Miller Brick

## Bio

The quintessential spirit of District 2 was sculpted in the Bricks—or at least in the Brick patriarch. As a young man, Clayton Brick had inherited a large share of a profitable mine from his father, but it was his ambition that had moulded the enterprise into what it was now; not just a single mine but complexes of mines, not just engaged in masonry but also arms manufacturing. The corporation firmly stood with the Capitol during the rebellion, supplying the weapons that helped quell it and the stones for the rebuilding afterwards. This effectively put Brick Industries and the man at the helm on the map, which sated his appetite for a while, leading him to turn to pursuits more personal in nature. He married a woman of similar standing and character, colder though not as brazen, and together they decided to build a legacy.

Miller was born their first child, their pride and glory, or rather what they hoped would become their pride and glory. They wanted him to be everything they were and more; the product of what they believed were their best traits, the shining trophy to display on their shelf, the heir that would elevate the Brick name to even greater heights. Perhaps some of those wishes had stemmed from love, but if that was the case, the love was buried so deep that it was impossible to see, concealed under Clayton’s severe hand and Paloma’s quiet detachment. Nevertheless, Miller did his best to do everything his parents wanted of him, chasing after their affection and approval at every turn.

He did find love and support from his family, but only after his brothers were born. They were all different in nature, but they bonded over the coldness of their home and the weight on their shoulders. With Smith and Mason around, Miller imposed upon himself yet another responsibility, which was to keep his brothers out of trouble and to protect them. It was a responsibility he assumed gladly and freely, with the genuine hope that his brothers—who showed no interest in building that legacy their parents were after—would not have to go through everything that he had to go through.

A large part of winning their parents’ approval was to become Hunger Games victors, so the three boys grew up training in District 2’s career academy. Miller excelled on most fronts; brutal but disciplined, bold but calculated, and always ruthless. His talents and confidence made him popular among his trainers, peers, and friends alike, though some might argue just how much his last name played into that. In any case, by the time Miller turned 23, the academy and his parents all believed him to be ready. So, he did the only thing that made sense. He volunteered for the 130th Games.

During his time in the Capitol, he stuck mostly to the manual in his mind that had been cemented by years of training. He listened to his mentors, he secured alliances with the other careers, he charmed in the parade and the interview, and he even got to talk himself up to a few sponsors. In spite of the disciplined nature of his upbringing, he had always had a certain carefree charisma about him, and that, coupled with the confidence he projected, made it easy for him to win favours.

Understandably, though, not everyone was charmed. There were sponsors who were set on supporting other tributes from the start. Sponsors like the Odairs. The renowned family, together with their victor son, naturally meant to support the District 4 tributes. Miller was hardly surprised. Besides, it was not their sponsorship that was most enticing to him about the Odairs. It was instead their eldest daughter. Medea, with her effortless magnetism and refreshingly quick wit, fascinated him like no one else, certainly more than anyone he had ever taken an interest in. He did not manage to win her family’s favours, but he did end up falling into bed with her. Though their connection felt immediate and charged, it could not last, of course, if only because he had to be launched into the arena, potentially to die.

The tributes found themselves in the middle of the desert with archaic-looking structures around them. Over the following 12 days, one after another, plagues wreaked havoc on the arena. Miller did not recognise it for what it was, which was ancient—or rather biblical—Egypt, but he did well enough once again just by sticking to everything he had learnt from his years of training. Well enough, bruised and battered all over but with no overtly life-threatening injuries, until the tenth and final plague rolled around.

The mutts seemed to attack at random in the pitch black, chasing after certain tributes while ignoring others. Stranger still, they did not go for the immediate kill. Just a bite, a sting, or a scratch, then they disappeared back into the darkness. That was proven to be more than enough, though. The fever set in quickly. Tributes who had suffered the attack of the mutts fell into a weakened and delirious state, appearing to be suffering from some sort of infection. Stiffness and seizures followed. As the hours crept by, it became apparent that those tributes were not going to survive the night. They would only be saved if given a particular medication that could only be obtained from sponsor gifts. It served as a reminder, perhaps, that everyone was ultimately at the mercy of the Capitol.

Miller was unfortunately among these tributes. His mentors had sent him quite a few gifts until then, but none of those items could save him now. Another parachute eventually did float down again, which he barely registered, so close to death, bringing exactly what he needed. Not long after he swallowed the tablet, his fever broke and his mind cleared. When light finally illuminated the arena again after 3 days of darkness, he read the note that had come with the gift, expecting to see one of his mentors’ names, only to find that it had come from an anonymous sponsor. The curiosity only bugged him for a short while. He went on to finish off the other remaining tributes, with the callous detachment that had carried him through since launch, and be crowned victor that day.

The first thing that he did upon returning home was to invite his parents into a negotiation. Now that he had won, now that he had fulfilled their wish, he asked that they grant him something in return; spare Smith and Mason from ever having to volunteer for the Games. His father promised to consider it, under the condition that Miller began to take an active role in the family business, which had always been planned for him. He understood it for what it truly meant. He would stay under his father’s thumb, forced to toe the line with his brothers being held for ransom. But what choice did he have? If that was what it took to potentially save his brothers’ lives, he had to do what needed to be done.

It feels impossible to be honest with himself, to admit that, even as an adult and a victor, he is still without his own agency. Admitting that would mean admitting defeat, admitting helplessness, and that is completely inexcusable in their household. There is always something that can be done. There always has to be a way. Still, the truth eats at him from the inside, and the suffocating powerlessness, on top of the exhaustion from everything he has done to get this far, drives him in search of an escape whenever he can get it, a semblance of freedom in scattered pockets of moments.

There is the drinking, there is the partying. Perhaps less tasteful than either is his habit with women. Even before his victory, Miller has been known to move on from one pursuit to another rather quickly, never staying with any one of them for long, but now the speed with which he flits through them has doubled. His status as a victor only facilitates and occasionally sensationalises this. When he is not shadowing his father at work, the vices keep him occupied one way or another, which leaves little time to see his brothers anymore. What he justifies as something he is doing for them seems to be slowly driving a wedge in their relationship instead.

As is expected of him, he has routinely returned to the Tower for the Games following his own. The first time he did, memories of a certain Odair floated back to the forefront of his mind, but seeing as she did not return during the 131st, the memories quickly floated away again. Miller decided to take up the role of a trainer at the Tower, hovering about the training centre disengaged from any one team. It feels good not to have to be responsible for anything or anyone even just for the short periods that the Games last. Though he is willing to help where he can, he does not usually care much about the tributes. All he really cares about is that his brothers are safe back home and away from the trappings of the arena. But while they are still eligible for reaping, whether or not that safety will last remains an open question.