Copyright: I do not own The Hunger Games

Thresh's hands fervently opened his bag, digging to see what exactly was inside. He was surprised to find a metal-like fiber. Armor. A satisfied feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. The others all needed something, something to survive. He didn't need anything, so they sent him a little help. He already had the strength and survival skills to win. But with this, he would be virtually indestructible.

He sat it casually to the side, planning to check on what Cato needed before putting it on. He was more than shocked to find the pack stuffed with food. Though, he figured it made sense since Cato's district was not involved in agriculture like his. But to really be this in need?

He shrugged it off and dug into a piece of dried meat. His attention turned back to the armor. He picked up a piece. It would cover his entire upper body, right up to the neck. The fact that the game-makers had sent it to him can only mean one thing-they want him to win.

He didn't mind. In fact, he figured having the game-makers on his side would be a good thing. Even if they were heartless bastards. At the moment, they're willing to help him. He's not going to turn it down.

Just as he was about to pull the armor up over his head, he felt the cold blade press against his neck.

"You killed Clove."

Cato's voice was horse, and angry. His breathing was still rugged, and Thresh wondered how he hadn't heard him approaching.

"She killed Rue."

It was the first time he had spoken her name since she died. He had to struggle to not choke up. Keep a straight face, stay strong. There's an entire audience watching. Keep your dignity.

He heard Cato's footsteps as he moved around, not moving the blade from Thresh's neck. Finally, he was in front of him, looking him in the eye.

Thresh balled the armor-fabric up in his hand, the only visible sign he was nervous. He saw the fury in Cato's eyes, and under that the hurt. He understood. They were just two guys, forced into these games, who had just lost someone they cared about. Thresh knew that, but he also knew Cato didn't. Cato hadn't a clue. Cato still thought he was meant to be in these games, that they were somehow a good thing. And who can blame him? He had been raised for these games.

"You going to try to fight me, Eleven?" Cato taunted.

"As soon as I move you'll chop off my head." Thresh's tone was surprisingly calm, and he spoke as if he were talking to a friend, not someone about to kill him. "I'll fight when you move the blade and fight me back. Just you and me, man to man."

He saw Cato's face change, he saw him consider it. But only for a second. Then he did what was expected. His face contorted into an angry grimace and his arm flexed.

But Thresh was prepared. As soon as he saw the change in Cato's manner, he swung up his fist-still wrapped in the armor-and swatted the blade away.

Thresh dove away from Cato and jumped to his feet. One hand was still wrapped in the armor, the other grabbed frantically at the blade in his belt. He yanked it out and prepared for Cato to attack. The two stood facing each other, slightly crouched, waiting for the other to pounce. Like two animals circling each other, fearing the inevitable attack.

Cato took the first swing, jumping towards Thresh. Thresh blocked it with his armored hand and sliced at Cato's side, leaving an immediately noticeable gash.

"That all you got, Career?"

Cato changed then. Thresh saw it before his own eyes. He became, somehow, not a boy stuck in these games. Not someone who had just lost someone he loved. Cato was no longer someone he could relate to. In fact, it was almost as if he were no longer human.

Thresh couldn't understand it, he couldn't believe what he saw. But somehow, Cato's eyes, his stance, everything about him was different. It was like he had become some mutt the games created. A zombie, brainwashed by the Capitol to believe his purpose was to kill.

That was the moment Thresh knew, no matter how much stronger he was, he wouldn't win this fight.

Cato ran at Thresh, a disturbing scream rising from his lips. Thresh deflected Cato's blade with his own, but Cato threw an unexpected punch to Thresh's jaw. Thresh stumbled backwards and in that moment was vulnerable enough to be tackled to the ground. He wondered why Cato hadn't just stabbed him?

Cato's sword lay off to the side and he stomped Thresh's own machete out of his hand. Thresh wanted a fair fight so he got it. Cato's animosity was overwhelming, and Thresh could barely get his bearings through the punches to his face. Cato sat on top of him, his weight pinning him down.

But Thresh knew he was strong enough to get out of this. He gathered what control he still had and threw his fist up to Cato's gut. It was enough to cause a second of instability, but that was all Thresh needed.

In a moment it was Thresh who was on top and in control. Thresh who was winning. For a moment he thought he could win, he really believed he could survive this and get out of these games alive.

But then Cato plunged a dagger into Thresh's abdomen. The pain shot through his body. He curled into himself, pressing his hands into the spot he had been stabbed. Cato rolled Thresh off him and sat up onto his knees. The bloody knife glistened in his hand.

Thresh's eyes met Cato's one more time, hoping to find at least some humanity there. He hoped, in his last moments, he would be able to see someone he could at least relate to, someone forced to do this, just like him. But there wasn't any, only the cold animosity.

Then the dagger was in his neck.

What was this feeling? He couldn't describe it. It was... nothing. There was no happy or sad or lightness. Just nothing.

The last thing he remembered was the arena. Cato's demonic eyes, almost glowing with the pleasure of the kill.

Was that memory scary? No... Still nothing.

He remembered Rue. Tiny little Rue. Dead. Was she experiencing this? This emptiness?

Was that memory sad? No... Nothing.

He was dead. He knew that much. At least, since he died, the game-makers didn't win. That's a plus. And maybe it's better this way. Had he lived he would have had to go back and face District 11. He would have to see Rue's family, her friends. And now maybe fire girl will win. She cared about Rue too. She was just another trying to survive. Yes, since he can't win now and Rue can't win, he hoped Fire Girl would.

Of course, death also meant he wouldn't see his own family again. Shouldn't he feel sad, or afraid?

He wasn't worried about not feeling anything. It was kind of nice. Like he was floating in nothingness. Like nothing could hurt him. Like he was at peace.

Maybe he should stop trying to think of things. Don't worry about the past. Don't worry about the future. Finally, he didn't have to worry about any of it.

It's all over now.

Just rest.

Author's note:

Yoooooooooooooooooooo. So guess who didn't realize they forgot to update the last chapter? Wow you all probably think I'm one of those asshole writers. Anyways, I have the chapter and it's up and I hope you're all still alive to read it. It was fun to write if I remember correctly, I hope you lot enjoyed it as well! Love and kisses to all my reviewers and favorites and followers of this story! Feel free to keep reviewing, no matter how long this story has been posted I always check for new reviews so if you have anything to say please share it.