Year One - Catherine and Quentin
Silence ruled between them. Neither knew what to say. They walked to their pods. “We should run. In conglomerates of people it’s easier to get killed.”, Quentin said nervously and Cat looked over to him and nodded. Her face was always changing - changing between sheer despair, disbelief and determination. She was hopeful, he thought with a smile. Even though he knew that their chances of survival were pretty much zero. This was survival of the fittest - and here, unlike in the original quote - it most likely meant ‘the one most likely to kill’. He smiled the faintest smile looking at her, keeping her breathing steady. He loved her. Never told her. Probably wouldn’t do it even till his death. Then he inhaled a sharp breath. No, he wouldn’t die if he could do anything against it. “They may be stronger, but we are leagues above them in terms of intelligence.”, Quentin said sharply and Cat looked over to him, her face unchanged. She nodded. He wouldn’t die if he could do anything against it and neither would she. The floor underneath them shook and the pods moved upwards. Suddenly Cat seemed to panick. Her hands banged against the glass once. “Quentin!”, she yelled over and her face was flustered and red, “I love you!”
They give the cornocopia not a single moment of attention. As soon as the pods opened, they ran towards each other and then away - looking to both their sides to see if other people ran straight towards them, neither of them were physically fit, but it looked good. Until it didn’t anymore. They had been running quite a long while then spend the day jogging, looking for anything that looked like it could be a good hide-out. He still hadn’t said anything to her confessing her love to him yet, he - he couldn’t somehow. Not now, while his brain was working on survival. Once they had settled for now.
“Quentin, behind us!”, Cat said panicked and Quentin turned quickly to see a man with two swords run straight towards them - no mistaking. There was another man running in the same direction as them, coming closer and closer, but he seemed to be running from the two hunters as well. “He’s after us, hunter eyes.”, Cat analysed instantly, but the running the two of them instantly started again held her from concentrating.
She was useless here. She would die. She knew it. In the pod, she had still been hopeful that someone, she and Quentin and everyone else would make it out there, but now she was sure - the man behind her was going to kill her and Quentin. She could feel it in his presence, see it in his emotionless, stone-cold face when she looked back. She just told Quentin how she felt and couldn’t see his face to gauge his reaction. Didn’t know how he felt, not that it mattered now. But it did, somehow. She needed him to know before she died. Another look back. The killer was insanely fast. “Quentin, keep running!”, she yelled, “We’ll split, higher chances!”, she added in hopes of appealing to his logical side - it worked. He looked at her, eyebrows furrowed, then he kept running. Cat scanned the environment - trees. If she managed to get up a tree quick enough, he would have to choose between her and Quen and she’d have the higher ground, could kick him, fight back with some branches. A siren ran through
Making a dart to the right, Cat ran towards one of the taller trees and used all her momentum to get as high as possible, grabbed branch after branch. It started to rain out of nowhere. Thick raindrops pushed against her, raindrops too heavy to possibly not be artificially engineered. Her clothes were soaked in a minute, pushing her down, but she couldn’t yet look down, she couldn’t yet turn around, first get to a good point, then have a look-out, then -
then she slipped. The wind had been picking up, whipping the raindrops around, making the bark too slippery to hold onto properly. Catherine fell a meter down, then she crashed back-first into a thicker branch, breaking her back instantly. Paralized and unable to breath, she slipped from that branch, too, straight down on the ground, until she dropped on the man that had been running from the killer, too, dropped right on him as the both of them fell to the ground. She landed on him, heard his neck snap. Dead. Her bones were broken. So many of them. But she hardly felt much. Her spine had split and she couldn’t feel her legs, one of her rips poked up her blouse. The rain washed away any red that exited the wound. Unconsciousness crept up to Cat. She would have to fight it to stay alive, once unconscious, death would only come faster and closer. But what use would it make? Her back was broken, her bones her broken, she was bleeding. She wouldn’t be able to walk. If that wasn’t death sentence enough, her wound would infect in all that mud. There was no chance of survival. So why fight against the blackness of unconsciousness? The body underneath her started to cool. She had told Quen she loved him. It was okay. Chances of survival were zero. She let the black happen.
***
His insides were on fire. Running or physical exercise had never been one of his strong suits. But there was no other option than running, he knew it, run or die. Even if he had to leave Catherine behind - but she was right. Their chances were simply higher now. Her chances were higher without him, anyway, it was only logical. He was a hacker, here his skills were most likely useless. He was an inventor, too, that could come in handy, maybe. For a second doubt clouded his mind and he slowed down his step. Quentin would have to find Cat later, maybe together with her knowledge of people, they had an actual chance. The dark haired man turned around - only to see that someone was approaching. It took him less than a second to see that a) the persuer was a different one than before and b) he was fast. Very, very fast.
Quentin let out a desperate groan, then he started running again - first to the left, then he took a sharp right, but the space between them still got closer and closer. He was so fast, so quick. And Quentin’s body was burnin up so hard. Another left. The wind was picking up and the air felt sharper than before. It started to rain. Quentin looked back during another sharp turn - and slipped. The runner was still behind him, although he seemed distracted now, slower. Sharp fire ran through Quentin’s right ankle. He pushed on it and limped onwards. At least he could put some pressure on it. Sprained, not broken, probably.
The wind and rain picked up even more. Quentin stopped behind a rock to catch his breath. His pursuer had left, but instead, a horrible sight was shown behind him. It was a hurricane forming. In the distance, the trees were being rooted straight up. Quentin searched for somewhere he’d be save - and in the distance there was an opening on the sharp rocky wall. Quentin ran over there as good as he could - a cave! Relief washed over him when he went deeper and deeper - until he could see fire illuminating the wall. There were people along the turn.
Quentin stopped and listened. He was bad with people. This was dangerous. So he stopped, pressed against the wall. But they sounded nice. They sounded harmless. They talked about surviving together. So he announced himself, asked if they were going to cause trouble, because he didn’t want to hurt or harm anyone - and joined them. It was a muscular man who introduced himself as Ed, two women, one who looked quite rugged, Kitty and one kind and calm, Sasha. The safety felt warm and nice. Deep in the cave, he had no way of knowing that Catherine had perished, no way to see her face projected on the night sky. They stayed in the cave for as long as they could, sharing whatever they had, taking turns sleeping. When their rations were eaten, they took turns hunting. They all had someone they were looking for, but none of them found a clue of their existance. Lilac and Edward were working hard on keeping their hopes up. Until Ed didn’t come back one day. They mourned, a luxury they weren’t aware they had in the safety of their cave. The next shift, Kitty brought news - they had prepared a Feast. She wanted them to go and stock up on supplies, but Sasha and Quentin ruled her over - they were doing fine, this was the smartest choice, to avoid combat.
Then their camp was found. The man didn’t look too dangerous, but he tried to rob them and escape. Quentin defended what they had with a dagger and tried to keep him - if he left, he would be able to come again and again, he could give away the knowledge of their place... it was time to part. This night, he saw Edward’s face on the night sky. He hoped Catherine was alright. But she was smart and so capable - she had to be.
Quentin took refuge in a large tree with thick foliage. This was still the best plan. Keep hidden. No risks. The night was horrible and cold.
The next day during a search for food, he met the man who had tried to rob them again. He looked horrible. He was thin and shaking. He begged Quentin to kill him - but Quentin couldn’t. He just couldn’t. This night, he slept in a different tree. Kitty’s face was among the dead. It seemed a solid theory: Whoever fights, died. Still, whoever fought, endangered his life. They were less and less people. Slowly, he climbed down the tree and went through the night. Whoever fought, endangered Catherine’s life.
He found a man sleeping in a ditch. He looked somewhat like a fighter, just - enough. Quentin made him swallow poison berries before going to hide, all while he was still sleeping. The man barely woke up before his death, not that it would have made much of a difference. One less.
This night, he slept especially bad. So many people had died. He hadn’t heard the first night’s fallen tributes. He couldn’t know. The chances were so slim, but... Catherine was so skilled. Still, he knew if he didn’t decieve himself. He knew she hadn’t made it.
The next day he found Sasha. She looked at Quentin, both knew they wanted to survive - still, her sword and his dagger clashed very shortly. She must have picked it up somewhere, but she couldn’t attack him properly and within minutes, he had his dagger on her throat. But he couldn’t. He knew her. She was innocent. So he left.
This night, Quentin saw the face of the man he had killed on the night sky. He was calm. Soon all of this would be over. There was no alternative. It was die or survive. Kill or get killed. Still... looking for a new place to sleep, when he came across the man who had entered the cave, the man who had asked him to kill him, he couldn’t just pass him. He looked even worse now, shivering and cold he lay underneath a short tree, hugging his knees. “Please...”, he asked. “Please, I’m so cold.” Still, even though Quentin knew he’d have to survive or kill all other people in this dome, he shared his warmth with him.
The next day, Quentin woke up to Oliver running away from him and chased straight after. He didn’t quite reflect why, maybe because of how much he had internalized it. Kill or be killed. When he saw Oliver trip over a root and fall, Quentin stopped in his tracks. “Hunter eyes”, Catherine’s voice rang in his memory - so clear. It hurt, it hurt bad. She was dead. It had taken until now to really sink in. She was dead. He repeated the memory of her sweet voice. Then, another memory came up. ‘I love you’. Crouching down, Quentin wept.
This night, no faces lit up the sky. Nobody died. Quentin climbed up a tree and slept, surprisingly deep.
The next day, Quentin didn’t hide anymore. He went around the arena, going back to where he had killed that one man. Everything was still there. He grabbed everything he could, his backpack, rope, torches, then he went back. Quentin looked for a promising looking spot in the jungle, somewhere where the trees would hold most of the rain. Gathering branches and whatever else he could find, he constructed as good a shack as he could, which meant that it looked pretty bad. When he opened the backpack, it was filled with landmines and explosives. He would survive.
Calmly, Quentin placed the landmines outside the perimeter of his camp, as well as the explosives - at least the ones he would be able to fire from the safety of his shack. Then he made peace with himself. Catherine was dead, but he would survive. His chances were great. He gathered some food, some better materials. Spend his day remembering Catherine. He didn’t cry anymore.
Nobody died that day either. Quentin strolled through the arena until he saw a fire. For a second, he thought of killing them, but then he went back to his home. Not yet. Not at night. There were no faces on the sky, neither should there be any tonight.
The next day he waited outside of his shack, leaned against one of the trees next to it, remote in his hand. He’d just have to be patient. As soon as someone came, they’d either step into one of the mines or he’d get this with the explosives. If no one came, he’d just get more food. He’d either die or live. Maybe he’d get sick. Maybe they all made camp in three other corners and never saw each other again. They’d live here forever.
But Quentin knew, somehow, that they’d never allow that. They.
It was the robber that came first. His name was Oliver, he had told him when they had slept next to each other. Quentin didn’t hesitate. But when Oliver exploded, he was happy he had piled the explosives so the explosion was big enough to instantly kill him and far away enough so he didn’t need to see the gory details. He was sure the loud explosions would keep whoever was left away for maybe a day or two, so Quentin went inside to grab the other remote and slept for a while. Dreamless. She was dead. He would survive. His life would be like it had been before again.
It was only a few hours later when he heard another explosion outside. Quickly, Quentin left his shack to see if someone had maybe made one of the mines explode without dying - but the siren that sounded made him stop right outside of his shack. He had won.
Then, with another beep, a shriller one, Quentin woke up. His body felt odd, not at all as exhausted as he had gotten used to feeling, even though his mental exhaustion was real. He was lying in some sort of chair, he could feel something stick to his temples, there was a large VR system in front of his eyes. “Congratulations. You won. Your training was sufficient enough. You get to keep your memories, but please, as soon as you feel ready enough and want us to remove you from the simulation set-up, sign this waver here.” a voice next to him said.
A simulation, Quentin remembered. They had altered his memories at the start of it, erased most of them. He hadn’t even questioned it. A simulation. A test. Catherine was alive. When he closed his eyes, relief washed all the fatigue, all the apathy out of his body again. Catherine was alive.