Careers. They have finally trapped him. Three of them are slowly making their way towards Haymitch, deadly grins stretched across their worn faces. With each step they take his heart pounds like a drum, preparing him for what is to surely come next. Death.

While he does have a knife and the careers are currently carrying no weapons, they still have their strength. He's pretty strong but he doesn't think that he'll be able to tackle three careers alone. Most likely, they will want to relish his slaughter, too. Unquestionably, his death will be long and painful. This is it, he thinks. Prepare yourself.

For a moment, the four just stand there staring at each other. Do not show fear, he thinks. You are not weak. He grips the knife harder as he feels it slipping out of his grasp due to the excess grime and sweat on his hands.

No doubt the careers want to take him off guard. With no warning, they sprint wildly towards him, a maniac look in their eyes. With adrenaline pumping through him, he can barely see as he swipes his knife frantically at whatever flesh crosses his path. In no time at all, he is soaked with fresh blood and has several newly acquired, stinging cuts and bruises.

Two of the careers now lie on the ground, almost dead. But the largest of the trio still remains. Haymitch can tell that the boy was not expecting him to put up this good of a fight. Obvious frustration surging through him, the career lunges forward and latches himself onto Haymitch, knocking them both to the ground. For a while, the two wrestle and struggle. But when Haymitch least expects it, the boy grabs his fist and yanks the knife out of his grip. Now with the weapon in possession, confidence and grin back on track, the career pins Haymitch down and prepares to slice his throat.

As the razor-sharp blade of the knife, dripping blood, descends on him, Haymitch frantically attempts to resist by grabbing onto the career's wrist and pushing away with all his might. Perhaps this boy is just a bit stronger, maybe more determined, because the knife is slowly going in the opposite direction of where Haymitch wants it to go. It is now an inch away from his throat. Both boys grunt and pant in frustration.

With his life flashing before his eyes, Haymitch thinks of his last regrets as he struggles. Good-bye, Nemit. I love you, he thinks. I'm sorry I failed you. Bye-bye Mel, I'm sorry I wasn't such a great big brother. So many things he should've done, should've said… and now he'll never get the chance. He is stuck here, dying by the hand of some stupid boy from District One. The piercing blue, ice cold eyes of this career are going to be the last thing that he ever sees in this cruel life. How sad.

But wait a second. Something is wrong. The boy's strength has lessened greatly and his eyes…his eyes… no more are they piercing, they are… glassy. He spits blood right into Haymitch's already filthy face as he falls back to the ground, a slimy, sickly green dart shoved in his back. The cannon sounds.

Haymitch heaves a sigh of relief. But what just happened? He looks around and is shocked to see Maysilee Donner, her blowgun still raised, camouflaged into the trees. He had not seen her since the first day of the Games and he has to admit, while she just saved his life, he's not too sure how he feels about her presence. Besides her filthiness and a few scrapes and bruises, she looks relatively okay and uninjured. Though indeed, she is giving him a very strange stare.

Like a cautious deer, she slowly makes her way through the leaves and branches to the spot where Haymitch stands.

'We would live longer with the two of us together.' Her determined voice rings out into the silence.

'I guess you just proved that,' he answers stiffly, purposely looking away from her.

They talk in monotonic voices, as if they were both strangers to each other.

'Allies?' he asks warily.

The words leave his lips before he has time to think. Does he really want to be Maysilee's ally? Obviously, it is always valuable to have another person to watch your back, especially one that is capable of saving your life, but all alliances must be temporary, right? Ignoring this girl is something he can do, he has done it since the moment they had been reaped, but killing her is another thing. He knows in his heart that if the time came he would never be able to do it.

She nods her head curtly.

'You look terrible,' she exclaims, relaxing a little now that the alliance has been made.

He shrugs. 'It could be worse.'

Yes, the Capitol will love that. They already love everything about Haymitch, though. His looks, his wits, his strength. But they love him especially for that one quality. The ability to switch off all emotion. After crying buckets when he was reaped, he realized that if he wanted to stand a chance of winning, he just couldn't afford to be viewed as a weakling. And he knows that he must win, for his mother, for Melmar, for Nemit. So he decided to adopt this new attitude of dauntlessness.

He did not wave or smile once to any of the crowds while being in the Capitol and, during his interview, completely acted superior to the other tributes. He can tell that he gives off a certain feel to others; in his presence, people always know that he means business. He prides himself for being this way. It is what has kept him alive so far in the Games.

Maysilee shares some of her water and dried apples with him as the two travel in silence towards who-knows-where. It is odd being with her and acting so distant. Before they had both been reaped, they had laughed together as if they were good friends. Never again will that happen.

He notices that, though he makes an obvious point to avoid her gaze, she repeatedly keeps darting quick glances at him. He wonders if she still has a crush on him. If so, it only makes things more painful. As they walk, he tries not to pay attention to her and always keeps a few paces ahead to let her know that he's leading, that he's in charge.

The bright, sunny afternoon soon turns into a misty evening and the two tributes are soon too tired to keep going for much longer. They decide to settle down in a small, hidden clearance between the trees.

'I'll take first watch,' Maysilee offers.

Haymitch nods. Using his bag as a pillow, he lies down on his back and looks out through the branches onto the horizon. The sky, smeared with shades of deep pink and purple, is now a host to the glowing, orange ball this is the setting sun. The anthem plays and the three careers (Districts One and Two) are shown in the starry, night sky.

Aware of Maysilee's pensive eyes on him, Haymitch shuts his own and tries to do what he does best: close his mind off from reality and cease all emotion. But for some reason, it isn't working too well at the moment. Being with Maysilee is making him miss home more than ever before.