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ellieslaces · 4 months ago

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CAN’T CATCH ME NOW. three

presenting: umbrella’s hunger games

featuring: leon kennedy x fem!reader

synopsis: after spending your first few days drowning in Capitol grandeur, the training for the games begins. as you begin to prepare for the fight of your life in the arena, you realize that maybe the fight isn’t just for your life, but your dignity. the introduction to the other tributes makes you realize the reality of having to fight them, and possibly kill them. for what is the point of winning and living at the cost of others’ lives?

content warnings: harsh language; strong violence; slight misogyny; class discrimination; slight sexualization; heavy violence themes in this chapter

notes: this chapter contains heavy themes of violence; there are themes of sexualization of the reader by other Tributes and Capitol citizens; some more misogynistic themes; also, I am so sorry this took so long, life has been insane lately

chloe talks: um… hi. wow, it’s been a second. but, yeah, reader and Leon finally meet! the games start next chapter and so does the drama! enjoy! <3

word count: 4.91k

now playing: hypnotic ; zella day

can’t catch me now playlist

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There was something overly malicious about this year’s pool of Tributes. The way even the youngest and smallest of the twenty four carried themselves emitted an energy that radiated that they wanted - no, needed - to win. Something about them all made you uneasy — even ones you knew stood absolutely no chance of winning.

And you wished you’d stayed in bed that morning as you stood beside Piers in the entryway of the Training Center. Despite the fact that everyone was just standing around due to the training not having officially begun yet, they all had a violent aura about them.

Your eyes scanned the room, gauging each Tribute. Trying to find ones who were set on being your opponent. However, you knew the other Career Tributes — such as the ones from Two and Three — would want to team up with you. And then betray you at the final moment. Your mind weighed your options as you and Piers walked toward where the group was standing. Until your eyes landed on the Tributes from Twelve.

This was the first time you’d seen either one of them in person. Things at the Tribute Parade had been far too hectic for you to try and see Leon Kennedy or his fellow female Tribute. But here they were. His blond hair stood out in the crowd — despite not being the only blond in the room. There was a certain feeling that seemed to emit from him. Not fear but more apprehension. And it drew you in like a magnet.

“Hey,” Piers mumbled to you as you’d paused in your tracks, eyes wide and set on Leon and Helena. “C’mon.”

You knew Piers was only trying to help you, trying to keep anyone from noticing your immediate attraction to the Tributes from Twelve. It could land you — and Piers — in deep shit in the arena. So, you snapped yourself out of your trance and followed him, standing at his side and trying not to look at Leon or Helena.

This proved difficult however, not giving your attention to memorize each minute detail of him because he was a manner of feet away from you. But, Piers was right. Focus was necessary and essential right now if you wanted to succeed.

The training leader — a man named Robert Kendo who was rumored to be a somewhat guarded and melancholic man who was harsh on Tributes since a few years ago a Victor had lost their mind and murdered his daughter — stepped forward, his eyes dark and set on everyone in the room.

“In a matter of weeks, twenty-three of you will be dead. One of you will be alive.” He started with a gruff voice, the rawness of his statement causing you to grimace. “All of that depends on how well you pay attention over the next three days, particularly to what I am about to say.”

Your brows pulled together at the roughness and seemingly overly honest tone of Kendo’s voice. He had no sympathy, no kindness. But, a part of you appreciated that, he wasn’t one to sugarcoat, and there wasn’t any way to make these events seem less than they were.

“First, no fighting with the other Tributes, you’ll have plenty of time for that in the arena.” Kendo announced, his voice droning as if he was used to seeing people breaking this rule. “There are four compulsory exercises, the rest will be individual training.”

Individual training — something not many Tributes took enough of an advantage of, according to Claire. It was a chance to be trained in private by your mentor, they would give advice and teach you techniques of how to survive once in the arena. It was something you planned to take full advantage of.

“My advice is, don’t ignore the survival skills.” Kendo instructed, his voice becoming harder as he said this, as if it were a warning. “Everybody wants to grab a sword, but most of you will die of natural causes.”

Your eyes tracked over to Piers, seeing a grimace on his face. This wasn’t something you were expecting to be told. Yes, you knew it was true that most Tributes died of natural causes or their own stupidity in the arena. But, to have Kendo warn you, it made it more of a real threat.

“Ten percent from infection, twenty percent from dehydration. Exposure can kill as easily as a knife.” His voice was warning, and the gruffness of his words made your eyes scan over through the faces of each Tribute.

Most of the careers didn’t care enough to pay attention to this bit of Kendo’s lecture, but you saw the wide eyes of a few of the kids from lesser Districts. This was the harsh reality of the games — not only the brutality and bloodlust of each Tribute fighting to get out alive, but the fact that the gamemakers craft each arena to be a killer as well.

But what Kendo hadn’t mentioned — and it was likely purposeful that he hadn’t — was the percentage of Tributes which would die by this year’s Mutts crafted for the arena. Every year, around ten percent of the Tributes died via Umbrella’s newest and gruesome creation of Mutts. There was no telling what they would be this year, just as the arena was a mystery.

While the entire prospect of the games, the arena in which you’d be dropped into, and the other Tribute’s you’d be pinned against scared you, the Mutts terrified you more. There was always something about the Mutts Umbrella created, something otherworldly, something gruesome and terrifying that made your skin crawl to simply think about them.

What horrors would you be subjected to? What creatures would chase you through the arena whilst you fought for your life against twenty-three other children, as fought off infection, and dehydration, and starvation? Why would it be fair to present such monsters to make the children who were already terrified more at risk for their life? It wasn’t, and that was what scared you more than twenty-three bloodthirsty people.

“Look at them, they’re itching to get their hands on weapons.” You mumbled as you stood at a screen, testing your knowledge of poisonous plants with Piers beside you.

“Weapons protect you.” He shrugged, watching with wonder as you got each prompt correct, never missing a plant that could kill despite a no lethal one looking the same.

“Knowledge protects as well as a sword, Piers.” You rolled your eyes, tapping the last plant with your finger and the program presented a picture of a S. You’d passed, all thanks to Claire’s training in wisdom.

“I know it’s tempting to use your combat in here,” you started, folding your arms over your chest as you turned to face Piers. “But, you need to brush up on your survival skills too. We don’t know what arena we’ll be put in.”

Piers let out a sigh, his eyes rolling as he stepped forward to the screen as you stepped back, motioning for his turn. His strong suit was far from survival skills. But, he acknowledged that he needed to know these things.

You gave a soft smile, seeing Piers get a few right before he got one wrong. “Just practice. I’ll see you at the apartment.”

Piers let out a grunt of acknowledgment as you smiled a bit before you walked away, leaving him fully concentrated on the task at hand. Your eyes scanned the training center, gauging where to go next. You knew you had an upper hand in this situation, you’d spent the better part of your life being trained by Chris and Claire. But, that didn’t mean there wasn’t anything for you to become better at.

Until you spotted the knife stand and the dummies. You smiled a bit — knives were your specialty. You didn’t know why, but you were best at knives versus any other weapon. Swords were too heavy, lances too long, axes too much work. Knives were small, easy, better for close encounters. Some could be thrown at a distance, and they were silent.

However, your smile dropped as you approached the knife stand, seeing a mop of dirty blond hair studying the knives. It did not take much for you to recognize who this was exactly. Your heart launched up into your throat, eyes going wide as you froze and frowned.

Oh this poor boy, he had no chance. At least, not with the way he was handling the knife in his hand and haphazardly swinging it at one of the dummies. You stood back for a moment before you walked over to the display of combat knives — really there were so many, combat knives, throwing knives, really any type you could even imagine — and picked one of a style you favored before your eyes tracked to the boy again.

“Your stance is wrong,” you spoke suddenly before you could even stop yourself.

The boy turned, the blue of his eyes causing a shock to run through you for a moment before his confused frown brought you back to the present. You stepped forward.

“Your feet are too close together. Someone could easily come at you and you’d fall backward.” You explained, coming to stand closer to him.

“More like this,” you pressed on, showing him how to properly stand with your own feet. Knees bent, feet a little more than shoulder width apart. “See?”

“Like this?” He finally spoke, mimicking your stance. His eyes found yours again, searching for encouragement or some sign that he’d done it right.

“Like that,” you nodded, raising your arms to guard yourself. “Your arm position is important too. Keep your right arm close to your side, and your left up to protect your face and chest.”

Leon slowly nodded, eyes tracking your stance before copying it himself. You stifled a smile as he did it wrong. You straightened, walking over and setting your own knife aside.

“Mm, more like this,” you mumbled, hands gently on his wrist as you guided his right arm closer to his side and then his left slightly more up. “Then sort of hunch your shoulders and lean forward. Good, that’s good.”

Leon’s eyes lit up a bit as you encouraged him. You took a step back, hands at your sides as you looked at him. His eyes followed your movement, brows pulled together. “Why’re you helping me?”

You shrugged, picking your own knife back up and resuming your stance in front of a dummy. “‘Cause you were gonna get yourself killed standing like that.”

“No, I mean why help me. We’re going to fight each other in the arena.” He reiterated, starting to stand straight.

“You deserve a chance.” You offered, before you shot him a look from the corner of your eye and he stopped moving, going back into the stance again. “You have a hammer grip on your knife right now, it’s best for blocking and chopping. It’s a strong grip.”

Leon frowned again, his eyes darting to how he was holding his own knife. It did not go amiss to you how his eyes - icy blue, yet holding a modem of warmth that made your soul want to melt - tracked over your every movement. Hell, it really was all you could think about, all you wanted to focus on.

"If you flip it over," you continued, flipping the knife in your hand in a quick, precise, and well practiced movement. "You have a reverse knife grip. Edge in or out, they both have advantages."

Leon's eyes lingered on your grip on the knife, flicking between it and his own to flip his knife over and mimic your grip. You nodded in encouragement. "Good, like that." Your eyes ticked to the dummy in front of you before you nodded back at Leon, motioning for him to step back. "Stand back a second."

He obeyed, straightening and taking a long stride backward. His eyes left your figure for only a moment to check behind him before latching onto you again. This was when you did something stupid. With your stance corrected and eyes narrowed on the dummy, you rolled out your neck before pressing the button on the stand beside you, the dummy on the stand jerking to life.

Mechanic dummies - costly and overly showy, but useful in training. This one was more ferocious than the ones you used in District One, its arm swinging at you with a blunt knife. You leaned back, dodging before leaping forward in a swift motion, slicing the edge of your knife against the mechanic arm.

The back and forth between you and the dummy did not last long, your moves instinctual and well practiced until the dummy shut down with your boot connecting to its side, as well as your knife lodged into its chest. You yanked out the knife with a grunt, standing straight. Your eyes went wide as you realized multiple of the Tributes had taken notice of your very stupid display of talent. You brushed it off though, remaining blase as you turned around to look at Leon.

The look on his face, the amazement in his eyes, it snatched the breath from your lungs. He made no effort to hide his shock - he looked absolutely mesmerized by the show you'd just put on. Social cues had never been your strong suit, so you just stood there, staring back at him.

"That was," Leon trailed off, almost as if he was unsure of whether or not he wanted to say the words that rested on the tip of his tongue. "Where'd you learn that?"

"My mentor." You shrugged, the words spilling out casually before you could stop them. Heat coursed through your cheeks as you saw the look on Leon's face. You knew you had advantages, being Chris and Claire's charge, having grown up being trained in things Leon only had a matter of days to learn.

"I could, um, teach you." You offered lamely, your words meek and awkward as you said it. Not the wisest offer, but you didn't really know what else to say. Leon shook his head.

"You don't have to do that." He responded, the words sounding harsher to you than he'd probably meant them. The warmth in your cheeks grew, from rejection and embarrassment now. You knew he was saying that because it was true, a nicer way of phrasing the harsh reality - you really didn't have anything to offer him. No amount of training from you or his mentor could save him. Could give him a better chance of survival.

“I don’t mind,” you pushed gently, your shoulders shrugging up as you tried to reassure the boy that it was not as big of a deal to you. But really, it was. Allies were made in the arena in haste. Allies were a falsehood here. No one actually cared about anyone else. In the end, it was an ally who betrayed, not an enemy.

“I know, I just,” Leon hesitated, his body langue taking back that guarded sort of look as he looked away from you. His voice was soft, hesitant, like he didn’t want to hurt your feelings. Or make an enemy of you by pissing you off. “My mentor probably wouldn’t like that.”

Right. His mentor — Krauser. He really got the bad draw here. It was said Jack Krauser was ruthless as he was damaged. Both increasingly so. He’d experienced horrors in the games no one quite knew what to make of. In a way, you pitied Leon’s mentor. On the other hand, you hated him because he had a reputation for overexerting and overwhelming his Tributes to the breaking point.

You looked at the boy, studying his face for a moment as a sadness and sting of rejection seeped into your chest. It didn’t show though. No weaknesses, just as Claire taught you. “That is probably true. We are enemies, huh?”

Voice light and playful, you smiled at Leon. Your way of letting him know his rejection hadn’t angered you. It saddened you, however he didn’t need to know that. You placed the knife in your hand back on the stand, head tilted as you turned to smile at him again.

“Yeah, yeah we are.” Leon nodded, recovering startlingly fast with his own playful smile on his lips. A peace offering, a silent and mutual understanding of each other. You decided you liked his smile. Warm and friendly and it made your chest feel fuzzy. Your eyes dropped, hands folded behind your back.

“Good luck, twelve.” You mused, eyes looking back up at Leon with one last smile. The heel of your boot spun on the training floor, your footsteps thumping away from the knife stand. Leaving the boy of your greatest weakness and desires behind.

“Fuck, Chris! Ow!” You screeched, your brows pulled together as you twisted around suddenly, eyes narrowed and hot on your mentor as he walked into the apartment. His hand clapped on your shoulder harshly, a grin on his lips.

“Show off, aren’t we?” Chris grinned, his voice lilting as he came to sit across from you at the dinner table in the apartment. Claire shook her head — but her face betrayed her as she smiled as well. So, someone had spilled about your impromptu lesson to a certain Tribute.

Your eyes cut to Piers who sat to your left, his gaze avoiding yours. Little shit. You shook your head, fork moving around the delicate food on your plate. You offered a one shouldered shrug.

“I didn’t show off, I was just training.” You offered weakly, unbelievingly as you took a bite of the small pasta pearls on your plate. Your eyes tracked over the siblings who sat across from you. They shared a glance. Fucking Piers. Oh you’d kick his little tattle tale ass later.

“Sure thing, kiddo.” Chris nodded, playfully agreeing with your claim as he cut into the meat on his plate. Capitol food was too much for you, too delicate and gourmet. You liked Claire’s simple, home cooking. Your mentor’s eyes looked up at you again, brows raised. “Any particular reason you showed off to one of Krauser’s Tributes?”

“No,” you answered a little too quickly. Great job, good way to hide it. You shrunk into yourself ever so slightly, but it was extremely noticeable to the pair of siblings who raised you. They shared yet another glance. That made you feel as if you needed to defend yourself further. “I just saw him. He was gonna get himself killed if he went into the arena with what he knew.”

“That’s the point.” Claire said, brows raised as her voice was soft, but holding a certain modicum of a reprimanding tone. It made you want to crawl into yourself.

“No, the point is an equal fight to the death. Not sending in someone who can’t hold their own to die execution style.” You retorted, though you kept your words casual with a shrug as if you didn’t feel as passionately as you did for the subject. For Leon Kennedy.

“Actually, sunshine, it is.” Chris rebutted, not without gentle display though. You bristled slightly at the nickname he’d bestowed on you when you were young. He sighed, setting his fork and knife down on the edge of the porcelain plates of which the Capitol chose to serve their extravagant food on.

“The whole point of the Games aren’t a reminder anymore. It’s not a power play, it’s not a political statement anymore. It’s entertainment.” Chris explained, his words cutting through the air and hitting you where it hurt with the weight of their truth. “And sending kids like the ones from Twelve in against kids like you and Piers, it’s just more entertaining that way.”

“I know,” you grumbled, slinking lower into the velvet cushioned dining chair you sat in, dominant hand using your fork to push around the food on your plate. All appetite was lost on you. You’d rather starve than consume the food provided by the people who plotted your death.

And the thing that really hurt about Chris’s words — he was right. He was fucking right. Kids like Leon Kennedy and Helena Harper didn’t stand a chance in that arena. No matter how much preparation, how much optimism. Even the training you offered, nothing gave them a chance. They either had to be very lucky, smart, or have help. And help was unlikely. Very few bet on kids from lesser Districts.

But, as you studied the food on your plate and conversation quickly faded from your dramatic display of kindness in the training room to talk of upcoming interviews, you realized something. Maybe kids like Leon didn’t need external betting on their side. You couldn’t bet, you were a tribute. Mentors and stylists couldn’t bet because it was an unfair advantage. But, you could bet in other ways. You could rig the Games from the inside.

And that fact was more dangerous than any weapon you could wield in that arena.

Despite what you had previously believed, individual training had not been what you woke up and craved for every morning prior to the Games. You loved your one-on-one time with Chris and Claire, yes. It was not just for bettering your skills and knowledge to survive the arena, but a way to see them and spend time with them before your possible demise.

However, it was not what you looked forward to most. It was the group training. Going to the Tribute Center every morning from ten to dinner at five in the evening. Every morning you’d find yourself waking up just after sunrise, tossing and turning until you got tired and bored of laying in the plush bed and would sit up. You’d scroll on the screen on the wall, looking through all the different scenery options, music lists, short films on the history of Panem and the Umbrella Corporation, highlight clips from past Games.

That is, until you’d actually get up and dressed at nine and trudge out into the main apartment. You’d join Chris, Claire, and Piers at the dining table and have breakfast. Something small but nutritious. Enough to keep you going until break at noon in the Tribute Center for a small lunch. Three meals a day — not something most Tributes were used to. Even you some days.

But, for some reason, you adored the group training. Going to the Tribute Center and taking your pick of what to focus on. The options were endless — programs to test your survival skills, crafting stations, gymnastic training, video lectors on hunting and gathering. And of course the all favored and overused weapon choices. There were plenty of weapons to use. Some even you were unfamiliar with.

There were many different types of swords, knives of a wide and endless variety, axes, machetes, spears, tridents, scythes, maces, clubs, sickles, pikes, and even melee’s you couldn’t name. Of course there were no guns. Firearms were one of the few banned subjects and weapons. There were no set rules save for the presence of firearms. And the possibility of cannibalism. Not a subject the Capitol favored. Or anyone really for that matter.

Maybe it was the fact that you could size up each member of your competition that made you love group training so much. Or the ability to spar with live dummies. Or just the simple fact that you got to observe the Tributes from Twelve from afar. Or up close, in your stupider moments.

Piers had taken to endlessly and mercilessly teasing you. He proclaimed the morning of your second training that you must be in love with Leon Kennedy. He claimed that you had heart shaped pupils any time Leon entered your field of vision. A rather dramatic take on things.

You didn’t think what you harbored for Leon was love. No, it couldn’t be because you didn’t know him. You’d exchanged a few words with him, one knife combat demonstration, and an awkward goodbye. Glances were shared across training mats, or smile exchanged at the end of the day. But that was as far as your interactions with him went. So, in your mind, Piers was dramatic.

Except he wasn’t. Claire saw it, the observant cunt. She noticed everything. Even though she wasn’t present for group training, she just knew. She had to be fucking telepathic or something. Anytime District Twelve, its Mentor, or its Tributes were mentioned and you were in earshot, your eyes lit up. You perked up in a way that only meant obsession and adoration. She picked up on your cues, the way you paid extra attention for any breadcrumb of information on the Tributes from the poorest District in the country. And it reached a boiling point the night before the Games.

In private training, you worked not only on combat and survival knowledge, but on how to ace the Tribute Interviews set to air the night before the Games. Your final day in the Capitol was spent with a three hour group training, a lunch break, and working one-on-one with Mentors until the interviews. Which meant upwards of five hours practicing interview questions of a personal variety.

You spent a few hours doing some final knife and combat training with Chris before he sat you down to talk about your strong social points. Something you didn’t think you possessed.

“You’re witty, sunshine. Play on it.” Chris encouraged over a small dinner. It was two hours before the interview. Your stylist team was almost ready to start picking at you until you were a glittery piece of meat.

“No m’not. Claire says my wit is mean.” You said, rebutting Chris’s claims around a mouthful of stew.

Thank God Claire wasn’t there to see the offensively dramatic eye roll Chris gave in response to your claim. “No, it’s not. It’s charming. Just, don’t call the interviewer a pompous asshole and you’ll be fine.”

Easier said than done. That had been the extent of Chris’s advice. Claire’s however, was much more detailed and bossy.

“Smile, a lot. They fucking love it when you smile. Act like this is the biggest opportunity of your life.” Claire instructed, sitting at the edge of your temporary bed, watching as you stood on a pedestal, arms wide out as your stylist team dressed you.

You were done up in another one of Ingrid’s designs. She really liked to play on the peacock theme. This time, it was a long, trailing gown composed of jewels and peacock feathers. It looked more like stained glass in the color palette of a peacock. You actually kind of liked it. Except for the obvious avant garde of it all.

“I don’t wanna smile. Smiling is supposed to be happy.” You bit back, your brows pulled together in a deep frown. For the thousandth time that hour, one of your stylists pressed a thumb between your brows, making you stop frowning and smoothing out the wrinkle. You sighed, they cared too damn much about creased makeup.

“Okay, I know. I know.” Claire nodded, doing damage control, hands held up in a calming manner. She stood, walking over and wordlessly shooing away the team. They all took a step back.

“It not fun, I know. But, act happy. You need sponsors. You need all the help you can get. These kids, they’re vicious this year. I need you to try.” Claire said, voice taking on a softer tone. So, it was dawning on her.

In less than twelve hours, you would be in an arena full of twenty three blood thirsty kids. All out to kill you and take the Victor’s Crown. All merciless. You’d be dropped into God knows what kind of place, filled with horrors you couldn’t even imagine. And it seemed Claire was finally realizing it.

“Just… smile. Be your witty self and fucking dazzle ‘em. Chris and I believe in you.” She smiled softly, her eyes tracking over your face. Her hand came up to cup your cheek. Claire, your ever-mothering Mentor. Your older sister for all intents and purposes. She loved you. And you loved her.

“Dazzle ‘em.” You nodded, smiling at her. You were quick to hug her, arms wrapping around her shoulders and her head tucked under your chin due to the height difference of your shoes and the platform you stood on.

For her, you’d try and dazzle them. Make them love you. Get sponsors. You’d survive. And you’d play your game right. You’d make sure the one who deserved to win would. At any cost.

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