone forever, her precious sunshine, the thing that could warm even the most shadowed pieces of her heart-

No. No. She hated the sunlight. The sunlight burned. She didn't love the boy and never had. She was hungry, only hungry, the only reason to mourn his death was because of the waste of food, the waste of a perfectly good body filled with perfectly good blood, he was not something to weep for.

On the floor, the girl trembled.

But in her mind, she found a swirl of peace. A place where there was no fight. A place deep inside herself, where all the hidden desires that made her who she was lounged freely.

I will be on top of the world.

I will be on top of the world.

I will be on top of the world.

The words were as much a part of her as her own heartbeat, as her own breathing. To take them away would be to change her from a person to a beast. And so the girl found a form of calm through the words. All parts of her agreed, and whatever she was now and whatever she became...

She would come out on top of the world, because that was where Siylna Beunar belonged.

@Ookla the Yellow Sock

 

ryn wanders in and smiles. "hello, siylna, you little bastard"

Ryn began to sing. His voice was a low timbre as he sang the single one song he had heard the most: 

You are my sunshine... my only sunshine... when skies are gray... you are my light.

Edited December 21, 2023 by TheRavenHasLanded

[Edema Rue she/her]

3 hours ago, TheRavenHasLanded said:

ryn wanders in and smiles. "hello, siylna, you little bastard"

Ryn began to sing. His voice was a low timbre as he sang the single one song he had heard the most: 

You are my sunshine... my only sunshine... when skies are gray... you are my light.

If she had been conscious, the girl-creature-would have screamed. But she couldn't. She couldn't let herself think, feel, couldn't remember who she was supposed to be. 

[TheRavenHasLanded he/him]

1 hour ago, Edema Rue said:

If she had been conscious, the girl-creature-would have screamed. But she couldn't. She couldn't let herself think, feel, couldn't remember who she was supposed to be. 

ryn continued to sing, his voice rising as he sung his soul into the song.

and he wept. wept for the lives lost. wept for their families. but mostly, he wept for himself. not being able to grow and become a father. 

[Canada Lover]

On 12/21/2023 at 2:03 PM, TheRavenHasLanded said:

ryn continued to sing, his voice rising as he sung his soul into the song.

and he wept. wept for the lives lost. wept for their families. but mostly, he wept for himself. not being able to grow and become a father. 

Ezrium heard the song. He remembered when life had been so simple. All you had to do was survive. Worry about being killed and nothing else. When Cassian was still alive. When there weren't this weird vampire crap going on. When it had just been him and Komadori stuck in the cave during the Highstorm. He looked at a rock in his hand. A rock from that very same cave.

[The Honorable One he/him]

2 hours ago, Canada Lover said:

Ezrium heard the song. He remembered when life had been so simple. All you had to do was survive. Worry about being killed and nothing else. When Cassian was still alive. When there weren't this weird vampire crap going on. When it had just been him and Komadori stuck in the cave during the Highstorm. He looked at a rock in his hand. A rock from that very same cave.

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He kept a random rock?

 

[Lotus Blossom she/her]

It was then that it hit Junior.

He had killed two people.

Two living, breathing people.

Perhaps he was the monster?

No.

No, he wasn't the monster.

His mother was.

Yes.

His mother was the monster.

She always had been.

And that dreadful friend of hers.

Emma.

Junior could still remember the hiss of his mother's forked tongue... the scales and the slit yellow eyes, gleaming with mischievous joy. And the look of betrayal. Pure betrayal. As he pulled the trigger. And killed her. Treason.

Family protects family.

There was no true protection.

There was only him.

And the two people he had killed.

Boys just his age.

And the lives they never would live.

And then there was his mother.

Still alive.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Junior finished fixing what he could of his poco. It was difficult, and especially harder when Razor wasn't providing him with the illegal plane parts that Razor had bought on the black market to fix what was broken. Junior found himself missing the junkyard... Razor's hangar... The ships...

But then he stopped missing it all.

Not when he remembered Razor. The countless times he had hit him.

"You'll never be a DDF pilot," Razor had spat.

Junior still remembered the man's crooked smile looking down at him, the first time he had met him.

Junior was only a boy of nine years at the time.

He had been kicked out of his house, of course, after he had murdered his mother. His father had left them far before that, and his older brother... well, at the time, his older brother was in jail after being convicted of his thirteenth crime. His brother would soon escape, but that was a year later. No, by the time Junior was nine, he had killed his mother, and he had no where to go. So he ran.

And he ran until he found a ship.

So he got into the ship, and flew.

Oh, the skies know how he flew that day.

It was freedom.

It was an escape.

And moments later, it was a crash.

Junior, the child he was, didn't know what he was doing at the time. His ship malfunctioned and spun out of control, crashing terribly. There was a large fire, and many aircraft parts shattered. The ship was destroyed, and almost took Junior out with it. But he survived. He blew up his hand, but survived the crash. 

Why did he live?

Why couldn't he have just died in that crash? In that fire?

Of course, he had stolen the ship.

And guess who was the owner?

Razor.

A former DDF pilot who was kicked out and made a living by repairing aircrafts but charging extremely high prices and ripping off his clients by selling certain parts (too unnoticeable to know they were missing) on the black market.

The first word he said to Junior once the child woke up: Debt.

He was in far too much debt after having stolen and crashed an aircraft.

It was Razor who had given Junior his callsign.

It was he who had trained him to fly.

There was far too much at stake for Junior.

He had to win.

He had to kill.

Edited December 24, 2023 by Lotus Blossom

[Lord Spirit he/him]

1 hour ago, Lotus Blossom said:

It was then that it hit Junior.

He had killed two people.

Two living, breathing people.

Perhaps he was the monster?

No.

No, he wasn't the monster.

His mother was.

Yes.

His mother was the monster.

She always had been.

And that dreadful friend of hers.

Emma.

Junior could still remember the hiss of his mother's forked tongue... the scales and the slit yellow eyes, gleaming with mischievous joy. And the look of betrayal. Pure betrayal. As he pulled the trigger. And killed her. Treason.

Family protects family.

There was no true protection.

There was only him.

And the two people he had killed.

Boys just his age.

And the lives they never would live.

And then there was his mother.

Still alive.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Junior finished fixing what he could of his poco. It was difficult, and especially harder when Razor wasn't providing him with the illegal plane parts that Razor had bought on the black market to fix what was broken. Junior found himself missing the junkyard... Razor's hangar... The ships...

But then he stopped missing it all.

Not when he remembered Razor. The countless times he had hit him.

"You'll never be a DDF pilot," Razor had spat.

Junior still remembered the man's crooked smile looking down at him, the first time he had met him.

Junior was only a boy of nine years at the time.

He had been kicked out of his house, of course, after he had murdered his mother. His father had left them far before that, and his older brother... well, at the time, his older brother was in jail after being convicted of his thirteenth crime. His brother would soon escape, but that was a year later. No, by the time Junior was nine, he had killed his mother, and he had no where to go. So he ran.

And he ran until he found a ship.

So he got into the ship, and flew.

Oh, the skies know how he flew that day.

It was freedom.

It was an escape.

And moments later, it was a crash.

Junior, the child he was, didn't know what he was doing at the time. His ship malfunctioned and spun out of control, crashing terribly. There was a large fire, and many aircraft parts shattered. The ship was destroyed, and almost took Junior out with it. But he survived. He blew up his hand, but survived the crash. 

Why did he live?

Why couldn't he have just died in that crash? In that fire?

Of course, he had stolen the ship.

And guess who was the owner?

Razor.

A former DDF pilot who was kicked out and made a living by repairing aircrafts but charging extremely high prices and ripping off his clients by selling certain parts (too unnoticeable to know they were missing) on the black market.

The first word he said to Junior once the child woke up: Debt.

He was in far too much debt after having stolen and crashed an aircraft.

It was Razor who had given Junior his callsign.

It was he who had trained him to fly.

There was far too much at stake for Junior.

He had to win.

He had to kill.

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You could make a book! This is really good

 

[Lotus Blossom she/her]

8 minutes ago, Lord Spirit said:

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You could make a book! This is really good

 

Quote

Thank you so much

That means a lot  

I've tried writing books....... they require too much patience

so i've turned to RPs instead  

[Canada Lover]

14 hours ago, The Honorable One said:

 

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He had the rocks with Stormlit in them from the cave. Remember? He and Sage collected them?

 

[Edema Rue she/her]

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Well...

Hello there.

Some interesting turns of events, for those who've seen what's been happening in GMHQ.

Rebels have taken over the capitol.

The GM's have all been either killed or brainwashed.

And that leaves the tributes in an interesting position, especially since this games has been so quiet...

So.

Here's what's happening. To the living tributes...you've been released from the arena by the rebels (you can decide if you have personal connections with them or what. As a result, this games will have no winner.

So...if you'd like a last post (or a couple) to finish up with your characters, you're more than welcome to do that!! Beyond that, though, these games are essentially being declared over. Yes, we'll still do more games (possibly with the kids of the nobles), but the tentative schedule is looking like it might not be till February, because life tends to happen and we want these to be fun, which means that at least the GM's need to be able to check the thread...so...yeah!

Merry late Christmas. For once, the odds are in your favor >:3

 

[-Redacted- he/him]

2 hours ago, Edema Rue said:

 

Quote

If I hadn't agreed to die....

Red awoke to the sound of rain. Around him, the wreckage of his ship was a burning mess. He thought he heard people coming though. 

I thought this incarnation hadn't worked?

Then, a response came that he hadn't expected: Well, apparently we're still here anyway.

Red? Is that you?

His spren had been silent for the better part of seven years. 

It sure is! Red the spren thought.

Red the man took a moment to marvel, then realized what this meant.

The games...are over, then? he thought.

Looks like it! the spren replied.

Red (the man) picked himself off the ground, dusted himself off, and walked toward the voices he heard. "Hey! Over here!" he called out. When they finally came for him, he followed them out of the arena and back to an open world.
 

It was beautiful.

[Lotus Blossom she/her]

An alarm blared. The gravitational capacitors, which had been malfunctioning since the beginning of the games, had broken down. All he could do to fix the poco wasn't enough.

He had made a mistake.

Of course he had.

And now he was falling.

Crashing.

Again.

Like when he had lost his hand.

"No. This can't be happening. My mom's watching me. Razor's watching me. I can't die. I can't lose. I must win." Junior muttered as he fumbled with the controllers. At flight school, his name and location had appeared on the roster. His brother had found his whereabouts at last, and was making his way to pester Junior again for money. For a hideout. To escape the law. To escape jail. Last time his brother had found him, Junior was beat up.

When his name was chosen, he couldn't have been more happy. Either he died in the sky-- really died this time... Or he won. Or eternal fame. Eternal glory. There were no alternatives.

Death.

or Freedom.

Either was welcome. He couldn't tell which was the better choice.

Junior's ship rolled over as it fell. He was looking at the ground, upside down. Everything was approaching too quickly. But still, he felt suspended. In the air. For a moment. He closed his eyes. He remembered, of course, the day that still haunted him. He murdered his mother, an enigmatic free-verse poet. "An accident," they had said. No. The skies knew it wasn't an accident. He would do it again. Having been abandoned by his father, and with a criminal for an older brother, he had no where to turn.

But Razor.

The "congratulations" for staying alive never came. The compensation for crashing his ship? He was practically kidnapped. Forced to be apprenticed to Razor, he was working for the man for free. In exchange, Razor kept him alive. He fed him, gave him shelter in his hangar, and taught him everything he knew.

Razor trained him.

He couldn't be falling now. He had only crashed one ship before. Junior used his arm strength to pull his ship around. Those bullets had really hurt the wings. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw one of his engines blow into flames.

He grew up with Razor. But the failed DDF pilot would hurt him.

With words.
With his hands.

He had burns from piloting his scout. He had carved his own scars. He had earned this.

He couldn't fail now.

Not now, when everyone had told him he would fail.

No, this was the time to rise.

This, above others, was when Junior had to win.

Junior was fed up with constantly being less than. Being worse. Being inferior to Razor. To his mother's scudding poetry. To the world. No. Now was when he would be powerful.

As the crash approached, Junior got more and more frantic.

He wouldn't die here, but if he did, he had to speak with Razor. He had to say something. He had to write something down- he was good at writing, wasn't he?

He hadn't spoken to Razor since the argument.

But Junior was right in the argument. He had been trained well by Razor. And he had trained for many years. His debt surely was paid off in his labor. As he grew older, he began to realize this. He told Razor that he would fly his entire life. He told Razor that his future was to become a DDF pilot. Razor told him he would fail. Junior disagreed.

He could throw the man in jail.

Razor was kicked out and banned from being a DDF pilot. To make a living, he would take old aircrafts or ships that were broken that people dropped off in his hangar and repair them. He sold some of the parts of the aircrafts on the black market, yet lie about it and receive money in exchange for the repairs. This is what Junior helped him with in the hangar.

It was illegal.

Junior signed up for flight school, without any protection from Razor or otherwise. He has no means to pay for it, but he was there. He couldn't die now. He wouldn't die now. He had to live.

He opened his eyes.

Maybe it wasn't about winning the hunger games. Maybe it wasn't death or glory. Maybe it was simply freedom. Junior would let no one manipulate his life. Maybe he didn't have to crash. Maybe he didn't have to win. Maybe he could just live.

Junior smiled and pulled on his helmet. "Aria?" he said over the communication headset, "I don't know where you are or if you're still alive, but I wanted to let you know that I'm doing wonderfully on this fine morning!"

He grinned as he gained back the controls and lifted his ship upwards, tilting the poco. He could almost feel the rush of cold air as he flew the ship and landed it. It was rough, and the impact of the land had banged up the aircraft. It was already falling apart, so the ship was pretty much destroyed. But that didn't bother him.

Junior stepped down and looked around himself. He took a breath of the fresh air. He gazed upon the arena, filled with confusion. Among the few remaining tributes, who were alive yet weak and not holding up well, there were scatterings of rebels, with arm bands that branded them as such.

One rebel greeted him in front of the ship. Junior stood still.

"Olviere," The man smiled, holding out his arms. The name stung. "Olviere Torsun. I love you."

It was his father.

His father, who hadn't known about him killing his mother. His father, who hadn't know about his callsign. His father, who hadn't known about his childhood. His father, who hadn't known about the villanelles he had written or his brother or the leatherbound notebook or how hard it had been. How hard life had been. His father, who hadn't know about Razor. His father, who was a rebel. Who had come to save him.

Slowly, Junior walked towards him. He grinned brighter than he ever had before, and hugged his father, tears streaming down his face. There was so much to say. But there were only two words that he could say now. Two words that Junior had never said before. Two words that he had thought he would never hear himself say. 

"I'm sorry."

It was then that he realized something.

No matter how dark the world could be.

How cold.

How lonely.

How damp.

How tragic.

Despite all this, still: The world could be so, so beautiful.

And that was what would be written on the next clean page of Junior's notebook.

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Edit: I added the last half... It all deleted so I had to re-write it. I got a bit frustrated and rushed it, seeing as I forgot many incredible portions of the initial post. I love this ending for Junior, personally. It's so heartwarming and sweet. Just know that the original writing for the post was much better.

This was what I wrote before I added the re-written end:

I had so much more but it all deleted!! Coming in a new post if I can remember it all. Sorry guys- I just want to get this one out there so it doesn't delete. Gahhh it was soo annoying and sad. Because I had written so much more and it was soooo good.

 

Edited December 27, 2023 by Lotus Blossom

[Lotus Blossom she/her]

Quote

I'll see if I can edit it every now and then if I remember the other deleted parts.  

I love Junior so much. He was such an amazing character to play.

And I love the full circle... How he is called "Olviere," his real name, at the end? And how the name "Junior" shows his inferiority complex but finally with his father he is called by his real name, not his callsign. How he sees him for who he really is.

The whole thing is really sweet. Thanks for letting me play him!! I loved to explore his backstory and his character a lot... I really was sort of improvising it and now I want to play him more! Perhaps I'll write him into one of my books.  

 

Edited December 27, 2023 by Lotus Blossom

[Edema Rue she/her]

1 hour ago, Lotus Blossom said:

 

Quote

He's been so much fun to read!! If you ever write more with him I want to see!!

 

[The Wandering Wizard he/him]

10 hours ago, Lotus Blossom said:

An alarm blared. The gravitational capacitors, which had been malfunctioning since the beginning of the games, had broken down. All he could do to fix the poco wasn't enough.

He had made a mistake.

Of course he had.

And now he was falling.

Crashing.

Again.

Like when he had lost his hand.

"No. This can't be happening. My mom's watching me. Razor's watching me. I can't die. I can't lose. I must win." Junior muttered as he fumbled with the controllers. At flight school, his name and location had appeared on the roster. His brother had found his whereabouts at last, and was making his way to pester Junior again for money. For a hideout. To escape the law. To escape jail. Last time his brother had found him, Junior was beat up.

When his name was chosen, he couldn't have been more happy. Either he died in the sky-- really died this time... Or he won. Or eternal fame. Eternal glory. There were no alternatives.

Death.

or Freedom.

Either was welcome. He couldn't tell which was the better choice.

Junior's ship rolled over as it fell. He was looking at the ground, upside down. Everything was approaching too quickly. But still, he felt suspended. In the air. For a moment. He closed his eyes. He remembered, of course, the day that still haunted him. He murdered his mother, an enigmatic free-verse poet. "An accident," they had said. No. The skies knew it wasn't an accident. He would do it again. Having been abandoned by his father, and with a criminal for an older brother, he had no where to turn.

But Razor.

The "congratulations" for staying alive never came. The compensation for crashing his ship? He was practically kidnapped. Forced to be apprenticed to Razor, he was working for the man for free. In exchange, Razor kept him alive. He fed him, gave him shelter in his hangar, and taught him everything he knew.

Razor trained him.

He couldn't be falling now. He had only crashed one ship before. Junior used his arm strength to pull his ship around. Those bullets had really hurt the wings. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw one of his engines blow into flames.

He grew up with Razor. But the failed DDF pilot would hurt him.

With words.
With his hands.

He had burns from piloting his scout. He had carved his own scars. He had earned this.

He couldn't fail now.

Not now, when everyone had told him he would fail.

No, this was the time to rise.

This, above others, was when Junior had to win.

Junior was fed up with constantly being less than. Being worse. Being inferior to Razor. To his mother's scudding poetry. To the world. No. Now was when he would be powerful.

As the crash approached, Junior got more and more frantic.

He wouldn't die here, but if he did, he had to speak with Razor. He had to say something. He had to write something down- he was good at writing, wasn't he?

He hadn't spoken to Razor since the argument.

But Junior was right in the argument. He had been trained well by Razor. And he had trained for many years. His debt surely was paid off in his labor. As he grew older, he began to realize this. He told Razor that he would fly his entire life. He told Razor that his future was to become a DDF pilot. Razor told him he would fail. Junior disagreed.

He could throw the man in jail.

Razor was kicked out and banned from being a DDF pilot. To make a living, he would take old aircrafts or ships that were broken that people dropped off in his hangar and repair them. He sold some of the parts of the aircrafts on the black market, yet lie about it and receive money in exchange for the repairs. This is what Junior helped him with in the hangar.

It was illegal.

Junior signed up for flight school, without any protection from Razor or otherwise. He has no means to pay for it, but he was there. He couldn't die now. He wouldn't die now. He had to live.

He opened his eyes.

Maybe it wasn't about winning the hunger games. Maybe it wasn't death or glory. Maybe it was simply freedom. Junior would let no one manipulate his life. Maybe he didn't have to crash. Maybe he didn't have to win. Maybe he could just live.

Junior smiled and pulled on his helmet. "Aria?" he said over the communication headset, "I don't know where you are or if you're still alive, but I wanted to let you know that I'm doing wonderfully on this fine morning!"

He grinned as he gained back the controls and lifted his ship upwards, tilting the poco. He could almost feel the rush of cold air as he flew the ship and landed it. It was rough, and the impact of the land had banged up the aircraft. It was already falling apart, so the ship was pretty much destroyed. But that didn't bother him.

Junior stepped down and looked around himself. He took a breath of the fresh air. He gazed upon the arena, filled with confusion. Among the few remaining tributes, who were alive yet weak and not holding up well, there were scatterings of rebels, with arm bands that branded them as such.

One rebel greeted him in front of the ship. Junior stood still.

"Olviere," The man smiled, holding out his arms. The name stung. "Olviere Torsun. I love you."

It was his father.

His father, who hadn't known about him killing his mother. His father, who hadn't know about his callsign. His father, who hadn't known about his childhood. His father, who hadn't known about the villanelles he had written or his brother or the leatherbound notebook or how hard it had been. How hard life had been. His father, who hadn't know about Razor. His father, who was a rebel. Who had come to save him.

Slowly, Junior walked towards him. He grinned brighter than he ever had before, and hugged his father, tears streaming down his face. There was so much to say. But there were only two words that he could say now. Two words that Junior had never said before. Two words that he had thought he would never hear himself say. 

"I'm sorry."

It was then that he realized something.

No matter how dark the world could be.

How cold.

How lonely.

How damp.

How tragic.

Despite all this, still: The world could be so, so beautiful.

And that was what would be written on the next clean page of Junior's notebook.

 

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Woah that's beautiful

 

[Ati16 he/him]

Hurricane wandered the corridor of the GMHQ. The games had ended and the tributes were released. He was relieved that they had survived, but still not quite satisfied. They would have fought until the end if the rebels hadn’t released them. He thought, as he floated to the deserted control room. He started watching recordings of the game. Tributes killed each other mercilessly. He shuddered, thinking about how all of them had been friends in the DDF only a few weeks ago. The games will not stop like this. They were the aftermath of war and only peace, not more bloodshed will end them. He had to stay near the new government if he wanted the games to stop, but first he needed to figure out how to get a new body.

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Merry Christmas everyone! This was the end post for me in these Hunger Games and I’m looking forward to the next ones.

 

[Ancient Elantrian Elan/Elan/Elan/Elan/Elan]

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I feel so powerful… 

 

[Edema Rue she/her]

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So much potential…

 

[Aeoryi she/her]

1 hour ago, Edema Rue said:

 

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What happened here

Since when did this get a new subsection? Congratulations!

 

Edited January 2 by Aeoryi

[The Wandering Wizard he/him]

4 hours ago, Aeoryi said:

 

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TODAY!!

Madam Ahna sighed at her desk in her room. A quiet space she liked to work at. There was so much to do, so much to organize. And there were rumors that some wanted to reinstate the games. It was madness, craziness. But the people were crying for justice on their oppressors. 

She sighed and slumped forward onto the desk. It was all just such a mess.

@SmilingPanda19

[SmilingPanda19 Hi/Ho]

6 minutes ago, The Wandering Wizard said:

Madam Ahna sighed at her desk in her room. A quiet space she liked to work at. There was so much to do, so much to organize. And there were rumors that some wanted to reinstate the games. It was madness, craziness. But the people were crying for justice on their oppressors. 

She sighed and slumped forward onto the desk. It was all just such a mess.

@SmilingPanda19

A quiet voice comes from the doorway. 

"Madam Ahna, your grace..." She says, stands in scrub clothes, most certainly a servant or more likely a poor hand maiden. 

"You called?" She lowers her head almost in a bow, nearly whispering when she speaks. She had accidentally pressed the call button when she slumped on her desk. Its a very late hour into the evening and nearly early morning and it was apparent on the hand maidens face that she was exhausted.

[The Wandering Wizard he/him]

2 minutes ago, SmilingPanda19 said:

A quiet voice comes from the doorway. 

"Madam Ahna, your grace..." She says, stands in scrub clothes, most certainly a servant or more likely a poor hand maiden. 

"You called?" She lowers her head almost in a bow, nearly whispering when she speaks. She had accidentally pressed the call button when she slumped on her desk. Its a very late hour into the evening and nearly early morning and it was apparent on the hand maidens face that she was exhausted.

She barely lifted her head and smiled weakly at her.

"No I didn't call but you're welcome to come in."