“Cirrus Phyto.” The voice cut directly through his chest. He noticed that the Peacekeeper didn’t say his name like a question. Their voice sounded dead, and their blank stare implied an internal battle between burning the place down or just leaving. “Right here!” Cirrus called. He awkwardly slid off of the cold bench– //Why is there /zero/ cushioning??//– and paced over to the entryway. His paws felt jittery; the cold temperature didn’t help. “How’s the, uh, Peacekeeping going along?” The cat across from him just gazed back silently. They looked as emotionally invested in their job as Cirrus felt in algebra class. In other words, not very. “Hellooo?” Cirrus swiped a paw in front of the Peacekeeper’s face. “Anyone in there?” Judging by the exasperated look in the other cat’s eyes, Cirrus guessed now would be a good time to shut up. A whispered “o-kay” slid through his lips as he crossed the threshold. Immediately, his front paws sunk about three inches down. //Wait, what?// Cirrus’s head snapped up to meet a panel of judges. The anchored box above him seemed almost ethereal; glass panes sheltered a row of bored-looking judges, the center of whom was Imperium himself. A hurried “PRAISE IMPERIUM” broke his trance. Cirrus’s forehead smacked against the floor, which he could only describe as… /slushy/, as his heart beat in his ears. Ironically, Cirrus felt giddy. //You’re on TV!// an eager voice whispered in his head. Briefly, his eyes darted up in search of hidden cameras. Cirrus nearly deflated. //I guess they’re called /hidden/ cameras for a reason,// he thought remorsefully. //All this room has is this dumb mud pile, this dumb flag, and these du– nope, these super duper smart judges, praise Imperium, yay Capitol–// Cirrus’s brain snapped back on a detail. //Hold on– a flag?// Thick, sturdy pine trees climbed along the side of a steep, muddy slope. Shoving aside the impulse to flop down and make snow (mud?) angels, Cirrus forced himself to think. //So I just have to get the flag, right? Easy! …Maybe.// A splintering sound somewhere to his left caught his attention. He dodged and barely avoided becoming a Cirrus-pancake as a lanky pine tree tumbled down the slope. “WHAT IN THE–” The judgmental murmurs from the box prompted him to quiet himself. //Okay, so I have, uh, /wood/… and… my bag?// Belatedly, Cirrus flipped open his bag’s pocket. //Please, please, please have something helpful inside….// But of course, the most useful things in his bag were crumpled-up homework assignments and his pet rock. //Yeeks, I got a C minus on that math paper….// Swiveling around, Cirrus hastily shoved it into the mud. The fallen pine tree next to him had a jagged, serrated trunk. //Wait a second….// Snatching the edge of the log, Cirrus strained to peel off a sheet of wood. He dug his claws into the bark and yanked off a chunk of pine. Tugging splinters of wood off, Cirrus fashioned makeshift sticks. The largest pine chunk nearly resembled a surfboard. Cirrus clambered onto the not-surfboard with the two jagged sticks in his paws. //Okay, it’s just like snowboarding. Except uphill. And with mud. And also, there’s little to no safety?// He cut off his train of thought by stabbing the first stick into the mud. Coughing and wheezing, Cirrus managed to scrabble his way up the mountain. He pressed himself flat against the wooden board, hoisting himself higher and higher with the sticks. Every time logs snapped and bounded down the mud, Cirrus flattened himself and buried his sticks in the mud to stay steady. (And he /may/ have gotten smacked by more than a few trees, but he could take it. Kind of.) Finally, at the top, he made a desperate reach for the flag– and may or may not have dropped a stick. “NO!!” The stick bounced down the slope, and Cirrus cringed. Hard. Without a stick, he couldn’t climb any higher; the remaining one needed to be his anchor. Cirrus cast a pitiful look at his satchel. His right paw shuffled through the papers to the speckled rock he’d gleefully adopted as a child. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sedimentary,” he croaked. Cirrus chucked his pet rock at the flag, and a distant clang echoed throughout the room. The flag wobbled slightly before toppling down to Cirrus. //Nice!// He stretched out a paw and clasped onto the flag, waving it in the air. "Take /that/, Gamemakers!" Karma replied by sending him skittering towards the bottom of the slope. “AAAAHHH–” Cirrus crashed at the bottom and was clocked on the head by something dense. “Ow– MR. SEDIMENTARY–” He shifted the flag over to cradle his precious rock in his paws. His vision blurred in front of him (//Did my pet rock just give me a concussion?//), and he managed to stumble out the door, flag in paw, before promptly passing out on the bench.
i may have procrastinated this until the literal last day
