WAY DOWN WE GO

CHAPTER THREE: FLOORS

PRUES eyes cracked open against the bright light and for a moment she thought she might have been dreaming.

Some awful, horrible, dream.

But she was not.

This was her reality.

The lights above her softly flickered for a moment and she found herself closing her eyes, trying to imagine how she had ended up here.

She knew exactly how.

Opening her eyes once more, she looked to her left and right hoping to see something familiar. Nothing.

The only difference between this room and the last was the fact that there was no table with surgical tools atop it, and this time she was sitting up in a small chair.

She waited for something to change. Anything.

But nothing did.

She was still stuck in that small room with that small, uncomfortable chair, and she still had a dull ache in her arm from where the needle had pierced her tanned skin.

Her fingers inched up the length of her arm to where she'd been pricked, at first she didn't feel anything, and then she pushed down ever so lightly and felt the small device in her arm.

Her fingers paused over the circular device beneath her skin and a shaky breath left her lips.

What the hell had they put inside her?

"It's a tracker."

Prue's head jerked up in surprise, her eyes quickly falling to a young woman.

"Every tribute receives one," she went on, taking a few small steps towards where Prue sat.

"Take it out," Prue ordered, the woman could only shake her head.

"I can't do that, and I think you know I can't."

Without putting much thought into it, Prue began to scratch at her arm with all her might, tugging and pulling at the slightly raised skin.

The woman rushed forward and pushed her hands away from her arm, "stop that! You're going to hurt yourself!" She warned.

Prue shook her head, "I don't care."

Reaching into her pocket, the woman retrieved a small syringe and placed it flush against Prue's skin, "you can either behave yourself or you can be sedated."

Prue stared back at her with slitted eyes before settling her arms at her sides.

She wasn't sure what else she could do, keep fighting and lose the advantage of being conscious for everything, or, calm down and keep that advantage.

Although, she wasn't sure just how much of an advantage that would be.

"I'm sure you're aware of what's going on, are you not?"

Prue quietly watched the woman, of course, she knew what was going on. Why else would she be in this odd room right now with this odd woman?

"I am."

"Then you should know that you're the female tribute of District Twelve, or what remains of it," the woman explained, she took a few steps forward and crossed her arms over her torso.

Prue raised her brow, "what about the male tribute?"

The woman sighed and let her arms fall to her sides, "he's being collected as we speak."

Prue only wondered who they would pull for the male tribute. Who would lose their life to appease those above them in power.

"Who is it?"

The woman shook her head, "you'll find out soon enough, no reason to tell you now."

She frowned then, a small, distasteful look for the girl.

Watching Prue all the while, the woman quietly slinked away to the second chair in the room, it looked just as uncomfortable as the one Prue had settled into.

"Who are you?"

She watched as the woman softly smiled, it was an odd, almost empty smile, one that didn't belong in a room like this for a situation like this.

It almost made her sick.

"I'm to prepare you to meet the country."

Prue's frown only deepened as the woman continued, "I'm one of the few entrusted to make you presentable before your death, which seems rather imminent, doesn't it?"

She shook her head, "I wouldn't say imminent, considering I stand a fair chance."

The woman smiled at this, "but do you really? Against boys twice your size, girls that have been trained in the case this happens, are you really going to say you stand a chance against these children?"

"I don't have to fight better than them, I just have to fight smarter than them," she stared back at the woman, her eyes alight with a new intensity, she would win this, even if it meant she did things she didn't want to.

"Smarter isn't always the safe move," the woman slowly crossed her legs and settled her hands into her lap, "the odds of you winning something of this degree are quite low, but if you think you can pull it off, who am I to discourage you?"

She smiled.

Prue realized she hated that smile. That ugly, sharp, twisted smile.

It wasn't a real smile.

And yet it fit the woman.

"I don't care about the odds," Prue began, her hands had begun to slightly shake and she felt she was losing her nerve, she had to remind herself that this was exactly what the people of the capitol were supposed to do.

They were supposed to make her uneasy, they were supposed to make her feel bad about her chances.

"I'm going to be just fine in that arena."

She smiled that awful smile again, "just wait until you're dropped in there Prue Mellark, you'll be regretting those words."

And with that, the woman stood from her rather uncomfortable chair, and she left without another word.

Prue stared at the door, she wondered how someone could be capable of opening the floodgates for something like this.

How someone could knowingly send children to their slaughter and not feel any bit bad about it?

She wondered why.

What did anyone have to gain from this?

What did they have to gain from her death? Or anyone else's for that matter.

She stood from her chair and paced around the room, she thought she might be looking for something, but she wasn't sure what.

Maybe a way out?

An explanation as to why this was happening?

She could only wonder.

It seemed like so many hours had passed when the next person arrived, for a moment Prue almost smiled, but then she remembered why the people were there and she could only frown upon their arrival.

This time it was a man.

He was lean and deeply tanned and his smile seemed less displaced than the woman's had been.

His seemed somewhat genuine.

He lingered by the door as Prue stared at him, he seemed unsure of where he should go, and after a moment he moved for the same uncomfortable chair the woman had seated herself in earlier.

"My name is Luthier, and yours?"

Prue quietly watched as he stuck his hand out towards her to shake, she thought about it for a moment before she reached her hand out and clasped his within hers.

"Prue Mellark," Luthier smiled back at her, "it's good to meet you Prue, I wish it were on better terms," he gave her a sad look before releasing her hand and settling himself into the chair.

Prue waited for him to settle completely before she spoke, "what are you here for?"

The man frowned, "unfortunately, as the woman who entered the room before I did, I am also supposed to make you presentable, I am your stylist, she is simply someone who is supposed to make you look better on camera," he paused and looked towards the door.

"She is the head game maker this year."

Prue leaned forward and furrowed her brows, "what's her name?"

Luthier looked around once again and beckoned Prue forward with a slight motion of his hand. She slid out of the chair and quietly moved towards the man before slightly crouching down so his lips were closer to her ear, leaning forward he cupped his hand in front of his mouth.

"Her name is Celestia Snow."

Prue's eyes widened in horror.

She'd heard that name before, it was the same name her mother muttered at any mention of the capitol, at any mention of what had once been the horror of the Hunger Games.

She thought over the conversation she'd had with the woman earlier, how she had told Prue she would regret her words.

She was as good as dead.

With a quick breath, she rushed past Luthier and towards the door, to her luck, it was unlocked.

The door flew open and she fled into the hall, she didn't care who saw, she needed to escape, and if that meant a dozen peacekeepers chased after her, then she'd have to take that chance.

She didn't get to take it.

The odd woman stood at the head of a staircase to her left, silently watching her like a predator watching its prey.

She enjoyed watching Prue run frantically to try and find an exit, an escape.

She liked to see the girl run in fear as her mother had done to so many capitol citizens years ago.

As she had done to her.

"I find it you are quite scared?" She asked, her voice echoing throughout the room. Prue quickly spun trying to find the face of the voice, her face drained of all color when she finally laid eyes upon the woman.

"You're sick!" She cried out backing away from the staircase, "on the contrary, I am quite healthy."

Prue's brows pinched together and she stared back at the woman in disgust, "you're evil, you're a sick, evil person," she glanced over her shoulder this time as she backed away from the stairs and towards the nearest door.

"It's all in how you perceive things, from my point of view, you're the evil one, from your point of view, I am the evil one. It is all in perception my child."

"I'M NOT YOUR CHILD!" Prue screamed back at her. She fully turned and ran for the door, her fingers clawing away at the knob to try and get it to turn, but it wouldn't.

Luthier watched from the doorway of the room Prue had occupied minutes before and slowly turned away with a sad look, "no, but you're one of the children who is going to die at my hands, so in a sense, you are my child."

Prue felt tears trail down her cheeks as the woman descended the staircase, why wouldn't the stupid door open?

She slammed her body against the wood and felt her heart soar when she heard a slight crack. She watched as the woman continued down the stairs and slammed her body against the wood again, again, and again.

Unfortunately, she would not be able to escape.

The wood being too thick and the woman descending upon her faster than she could break through the door, she found a needle to her neck and hands wrapped around her torso as she fell into the black abyss of unconsciousness.

She would not get another chance to act in such a way.

The woman would make sure of it.

When Prue did wake, she found that her head ached worse than it ever had and that her hands were strapped down to the sides of the bed, her legs were free of any restraint but from the looks of it, that could very easily change.

Prue raised her head as much as she could to scan the room, she saw Luthier sitting in the same chair as before with a book propped in his hands.

It was an old picture book, one of the few things that were not burned from the "Before" when Panem was formed.

"You're awake," he smiled and set his book down on the small table in front of him. "I really wish you hadn't done what you did earlier." He added.

Prue glared back at him, "you're not the one being sent to slaughter."

WAY DOWN WE GO

CHAPTER THREE: FLOORS