Just a Berry

by D3T3RM1N3D

What if Foxface won? Who is she really? Why are you reading the description? I slaved away to make the story, not the summary. I don't get payed enough for this.

1. The Act Of Outfoxing

Just a Berry -Complete-

No regrets

In minutes

Gambling with life and death

Hate and suffering fuelled

Time, so much more time

Loss, so much more loss

Only a berry

Careful now

Keep your mouth shut-

you're lying to yourself.

All we know, and so much more. I should be thanking it, yet I'm not. It saved my life, but began my torture. It helped me, yet put me in even more danger than Kitfinniris's fingers around the slip of paper reading my name did. I did it. I won.

I stare, pale and sweating at the corpses around me. Cato's, Katniss's and Peeta's all lying around the Cornucopia in bloodied heaps. The mutts were designed to torture, wherever they are. I was on the Cornucopia, I remind myself where I am and what I did to get here. They climbed. They fought. I was invisible in the darkness. I didn't mean to, my leg, I promise I didn't. Cato, one trip, one misstep over my leg, he and Peeta plummeted over the edge bringing Katniss with them. Just what the Capitol wanted. But the berries, the berries that I had secured onto my belt, I tossed them down. Three painless, bloodless deaths. Boring onscreen, to the Capitol. Now I will surely pay.

"Ladies and gentlemen! May I present to you the victor of the seventy fourth hunger games!"

A hovercraft swoops down and picks me up in it's descending claw. I zone out and allow myself to be fussed into a room and injected with a syringe. Poison? Revenge? Maybe. My eyelids droop and darkness replaces my thoughts. When I wake, I find several wires and tubes attached to me. So it wasn't poison, now I know for sure that I'll be paranoid about every drink that I consume, every needle that pierces my skin, every berry that enters my stomach. A natural and chemically untouched sleep falls upon me and I don't fight it. Another waking occurs, my body is free of tubes and Kitfinniris's pink, tear-streaked face is close to mine.

"Finch!" She shrieks.

"Kit," I blink.

She embraces me and I'm taken aback. Kit's never hugged me before. Though I don't really blame her, I've not exactly been kissing her since she reaped me.

"You did it!"

I try to give her a half smile, but the image of Glimmer swollen up like a balloon on the floor stays fresh in my mind. I honestly have no clue what happened to her, all I know is that one minute the sound of screaming and a cannon draws me towards her, staying concealed in the bushes and the next, a girl is lying dead on the floor with a head the size of a beach ball and fingers the size of small bricks. My smile fades and Kit hugs me again. She sits me up and I'm surprisingly well-rested and strong. I stand up. I can't deny that I've stood up to the Gamemakers with those berries, I don't know what's in stall for me but I know that it isn't anything to be excited about. Ladies and gentlemen, let the true seventy fourth hunger games begin.

One week later.

I can't believe it. I did it! I survived! Hold on, no, I'm smarter than that. This is just the beginning. I know for a fact that there's more to come. Ugh, don't be stupid Finch, if that even counts as my name anymore. The whole of Panem seem to have forgotten my name, Foxface- that's my replacement. An insult, Katniss's nickname for me that stuck. I can't say I don't like it, but it's connected with the games. So it's my job to hate it. I'm still elated with myself for surviving the victory tour, Kit helped me through it I guess. She gave me cards to read and I read them, simple as that. Yet so not simple, like this isn't the end. Ugh, what an I saying, of course this isn't the end. Snow still wants to kill me. I bet I'm at the top of his hit list- Finch Crossley: the fox. I'm on the train with my mentors: Kathrine and Watson. They're morphine addicts but surprisingly friendly. Wats gave me survival tips and Kat helped with my interview angle. They seemed... almost, too kind. They haven't said a word to me since I won. It suddenly hits me- they were only helpful because they couldn't live with another tribute dying without being helped as much as possible. They needed to know that they'd done all that they could to help me. Despite probably doing the same thing if I was in their situation, I hate them. They played me for a fool. They didn't care about me, just their consciences. I'm about to stand up and leave the room, not wishing to be within twenty metres of them, but the train stops. I stand up and Kit comes flapping in from nowhere. She ruffles her lightning-yellow wig and adjusts the fluffy green dress which adorns her torso and thighs. It clashes awfully with her bubblegum-pink skin and freakishly red eyes.

"Foxface!" She calls. "It's our stop!"

I stand up and inch around the coffee table, towards the exit. Kit flusters out, tugging my arm with her and I scuttle behind her. She leads us into the district with an army of peacekeepers behind us. District five is a wealthy district, I mean, we have to have money in order to develop and maintain the power plants and many other methods of energy gaining. There are two parts of the district, the town, and the smog. The smog is an area consumed by the pollution and fumes from the district. Those who live there are poor and as good as dead. The smog is so harmful that just one breath of it is enough to damage a lung beyond repair. Smog dwellers are rarely seen, maybe there aren't any left. I've been in there just once, it was the worst experience of my life. My father had only one wish for me: that I'd grow up healthy and grateful for what little I have. He wrapped six scarves around my face, three for my mouth, two for my nose and one thin one for my eyes. He spent an entire night sewing a skin tight suit out of thin material. The resources he needed in order to achieve this were extremely costly. We almost starved that week. He made me walk along the edge of the smog for about half a mile. When we arrived back home, I was choking and stumbling.

"Why did you do that Dad?" I asked coughing.

"Because," he smiled stroking my hair. "I want you to succeed. You're a fighter Finch, and you have the face of a warrior." He sat me down and pumped some water from the well behind our house. He came back and put the cold glass to my lips. "I want you to be strong."

My mother screamed at him and they argued all night.

"She's just a child!" I heard Mum yell.

"And Snow doesn't seem to have trouble with killing children!"

His voice went quiet. "Ivory, we both want what's best for Finch. I care about her more than anything else and I know you do to. Let's save her the trouble of having to watch her parents fight." He turned to my hiding place. "Go back to bed Finch, it's ok."

He and mother locked hands and I shuffled up to my bed. The house has two floors as it's a herb and plant shop. We live in the two rooms on top and serve customers in the one on the ground. The roof is crumbly and I have always slept with the fear of it collapsing. My mother was quite genius when she started picking and selling plants. Most of the plants are burnt (biomass) for the production of energy and so they are hard to come by. We live in a sort of corner of the district. Behind the house is the very edge of the forest and to the far right is the smog. The town is on the left not far away. We live off of the money and plants from the store but I still took a little tesserae, just a little. Apparently it wasn't worth it. I stroll down the town and past the east power plant. I take in the district's familiar smell of oil and realise how much I missed it. From the looks of it, Kat and Wats did to. Kit however is holding her nose obnoxiously. People stop what they're doing and point at us, whispering. I don't like the feeling of being watched so I let my hair fall over my face as I trudge onwards. We reach the victors village and come to a halt.

"I'm sure you can take it from here," Kit smiles.

I nod and leave my escort and mentors alone.

"Bye WatsaKitKat," I chuckle under my breath.

This is my secret nickname for them, though Kat heard me say it once.

"Hey!" She shouts. "I told you to call me Kathy!"

I stifle a laugh and walk towards home. I pass the west power plant and all of the streets that I used to walk home from school past when I was young. Memories of being teased and neglected at school come floating towards me but the fresh hunger games ones seem to fight them away. I don't have many friends, what with living in a shop on the edge of town, but now that I don't actually want any, I bet they'll come running. Friends open you up and read you like a book. My father told me this when I was feeling lonely all those years ago. That's why I have trust issues. My father tells me that that's a blessing in disguise- no one can pick holes in me and find my weaknesses without my full approval that they won't use this information against me. I'm smart and paranoid, a helpful pair. Despite this, I'm tall and thin with little muscle. I have a flight response to conflict which is helped by my speed. Unfortunately, most weapons travel faster through the air than a human does on the ground. I practised throwing knives in the training centre and I'm not half bad, but I never got hands on a proper one in the arena. Though I don't regret fleeing the Cornucopia, that increased my survival chances by forty percent. I think of the rows of books surrounding my bed and my pace quickens. I spend, well, spent I guess, hours up there, just reading. Most of the books are non-fiction and I'm thankful for that. Something blue peaks out from behind a tree and a roof. It's the solar panel which heats up the shower in our bathroom. It only lasts for about five minutes before it starts to run ice cold however. All our water comes from the local well. We're not supposed to be out in the rain due to the chemicals in the air which give it a chance of becoming acid rain. I love rain though. Even in the arena, it's beautiful. Someone is standing in the doorway.

"Finch!" She cries out.

"Mum!"

I run into her arms and she embraces me. My father rushes towards us and joins us. Tears fall down their faces but Dad has cracked and crippled my emotions until I can hide them and make my face become a mask. So many things which I hated him for in the past but I've lived to thank him wholeheartedly for them. I wonder if he mentioned it in his interview during the games. Maybe he was making his face an emotionless mask to help avoid attention from coming my way. That was the strategy which Katherine planned out for me- Watson was my district partner's, whose name I have regrettably forgotten, mentor. We wanted to avoid making myself a target, which is why I managed a low, unnoticeable five and kept my interview as boring and forgettable as possible. Oh how it payed off.

"I'm so proud of you," Mum breathes.

"I knew you'd outfox them," Dad grins.

We stay connected in eachother's arms for a few minutes until they explain to me that the shop will be open from Mondays until Wednesdays instead of full time. And only in the afternoon. After lunch on opening days, they'll walk back to the shop for the afternoon. I can come with them if I wish. I analyse this information and conclude that I need some time to recover from the games, I mean, winning the Hunger Games is tricky if you haven't noticed. We step inside and collect anything for the house in the victor's village. The district has only produced three victors including me. When we arrive at the village, we select a house on the far end closest to home. The village backs up against the forest. We step inside and our mouths drop open at the sight of the home. We have about three rooms in our house, this one has over seven. They start unloading plants and boxes into the kitchen so I take the time to explore for nooks and crannies with odd little hiding places. Downstairs is a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom, a basement and a dining room. Upstairs is one bedroom, a master bedroom, a study room with a desk, another bathroom, an attic and some sort of combination locked room. The amount of dust settled on everything just proves the little amount of victors we've had. I spot a broom in the corner for whatever reason and I pick it up. Sweeping the floor and attempting the walls, I notice a mouse hole. I bend down and peer into it. Nothing, just cobwebs. I suddenly have a thought. I peel off some wallpaper from the corner of the room and reach out of the window. Sure enough, one of the window tiles is loose. I pull it off and set to sticking on the wallpaper. There's a big oak tree by the house and I spot a crevice covered in crusted honey.

"Tea?" My mother calls up to me.

She discovered the tea leaves growing in the forest edge and ever since we could, we've been drinking tea.

"Yes please!" I call back.

I hop down the stairs and take the dusted china mug from her hands. It burns my fingertips but I still carry it all the way upstairs. I take the flake of honey and press it against the burning mug. After some time, the honey softens up and becomes sticky. I use it to glue on the wallpaper to the roof tile. After a bit of banging it against the tree, I chip the tile the size of the mouse hole. I place it in like a door. Chuckling to myself, I think now I can hide any small object which I please. I'm resourceful, I was always stubborn and that sort of mixed into determination to create the personality trait of me which refuses to come back from anything empty handed. A memory of salvaging that knife blade after the explosion in the arena comes back to me and I shiver. I do some more sweeping and decide to finally take a crack at my room. I open the door and bite my lip. A branch from the oak tree has grown in through the window and across the wall. The floor is laden with dust so I sweep it. I shake the bedsheets, duvet and pillowcase over the floor and sweep up more dust from the wood. I make my bed and survey the room. The bed is in a corner on the far side of the room, diagonal to the door. The window on the right wall, which sits above it, is twice as wide as the bed and the oak branch comes in through the far right of it, not touching the bed. The branch stretches for about three metres down the wall before it starts to become smaller and brittle at the end. The window however, is un-shattered. I guess that's the process of slow growing. At the end of the bed sits a table, which I have to dust. There are empty picture frames on the left wall by the door and I plan to fill them. Below them is a writing desk. I can make do with this. I take the books, which I piled up by the door, and wonder where to put them. I grin crosses my face. I pick up the pile and place them standing up next to each other on the tree branch like a book shelf. There's a book end on the desk and I use it at the end of the row where the branch starts to weaken. I unpack more items and head out. Mum and Dad are in their room, dusting it off, and I step down the stairs and out of the house. I've never liked change, but since the reapings, I've sort of gotten used to it. I'm not even five metres down the village when I hear a squeal belonging to Mum.

"Finch come look!"

I turn around on my heels and head back. What now?

"Look!" She exclaims bustling me through the house. "The garden!"

The only garden we've ever counted as our own is the small patch of forest behind our house. I'm pushed through the back door and my mouth drops open. The garden is coated in colours. The grass is vivid green, well, mostly because of the bleaching from the chemicals in the air but still. It's dotted with wildflowers and the oak tree, which stretches a branch into my window, stands guarding it. There's a hedge separating it from all of the other (unoccupied) victor's houses. There are tables, chairs and picnic blankets, but what confuses me is in the centre of the garden. A rectangular, deep hole full with water.

"What is it?" I ask Mum.

"It's a human pond I think," she grins.

Dad is on a chair with a dictionary on his lap.

"Swimming pool I think," he nods. "Yes, that's the name for it.

Mum tugs at my sleeve.

"Let's all get something to eat shall we?"

I nod and Dad stands up. We step into the kitchen and grab a bite to eat. We bring it outside and have a picnic until one O'Clock. Mum and Dad wave me goodbye and walk to the herb and plant shop for the rest of the afternoon. I strip down to my underwear and step into the swimming pool. I can't swim, but the water is warm and the bubbles tickle my feet. I step in deeper down the steps and soon my neck downwards is submerged in water. I figure out that if I slowly kick my legs in a turning motion and do the same with my hands, I float. It's like walking on the surface of water, only not the surface but somewhere in its depths. Treading water! I recognise the phrase from a book I read. I must be doing it right. I scrabble forwards in the water and become tired. I put my feet down to stand on the bottom of the pool but soon find that it's deeper than I thought. My head falls under and I choke. I frantically splash around, gasping for air that isn't there. Don't panic. I tell myself. I strike my hand out and it hits something hard. I pull myself forwards and wrench myself over the edge. I cough and splutter until oxygen fills my lungs. I spit water onto the pavement and it glistens with red. I bit my tongue and a familiar metallic taste fills my mouth. I spit it out and take slow, deep breaths. Once calm again, I head all the way back to the steps again. I climb in and out over and over until I've mastered the art of treading water, holding my breath and climbing out. My bones start to ache and I walk inside. Pulling myself up the stairs, I think for a little. Will I live like this for the rest of my life? Aside from mentoring when the games roll along, is this what I'll do everyday? Is that a bad thing? Will I hold up and be the best mentor I can be or will I fall into the clutches of morphine like Katherine and Watson? So many questions that only time will answer fill my head and I shake them away. I pull out an emerald top and some black trousers from my wardrobe and slip them on. I brush the tangles out of my hair and tie it into a plait at the side of my head. The fire coloured locks catch the light and seem almost ablaze. My hair is slightly shorter than when I was reaped thanks to my prep team but I look more grown up like this. I always enjoyed having my hair whip around behind me when I was younger and I guess old habits die hard. I grab a book about water and swimming, though it may have been intended as a book about how fish adapt to water, it works for me. I sit on a chair in the living room and read for another hour. A sound makes me jump. It's the phone ringing. Are my parents having trouble at the shop? No of course not, I think, we've never had a phone before. It might be Kat or Wats. I drop the book and walk over to it. Gosh I hope I can do it right. I've only ever seen Kitfinniris use one before. I pick it up and press the receive button.

"Hello?" I ask.

"Ah," comes a deadly familiar voice. "Foxface, or would you prefer to be called Finch?"

"Oh!" I exclaim flustered. My voice somewhat calms and I lie flawlessly down the phone. "What an honour, President Snow."

I can almost feel his snake-like smile on the other end of the line as I add. "Either name is fine."

"Well Finch," He continues. "Before I say anything, I would like to congratulate you on your victory." He chuckles. "I hope you and your family are happy with your new house."

"Very happy," I say smiling to add affect to my voice.

"I'm glad to hear that," he replies. "But that's not what I called you to discuss."

I swallow, cross and uncross my fingers.

"You see," he goes on. "The Capitol adores everything you did, when you overheard the careers talking about their hunting trip, when you stole from their supplies, when you salvaged the blade after the explosion, everybody in the Capitol loves you and your courage. They're all wrapped up in your cunning plans and they idolise how smart you are. Everyone in the districts love you as well."

"Thank you," I reply unsure of where the conversation is going.

"However," he continues. "Some in the districts love you for a different reason."

"What could that be?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"Well, Miss Crossley, these some in the districts viewed your little act with the berries rather..." He pauses. "Rebellious."

"I didn't think of it that way," I breathe, my eyes wide with shock and worry.

Since the dark days, any trace of rebellion has been destroyed, along with associates' loved ones. If I want to keep myself and my family alive, I need to listen to everything that Snow tells me now.

"I know you didn't," he says. "It is human nature to not wish to see others in pain, but I'm afraid that human nature isn't enough to un-convince a nation of rebels."

"A nation?" I ask.

"There have been tiny, uprisings in some of the districts due to the last hunger games."

"Is this my fault?" I ask worried.

"Not entirely," he tells me, tightening the knot in my stomach. "But it will be if we can't quench this small flame of rebellion. If we are unsuccessful, what's to stop another uprising? What's to stop, Miss Crossley, a real war?"

"I don't want war," I breathe. "I just wanted to end those tributes' suffering."

"Of course you did. Now listen Finch, I am going to make you an offer."

"Yes..." I manage taking deep breaths.

"You and your family can live in the Capitol and be out of the reapings, out of the games completely, your mentoring duties will be abandoned and you will live amongst riches and opportunities."

I think, this is too good to be true. "Why are you offering me this?"

I hear him take a ragged breath. "You are smart Finch, not in the way that a teacher is smart, but in the way that a fox is smart. Your brain catches onto things and works in so many different ways. You know more than you think Miss Cobalt, your mind would truly be wasted rotting away here in the districts."

I think for a moment. "And if I refuse?"

"Then," he says in his calm, cunning manner. "You go about your life here in the district with no catch intended."

"I-" I start. This seems too good to be true. "I need time to think about it."

"Of course," I can feel him smiling again. "We have further things to discuss Finch, call me back within the next week once you have made up your mind and we will take things from there."

"Yes," I swallow. "Thank you President Snow."

"No," he says. "Thank you Foxface."

The call ends and I'm left standing with the phone in my hand. I collapse back into the chair after placing it back on its stand. I analyse my situation. Quotes start coming slowly back to me.

"You and your courage."

"Opportunities."

"You are smart in the way that a fox is smart."

"Your brain catches onto things."

"You know more than you think."

"Your mind would truly be wasted."

Realisation hits me like a punch to the chest. I've read almost every book about the system of the districts and I can read between the lines. I know how fragile and dependant it is, I'm one of the only ones who does. Snow is afraid of this information spreading, he's trying to contain me in the Capitol to stop my dangerous knowledge. The frightening truth is- I've been a threat to him the entire time.

This is bad. People who stand as a threat to President Snow all seem to meet unexplainable deaths which everyone overlooks. I don't however, and that is exactly the point. I take in details which pose dangerous to the system of the games. The uprisings he spoke of all make sense. I can't say that I'm not against them, but I will do whatever it takes to keep those that I love alive. Even if that means stopping the rebellion with Snow. His offer... there has to be a catch! There's always a catch! I just need to get an idea what it is. I stand up, pick up my book and climb the stairs to my room. I place the book back on the branch bookshelf and step into the master bedroom. Sure enough, there's a large stack of up to date Capitol magazines. I dig around to the bottom, to the ones that they placed that deep under for a reason, and scan across the titles. Captive Creativity of the Capitol- no, Fashiontastic- no, Meet the Victors- no, Gamemaking behind the screens- no, aha! Amongst the corny, non-original names lies a copy of Interviews with the Formers. I read each page. Head peacekeeper in district nine who used to be from two, not very useful. Head gamemaker who's victor from one, closer. Ooh- twelves new stylist who used to be from eight, this looks interesting. I read about a stylist named Cinna who was commended for his stunning work in eight and offered a deal similar to mine. I scan through the interview. Offered to be twelve's stylist, hopes that they don't notice his lack of Capitol accent, avoids Capitol fashion- sounds like my kind of guy. A quote catches my eye.

"Despite the Capitol being the prettiest, most opportunity filled place on Earth, and how much I love my job, there is something that it takes away from you; it takes away your identity, it distracts you and almost tries to reboot your personality. I'm trying to stay untempted by many of the Capitol's wonders."

That's the catch. Whoever Cinna is, I feel like I can relate to him and I trust his judgement of the Capitol. My family might be better off in the city but it could tear us apart. Some risks aren't worth taking. Yet some are. The door opens and shuts and I stuff the magazines back and hop down the stairs. It's dark outside and I'm hungry.

"Hello darling!" Mum beams.

"You tried the swimming pool?" My father asks.

I nod and he pats me on the back.

"I could eat a shrimp," he laughs.

I pause, remembering a book on animals which I read recently before the reaping. "Aren't they really small?"

"Are they?" He asks. "Did I mean whale?"

I nod. "Probably."

"I always get them mixed up," he laughs.

We have a large meal in the kitchen and I head up to bed in my underwear. It's not hot or anything, winter is technically tomorrow, I just don't have the strength to dig around in a cupboard to find pyjamas. I sink beneath the covers and my mind ticks around for a couple of hours and slides in and out of the lines of what Snow told me. I weave around it and think back to the magazines. I realise that Cinna is the stylist in twelve who dressed his tributes in flames. He thinks out of the box like me, our minds are dangerous so Snow's trying to keep it in the Capitol. What did Cinna say again? Something in the Capitol changes you. It tempts you and takes away your personality and who you are. I don't want that but I don't want to live here in danger of a rebellion. Snow basically told me that it's my fault and I'll pay for it. He'll ask me about my decision and talk me through how to avoid a rebellion. I don't like making deals and promises, I don't trust many people. My sleep is dreamless and I wake the next morning. I lie in bed reading until somewhere around ten. I stand up, get dressed and brush my hair into two buns. It took me ages to master and my stylist decided that it was practical enough. I pull on a coat and dash out into the cold. I dash up to the house furthest away from ours and give the door a push. It's unlocked and swings right open.

"Watson." I say acknowledging who's house I've ended up in.

"Foxface," he replies sarcastically. "For what do I own the pleasure of your vis-"

"Cut out the sweet talk Wats this is serious."

"Woah," he yawns. "Give me time to wake up."

He pops a pill into his mouth and pours a large glass of alcohol. He offers some to me.

"Listen to me!" I plead.

"Honey, look," he sighs. "I gave you survival tips, you won the hunger games, haven't I done enough?"

"You know this isn't the end," I scowl.

"Fine," he breathes and the alcohol on his breath is like a slap in the face. "What now?"

I resist the urge to hold my nose and explain my situation.

He pulls a face. "I thought something like this would happen,"

I scowl. "And look how much you've done about it! Absolutely nothing!"

"I have problems of my own ok!" He snaps back.

I sigh and place my head in my palms. "What have I done?"

He places a sweaty hand on my shoulder. "You haven't done anything wrong, it's what you're going to do which matters."

I look up. "What am I going to do?"

"Do you want to live in the Capitol?"

"No," I answer honestly without having to think about it.

"Then you'll just have to tell Snow that you're staying here with your family."

I nod. "Thanks."

"No problem," he says reaching out for his cup. "Just don't bother my alcohol problem next time."

I roll my eyes and stand up. I walk out of the room and find it very lightly snowing outside. Despite the cold, I go for a swim- eager to try out the strokes and techniques which I've read about. I'm not half bad actually. I dry myself off and sit shivering and wrapped in a blanket by the fire. I haven't even seen fire since my last day in the arena and it brings back faint memories. They're only faint due to the highly unreal looking flames generated by the electric Capitol fireplace. My father sits down next to me.

"Hello Finch," he smiles.

"Hi," I mutter.

"You seem lost in thought," he observes. "What's bothering you?"

I pause and decide that this house isn't safe enough to talk about Snow.

"I was wondering what plants grow in the edge of the forest in the victor's village." I tell him.

"Do you want to see?" He asks, taking my hint.

I nod and we stand up and step outside. We walk as far as we can before the electric fence and he turns to me.

"What is it?"

"It's just-" I start. "Snow offered me a deal."

"What was that?" He asks.

"We can live in luxury in the Capitol, or we can stay here."

He purses his lips together as if trying to work out the catch.

"I," I stammer. "I want to stay here."

"So do I," He smiles. "And we shall."

I return the smile with more effort than I expected and we head back inside. The weight on my shoulders seems to have lifted and I walk a little more freely. I crawl upstairs and sink under the covers of the bed. I sleep for the rest of the day and well into the next morning. I ready myself for the day and walk downstairs with a book. I sit on a chair reading about edible plants and where to find them. When eventually my parents leave for the shop, I walk towards the phone. I pick it up and select 'recent calls,' only one number comes up. I select it and start a call. It calls for a while and I'm considering putting it down when the other line responds.

"Foxface, how lovely to speak with you again."

"Thank you," I reply. "I'm calling regarding your offer,"

"Ah yes," he says. "What have you decided?"

I take a deep breath.

"It's extremely generous, but I'm afraid that I have to refuse."

"Miss Crossley," his terrifying voice replies. "You never cease to surprise me."

I bite my lip.

"Well," he goes on. "With that, I bring you on to our next topic."

"Yes?" I ask.

"Putting an end to this little spark which you and your berries have created."

This feels like a punch to the gut but I continue on.

"How would you suggest that we do that?" I cross my fingers.

"I want you to continue to play the 'smart, mysterious and secretive angle," he explains. "But I want you to add a touch of very discreet emotion every now and then. In the right place of course. This is to explain to everyone who doesn't view your act as one of human nature and pity. We need to remind people that you have a heart under that sly and cunning demander."

I think he waits for me to say something and he asks

"Can you do that for me?"

"Yes!" I say snapping back to life. "Yes I will,"

"Good," he says this like we should be happy, but he sounds as happy as a man with a hungry lion asleep on his foot. "I look forward to when we next meet, it was a pleasure speaking with you."

"Thank you," I swallow.

The call ends and I put the phone down before sinking to the floor with relief. I go out and swim, even with the snow, for about half an hour and then lie in bed reading more Capitol magazines. I'm improving my swimming skills fast, not that I'll need any but... better safe than sorry? Whatever, all I know is how good it feels to have most of the pressure of Snow off my back. A month of relief filled swimming, reading and reluctant knife throwing (I persuaded myself that it's still a useful skill to know) passes and I have to keep scolding myself for getting used to it. My father taught me how to always be poised for action, how to avoid settling down to be able to adapt to new surroundings and to always have an escape plan. It's the last skill which I have in my mind when I place a knife in the little mouse hole behind its tile. I find myself becoming paranoid, though I reckon that that's a common side effect of the games. Snow doesn't call, I suppose he has no reason to, what with the lack of my face onscreen. I'm not exactly complaining however. Whatever Snow has coming for me, I doubt it even compares to the nightmares. Every night, every single night. I wake up panting and sweating buckets after some nightmare attacks me. I don't even remember the faces of half of the tributes yet they haunt me all the same. I step outside and the snow crunches underneath my boots. It's ice cold but I'm determined to practise swimming. I undress until I'm standing shivering in my underwear. I climb into the pool and dip my head in. It's heated but the air is crisp and freezing above. I try a couple of strokes successfully, it's incredible what you can learn in a book. I read about diving but to be completely honest, I'm too scared to try it. I swim deeper and deeper, then let the water tug me upwards. I tread water. As I lift one hand to scratch my neck, I fall under and swallow a mouthful of water. I splash up to the surface and cough it all up. The crimson speckled liquid forms a tiny puddle and dribbles downwards in all sorts of directions. It looks like veins creeping up someone's wrist. I finger an F with the water and paddle to the shallower end. There's a bang, not a loud one, barely audible actually. It's probably just Watson knocking over something in a drunken rage. I kick around until I'm another level of bored. Climbing out of the pool, I wonder what Kitfinniris is doing. What the heck were her parents thinking when they named their child after some online people they'd met. Kit told me that her parents were on some online game and they met three other users. I wasn't paying attention to their backstories, but I remember their names: KittenKraft, EpicFinn and AspiringPokeGod. The Capitol is weird as anything. I dry myself off, slip on my clothes and step inside.

"I think I'll come with you to the shop today," I say. My words are greeted with silence. "Mum?" I pause. "Dad?"

I step gingerly into the living room. What stares back at me makes my mouth drop open and a choked, animal-like cry escape my throat. My parents are sitting next to each other on the sofa, a bloodied knife in father's right hand. His other one is holding Mum's. They're dead. I run out of the room, climb the fence and sprint to Watson's house. I slam open the door and stumble over to him. He looks up from his chair.

"What now?"

"My parents," I choke. "They killed my parents."

The door opens again and Katherine rushes in. She embraces me and I sob into her chest.

"Shh," she breathes. "Shh, it's ok." She strokes my hair. "It's ok."

But it's not ok. My father's wise words and his dedication to me. My mother's contagious laugh and her love of beautiful things. Gone. All gone. How they used to lift me up and let me soar around like I was a bird. So many memories, gone. All gone. Watson shuffles forwards and places a comforting hand on my shoulder.

"We'll make this ok," he tells me. "I promise."

I become silent and wipe my eyes. Snow has taken everything from me, my name, my sleep and now my family. It dawns on me that it was supposed to look like suicide, What with the knife in their hands.

"It looks like they did it," I breathe. "But they wouldn't do that."

"Well," Kat says grimly. "They might have-"

"No!" I gasp. "They wouldn't! They are, were happy."

Tears roll down my cheek and I let my head drop.

"But why would Snow kill them?" She asks. "Because of the berries?"

"No," Watson grunts. "Because she didn't take his offer."

Kat looks at me.

"He offered me a home in the Capitol," I whimper. "I refused."

She holds me in her arms again and I find that I have no more tears to cry. Just anger. Bitter, fiery anger.

"I heard a bang," I whisper. "It must have been the door opening." The lump in my throat tightens. "This is all my fault."

"No," Watson pats my back. "Snow's the one who has to pay."

My eyes widen and I glance around the room.

"Oh I got rid of all the cameras a long time ago," he says.

"What are we going to do?" Kat asks.

"The Peacekeepers," Wats swallows.

Kathrine sits me down and clutches my hand as Wats goes to ask the Peacekeepers for help. An hour passes before he returns.

"The house is clean," he tells us. "We'll go down to your little shop now."

I stand up aching and we trudge all the way to the apothecary. News spreads quick in district five and wherever we go, we're followed by whispers and empathetic faces. Mourning is discreet in five. Everyone does it differently, but generally, we eat, we sing, then we wear red and stay silent. Someone holds a three fingered salute to us and raises it in the air. An old gesture, but a powerful one. I read in a history book, it means a different thing in each district. In one and two it means good luck, in four it means an apology, in outline districts like eleven and twelve it means a final goodbye. Here in five, it is a sign of support, that you have friends behind you who have your back. When we reach the shop, someone is waiting there. A neighbour, Hester, I think her name is. She hugs me when I walk over to her and whispers in my ear.

"I'm so sorry Foxface, we will never truly know the thoughts and anxiety which consume a person to drive them to acts like that."

I want to shout out then and there that it wasn't them and that Snow did this, but that would be unwise. What with all the Peacekeepers roaming around. I nod and swallow back every feeling inside of me. We step inside the shop and I flip the open sign around. I walk to the back of the living room and open the chest of drawers. I pull out the red sheets- mourning sheets, every house has them. I peg them up over the windows.

"Foxface," Watson says quietly.

"What?" I snap, my voice breaking.

"It's just, I'm so sorry."

I look down at my feet.

"I want to thank you by the way," Katherine whispers to me. "Ever since you won, I've been sober."

"Why?" I ask.

"You've reminded me what I have to live for."

I blush and take a breath.

"Could we go now?"

They nod and we walk out of the door. When we reach the town square, we find it crowded with people. There's the sound of whipping. I stand on my toes and swallow hard. Volt, I know immediately. I went to school with him, we weren't friends, but if I had to choose one it would be him. I remember him zipping up my coat when I was younger because I couldn't do it myself. His hair is the colour of lightning and he has olive skin. He's always smiling. Not today. It's the memory of the coat which brings the words out of my mouth.

"Stop!"

I rush forwards and Wats grabs me.

"What are you doing?!" He hisses.

The peacekeeper lands the whip down again and Volt groans.

"Foxface," he winces. "You don't have to do this."

"Foxface?" The peacekeeper asks. Just my luck. Griffin, the head peacekeeper. "Oh right you!" He laughs a cold laugh. "Latest victor?"

"Please," I whisper. "What did he do?" Griffin snarls.

"He stole some bread,"

"Why?" I ask.

"Some starving kid," he brushes over the fact waving it over his shoulder.

"He shot her," Volt whimpers.

Griffin brings the whip over his back and he yelps.

"Am I right in saying that in the book of laws and consequences of the district, it states that the penalty for stealing is five strikes of the whip at most and upon the second time, electrocution?"

"You read that?" He asks.

"Did you?" I ask back.

"Foxface," Wats warns through his teeth.

Griffin sighs. "Fine, but make no mistake, next time, it's execution."

I nod. He wipes the blood off of the whip over Volt's head and unlocks the post.

"Get out of here!" He demands to everyone. "Let this be a lesson to you all!"

He strolls out and everyone scatters. Our local healer sprints towards us.

"Here, let me help."

Katherine lifts Volt onto some wood which I think is a shelf, and everyone lifts it together.

"Bring him to the shop," I mutter.

We roll him onto the counter and I point the healer to the herbs on the shelves. Wats lifts a small bottle of alcohol out of his pocket and tips it slowly onto Volt's back. He kicks and screams but we hold him down. The healer takes a syringe and plunges it into his back. He cries out, then quiets.

"What was that?" I ask.

"Morphing." Katherine says. "I've given that up as well since you won."

The healer places some plastic onto his back.

"Foxface can you fetch me some snow from outside?"

I nod and grab a bowl. I open the door and kneel down in the snow. Piling it up into the bowl, I take a breath through my teeth. I don't like seeing people in pain, that's what got me into this mess in the first place. I step inside and the healer pours some green mixture into the snow. She thanks me, takes the bowl and tips it out over Volt's back. He sighs and I watch his muscles relax. I recognise the green as a mixture of mint and that pain relieving plant which I can never remember the name of.

"What's the mint for?" I ask her.

"It clears the air," she explains.

I nod and Volt's eyes droop. The sun is starting to set.

"There are beds upstairs," I tell everyone.

"I should go," the healer mutters. "If the wound hasn't dried over by tomorrow, give me a call."

I nod. Katherine and Watson climb the stairs to get some rest. I pull up a chair and watch Volt's chest rise and fall. My family aside, Snow's going to kill me! Ugh! What did I do?! I suppose Volt would be dead if Griffin had got any more hits in- then I'd have no one. If I'd just agreed to Snow's offer, I'd be in the Capitol with my family, safe. Volt's breathing hitches.

"Finch,"

He coughs and I put a hand on his shoulder.

"Why did you do that?"

"I-" I mutter. "I don't know."

He shifts and winces.

"I'll get more snow," I say standing up.

I step outside after grabbing the bowl. I fill it with snow.

"Finch," Volt croaks.

"Yes?" I ask coming back in.

"I'm sorry about your family."

I swallow and my throat knots itself. I put the snow onto the plastic sheet. It piles up on top of the half melted sludge from before. Volt shuts his eyes and I lean back in my chair. I shut my own eyelids and fall asleep. A dream creeps its way into my head. I'm running. I can't remember why, looking back, I see the mutts. I gasp and sprint ahead. Tripping down a hill, I come face to face with Katniss, Peeta and Cato. They're lying dead on the floor. Their skin starts transforming. Nightlock. Their skin is nightlock. A mutt jumps into it and the berries roll along the grass. The mutt stands up and transforms into Griffin. He points to Volt who is tied to the whipping post. He brings the whip down and I cry out. I race over to Volt and frantically tug at the locks. He turns into President Snow. I look at him confused. He rises and pulls a gun from his pocket. He points it at two people: my mother and my father. I scream. His finger wraps around the trigger.

"Finch!"

Watson is shaking me awake. I lift my head out of my arms.

"Yes?" I ask shivering.

"Go get some rest upstairs," he tells me. "I'll watch Volt."

I thank him and climb the stairs. Sinking into my old bed, my eyelids become heavier. I rub them furiously. No more nightmares. I lie restless for hours until sleep finally takes over. No dreams, just black, and Thresh's screams, as Cato sinks Clove's favourite knife into his skin, over and over... I wake paralysed as sunlight floods into the room. Katherine leans over and takes my hand. She gives it a reassuring squeeze. We stand up and hop down the stairs. Watson is snoring and leaning back into his chair. I go to wake him but Katherine stops me. She pushes me behind her and leans out with a tentative hand, she gives him a tap and jumps back. He jumps up throwing blind punches and yells a string of swearing. He blinks and looks up at us.

"Um," he mutters. "Yeah, sorry about that..."

Volt wakes up drowsily.

"Was-tha?"

I step over to him.

"Don't kill me," I say bluntly.

"What?" He asks. "Why would I-"

I run my hand over his wound.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

I look at my hand. No blood. Some of the scars are a bit damp and slightly sticky, but more or less dry.

"You're good," I say.

He scowls. I turn him around and he puts his legs down. We help him up and he winces.

"We'll get you home," Katherine tells him. "Then you have to take it easy."

He pulls a face.

"For how long?"

"A couple days maybe," Katherine says.

I understand Volt. Our only allowance is what little we get from our work at the power stations. I think he works at the geothermal one. I used to be a messenger, I ran messages around from station to station. People called me over and payed me a small amount to jot a message down in my notebook and deliver it to someone else. I often got caught in loops of two people communicating over and over. It was hard work but it taught me to run, fast. People working at stations like the hydroelectric dams and the geothermal ones do a lot of heavy lifting and cranking of levers. Watson and Katherine both worked at the hydroelectric dam in the south, they were strong enough to survive the games after years of pulling and pushing. People working at the wind turbines and the wave stations turn out weaker and slower. People working at the power stations tend to have better immune systems due to the fumes and gasses. They're the ones who are killed by other tributes and not exposure. Volt limps with us around the edge of town. People stop their conversations to point and whisper to each other about us. I swallow and stare at the ground. When we reach his house, his breath is ragged and pained through his gritted teeth. We knock on the door and a lady answers it. Her eyes widen and she tugs Volt towards her. He winces and she pulls him into a tight hug.

"Ah," He croaks.

"Thank you," she breathes.

I glance up at her windows. Red sheets hang over them from the inside. My mouth opens slightly and my inside goes numb. Her lip trembles and a tear rubs down her cheek.

"I'm so sorry," she unwraps a hand from Volt's neck and places it on my shoulder. "They were such good people Finch."

I shiver, and I don't think it's because of the cold. Something catches my eye. Red sheets, everywhere. In the butcher's windows, in the tailor's windows, on the...

The whipping post is draped in red cloth. No, no! The entire town will get in trouble! This is really bad. Snow will think we're rebelling, that they stand behind me in a future uprising. My breathing quickens. Watson lowers his eyebrows. Volt steps inside the house.

"Goodbye," her mother waves. "Tell us if you need anything."

She shuts the door with a gentle click.

"What have I done?" I ask under my breath.

"You've brought hope to the town." Watson observes.

We walk back to the victor's village in silence. Katherine takes us into her house and we sit on the sofa. She flicks the television on and we poke fun at the Capitol actors for a while. The program is interrupted by a broadcast from Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith.

"Hello citizens of Panem! Welcome to the announcement of the third quarter quell!"

Oh right, I forgot about that. What horrible challenge will the kids, which I'm going to have to mentor, have to face?

"Over to President Snow!"

The screen cuts to Snow standing on his oh so well known podium, waving to the crowd. He silences them with a motion of his hand.

"This year, on the third quarter quell during the seventy fifth hunger games," he tugs an envelope out of a fish tank. "To remind the districts that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes shall be reaped from the existing pool of victors."

The screen goes black. Katherine is clutching the remote. Watson pulls an alcohol bottle out of his jacket and throws it at the wall. He lets out a yell which sends birds soaring into the sky.

"Finch," Katherine exclaims. "Finch come back!"

Huh? I look around. I'm sprinting out of the house as fast as my legs can carry me. I end up in the edge of the woods, cut off by the fence. There are four sides to the fence, all around the district. They turn on one at a time for a few hours. The current doesn't sound on. I crawl under it into a little ditch and run for my life. I keep running until I reach a cliff. I stare out into freedom and sink onto my knees. Well played Snow. Well played. There is no way that quell was picked by chance- it's too perfect for him. Maybe this isn't a bad thing, maybe everyone will suffer less when I'm dead. I'm not going down without a fight though. I head back into the victor's village. Katherine finds me and embraces me with a hug which cuts off my blood supply momentarily. "I'll get Watson," she says.

"Why?" I ask.

"We're going to train like careers."

She enters Watson's house and comes back after a while. He steps out reluctantly and Katherine leads us into my house. I walk fast as I can through the living room and show them into the kitchen. I pick up a knife and throw it at the wall. It sticks, but soon slips out. Watson raises his eyebrows and I pass him a knife. We throw them at the wall for an hour until our fingers are sore. I show them out into the garden. We peel off our clothes until we stand in our underwear facing the pool. Watson steps to the shallow end and dips his toe in. A snowball smacks into the side of his face and slips down his chest. He yelps and slips over into the pool. I turn around and see Katherine grinning, a lump of snow by her feet. He clutches the side coughing and scowls. Katherine and Watson know how to swim from work at the hydroelectric dam and they spend the rest of the day teaching me. We train for months. The lip-chapping winter melts into a daffodil filled spring. The daffodils only last about a week, they all die in the chemicals. The reaping rolls around and we're all well fed and handy with a knife. Still, there's a difference between training for the games and actually being picked for the games. We walk into the square, flanked by peacekeepers. Where did they come from? Whatever, it doesn't matter. I'm going to die. I wish they'd just do it already. Kitfinniris stands on the stage beckoning us over, sadness disguised behind her eyes. People file in from all angles, some look devastated to lose us, others relieved to not be reaped. Katherine and I are shown onto Kit's left side and Watson is shoved in the other direction. Kit gives the microphone a tap.

"Welcome! Welcome all!" Her fake grin is met by the dull grimness of the crowd. "Now, before we get started, we have to watch the thrilling video which President Snow has put together for us!"

Yippee. An image is projected onto the white wall of the Justice Building and all too familiar words speak out.

"War. Terrible war."

I look to the ground and count the grey, stone tiles.

One. Two. Three. Four.

"And then came the peace."

Twenty seven. Twenty eight.

The Capitol anthem blares out.

Forty. Forty one. Forty two. Forty-

"How inspirational!" Kit squeals. "Now, like always, gentlemen first."

One of the other escorts, Effie Trinket, from twelve I think, does it completely opposite. I know that in district eight, the escort likes to pull them out at the same time. She faffs around for a while, trying to pull the single slip of paper out of the bowl without loosing a nail. She tugs it out and reads it.

"Watson Apfel," she reads, a pang of sadness in her chirpy voice.

Watson steps forwards, I hear his toes cracking. Tiny little gunshots inside his boots. Pop. Pop. Pop.

"And now for the patient ladies,"

She steps over to our bowl and reaches in. She pulls out one of the two slips and turns it the right way around.

"Katherine Transfern."

She takes a step forwards but I reach out and stop her.

"I volunteer." I croak.

She shakes her head quickly.

"No Fox-"

I step forwards and swallow. Snow wants me dead, that's the point of the quell. It's going to happen sooner or later. The district will be better off without me.

"Right," Kit says. There's a long pause. "So, well now-"

Someone from the crowd presses three fingers to their lips and holds them aloft. Volt. After a moment, everyone does the same. I have friends. People are looking out for me, they have my back. My fingers touch my lips, then they reach for the white, polluted sky. Watson's do the same. And Katherine's. Kit opens her mouth but is interrupted by Griffin breaking violently through the crowd. Without glancing up at me, he grabs my shoulder and shoves me towards the Justice Building. Watson, Katherine and Kittfinniris are moved viciously in the same direction. The tribute train comes into sight.

"I don't like you." Griffin growls as he pushes me towards it.

"Good to know," I mutter.

Kit's complaints about my manners are silenced by a peacekeeper's arm as she's rushed forwards. We climb onto the train and the door slides shut.

"That was barbaric!" She rants.

I walk to the bedrooms, not wishing to listen to her angry squeaking. Katherine prises the door open and sits next to me on the bed.

"You didn't have to do that," she tells me.

"Snow wants me dead anyway," I groan. "You're safer without me."

She embraces me in a tight squeeze and asks "You going to put on some weight?"

I loaded up on carbs last year before the games, if I'm burning 2000 to 2400 calories a day, putting on 5 extra pounds gives me about eight days of energy and body mass before I start shutting down from starvation.

"No," I say. "There's no point."

"You can win this you know," she says.

"I really can't," I sigh. "Not with Snow at my throat."

"You aren't going to like this," she tells me grimly. "But if you want to step out of this alive, you'll need some allies."

I look up. "You're kidding,"

She shakes her head and presses a button on the television remote. The reaping reruns start playing. District one goes first.

"Cashmere and Gloss," she explains. "Brother and sister, both brutality based tributes. Don't make an alliance with them, they will kill you in your sleep."

I nod. The screen flickers on.

"Brutus and Enobaria, careers like the other two. Again, an alliance with them would be suicide. Watch out for her teeth."

District three next.

"Beetee and Wiress. Genius, great allies, not a threat to you if you watch your back and don't do anything stupid."

District four.

"Finnick and Mags, Mags isn't a threat, and a great alliance choice. However, she's likely to stay with Finnick and he is a definite threat. You've probably seen his games, youngest victor, all that."

"Yup," I breathe.

Now our reaping rerun. It cuts off right as my arm goes up. That isn't good. Snow didn't like my bravery. Well shoot. District six next.

"Morphings, camouflage, yada yada,"

District seven.

"Johanna Mason is that girl there," Katherine points out. "She has a wicked ability to murder,"

That's reassuring. I tune out until twelve.

"Haymitch Abernathy and Maria Shards. Both alcoholics, though Haymitch won a quarter quell so he might have an advantage."

The screen goes black and we sit in silence. Kit calls us in for lunch. I sit and eat a little bit. There's a conversation going on but I ignore it. My eyes are trained on the boy with the white hair standing across from the table. A single bandage crosses his face over his mouth. I can tell, from the way that his nostrils flare with every deep breath that he's an Avox. He's my age, maybe a bit older, and his hair is crystal white. It looks bleached, but it has to be natural as I can't see the yellow flecks at the end of each hair which happens when chemicals attack a hair. How strange.

"So what about you?" Kitfinniris asks me.

"Hm?" I say, my eyes darting away from the boy in the corner. "Sorry, I wasn't listening."

"I said," Kit sighs. "What's your plan from now on?"

"Oh," I ponder. "Mysterious angle, no point in hiding my knife skills, the training score doesn't really matter now."

She nods and I catch a glimpse of a pained expression on her face. She can tell that I don't really care and that can only mean that I'm planning on dying in the arena. I finish off and sit down pointlessly until the Capitol rolls into view.

"Come on," Katherine says, opening the windows.

Watson walks glumly over and waves professionally unsmiling. I lean out of the window and watch the screaming crowd zip by shyly. My hair flies behind me in the wind. I stare into the distance like they are nothing. They are. They are not my sponsors. They are not my fans. They are my enemies. They are nothing. They fade behind us into the distance and I lean back in. I shut the window and so does Watson. Katherine puts a hand on my shoulder and I breathe out through gritted teeth. I pull a green leather jacket over my black dungarees- which I dug up at the bottom of my wardrobe- and stand behind Watson in front of the door. It slides open and he walks forwards. I mask my emotions into a small, shy fox smile. The other victors look even bigger in person. I try my best not to be intimidated. Most are waving to the cameras but some are actually chatting to each other. The room was dead quiet last year, I guess now these people know each other. And I'm the outsider. Maybe allies aren't such a bad idea after all. I step into the tribute centre and I'm whisked away to the remake centre. The victors wave each other goodbye and I swallow. Watson gives my hand a reassuring squeeze before parting. I stand in the room and observe it. It's no different to before. I'm knocked off of my feet by my prep team.

"Foxface!" They squeal.

Aknal, a woman with zebra striped skin and white and black streaked hair hugs me and squeaks.

"We've missed you so much!"

They burst into tears and I awkwardly pat them on the back.

"Where's Boyant?" I ask.

Boyant is another member of the prep team who dresses in peacock feathers and ruffles all the time.

"He broke his nose," Aknal tells me. "Walked into a glass window, he's in hospital."

Aegean, a man who looks like some sort of tropical bird and has a pair of grotesque wings sewed onto his back, sniffs.

"He'll never get to say goodbye."

This brings a new round of tears.

"Let's take a look at you then," Aknal orders.

I reluctantly remove my clothes and they gasp and tut about the state my body is in. I stand there awkwardly for a while until they sit me down and place the first wax strip onto my leg. I wince and grit my teeth. They rub cream onto my raw, though smooth legs, arms, chest, you name it. I should be embarrassed, but they're more like animals than humans so it doesn't bother me as much. Grit, salt, everything is used on my body. I think some vinegar even makes an appearance. They bathe me in all sorts and oil down my ivory skin to make it smooth. After perfuming it up, they set to work on my hair. I'm surprised that all they do is give it a tiny trim and wash it multiple times. My nails however, that's another thing entirely. They clip them, shape them, trim the nail beds, oil them and paint them an electric blue colour, topped with a yellow lighting bolt. It's the same colour of Volt's hair... I wish I could see him. Just one more time.

"Done!" Aegean declares.

"Ooh! I almost forgot!" Says Aknal. "You have a new stylist!"

"What?" I ask. "What happened to Tigris?"

"I'm not sure, but your new stylist still follows our animal trend,"

I nod, slightly confused. Aegean steps forwards and hands me something.

"What is it?" I ask.

"From the animals."

I look at it. It's a blue and yellow bracelet with a white, clawed paw print in the centre. I slip it on.

"Thank you," I tell them, and for once, I mean it.

Tears well up in their eyes and they quickly leave before any slip out. I wait alone and naked for a while. The door opens and shuts. A figure walks in. He has two white ram's horns on his head, but apart from that, only his white lipstick, eyeshadow and silver hair stands out to me as odd. Actually, I see that his complexion is a bit weird. It's brown, not natural brown, but light, coffee stain brown. I only know what that colour looks like from one of my father's old shirts. The man sits down opposite me.

"Hello Foxface," he says. "Excuse me, but would you mind reminding me of your name?"

"Finch," I mutter, suddenly shy.

"Well Finch," he shakes my hand. "I'm Torak. Nice to meet you."

I nod and he pulls out some makeup. He gives me sky blue lips, mysterious eyes and an electric blue, silvery blush on my cheekbones. He sculpts my hair into a plait which circles my head before coming loose by my arm. I didn't know that my hair was long enough to do that. He adds some tiny silver streaks.

"You like jewellery?" He asks.

"I never usually wear it," I reply honestly.

He fastens a large, black, leather bracelet with silver studs to my left wrist and a tight, choker-like necklace of similar style to my neck. Torak isn't very talkative, though I'm not complaining. Tigris used to blurt our any old thing which crossed her mind. "Clothes now," he tells me. "You can shut your eyes."

I do as I'm told and he lifts something over my head and does some tying and fiddling. He guides me into some shorts I think, and I step into them. The shorts are heavier than I expected, but they stay firmly up.

"Open up," Torak instructs.

I open my eyes and stare in awe at the girl staring back at me. She is wearing a sky blue bodice on her torso which is completely sleeveless and fastened to her chest with some sort of wire. The centre of her chest is showing where the bodice doesn't reach, but the wire covers it up quite well. The shorts are in fact part of a skirt made from some big metal bolts and the shorts are only there to cover up what the bolts don't. The skirt is a greyish brown and so are the shoes. They don't have much heel to them which is relieving and they work their way up my ankles. It's so... well, cool. In a quirky way.

"It's," I breathe. "Beautiful."

"Did you think that was it?" Asks Torak with a grin.

I look at him funny and he checks his watch.

"We'd better be quick, four minutes left." He points to a button which I didn't notice before on the studded bracelet and tells me to press it when my chariot comes into view.

I open my mouth to question him a little more but he slips the animal bracelet, which I didn't notice him take off, onto my arm and he shoves me out of the door.

"Good luck Finch," he smiles.

The door shuts and I step out. A cool breeze slips into the room and my arms shiver. I walk all the way to the front of the chariots and sidle next to the district five one. Everyone is out and talking but I don't know a single person in this room. I stare into the eyes of one of the horses. They're grey with white freckles. What I wouldn't give to switch places with the horse, to be free.

"Foxface," a voice exclaims.

My eyes dart towards the figure strolling towards me.

"Finnick," I reply dryly.

"Want a sugar cube?" He asks holding up his hand which is stacked with the stuff.

I shake my head and look back towards to horse.

"So sorry about the quell," he goes on. "I bet you want your wealth back,"

I don't want my wealth back, I want my parents back.

"Wealth is pointless," I mutter.

"Quite so," he answers. "Secrets are far more valuable."

I glance up and wish I hadn't. He's just wearing a net, a golden one, knotted only at his groin.

"Secrets?"

"Oh yes," a grin creeps onto his face. He wets his lips with his tongue. "You got any worth my time?"

I wonder how many swooning women he's asked this question to. Probably a lot. I pause.

"They're called secrets for a reason,"

He purses his lips together.

"I like a challenge,"

"Then go brush Enobaria's teeth," I roll my eyes.

He chuckles.

"I'll figure you out one day," He salutes. "Little Miss 'definitely only scored a five in training."

I scowl and he wanders off, popping another sugar cube into his mouth. I shake my head and pet the horse. Watson comes over.

"Hello."

He looks so miserable, he is going into that arena like me after all. I take the paw print bracelet from my wrist and hand it to him.

"From the animals."

He puts it on his wrist and thanks me. He is wearing a white shirt and jacket tied up with the same wires as me and has a sky blue bow tie. His trousers and shoes are the colour of mine and he has the large bolts strapped to parts of his body.

People start to retreat to their chariots and the anthem blares out of the speakers. I hop onto the chariot and pull Watson up. The first chariots start to move into view and I hold my breath. Ours slowly follows the district four one and I press the button on my bracelet. Watson presses a button somewhere and our costumes light up. The bolts flicker with electric blue energy and leave a trail of tiny blue flecks behind us. Torak and Renn- Watson's stylist- have definitely adapted Cinna's idea of lighting up the tributes. Though I'm not complaining. This definitely beats last year when we were in those stupid silver costumes and headdresses. According to Tigris, headdress is the h in fashion. And animal is the a. The crowd screams as we come into view and I stare coldly into the distance. They are nothing. The last few chariots are riding into view according to the screens. The screaming suddenly doubles in volume. Ah yes, here comes the fire. A glance at the screen tells me that Haymitch and Maria are in skin tight black suits, shimmering with burning embers. The costumes would be stunning, only they make them look worse than they are. Their crusty faces and old bodies dim the limelight of the outfits. When the chariots come to a halt, we all step out and President Snow gives a speech.

"Welcome tributes!" His eyes dart around the room and lock onto me. "Congratulations for gaining the honour of representing your district in this year's quarter quell,"

Why does he make it seem like a good thing? We all know that we're going to die. We have a 4.1667% chance of winning and that's not going to get anyone anywhere.

"Happy hunger games tributes, and may the odds, be ever in your favour."

He dismisses us and we walk out of the room. People bundle into the elevator and I end up squished in with the careers. Gloss, Cashmere, Enobaria, Brutus and Finnick give each other glances. I bet my non-existent cat's life that they're sensing something about me. A secret which I forbid myself to let anyone find out. I'm an aphenphosmphobe- I'm afraid of intimacy. Gloss and Cashmere get out at the first stop and Brutus and Enobaria at the second. Finnick smirks and I stare down at my feet to hide my blush. He leans purposely close to me and his bare legs brush mine. I step away from him and ignore his grin. The door slides open and he steps out. I wiz upwards alone until the doors open. I walk out and everybody bombards me with compliments and squeals. I brush them off and Torak turns off my costume. I strip it off inside my room and pass it to him. He takes it and I pull on some white underclothes. I wipe the makeup off with a flannel and sink into bed. The door clicks open and the white haired Avox walks in and takes the flannel. He scuttles out of the room and shuts the door behind him. I roll over and sleep deep into a twisted nightmare. The Avox is standing there. I walk over to him but stop when he starts taking off his shirt. Whip marks, all down his back. He turns around. His face- it's Volt. His white hair turns lightning yellow and he mouths one word. Run. I wake up panting and slapping myself. Wake up Finch! Wake up! That was the worst nightmare yet, I can't fall back into it. I jump out of bed and pull on a black shirt and white jeans. Torak will only change me into some training clothes picked out by himself. I join the others for breakfast and leave shortly after. I brush my teeth and my hair and take a breath in through my nose. I walk out and greet Torak. He gives me a blood red and black training shirt with a five on the back in white. He ties my hair up in two buns, just like Tigris did in my games. He reads my expression and reassures me.

"I don't mean to trigger bad memories, it's just, this is you, this is your signature look."

I can tell that he's about to mention the fact that they look like fox ears but he refrains from bringing it up. Watson is wearing a slightly different, lime green version and we walk on our own to the training room. Kitfinniris decided that the schedule was better to fuss about and let us go alone. When we enter, most people are already there. Watson looks to me.

"Katherine was right about allies," he whispers. "Let's split up ok?"

I nod.

"Please try to be friendly,"

"You push the boundaries," I joke.

He takes the right side and I take the left. The training centre is so different, mostly machine operated, barely an instructor in sight. The edible plants and bugs guy is still there and he's giddy with excitement to see me again. He tests me on my knowledge of the subject and congratulates me when I succeed. I try to remember my mental note of the three best training sections to go to. Ah yes, edible plants and bugs, tree climbing and fire starting. I walk over to the tree climbing and find that I'm not alone. Maria what's her name is struggling to get a hold on the branch of a high tree. I have no need for her as an ally, so I try and ignore her. I shimmy up an oak tree and jump onto another. Not bad. I'm small and agile so the jump isn't the hardest bit. The difficult part is plucking up the courage to launch yourself off of the branch. I do it again and again until it becomes a reflex and drop to the ground. Next stop: fire starting. Beetee and Wiress are there, not having much luck mind you, starting a fire with some wood. I hear them muttering physics and equations under their breath.

"Try using both hands," I suggest. "And moving them down more."

They look up, then at each other. Beetee reluctantly places the wood in between his two hands and moves them down as he twists it. Still, no such luck.

"Maybe faster," I say.

His hands increase in speed and sure enough, a small flame starts to flicker from the friction of the movement. Wiress exclaims triumphantly and they look up at me.

"Thank you, Foxface." Beetee nods.

Wiress gasps and points to the Gamemakers. Beetee peers under his glasses and a smile of realisation and intellect adorns his lips.

"What?" I ask and follow his gaze.

A flickering, a shimmer, a distortion in the air.

"Force field," I mutter.

"How did?" Wiress asks.

"How did you know?" Finishes Beetee.

"I'm guessing." I explain. "The lights are flickering. The energy powering the lights comes from our solar power stations, they produce maybe the least amount of energy. Something else is clearly taking up all the power and eating into the light supply."

Beetee nods.

"There's always a flaw in the system."

So true. There is always a flaw in the system. Even the one today, even the hunger games. That flaw being the berries, the berries that cracked its delicate frame. After several minutes of fire starting, I wave them goodbye and make my way to the knot tying section. Johanna is there, looking bored as she fiddles impatiently with a knot.

"Hello Foxface," she scoffs. "You had fun with Nuts and Bolts?"

I blink and open my mouth. I soon shut it again and she raises her eyebrows.

"Or do you people prefer the term 'acquire intellect through the communication of fellow organisms."

She smirks proudly at her joke.

"I'm not a nerd," I fight back a sly grin. "I'm just smarter than you."

Her smile fades and I walk away from her over to some animated loop knot screen. I recreate the knot a couple of times, a buzzing, victorious feeling in my stomach after I sent Johanna's joke back into her face. I shortly move onto the camouflage section, but a group of morphlings from different districts are making a real mess, face painting each other and their surroundings. I step over to the fishing station and find Mags twisting together an elaborate fishing hook out of nothing but old scraps of metal.

"How do you do that?" I ask her.

Mags looks up smiling and shows me her hands. They're scratched and her fingers are sore. This looks like years and years of hard work.

"Practise," comes a familiar voice behind me. "Lots of practise."

I turn around and find myself yet again, face to face with those piercing sea green eyes.

"Foxface," he nods in our usual, unspoken greeting.

"Finnick," I reply questioningly.

"This is Mags," he indicates to her and tells me what I already know.

Mags gives a friendly wave and I nod in polite acknowledgement.

"Do you like making deals?" He asks casually.

Not one tiny bit. Making deals got my parents killed.

"Depends on the deal," I mutter.

"Would you agree if I offered you half an hour of fishing training for half an hour of knife throwing?"

Heck no. I would confront him, but with Mags standing there, it would be awkward. I'm about to refuse, when I spot Watson looking at me. He nods his head. Finnick is a threat, a mutual respect for eachother will push me far down on his hit list.

"Ok," I evaluate after a few seconds.

Mags waves goodbye and I wave gingerly back as Finnick and I head to the fishing area. He pulls his trousers up and wades into the small pond full with fish. He beckons me over and I roll up my own trousers. This had better be worth it.

"How would you like to fish?" He announces pointing to the array of fishing tools set before me.

I ponder. I'm more likely to make a fool of myself trying to wield a spear or a trident, so I decide to stick with the basics.

"The knives," I say. "And the fishing hooks."

He nods at my choice. I hand him a couple and he picks up some twigs and string from a pile behind him. He shows me how to knot them together and create a decent fishing rod. I copy his process and he watches me intently. My palms sweat and he smirks at my discomfort. I twist together a contraption similar to his and he shows me how to prop it up and leave it inconspicuously in the water. I do the same.

"Good," he smiles in approval.

He passes me the resources.

"Now do it again."

I do this multiple times until my fingers throb and my back aches from leaning over. He picks up the trident and twiddles it around his arms. He shows me how to fish a few more ways and what to use as bait. Half an hour passes and we step out of the water.

"Lead the way Fox,"

I inch over to the finally empty knife throwing section and view the choice of knives. Double bladed, single bladed, balanced, blade heavy, hilt heavy, food knives, knife blades, serrated knives, the whole lot. I pass a balanced, double bladed one to him.

"Better start off easy," I tell him.

I pick up one for myself and teach him the most basic grip which I know: the hammer grip. I show him how to avoid throwing it like a baseball and get the most power into the flick. After a few tries, he hits the target relatively close to the middle and I decide to move on. I hand him a blade heavy one blades knife. He misses the target a bit more and so I adjust the angle at which he throws it at. I teach him a new grip and give him a blade heavy knife to use. I show him how to adapt the grip when he holds it by the blade so not to cut himself. He throws it and it shifts off centre.

"Stop doing that," I scowl.

"Doing what?" He asks, almost mock-innocently.

"Moving your thumb down there," I roll my eyes and move his thumb back up for the third time.

He's clearly not paying attention. Apparently taking things seriously isn't something he takes pride in.

"Hey," he grins. "Go easy on me, I've got a rough time ahead of me."

"What makes you say that?" I ask annoyed.

"Mags was my mentor," he says, expecting me to feel sorry for him.

"Watson was my mentor," I reply coldly.

His mouth opens and for once, his face looks apologetic. I look up at the big, Roman clock hanging on the wall. The half hour is up. I step away from the targets and make my way to the electric moving target simulator. I step inside and tap a few buttons. Lasers scan the room and shrink. I grab an armful of throwing knives and select one quickly. An animation of a human jumps down gripping a spear and I skewer it. A number on the wall reading 'five' with the caption 'enemies left' switches to a four. One down, four to go. A figure with a bow, aiming at my heart. I dodge the arrow and send a knife through its computer generated chest. It explodes into a hundred little pieces. Three. An axe wielding figure jumps out of nowhere. The throwing knife has barely left my arm when the number switches to a two. There's a long pause, out of the corner of my eye, I spot a blade. It's the tip of a trident. I jump out and duck under the weapon being thrown at my head. I slay the golden figure and its explosion of cubes showers me with non existent debris. One. The last figure slides out from behind a pillar. There's something unsettling about it- its weapon is a whip. I bite my lip to block a choked yelp forming in the back of my throat. I pull out three knives and send them all flying into the figure's heart. I throw several more knives in anger into the remnants of the figure as they scatter before my eyes. That's revenge Griffin. The room deactivates and I turn around to leave. There, watching through the window stands all of the other tributes. My eyes widen. Shoot. I just earned a high spot in the careers' hit lists. I walk quickly to the door with my head down, but I still catch a glimpse of Watson giving me the thumbs up. I walk back to the elevator and travel up to the district five compartment. I bite my lip with anxiety and my mind rushes through so many possible scenarios. Most of them end with me on the wrong end of a spear at the hand of another tribute. When I reach the compartments, I'm pelted with how did it go?s and did you make any allies?s. I give one word answers to all of the questions thrown my way and slip into my room. An hour later, Watson and Katherine enter my room.

"What's up?" I ask.

"You," Katherine says. "On every tribute's alliance list."

"Huh?"

"Nice throwing Fox," Watson grins.

I thought they'd only view me as a threat, not want me as an ally.

"Who do you want?" Katherine asks

"Beetee, Wiress, Mags," I start.

Katherine groans.

"Well I'm sorry I don't want some ally who will slit my throat in my sleep." I snap. "You can't be second to betray your team! You're first, or you're dead!"

"Just hear me out," Katherine tries.

"And I think I need to keep sympathy on my side!" I exclaim.

Watson sighs and I put my head in my hands.

"Why are you bothering with me?" I ask. "I'm dead anyway."

Katherine pats my shoulder and her eyes water.

"I'll tell them that you're still doing the maths," she chokes.

She leaves the room and I look at Watson.

"Please don't ally with me," I plead.

He looks at me questioningly.

"You'll only get yourself killed,"

He pulls me into a hug.

"I'm so glad I got to know someone like you." He says. "You are brilliant."

"You have to win," I whisper.

My mind flicks through the series of events which led me here. My first reaping, my name being called several years later, my parents dying, Volt being whipped, the white haired Avox, Snow. It always comes back to Snow. He has to pay.

"The rebellion must live on," I breathe.

Watson's expression turns worried and we hear Kitfinniris squeaking at everyone to join her for dinner. We leave the room and eat slowly. More meaningless conversation. I'm excused from the table and step into my room. Before I reach the door, Torak pulls me to the side. He takes me into an empty room and sits me down.

"From what I can hear," he tells me solemnly- his voice so different and certain than his usual, quiet one. "You've given up all hope of winning, is that correct?"

His abruptness surprises me and I don't see the point of lying to him. I nod grimly and he grips my hand.

"Well don't, we all believe in you." He puts a hand on my shoulder. "All of us."

Everyone seems determined to convince me to live. I don't know how I feel about that.

"Ok?" He asks.

I nod again and he pats me.

"Go get some rest Fox girl."

I stand up and enter my room. The covers of my bed swallow me up and leave me lying there, underwater in an ocean of velvet and silk. The next morning comes before I can properly experience my nightmare. I change back into the training clothes and brush my hair. I have some breakfast and stand up with Watson to go to the private training session. Most people are already there. How do they get up so quickly? Everyone is chatting casually- so different to last year. I sit next to Watson on my seat, in the district five section. Finnick and Mags sit to our right, and the district six morphlings sit to our left. Eventually, Cashmere is called out. Girls first, I'll be after Finnick and before Watson. Not too long then. Shortly, my name is called. The door opens and Finnick walks out. He smirks as he passes me. I roll my eyes and open the door. The training room is pretty immaculate, aside from a couple of hastily placed weapons. I walk over to the knives and pick one up. I weigh it in my hand. An image flashes across my mind. My father. My mother. The knife in his hand. The blood. The red. Red sheets. Anger blinds my vision, I'd warn myself not to do anything stupid, but nothing I do now will effect whether I survive that arena- which I most certainly won't. My body acts on its own. I collect dozens of knives and bring them to the camouflage section. I dip the hilts in paint. Red. Black. And grey. Stone grey. Whipping post grey. I walk into the centre of the room and look up at the Gamemakers. They're paying attention, they look like they've been paying attention for a while. Finnick must have done something impressive to have them so focused. I throw a knife into the wall. High. Then another. Then another. Then another. All grey. A whipping post. I throw them in the shape of a whipping post. I add some black highlights. Angry tears cloud my vision. I pull out a red one. A curtain of red, pulled over the image. I drape the whipping post in red. I hear the Gamemaker's angry muttering. I step back and admire my work. Colourful knives coat the wall. They form one picture- a whipping post draped in red material. I turn around to face the Gamemakers. Some of them glare, some of them gasp. Plutarach Heavensbee however, stays smiling and still. I glower at them defiantly and leave the room. I've just confirmed my death but kept my identity.

You're welcome Snow. You're welcome.

I walk out of the door, past the other tributes. I go straight to the elevator and up to the district five compartment.

"How did it go?" Kitfinniris asks me.

"Good..." I say.

I hide away in my room and tie some knots with the curtain. Watson bursts into the room.

"Foxface what did you do?!"

"I-" I start. "Whatever, it doesn't matter."

He looks up at me from his anger.

"I'm dead either way."

His breath escapes through his teeth.

"Alright, just don't mention this in your interview."

I nod. He leaves the room and I'm alone with the velvet curtains, flowing with the wind coming through the small slit in the window. I lean back against the wall and listen to the creaks and the footsteps of the other tributes walking around above and below me. The television screen flickers on and Caesar Flickerman is grinning at us. He starts to announce the training scores. Both from one get tens, both from two get elevens, Beetee gets a nine, Wiress an eight. Finnick gets a twelve, Mags a five. Watson gets a six, I get...

...a twelve.

A target. Great. They might as well have painted a red bullseye onto my back. Their revenge- me, a target. A two, a three. An eight, a nine. A one, an eight. A nine, an eight. A ten, an eight. Another ten, another eight. Finally, a seven and a six. Great. Just what I need. I sigh and listen to the footsteps. Wandering above me, some stomping a few floors below me. I fall asleep and wake the next day to Kitfinniris ordering me to get up for a day of preparation. Interview day. I slip some clothes on and shovel some food into me. Kit scoops me up right away and flaps a pair of shoes in my face. Oh no, the feet torture mechanisms. I wobble around in the high heels for a fair amount of time before she points out that I'm wearing them on the wrong feet. I scowl and kick them off before stepping into them the right way. It makes no difference. When my feet are red, sore and practically bleeding, a few hours later, I can finally step out of the torture devices and spend many more hours with Katherine.

"Hello Foxface."

"Hi."

She pats the cushion next to me and I sit down.

"Mysterious again?" She asks.

I nod and we spend hours in silence just watching the games reruns. All but our own. The sun starts to dim and I'm pulled out of the room and into the tribute centre. My prep team fuss about with my hair, on my head and my body.

"I'm so sorry dear," Aegean pouts. "But we're going to have to wax you again!"

Aknal sits me down and greases me with the all too familiar waxing grease. They apply the paper and rip it off over and over. My skin feels as raw as my heels when they're finally finished. They coat me in lotion to sooth the pain then set to work on my face. Clipping my eyebrows, rubbing creams and oils onto my cheeks, you name it. I stare at a tiny black mark on the powder white wall. A fleck of ink maybe, an oil stain perhaps. A black problem soon to be removed. That's how Snow sees me. A problem to be disposed of. A blemish on his perfect city. A black mark.

"Nails please!" Exclaims Aegean.

I give him my hand and she polishes my nails, clipping them into perfect shapes and painting them with clear polish. When they finally meet his expectations, he beams at me and Aknal shows me into a different room. I sit and wait until Torak walks through. He smiles, silently does my makeup and styles my hair. I look around for the mirror but it's covered with a black sheet. He pulls the outfit over my head and makes some adjustments. He tugs the curtain off of the mirror and I take in the figure staring curiously into my eyes. A black skin tight suit, a V-Neck collar which stretches all the way down to my chest. A strip of black crosses the bare skin which the collar reveals to cover my breasts. From where the collar ends to just above my head, electric yellow lightning bolts stick out, circling my head. A thin strip of yellow circles my waist and wrists. I have knee high black boots with yellow soles and my hair is plaited, curled and waved down my neck. Smaller lighting bolts adorn my hair, reaching just higher than the tips of the large lightning bolts. Yellow blush across my cheekbones, on my eyes and even painting my lips catches the light.

"Wow," is all I can say.

He points to a button on my sleeve.

"Press this when you're standing up to leave."

I nod and we wait in silence together until someone walks in and instructs us to come onto the stage. I wave him goodbye and sit in the arc of tributes. The anthem blares just as I sit in my seat. I look to my left and spot Watson in a similar costume. Caesar Flickerman beams at the audience. He's a bit like the weather- he's annoying, loud and so hard to ignore, but you can't hate the weather. He starts the ball rolling with a series of jokes and calls up Cashmere. Her brother steps up with her as well. Of course they go together, they wouldn't be as sappy and cute alone. Gloss gives an unconvincing speech which the audience screams with admiration at for whatever reason. Cashmere just sobs through the whole thing. She isn't even convincing! How is the Capitol just lapping this stuff up?! When the two minutes is up, Wiress steps forward and answers Caesar's questions one-wordedly, fidgeting in her chair. Beetee's turn rolls around and he questions the legality of the quell. Mags smiles at all of Caesar's remarks and he has no trouble figuring out what Mags is signalling to him with her sign language. I wonder why she can't speak. If she's as old as I think she is, she was alive during the dark days so it isn't entirely surprising. Finnick and Caesar make jokes about women, all of which make my hands curl into fists. He advises Caesar that, from experience, when a woman tells you to 'do whatever you want,' do not, under any circumstances, 'do whatever you want.' Stereotypical rubbish. The timer buzzes and my heart skips a beat. Finnick waves goodbye to the crowds and sits back down in his seat. I stand up and my heart seems to be trying to drill a hole in my chest.

"Foxface!" Caesar announces.

I step onto the stage and perch on the edge of the chair.

"Now, tell me," he leans towards me. "I'm sure we all feel disappointed that a certain little fox had scarcely any time to enjoy her new life in the victor's village," he looks to the audience. "Am I right?"

Everyone nods in agreement.

"Well," I lie. "What little time I had there was worth every second of the games multiple times over."

Yeah right, my parents dying and my friend being tortured was worth all of the corpses and the blood spilt in those eighteen days of the arena.

"Good to hear," he tells me. "So, Foxface,"

Ugh please just get on with it.

"You were the only volunteer, were you not,"

"Yup," I nod.

"Can you tell me about that,"

Shoot. I can't tell him that I was dead either way, so I'm going to have to lie again.

"It's just," I breathe. "I care about Watson and Katherine, and I couldn't just sit there and watch both of them die."

There are awwwwws and sighs from the audience and Caesar nods solemnly.

"I understand," he sits up. "So how are you feeling about this year's hunger games?"

"Hopeful," I bite my lip. "That I can higher my odds of 1/24, which is a 4.1667% chance of survival to a larger number."

"And how might you do that?" He asks.

"I guess you'll have to find out," I grin.

"Do you have a plan for the arena?" He asks.

"Only time will tell," I say, enjoying my little joke.

"So, everyone is curious, what did you do in your training session to get yourself a twelve?"

"What would you do in your private session?" I ask, throwing his question back to him playfully, keeping up the joke.

"Aah!" He groans. "So many secrets! Please do tell us!"

The buzzer goes off.

"Sorry Caesar, there's the bell," I grin.

He grinds his teeth together comically before beaming at me.

"There goes Foxface! Let's give her a friendly round of applause!"

I look straight into the audience as they clap me and I press the small button on my sleeve. Time to trust Torak won't blow me up or something like that. Instead, something emerges from my costume. At my neck, from the lightning bolts I think. And at my head. A cloak grows around me and drapes my shoulders. Material of that type makes an arc above my head. I glance down at it and my blood runs cold. Red. The same colour of mourning.

Caesar exclaims and runs the material between his fingers.

"Remarkable!"

I nod and add

"Quite."

The crowd screams and screams and screams with awe. I step back to my seat in the arc of tributes and they give me glances- happy, confused, blank, jealous, the whole lot. The district six morphlings have their interviews, then Johanna- who may I add completely had a rant about the quell- and then the rest. District twelve's tributes have some of Cinna's lighting features, but they aren't nearly as incredible as Torak's creation. Caesar is finishing off and the anthem starts to play to end the interviews, but someone infront of me reaches out to the person next to them. They grip hands. Slowly, the grip spreads through all of the victors. Watson takes my hand and Finnick grasps my other. We all raise them in the air and the room goes into what I can only describe as this:

Commotion.

The lights go out and high pitched screams ring through the room. The tributes are shoved offstage towards the elevator. We go in groups, crammed like sardines into the tiny space. We stop at floor five and I hop out. Watson is waiting for me in the room. He holds the edge of my cloak and examines it. He embraces me and I burry my head in his shoulder. My parents, how did Torak know? My parents... my parents. I change into some bed clothes and hand Torak back the outfit.

"That was stunning," I tell him. "Thank you."

He smiles and says

"No, thank you."

I walk into my room and sit on my bed, staring out of the window. Someone enters my room- the white haired Avox. He looks over his shoulder worriedly, like someone is watching him. He scuttles over to me and points to me. Then he points to my head, then makes a slicing motion across his neck, then shakes his head incessantly. I decode it in my head.

"Don't think that you're going to die?" I ask.

He nods. Even this poor, tortured young boy wishes for me to go on and not to give up hope.

"Thank you," I say wholeheartedly.

He smiles and points to me. Then he drapes the red curtains over the white wall. It takes me a moment to realise what he means. My eyes widen. The red curtains are me, and the white wall is president Snow. He looks at my shocked expression and nods reassuringly. He leaves the room as quickly as he came in and I lie back in bed. My sleep is empty and unforgiving as I rest until morning. I'm pulled out of bed by a grim faced Katherine. She lets me get changed and brushes my hair. All these silent conversations we have speak to me at night. They speak to me when I'm alone. They speak to me when what I hold dear is gone. We walk into the dining room together and sit down. Watson joins us and we all sit in painful silence. I eat as much as a want, which isn't much, and walk with them down to the station. We board the hovercrafts and fly to the unseen arena. My hands fidget and jerk so when my arm is injected with the tracker, I flinch and it ends up much closer to the surface than it should have been. The lump is bigger now. Not that it matters of course. The hovercraft lands and we're led into separate launching rooms. Torak gives me the tribute clothes, grey, black and white.

"Liquid evaporates quickly," Torak observes. "And flexible."

He fastens a thick belt on top and steps back. He twists my hair into two buns, my 'signature look.' I look up at him and he looks back into my eyes. So many silent conversations. He signals for me to look down and I do. He places a black, chain necklace onto my neck. It has a dark fox symbol hanging from the chain.

"From the animals," Torak smiles.

I stare open mouthed back and he takes my hand.

"Please don't just give up hope," he tells me. "Please."

"I won't," I say and I mean it for once.

So many people want me to live. So many. I step onto the plate and lean back on the glass. Away from the bloodbath, then find water. Steal supplies off of others. I remind myself of my plan in my head. The glass doors slide shut and I stand up straight. Torak waves. I wave back.

"Remember who the real enemy is," he says as if he's reciting a script from his head.

I nod. Peacekeepers. Armed. They charge into the room and grab Torak. No. No. All the breath escapes my lungs and I watch him struggle. He tugs himself out of their grip and sprints out of the room. The peacekeepers follow. This is revenge for the red cloak. For the red sheets. And now I'll never know if Torak survived. I will never know. Never. The plate rises and I pant for breath. Torak, not just gone, worse than gone- possibly gone. Him being possibly gone is worse than witnessing his death. I don't know and it will bug me for the rest of my life. Sunlight blinds my vision and I cover my eyes. When I open them again, I see water. Just water. The Cornucopia sits in the centre with narrow strips of land running up to it. I can swim. Not many others can. I stand a chance, heck yes I'm doing it. This flips my previous statistics around completely, now I won't have a 40% chance of death by running into the Cornucopia. In order for people to kill me, they have to swim to me. And barely anyone can. I just have to be quick. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. The gong goes off and I dive into the water. My torso floats to the surface immediately for whatever reason and I swim at top speed to one of the strips of land. I hop up and sprint to the Cornucopia. A few people have made it to the land but are discouraged to continue at the sight of me. I seize up every single throwing knife and the container for them in an instant. I grab a longer knife for melee and start out of the area. I'm just about to dive into the sea when there's the crunch of a foot on the rock behind me. I grip a knife and swing round. Finnick is standing there, trident poised to attack, grinning at me. He lifts his wrist, upon which is the electric yellow and blue pawprint bracelet which my prep team gave to me.

"Lucky thing we're allies right?" He smirks.

"Where the hell did you get that?" I ask hostilely.

"Where do you think?" His smile grows.

Shoot. I need a decent plan right about now. I suddenly stare wide eyed at the space behind Finnick. He whips his head around to attack the non-existent tribute and I make a dash for it.

"Fox!" He calls after me. "Stop!"

I ignore him and keep running. I cut through jungle vines and tear across the muddy ground. I sprint and sprint. About an hour passes. I slow to a walk and become dehydrated quick. No freshwater yet, just the sea. It's hot and my vision blurs. Things become distorted, the trees shimmer. They're still shimmering. Wait, I rub my eyes and look at the trees again. Still shimmering. I find a rock and throw it at the distortion. It explodes into heat and falls, charred and black, to the ground. It's a force field. Just like the one Beetee pointed out. I climb a tree and scan the arena for water. None at all. The arena is a perfect circle with the Cornucopia directly in the middle. I decide to camp out here, settling in a tree, running my fingers along my knives. A cannon jolts me back to life. The fallen tributes from the bloodbath. So that was one, there's a second one. And a third. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. That's eight altogether. No more holding hands; this is the hunger games. About half an hour later, the anthem plays and Watson's face is up in the sky. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. Not him. Not Watson. Why. Why. Why. Tears fill my eyes and tug at my throat. His face fades away. Gone, just like that. Then the district six male, then Seeder, then Woof, then Cecelia, then the district nine male and female, then the district ten female. Great, I made it past the first day. I pick some fruit from the tree and identify it as safe. I quench the constant hunger in my stomach and somewhat become a little less thirsty. I think about Torak as my eyelids droop. Torak. Gone. Forever. Probably. Clang. Clang. Torture. Wishe- wait, clang? Loud bangs erupt from the sky. They're not cannons, there's twelve of them. Every district? Hours in a day? Number of months? What do they mean? Lightning strikes a large tree in the distance multiple times. So much for 'lightning never strikes twice' then. I fall asleep for a couple of hours. I'm awaken by a cannon. I scowl at the disturbance and fall back asleep for another few hours. Another cannon. I stand up to glare at the arena, but notice something weird. One area of the arena is coated in green fog. But only that sector of the circular arena. The sun starts to rise and I decide to continue my quest for water. I kill an odd looking bird-rat thing and ponder about how to cook it. I can't light a fire- that would make me as good as dead- and roasting it in the sun would take ages. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the charred rock from yesterday. I skewer the bird with a stick and jab it into the force field. It cooks in seconds and I grin from ear to ear. It's relatively tasteless and I finish it off, my stomach silenced for now. Where are we supposed to get water from? Am I going to have to rely on sponsors only? The sound of rain echoes from the jungle. I sigh with such relief that I almost fall over. I extend my hand. Red. A drop of red speckles it. Then another, and another, and another. The red fills my palm. This rain isn't the mud smelling, refreshing type, nor the acid which everyone warns us of in five. This rain is blood. I yell out and grab my knives. I tear off through the jungle, thick, hot blood trickling down my forehead and into my eyes. It blinds me and I crash into a tree. I lie on my back and blood fills my mouth. If I keep running, I'll hit the forcefield. I curl up in a ball, screw my eyes shut and press my face against my knees. I manage to fall asleep. When I wake up, the rain is gone. Everything is crusted with red: the grass, the trees, my hair, my face, my clothes. I scrape my eyelids clean and shiver. What was that?! Why did the game makers target me?! Am I too boring?! I remember the fog. So I'm not the only one being targeted. I gather my equipment and ignore the twisting thirst in my throat. Something makes an extremely loud crack sound. There's a scream and a cannon. I climb a tree only to watch a tidal wave burst through a sector of the jungle and onto the beach. It crashes into the Cornucopia and doesn't go any further. So many Gamemaker disasters, I suppose it is a quarter quell and I can only expect as much. An hour of pointlessly wandering around, in search of clean water, wastes away and my knees start to weaken. I've traveled so far. I have to keep going. I have to give the districts hope. I kneel down and rearrange my weapons. I need a break. Just a little one. Swoosh. The area is cleared of trees and plants in a second as a glass tube fastens itself on top of me. Damn! No no no no! I slam my fists against the glass. Another tube sits about twenty metres away from me. Gloss stands inside, pounding and kicking against the glass. Our eyes meet. Mine widen and my arms drop by my sides. He snarls and a smirk dances across his eyes. I jump and stumble back as a sharp noise breaks out. The glass walls are replaced with mirrors. I turn away from my reflection but I'm only greeted with another one. So that's the point of this gamemaker contraption- to trigger my fears. I have catoptrophobia, the fear of being surrounded by mirrors. My breathing becomes rapid. How did they know this? Do they have everyone's fear written down? Death. Death is all I can think about. I pound on the glass: desperate to flee this prison. A choked cry escapes my lungs and I fall to the ground. I bury my head in my hands and try to fall asleep like I did in the blood rain. I realise that that would mean being killed by Gloss when we escape and I sit up. I watch my panting reflection through the slits between my cheeks and eyelids. Thirst swirls around in my stomach and fingers at my throat. I rock back and fourth and try to control my breathing pattern. I hear Gloss screaming and wonder what he's afraid of. I paw at my hair, glued into a heap with blood. What seems like forever passes. I stare up, my reflection stares back at me. A red, bloodied mess- slowly fading away. Wait... reflections don't fade away! I jump to my feet and the glass fades with it. Time's up. I grab a knife from its container and ready myself. Gloss's tube fades away and I spot hundreds of tiny dots fading away. I smile, Gloss is afraid of spiders. He charges at me and I aim a knife at his bare chest. I'm not sure where his shirt is but that doesn't matter. He ducks and I run back. He rams into my legs and I fall backwards. I open a cut in his neck as he pins me to the ground and he swears. He kneels on my thighs, sliding my hands behind my back, and presses his dagger to my throat.

"If it isn't the fox," he growls. "What are you afraid of then?"

I stay silent and he digs the blade further into my neck.

"What are you afraid of?!"

"Mirrors..." I gasp.

"Mirrors," he smirks. "I'm not surprised, only you could be shy around your own reflection."

"Only you could scream at something like that," I breathe.

"What?" He pauses.

"I mean, spiders are quite harmless don't you think?" I whisper.

"Shut up," He blushes.

I hold back a grin. He moves the dagger from my throat to my cheek.

"First things first," he pouts. "We wouldn't want to cut up that pretty face now would we?"

I coax some saliva from my desert dry mouth and spit at him.

"Ack," he scowls. "That how you want to play? Right then," he leans in closer and pulls my sleeve up. "Let's play."

He drags the blade around my shoulder, creating a deep ring around it. I hold my breath.

"Come on foxy, you going to give me some kind of scream?"

He cuts another ring around my arm and peers down at my face.

"You're hurting my ego girl, come on..."

He joins them up with a line.

I let out a wince and a quiet yelp escapes my lungs.

"Ah, the fox speaks," he smirks. "There we go."

He pulls my sleeve back down and brings the dagger to my face.

"Why are you all bloody?" He asks.

I stay silent about the blood rain and he sighs.

"No answer? Oh well, your loss."

He drags the weapon around my left eye lightly, opening a cut which half circles the area.

"Ok, enough stalling."

He positions the dagger at my chest and sits up. I free one of my arms and grab a throwing knife. I cut him in the back and he flinches. I take the opportunity to run for my life. I shin up a tree and jump away as far as I can. I slide down when I'm far away. That was too close. Far too close. Thirst scratches my mouth and punches at my gut. One more day without water and I'm dead. This isn't good. It reminds me awfully of all those hungry days in the arena last year. I was almost fooled by Katniss and Peeta's trap, accidental or purpose. The cheese laid out right next to the pile of nightlock. I had some of cheese and took the nightlock. I realised what it was seconds before I put it to my lips. I was so close to falling for it. So close. I wish I had now, maybe dying of thirst isn't the worst way to go. No. I tell myself. So many people are counting on you. Don't give up hope. There's another cannon. So many dead, so many victors gone for good. I climb a tree and leap onto the next one. Then another. I do this until the beach is in sight. I stare down. Finnick, Beetee, Wiress and Johanna all sit talking. Beetee is fiddling with a coil of wire. They're drawing something in the sand. A clock. Why though? It hits me. The arena is a clock. Twelve strokes at midnight. Each sector a different hour. That makes so much sense. A cannon fires and everyone looks up. A hovercraft has to make multiple trips down and up to pick up the remains of a tribute. Beetee mutters something which I think is 'another one bites the dust.' They start talking about water, Finnick stands up and walks over to my tree with a sharp silver object. He hammers it into the trunk, sending jerking movement through the branches. I wobble dangerously and lose my balance. I tumble out of the tree and onto the ground in front of them. Finnick's face lights up. He chuckles and raises his eyebrows.

"What do we have here?" Johanna snarls and pins me down, her axe against my neck. "Did the little fox drop by to say hi?"

I struggle but her grip of the blade on my throat tightens threateningly.

"Hang on," Finnick tells her. "We should use this to our advantage."

"He's correct," Beetee tells Johanna. "She would make a smart ally which we could use right about now. The logical solution is to let her live."

Johanna lifts me onto my knees by my collar.

"Ok," she growls. "Ally with us or die."

Everyone looks at me.

"I-" I mutter. "I've never been good at allies."

"That's ok," Finnick smirks. "If you don't want to be an ally, you could be more of a slave's ranking."

I roll my eyes and catch sight of the silver object in his hand. A spiel?

"You-" I look up. "You have fresh water?"

He nods. "Yup."

"Ok." I say.

"As a slave?" He jokes.

"As an ally," I scowl.

"TICK TOCK!" Wiress exclaims.

Johanna pins my arms behind my back.

"Don't tie her up," Beetee instructs. "She needs to be able to defend herself. Keep her under a constant guard."

Johanna groans. "Why don't I ever get to have any fun?!"

She storms off a few meters and sits down. Finnick takes my wrists.

"Don't go escaping on us now," he purrs.

Damn right I will. Beetee turns to look at me.

"Blood rain?"

I nod and Finnick stands up.

"Let's get you clean then."

He takes me to the water. Salt water...

"No!" I exclaim and stumble back.

"What?" He asks. "Oi, get back here."

He grabs my arm and pulls me forward. I hold my breath and he lowers me into the water. Salt enters my wounds. He unknots my hair and rinses the blood out of it gently. He cups some water and rubs it against my face. Diluted blood falls down my cheeks and he moves his fingers along the cut Gloss gave me.

"Oh my-" he washes the blood away. He swears. "Sorry."

He lets go of me and my hand presses itself instinctively against the wound on my shoulder.

"Wait-" he prises it off. He swears again.

"Finnick!" Johanna shouts. "This is live television! Keep it P.G!"

"My bad!" He exclaims back. He turns to me. "Who did this to you?"

"No one..." I mutter.

"Tell me the truth," he lowers his eyebrows.

"I'm fine..."

"Who did this to you?!"

"Gloss," I wince.

"I'll kill him," he growls. "I'll kill him."

He washes my raw wound with water and I give a yelp.

"Sorry," He says apologetically.

He continues to clean up the mess that is my shoulder and his already feather-light fingers become even gentler. He brings me back to the beach and Wiress presents him with some strips of leaves.

"Tick tock!"

"Tick tock," he replies, taking the leaves.

He sits me down and wraps a leaf around my shoulder. He wraps one around my neck and wipes at my forehead with the last.

"You ok?" He asks.

"I'm good," I mutter. I pause and add "thank you."

"Oh I almost forgot," he says. "Let me get you some water."

He stands up with the spiel and taps it into a nearby tree. I can't help to watch the process, like a young child again, watching the magic of nature that I just accepted to be inexplicable. I know that it isn't now. I know that nature is darker and fiercer than it is magic. He comes back with a leaf of water. I take it from his hands and lift it to my lips. Crystal water, dripping coolly onto my thighs, waiting to saturate my parched lips. I hesitate. Of course I do, of everyone here, I am probably most wary of poison. Whether it comes from water, or from berries. A sip always means death.

"I haven't put anything in it," he lowers his eyebrows.

I don't move it any closer to my hands. My nostrils flare to get a good smell of the liquid.

"Why," his voice becomes mock- offended. "You do trust me don't you?"

"I could say I do," I nod. "Only," a mischievous shimmer dances through my eyes. "Then I would be lying."

"Just drink it," he laughs.

I reluctantly drink the water from the leaf and feel immediately better.

"You feel better now?" He asks.

I nod. We sit back and wait for nothing to come. Nothing comes. Ages pass. I scan the area for possible escape routes.

"Finch!" Volt screams.

"Volt!" I tear off into the jungle.

"Foxface no!" Finnick yells.

"Ahh!" Volt's screams continue. "Finch help me!"

"Volt!" I shout.

"Foxface!" Finnick shouts.

"Finch!" Volt shouts.

The screams are silenced. Finnick pulls his trident out of a bird. Jabberjay. Just a mutt.

"Are you ok?" He asks me.

"Fine," I mutter.

"Fox!" Katherine sobs. "Fox please!" She screeches with pain and I let out a choked, strangled cry. I force myself to stay put. Just a mutt. Just a mutt.

"Let's go," Finnick says, killing the bird.

He sets off back through jungle and I realise that this is my time to escape. I walk in the other direction. An invisible glass barrier blocks the way.

"Finch!" Volt cries again.

I cover my ears and run away as the jabberjay dives at me. I hit another glass barrier. I'm trapped.

"Foxface!" Finnick yells, sprinting towards me.

I watch a bird swoop down around him. I hear the faint sound of my screaming. Wait, what?

"Foxface!" He rams into the glass.

"Finnick?" I ask confused.

"Finch!" Torak yells.

"Foxface!"

"Fox!"

"Finch!"

"Help!"

"Save me!"

"Please!"

"I'm dying!"

Everyone I love or have loved screams at me. Finnick kneels on the other side of the glass, calling my name. I shut my eyes and grit my teeth. The birds scratch at my clothes and peck at my hair. About half an hour passes and the barrier in front of me disappears. Finnick grabs me by the arms and clings onto me as the birds fill both of our now connected spaces. My birds screech my name. Finnick's screech his name. His take multiple voices, one of them being my own. The hour finally ends and the birds drop to the floor. Johanna, Beetee and Wiress sprint up to us.

"Are you ok?" They ask hurriedly.

"Where did they get that sound?" Finnick asks me, ignoring them.

"I'm not sure," I shiver. "Some were from earlier, some weren't."

"What happened earlier?" He asks.

"Nothing..." I mutter.

"Tell me!"

"They could have simply edited some footage of those people you heard speaking," Beetee says. "It's actually rather easy."

Finnick opens his mouth to question me further but I stand up.

"Let's get out of this place," Johanna groans.

We head back to the beach and I sit down. Finnick binds my hands together with his. Great. There goes my escape chance. They discuss their clock diagram further and Finnick fiddles with my necklace. I miss my personal space. Beetee stands up and walks us towards the Cornucopia to talk about the arena some more. Wiress ticks and tocks until we're all sick of clocks. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Silence. Boom. I whip my head around and come face to face with Gloss slitting Wiress's throat. I launch a knife at his bare chest. This isn't because I want to help the stupid alliance, it's just that once he was done with Wiress, I was next. Cashmere jumps out and Johanna sends an axe into her stomach. Two cannons fire and we sit panting. I retrieve my knife and gingerly sit back down. Enobaria and Brutus ambush us but the land which the Cornucopia lies on starts to spin. I'm yanked backwards by the movement but Finnick is still grabbing at my wrists and pulls me forwards. I cling onto him and the rock. Weapons tumble out of the Cornucopia and a scythe opens a small cut on my cheekbone. I duck as a crate flies over my head. The land stops moving abruptly and the remaining careers retreat. We all cough and splutter. I touch my wound and flinch my hand away. The salt water on my fingers enters the cut and rewards me with an agonising pain in my forehead. I wince and try to ignore it. Now would be the ideal time to escape if the careers weren't so close. Finnick binds my wrists together with his hand and we walk away from the island with the others. Beetee explains his plan to me. To electrocute the careers with the electricity from the lightning tree using his wire and the water from the tidal wave. It seems perfectly decent. Now all I need to do is to escape them and stay well clear of the beach and the tree line. A cannon fires and I squint at the hovercraft. Maria Shards, I think that was her name. Haymitch's district partner. I wonder what got her. Night falls and the anthem plays. Gloss, Cashmere, the whole lot. Beetee winces at Wiress's face and we sit in silence for a while. The sky darkens and Beetee stands up. We walk to the lightning tree.

"Johanna, take the coil down to the beach and put it entirely in the water, you understand?" She nods. "Finnick and Foxface, you two guard me." We nod.

How am I supposed to escape now? Beetee wraps the coil around the lightning tree and passes it to Johanna. She leaves and Beetee adjusts the wire. Half an hour passes. He looks at us.

"Finnick,"

Finnick nods.

"I'm so sorry," he tells me.

Huh? I hunch my back defensively but he knocks me over. He brings the trident to my arm and cuts a tiny little mark right on the tracker. He fiddles with the wound and I wince. I'm dead. He's going to kill me. I'm dead. Beetee cuts the wire and fixes it to a long branch. Finnick does something to my arm and I cry out in pain. He clamps a hand over my mouth and looks at me apologetically. The sky becomes cloudy and electric charged. There's a cannon. The sound of electric voltage rings out and Beetee yelps.

"No no no..." Finnick breathes.

The sky gives the sound of thunder. He drags me far away from the tree before sprinting off hissing 'Johanna!' as loud as he dares. I drag myself up and stumble over to where Beetee lies unconscious. I pick up the branch he was holding. He hit the force field. There's a shimmering patch in front of him. I realise what he was trying to do. I remove the wire and attach it to my heaviest throwing knife. I limp away from the force field. The thunder gets louder.

Finnick suddenly dashes out of the bushes and exclaims "Foxface no!"

Lightning strikes the tree and I throw the knife at the shimmering spot. Electricity charges through the wire and into the force field. The explosion blows us backwards. I land next to him and look sleepily up at the sky. The explosion stretches from the wall of the dome to the top. Material rains down and Finnick grips my hand tight. He tugs me to the side and I gasp at the agony of it. A large piece of metal lands where I was previously lying. Something flies down from the open dome. A hovercraft. It picks Finnick and I up with the same crane and we rise into the vehicle. Someone stabs me with a needle and cold liquid rushes trough my veins. I black out and wake up to the sound of my own heart rate. I stand up. We're with the Capitol no doubt. Come to finally kill me once and for all. I hobble out of the door and into a room with Finnick, Plutarch Heavensbee and Haymitch. They turn to me.

"And here's the star of the show," Haymitch says sarcastically.

"What the hell is going on?" I ask.

"Look," he says. "Sweetheart, I can't-"

I bang my fist against the table which they crowd around.

"Tell me now. What the hell is going on?"

A needle sinks into my arm, taking me by surprise. Plutarch injects the liquid into me again.

"Sweet dreams," Haymitch rolls his eyes.

"Damn... you..." I cough and sink to my knees.

I next wake up in a proper hospital bed. I pull myself out of it and limp towards the door. It's locked and I pound on it with my knuckles. Finnick opens it and walks in. My expression turns cold and hostile as he sits on the edge of my bed and signals for me to join him. I sit cautiously.

"Look, Fox, I'm sorry." He explains. "I'm really sorry, it's just, I had to get rid of your tracker."

Oh. My face softens up somewhat.

"What-" I start.

"There was a rebel plan." He goes on. "Half the tributes were in on it." He takes my hand and I tug it away. "You are our goal,"

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"You are the Night Fox." Haymitch says from the door, watching in, listening.

"The what?" I ask confused.

"The Nightlock Fox." He says. "Our rebel voice."

"Didn't you want a rebellion?" Finnick asks.

"I wanted my parents back," I breathe.

They exchange glances.

"Well," Haymitch says. "Fight for them. Fight for us. Be our symbol of rebellion." He looks me in the eye.

"Be our Night Fox."

-End-