Saved; Not Safe
His body ached, muscles tired and weary and worked more than they had been in years. Even despite training, he wasn't prepared for the amount of labor he was forced into. He could never be. He wasn't even ready for tomorrow.
He bit back a hiss as another resurrected tribute accidentally kicked his leg. Their tired shuffling was filled with the sounds of groans and sighs and hisses. Pain - that's all it was and all it ever would be.
If he walked long enough, he knew he would come face to face with the bunkers. He had to keep walking - the small, wooden cot was his only saving grace. So he trudged forward, his limbs hanging numbly at his sides.
Though it seemed to have taken days, the group found their ways to their own beds. It was disorganized - sorted only by who arrived first. No separate houses for women or for children or for elderly. They all slept together, small beds shoved into a small warehouse. But at least it was a place to stay.
Though Marvel only wanted to sleep, he forced himself to stay up, his eyes shifting around the darkness of the room until he found a single face he recognized. His sister (though he hoped he didn't find her), Cato, Clove, the cousin he had only seen pictures of, or-
Glimmer.
With a limp in his step, Marvel hurried to the blonde's cot, clearing his throat just steps away from her. His only relief was that she appeared to be in far better shape than he. For that, he was thankful. "Glimmer?" He called softly, his voice hushed and rough with exhaustion.