Chapter Text
As Edwin drags himself forcefully into consciousness, the first sensation he is aware of is pain. Immense pain. A pain so intense that it does not feel real. Surely, it is impossible to be in this much agony and still be alive.
Lacking the strength to open his eyes, let alone move his limbs, he scrunches his eyes closed even more in a vain attempt to lessen the sharp lightning flowing through his body. Vaguely, he registers that he is lying on something squishy and uneven, but his mind is far away. His brain is so foggy that it is like he is floating in some nebulous space, disconnected from anything tethering him to existence.
Could this be death? Has the world finally forsaken him and given him the end he always suspected was near and deserved?
But how? What happened? And why does everything hurt so much? He had been under the impression that death was a release from earthy matters such as injury and pain, but… perhaps he was mistaken. It would be fitting that his agony in life would haunt him in death.
Despite everything, Edwin feels a smile spread on his face at the irony.
Though he fights it, darkness starts to creep into the corners of his mind, pulling him back under. As he starts to drift away again, a faint giggle echoes in the distance. The noise rattles around in his brain like it is trying to flip a switch of recognition but ultimately fails. That noise should worry him for some reason. He knows it should, but he slips back into unconsciousness before he can discern any meaning.
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The next time he wakes, the pain has lessened to the point that he is able to crack open his eyes. What greets him is a sickly green ceiling he does not recognize. Squinting, he takes a deep breath through his nose and instantly gags at the horrid smell lingering in the air. Everything around him reeks of death and decay, and he quickly starts trying to only breathe through his mouth.
Where is he? This place looks nothing like anywhere he’s ever seen. And how did he get here? He certainly did not bring himself here, at least that he can recall, so he must have been taken… but by whom and for what purpose? And what is he lying on? It's somehow both lumpy and firm, and he can feel it compress under his fingers.
Forcing his tired limbs to move, Edwin shifts to lie on his side to try and get a better sense of his surroundings, but something tickles his cheek, and he suddenly freezes in place in horror.
It’s hair. Human hair. But it isn’t his own. Instead of a warm brow, it’s blonde.
Edwin panics with the realization that he is lying on top of someone. Though his arms shake with exertion, he quickly pushes himself upwards so he can get a better look at the person and give them space to breathe, but, as he looks closer, he realizes that he’s not just lying on top of someone. The color of her skin, as well as the bloody stump where an arm should be, indicates he’s lying on top of a corpse.
A corpse with a strikingly familiar face.
The adrenaline rush as the gong goes off. Seeing the bounty of items flooding around the mouth of the cornucopia. Grabbing onto a cricket bat. A body slamming into him. His back being crushed against the tile floor.
A knife in his face, and a girl smirking down at him.
“Any last words, lover boy?”
Edwin sucks in a shocked breath. It’s her! The girl who threatened him with a knife on the first day of the games! The girl that he can’t remember the name of. The girl that Charles stabbed in the stomach with Edwin’s rapier.
Edwin breathing increases rapidly until he is hyperventilating. What is she doing here?! Bodies of dead tributes are to be removed from the arena and sent home to their families! Not thrown in dark, sickly, green rooms to decay! And, for that matter, why is her arm missing? Charles didn’t do that! He only stabbed her.
So… who, or what, mutilated her dead body like that?
Thoroughly disturbed, while still lying on his back, he attempts to scoot off of the corpse beneath him, but he quickly runs into something else that feels sickeningly familiar.
It’s another one. But this time it’s a boy he doesn’t recognize.
How many are there?!
Throwing his arms out, Edwin feels all around him, and with each touch of clammy, cold skin, the horrifying conclusion sinks further and further in. He’s not just lying on a couple of corpses. No. He is lying in a pile of dead tributes.
Despite the pain, he jerks upward to a seated position, trying his best not to crush those beneath him, but it’s a fruitless endeavor. No matter which way he turns his head, he sees a multitude of dead, blank eyes staring back. It does not take long for Edwin to spot more disturbingly familiar faces: Wilfred, Hannah, Hunter, and so, so many others. He might not know all their names, but he remembers them all the same. These were all living, breathing people a week ago. They all got up on that reaping stage, rode in their chariots, and gave their interviews with Monty.
And now they are dead. Discarded like trash.
Tears spring from his eyes as he brings his fist up to his mouth, biting on it to try and stifle his grief.
And, just when he thinks he could not feel any worse, on the side of the pile, with her mutilated stomach perfectly in view, lies Shelby.
His heart aches at the sight of her. The girl he failed to save. The girl who thanked him on her deathbed. All she wanted was a peaceful death, and this is how her body is treated? Thrown away like she is nothing?
His teeth grind together as indignation brews inside of him. This is all wrong. Shelby deserved better. No, not just Shelby. All these tributes deserve better! No matter if they are career or outlying district, killers or victims, no one deserves to be treated this way. Because at the end of the day, are they not all victims? Even those most bloodthirsty are simply part of the system the Capitol created. All of them are cogs in this death machine.
He thinks back to Shelby’s final moments, frantically running, trying in vain to escape that spider mutt that she could never outrun—
His mind stops mid-thought, and Edwin’s heart lurches in horror as the rest of the pieces fall into place.
He remembers. He remembers it all. Watching Charles smack into the wall, dazed and confused. The unbridled terror of staring the creature in the face at his last stand. The sound as the flesh of his shoulder ripped. The nauseating sensation of having his leg sadistically bitten into. Reaching out towards Charles and watching those warm brown eyes close against their owner’s will. Desperately trying to free himself from the mutt’s jaws, but being unable to as he was dragged down, down, down until he lost consciousness.
That’s why all these bodies are piled up like this! The spider must have dragged them all here as well. The gamemakers are letting that mutt play with them and add them to its twisted collection.
How twisted and vile. Are the district citizens truly nothing to them? How can anyone allow this monstrosity? The level of planning that goes into organizing the arena and mutts must be immense, and did no one think to stop this? Was there not one soul who protested? Edwin had thought the Capitol could stoop no lower, but this proves otherwise.
Oh god, the poor families of all these tributes! To not only have to witness your child fall in this despicable bloodsport but to also have to watch their body be played with by a monster.
He once again finds himself thankful that all his family is dead.
As he unconsciously shifts, his shoulder decides to make itself known, as well as the gaping wound in his leg. Against his will, he falls backwards and lands on top of the blonde girl once again. Hopelessly, he tries to get off of her, to give her an ounce of respect, but his energy has been spent.
Rolling his head to look at her, he whispers, “I’m sorry.” His voice cracks slightly as he gently brushes some hair out of her face with his uninjured arm.
Edwin can only find one saving grace of the Hell he has found himself in— there are no warm brown eyes amongst the dead. Charles is not here, and Edwin feels the smallest bit of tension leave his body at the revelation. Yes, there is still much to fear, but at least that worry is put to rest. Edwin shudders at the thought of seeing Charles’ unblinking eyes staring at him from the pile. It would have broken his soul.
However, though that particular horror has not come to pass, Charles not being here does not mean he is still alive. In all likelihood, Charles died after his violent encounter with the wall. After all, the last time Edwin saw his best friend, he was unconscious and bleeding from a wound on his head.
How would Edwin even know if Charles had died? Who knows how many days he has been down here. Has it been hours? Or days? There is no way for him to know. And the odds of seeing the death recaps down here are low at best.
A cold thought seeps into his brain. Perhaps it would be better if Charles is dead. At least then he would be out of this nightmare. A revolting, perverse nightmare that Charles only came to for Edwin.
Edwin sniffles loudly, not even attempting to hold back the tears any longer. He stares down at his mangled shoulder and leg with overwhelming disdain and frustration. Even if he wanted to go search for what remains of his best friend, to save him from the fate of this pile, he is not going anywhere anytime soon. And, on top of his physical ailments, the pounding in his head is ruthlessly oppressive to the point that any movement makes it significantly worse. Squeezing his good fist so tightly that his nails dig painfully into his palms, he despairs at his pathetic state. He failed Charles. He had one goal, and he could not even do that. He could not even manage to die properly! He was meant to die so Charles could live, and instead here he is, in a foul pit of Hell on earth.
Why is he even still alive, anyway? Did the universe want to laugh at him one last time? Is letting him die at the hands of the spider not enough? Must he experience the horror of the spider’s lair? Must he see how truly depraved the Capitol is? Must he see that even though he thought Shelby was at rest, she has actually been subjected to even more degrading treatment after death? Must he bask in his failure to save Charles? Is this all penance for some wrong he committed in a past life?
Edwin sighs, closing his eyes. He sucks in a shaky breath, then releases it slowly in a vain attempt to control his emotions. The spider will undoubtedly return and notice its mistake, and perhaps Edwin will finally be allowed to experience the end to his meaningless life.
He can only hope it makes it quick.
It is at that moment that Edwin realizes something is poking into his good leg. Something sharp and ridged. Realizing the offending sensation is emanating from inside his pants pocket, he reaches inside, and his hand closes around a forgotten, yet familiar, shape.
He pulls the small item out and holds it in front of his face.
Niko squeezes his hand, getting his attention. “I have one last thing for you.” Reaching into her pocket, she removes a piece of red glass. “I found this the other day. Supposedly, red sea glass represents courage. I couldn’t think of a person who needs courage more than you. If you ever doubt yourself, look at it, and remember that I am rooting for you.”
The sickly green light of the hallway refracts through the red of the sea glass as Edwin stares in bewilderment. He had forgotten about this. About how Niko gave it to him right before the games began.
He shifts the glass into his palm, grasping onto it tightly, as if it can bestow strength upon him, and hope blooms in his chest.
He is not alone. Niko believes in him. Jenny as well. Even Thomas, in his own way.
And Charles… Charles believed in him too.
He cannot give up. Not while there is still air in his lungs. If not for himself, then for them.
He brings the red sea glass to his lips, pressing them to the smooth surface in the ghost of a kiss and whispers. “Thank you, Niko.”
Gritting his teeth, Edwin vows, “I will not die here. I refuse to simply roll over and allow myself to go down without a fight. I will find what is left of Charles, and though I was unable to keep my promise of keeping him alive, I shall save him from the appalling fate of my fellow tributes. This game will not break me! You will not break me!”
Shifting himself upwards, Edwin fights against the pain as he rolls sideways, falling off the perch he was on and roughly lands on the concrete floor. Edwin sucks in a hiss of pain, but he does not stop. With his leg mangled as it is, walking is impossible, but there are other ways to move. Throwing his good arm out ahead of himself, Edwin presses down against the floor, pulling himself forward.
Progress is slow, and debris rubs into his wounds, causing waves of agony to spread throughout his injured limbs, but Edwin could not care less. Not anymore.
There are people out there who believe in him. And Charles, whatever is left of him, still needs him.
So, Edwin relentlessly drags himself forward, leaving a bright red trail of blood in his wake, because there is still something worth fighting for.