Hello once again! This is the third installment in the Resistance series. The first half will be about the events leading up to the Quell; the second half will be about the Quell itself. I promise that it'll be filled with all the drama and fluff and whatnot.

The Decision

". . . The male and female tributes will be reaped from the existing pool of victors." President Snow's words repeat themselves in my head.

We all had different reactions. Broadsea shouted "NO!" and tossed a chair across the room. Wrather flat-out left and no one's seen him since. Dodge started weeping – and I mean weeping. As for me, I just sat there. Frozen.

But Mags takes the cake. She went and had a stroke.

For the past six hours, the doctor's been helping her. Broadsea, Dodge, and I have been running around trying to help without getting in the way.

Now at home, I'm sitting in a big armchair that I've pulled over to the bed. Annie's fast asleep, hair tangled across the pillows and blankets bunched up around her legs. She moved in with me two or three years ago – I don't remember. But I never get tired of waking up next to her.

She's smiling in her sleep. It seems cruel to wake her now. Drag her from dreams into reality, which is far less pleasant.

Annie's been sick with the flu all week. A few days ago, her fever was so high she was hallucinating and having nightmares. Tonight I left her asleep at home to watch the Quell announcement. She didn't see it. She doesn't even know that it was on. She doesn't know that two of us victors are going back into the arena.

And the duty has fallen upon my shoulders to tell her.

Oh joy of joys.

How do I go about telling her, I wonder? Hey, babe, your worst nightmare has come to life, but let's not make a big deal out of it; you're only going to die slowly and painfully, probably at the hands of someone you know? Pathetic.

I should get back to Mags. I pull the covers over Annie and she smiles. "Where have you been all night?" Her eyes flicker open. I consider telling her about the Quell, but when I open my mouth tears well up in my eyes. Annie sits up immediately. "What is it? What's wrong?"

I can't tell her. I can't. I manage to croak out one word, though: "Mags."

[LATER]

"Where's Mags?" Annie asks the moment we're in Mags's foyer.

Dodge – whose eyes are still red from crying – and Broadsea look puzzled. They both point upstairs and Annie heads off after giving my hand a squeeze. I sit down on a chair and put my face in my hands.

"What the hell was that?" asks Dodge. "Why ain't she freaking out about the Quell?"

"Yeah, shouldn't she be rocking back and forth in a corner somewhere?" asks Broadsea. "Or hanging off a rope by her neck?"

Dodge punches him in the stomach and Broadsea doubles over. "Shut the eff up." But eff is not the word he says.

"It's a valid question," I say. "She'd kill herself if she knew."

"She doesn't know?" Broadsea asks. "You've got to be kidding me! She has a right to know!" I don't move. "If you're not going to tell her, I will."

"No." I stand up. "Anyone breathes a word of this to Annie and I'll cut your tongue out."

"What are you going to do if her name is drawn?" Broadsea snaps, nostrils flared in anger. "What are you going to do if she goes back into the arena?"

That's a great question, to which I have no answer. Thankfully, Dodge pipes up. "Well it ain't up to you. Besides, Annie hates your guts." He turns to me. "Ain't that right, Boss?"

I don't respond because I hear Annie call out my name as she descends the stairs. The doctor is with her. "Mags wants you," she says. "Hi, Dodge." She nods in his direction, completely ignoring Broadsea. She never did tell me what happened between them, just that they had a falling out.

"Thanks," I say. I turn to the others. "Remember what I said about your tongues."

Mags is in her bed, propped up against pillows. She's half-asleep and doesn't look good. I remember the doctor saying that she'd make it, but her speech was messed up and she's having breathing trouble. Something like that. I stopped paying attention after I heard she'd making.

She says what must be my name, but it sounds like i-ick or something.

I sit on the edge of her bed. "I'm here."

"Volunteer," she croaks.

"What?"

"For Annie," she says. "Volunteer." I think she's trying to say that she'll volunteer if Annie's name is called.

"Mags, I can't ask you to do that," I whisper.

Her next words are crystal clear. "Then don't."

"Here we go." The doctor – a middle-aged man with glasses as thick as my thumb – enters the room. He sticks the end of a syringe into a tiny jar and pulls back the stopper. "You're going to feel a little sting." He flicks the side a few times.

I hold Mags's hand, remembering that she dislikes needles. As it pokes her arm, she squeezes my hand. But it barely feels like she's doing anything at all. As she drifts off, she says, "Plutarch will figure . . ." Her eyes are closing. "Plutarch will . . ."

"She'll be all right," the doctor promises. "Her bad leg will most likely get worse. And her speech may never be normal again."

"Fantastic," I mutter.

The doctor swallows, giant Adam's apple bouncing. "She's not in any shape to go back into the aren–"

"No offense, doc, but the last thing I need to do right now is discuss the Quarter Quell with you," I say. That shuts him right up.

Mags said, "Plutarch will figure." She probably meant that he'd figure something out. A way to get us out of the arena. Get me out.

When you think about it logically, you can only draw one conclusion: it may be a one-in-four chance, but I'll be the one that goes in. They'll rig it. As much as the Capitol loves me, I've been a lot of trouble to Snow over the years. He'll be glad to get rid of me. It'll make a statement. And Snow likes making statements.

Downstairs, Broadsea has begun drinking himself into a stupor. Dodge is whittling something from a log of firewood. Annie's blowing her nose in the kitchen. I sit on the couch between Dodge and Broadsea. Just sit there. Don't do anything else. After a minute, I can hear Annie washing her hands.

"What'd Mags say?" asks Dodge.

"She said Plutarch will think of something," I reply.

"Plutarch." Broadsea snorts. "I trust him as far as I can throw him."

"Who can you throw?" asks Annie, walking in with a box of tissues tucked under her arm.

"Dodge," Broadsea says without hesitation. "But he's such a scrawny bitch I could probably toss him all the way to South Waters."

"Hey!" Dodge snaps. "Boss, am I a scrawny bitch?" he asks me.

I find myself smiling. "I'm sorry, Dodge. You are."

For some reason, we all start laughing.

Annie and I end up going home. The cats start whining for food. I ask Annie to go up to bed, claiming that I don't want her coughing all over the cats' food. But really I just want to be alone. After I feed the cats, I sit down in the library.

As soon as I sit, the phone starts ringing. I reach over and pick it up. "Hello?"

"Finnick."

"Johanna."

"I've been trying to get a hold of you for hours!" she says. "Did you see it?"

"Yeah, I saw it." I sigh.

"Then why the hell didn't you pick up the phone one of the eight thousand times I called?" she spits.

"Mags had a stroke."

"Oh," she says. "Well, is she going to be okay?"

"Yeah."

"How about you?"

"No."