I do not own the Hunger Games. The tributes belong to their respective submitters.

Arena Day 3 - Evening, Night

If looks could kill, they probably will

In games without frontiers

Solaris Noven, District Zero Male

I awaken with dust in my throat and blood in my mouth. Pain radiates from every part of my body, especially my ankles and elbows. The light indigo sky, laced with bronze clouds and visible through the hole in the ceiling, indicates that it must be sunset. Or early dawn, depending on how long I was out.

Coughing, I sit up, a layer of grime sloughing off of my chest and arms, and my head rushes with the movement. I blink back the stars, trying to get my thoughts in order. Where am I?

As the room comes into focus, I scream, my hoarse, parched voice racing through the underground labyrinth in a series of overlapping echoes. I scramble backwards, clawing and kicking, my eyes never leaving the body.

Etiliasè.

The hysteria abates for a moment, and I draw a wheezing breath.

Etiliasè.

An arrow sprouts from her chest in some morbid imitation of a flower and a fan of bloody, pink hair lies entwined with the fallen debris. Her eyes stare blankly at the ceiling, and her flesh is the same color as the stone. Bloodless. Lifeless.

I lean away and wretch, my entire body tensing with the action, but my stomach is empty and nothing comes up but bile. My lips, painfully dry, split open, and the sting brings me back to here, now, next to my district partner's desecrated corpse. The metallic tang mixes with the bitter acid, and I spit onto the stone, suddenly aware of the dull pain in my tongue. I must have bitten it when I fell.

Nearby, my staff lies on the ground, somehow intact even after the impact. With bruised knees and cold fingers, I stagger over and pick it up, trying to ignore Etsy.

She obviously died a while ago. I wasn't there. I didn't protect her. I couldn't protect her. And even if I had been able to help her, I'd probably be dead, too. The line between selfish and self-preserving doesn't exist in the arena, I know, but this knowledge doesn't help the guilt.

My back prickles with anxiety when I realize the gamemakers haven't picked up her body. Did they leave her here out of spite? Did they want to get a rise out of me? Or do they have something else in mind?

The thoughts sends my gut twisting into even tighter knots of nausea. They aren't above using dead tributes as traps or muttations. It's happened countless times in other Games, and I'm willing to bet it'll happen again. I need to get out of here as soon as possible.

Clenching my teeth, I stagger down one of the darkened hallways, completely alone. I don't even have any supplies. Etsy is - was - carrying the backpack. Whoever shot her probably took it.

As I wander through the abandoned and decrepit structure, careful to maintain my footing in the low visibility, I know I should be afraid. There could by any number of mutts or tributes waiting in the shadows, but I can't bring myself to care. I just feel... numb. Every thought ends up returning to her mangled body, no matter how much I try to shut it out of my mind.

I have to keep going. I can't end up like her.

Eventually, I hear the telltale low roar of the ocean, echoing throughout the stone tunnels. I follow the sound, at first slow, but picking up the pace as soon as the soft natural light of the exit comes into view.

I hurry out of the darkness, stumbling across the water-worn stones. The sky-sized bruise of twilight looms overhead, fading from purple to green to yellow as the sun falls away under the horizon.

A boy sits on the sand, face in his hands and spear lying at his side. Running across his chest and legs are a myriad of dark splotches, which I immediately recognize as blood. I inevitably think of Etsy, crumpled and dead, and for some reason, my mind still refuses to acknowledge the fact that she's truly gone. The knowledge is there, but the acceptance is not.

In the low light, I can't tell the color of the stranger's outfit, and since his face is hidden, I don't know whether he's a Career or from an outer-district.

I remain motionless for a few moments, still in a state of overall disbelief and not entirely sure how to react to this stranger. Total avoidance is the safest bet.

But he could be friendly.

Or out to kill me.

As I back away, my foot rolls across a rock, sending a low crack across the beach. The stranger drops their hands and looks up, finally noticing me, and I relax a little when I recognize him. It's just Sterling, from District Ten.

Can't think like that, I remind myself. He can kill you just as easily as any Career.

For a few moments, I say nothing as his dead-eyed stare lingers on me. If I remember correctly, he had a number of allies during training, but now I see no one other than him.

"You're covered in blood," I say lamely.

He narrows his eyes, though only for a moment. "You don't look so great yourself."

"Are you injured?" I ask, grip tightening around the staff.

"Yes," he answers, voice hollow. "One of the Careers shot me. Twice."

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. "How did you get away?"

He hesitates, brow furrowed with indecision. His mouth opens once, full of unspoken words, and he bows his head. "I killed him."

A jolt of surprise runs through me. Sterling always seemed so mild-mannered.

Looking up to gauge my reaction, he adds, "He killed one of my allies and he was going to kill me, too."

I try to speak, but the words die on my tongue. I was going to say, You don't need to justify yourself to me, but that would be disingenuous. If he really did kill a Career, or anyone for that matter, I'd rather he have a good reason.

Instead, I say the only thing I can think of. "I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "Don't be. It's not your fault."

"Do you know how many cannons sounded today?"

"Seven, I think. Maybe eight."

I stand awkwardly, not entirely sure whether I should stay or go.

"You had an ally," Sterling says, just as I'm about to turn away. "Your district partner, right?" I nod. "What happened to her?"

Her image once again flashes across my mind, and I shake my head, trying to dispel the thought. "She's… dead. Shot, and thrown into a pit. Maybe by the same guy who shot you."

Sterling's shoulders bounce with an empty laugh. "It was Sebastian, then. I don't think anyone else knows-" He catches himself with an uneasy pause. "Knew how to use a bow and arrow."

"There was the boy from Thirteen," I say without thinking. Upon realizing the stupidity of the remark, I add, "But it couldn't have been him. You're probably right."

He doesn't immediately reply. Instead, he rises to his feet, brushing away the sand. He's a little smaller than I am, though not by much. The spear switches from his left hand to his right, with an almost nervous energy, though he remains stoic.

"I remember you," he says. "From training. You're one of the nicer ones."

I could say the same about him, but apparently he had it in him to kill someone else. Then again, who am I to judge? I don't know what sort of situation he was forced into, and I don't know how I would have reacted myself.

Sterling rests his cold gaze on me, more black than blue in the twilight. "Do you want to ally?"

Apparently the incredulity is obvious on my face, because he throws his spear on the ground. It lands closer to me than him. "I'm tired, and I don't want to spend the rest of my time here alone, especially when there are still so many Careers. I imagine that you don't, either."

I furrow my brow, thinking. If his district partner really is dead, we're the two last top-scoring non-Careers. I would much rather be working with him than against him. Of course, he could just as easily betray me, especially if I let down my guard. He killed once, and I'm sure he could do it again. But he does have a point. I don't want to go it alone, either. Maybe… maybe we could help each other.

I take a few tentative steps forward, staff at the ready. "Alright."

With a ghost of a smile, he cautiously closes the distance between us. He holds out a wary hand, stained brown with dried blood. "Sterling."

I return the gesture, even though I'm sure we already know each other's names. "Solaris." With a full smile that's only half-forced, I add, "Nice to make your acquaintance."

Evaine Berrach, District Thirteen Female

The cannons sound around midnight, letting us know that seven people died today: the boys from One, Two, and Eleven, and the girls from Zero, Seven, Nine, and Ten. The Careers have been cut in half, and three of our biggest competitors have fallen. That leaves the other four Careers, as well as the boys from Zero and Ten. I'll keep an eye out for the other four, of course, but those six are my biggest concern.

As Kyrie Lilitu's face fades into the sky, Stark says, "We should get to the Cornucopia as soon as possible."

I send him a questioning look, which I doubt he can make out in the darkness. "But the Careers might be there."

"Perhaps," he says, "but half of them are already dead. I presume that's thrown them into disarray. In any case, we need food and fresh water, and if we don't get ahold of any wire, the capacitor will be useless. It wouldn't hurt to check."

"I beg to differ. It would hurt very much if we got killed by a territorial Career."

He sighs, and I'm sure it's accompanied by an eye-roll. "It's merely a figure of speech, but I apologize for using such imprecise language. We'll just have to be careful. And all things considered, if we do run into trouble, you won't have to outrun the Careers. You'll merely have to outrun me."

I cringe at the morbidity of his claim, mostly because it's true. "Okay. Say we get to the Cornucopia and no one's there. How are we going to distinguish food and water, let alone the right wires, when it's pitch black outside?"

"The moon should help. And we also have a flashlight, if necessary." Slinging the pack over his shoulder, he heads out into the hallway with the utmost caution, not waiting for me to catch up.

"A flashlight?" I mutter. "Might as well be a signal fire, broadcasting our location."

Regardless, I follow Stark as he limps down the hallway, his shoulders dipping with the strained movement. Slats of moonlight fall through the cracks in the ceiling, and blue light emanates upward from the thin layer of water, casting garish shadows across the walls. We're both careful to keep our splashing footfalls as quiet as possible.

The castle, especially at night, seems more like a maze than a logical construction, and after a few seemingly random turns, I start to question Stark's sense of direction. But when he suddenly holds out his hand, we both stop at the threshold of a particular room, and I recognize the silhouette of the shell-shaped Cornucopia. He leans around the corner, holding his breath.

"Do you see anyone?" I whisper.

"No," he replies, tone equally low. He unshoulders the backpack with great care, barely making a sound as he withdraws the flashlight, then offers the pack to me. I take it without question. "If anything happens, I want you to run. And when I say run, I mean it." The last few words slip through gritted teeth.

"Understood," I reply, slightly taken aback by his intensity.

We creep across the shallow water, keeping our ears pricked and eyes peeled in case any other tributes had the same idea we did.

A few overturned crates lie at the mouth of the Cornucopia, devoid of supplies. Weapons lay strewn across the tables and sand, glimmering dully in the bright moonlight.

"We should start with-"

A shadow darts around the edge of the Cornucopia, and I nearly scream with fright. Stark whips around, flashlight drawn to illuminate the potential threat. A fraction of my fear evaporates as she raises a hand to shield her dark eyes from the beam of mercilessly bright light. It's the girl from Eleven, Zea. Her district partner's face was in the sky no more than half an hour ago.

"Who are you?" she asks, trying and failing to maintain an air of confidence.

Stark and I exchange a look of concern. Does she pose a threat?

Of course she does. All of the other tributes do.

Even so, my ally answers with, "I'm Stark."

I reflexively give her a halfhearted wave, even though she probably can't see it. "Evaine."

She lowers her hand as Stark redirects the flashlight to her midsection. "Oh." For a moment, she's silent. "I'm Zea."

"We know," Stark says, not realizing how odd that might sound to her. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," she replies. "In any case, I'm sure our reasons are similar."

"Did you come to retrieve wiring for your capacitor, too?"

Her mouth falls open, though she's quick to recover. "Okay, maybe not that similar. But you probably came here to restock, didn't you?"

He hesitates for a brief moment. "You are correct."

With a calculating look in her eye, she glances at the pile of supplies, then back at us, apparently having made a decision. "That crate there," she says, pointing to a box near the back of the Cornucopia, "is the only one with food in it. The rest have been cleaned-out."

As Stark keeps the flashlight on her, I creep over to the indicated container. Carefully, I lift the lid, and inside I find bread, dried fruit and meat, and a few root vegetables. It will last us another week, at least.

"Did you already take some?" I ask.

In response, she holds up a medium-sized burlap sack. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

I breathe a tiny sigh of relief. She seems nice. I'd rather she didn't starve.

"We still need to find wire," Stark says, nudging my shoulder. "It has to be copper. Preferably non-insulated."

I nod, keeping an eye on Zea. "Alright."

We start rifling through the leftover supplies, searching for anything that could be of use. Zea lingers, barely at the edge of my comfort zone. Her presence is starting to worry me.

To my surprise, after a few moments she says, "I can help you."

I glance up, and exchange a meaningful look with Stark. The implication of her suggestion isn't lost on either of us. It makes logical sense, though. We are among the few remaining lower-scoring tributes. Might as well make the best of it.

Hesitantly, Stark says, "That's fine. You know what you're looking for, right?"

With a brief smile, she joins the search, careful to maintain a respectable distance. "Yes. I've seen copper wiring before."

"Good," he says. Turning to the dozens of unsearched crates, he lets out a wary sigh. "Let's get to work, then."

Arena Day 4 - Morning

Vespera Zona, District Five Female

Faces and faces and faces and faces and faces and faces and faces and faces and-

"Vespera?"

I turn along with my million copies, searching the mirrors for the one who said my name.

Nieve appears beside me, and I try not to flinch in surprise.

"Weird room, huh?" she asks, smiling at the mirrors in wonder. "Pretty cool, though."

I give a slight nod, though I'm less concerned with how cool it looks, and more concerned with why the gamemakers felt the need to fill a room with reflective surfaces. Maybe I'm thinking about it too much.

"Did you know," Nieve continues, "that mirrors reflect green light a little better than any other wavelength? That's why they look green when you have them reflecting each other, like when they go forever in each direction. So, even though mirrors aren't supposed to have a color, they're technically green."

"That's interesting," I say, actually meaning it. It isn't surprising that she knows a bunch of random facts. People from District Three are supposed to know everything.

She shifts on her feet and throws a glance at the doorway on the opposite wall. "I'm going to check the other rooms, in case there are supplies. Do you want to come along?"

I shake my head. "I'd rather stay here. Who knows what's in there?"

Tilting her head, Nieve considers this for a moment, before giving me a nod of approval. "Fair enough. I'll be back soon, okay?"

I glance down at my feet. "Okay."

She disappears in a whirl of dark hair, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I glance up at the windows, set high on the walls, too far up to see the ocean. But I can hear every wave crash down on the sand, rhythmic and soft like a beautiful song. I let my eyes drift shut, swaying with the lovely sound. It's nice to not think about anything.

When I open my eyes, I let out a harsh, shocked gasp.

Hunter sits on his knees in the center of the room, a splatter of red running from his jaw to his temple. He lets out a braying moan, his face set with utter anguish, and leans down until his forehead nearly touches the bloody ground. He's clutching something - someone, I realize with horror - close to his chest as he rocks back and forth.

"I had to do it," he whispers, voice heavy and raw. "I had to do it."

I take a step forward, and his head snaps up, red eyes fixed on me. Tears stream down his cheeks, mingling with the blood that isn't his.

"I had to do it," he repeats, this time much louder. His grip tightens around the unmoving bundle in his arms. "She was holding you back. She didn't understand you like I did." He takes a wavering breath and looks down at the dead face. "She was going to get us killed."

"What have you done?" I ask, inching closer as dread slithers through the pit of my stomach.

"No, Vespera," he pleads, mouth twisted with anguish. "Please, don't."

He leans away, and the bundle's head lolls back, dark hair matted down with blood. A gash runs along her forehead, deep enough to show the bone underneath. At the sight of her empty eyes, staring pointlessly up at the ceiling, everything in my mind grinds to a halt. This can't be happening.

I stagger back, but Hunter makes no move to stop me. "I had to do it, Vespera. You understand that, don't you?"

I shake my head, unable to catch my breath. There isn't enough oxygen in the room and I'm suffocating on my own fear and confusion.

Whimpering, I sink to my knees, pressing my hands against the sides of my head to keep my skull from splitting open. He killed her. He killed my friend. How could he do this? Why would he do this!?

Gently, he lays her body on the ground and rises to his feet. "You know why Cocoa had to die," he says.

Despite the nausea welling in my gut, he's right. I do know why. But it doesn't make this any less terrible.

He grabs my shoulders, violently wrenches me to my feet, and leans close, pressing his bloodied lips against my ear. "And you know what you have to do next."

Nieve Oswald, District Three Female

My bare feet scuff across cold stone. The mirrors catch my image, throwing my anxious face back and forth for infinity in all directions.

I creep around the corner with the sea-urchin spine at the ready, but I'm only greeted by a dead-end, rows of silvery glass set deep into the stone walls. There is no way out of this wing of the castle other than the first door, where Vespera is. Or where she should be.

At least I found a small canister of water and a small bag of dried fruit, so my efforts weren't entirely in vain. Allowing myself a smile, I hike the strap higher up on my shoulder. It should last us until tomorrow. I bet Vespera will be happy about that.

Keeping an eye out for any muttations or other traps the gamemakers might have set, I spin on my heels and head back to the first room. The mirrors make stealth incredibly difficult.

I catch sight of Vespera's reflection before I see her actual form, crouched on the ground with her hair hiding her face. I force myself to smile, despite the cold stone of fear in my gut. She's just… eccentric.

"Hey, Vespera," I say, lingering just inside the doorway. She doesn't look up. "I found some food and water, but there's a dead-end, too, so unless we want to stay here awhile, we should backtrack to the main hallway."

Still, she doesn't answer me. Though I can't see her lips, I hear her whispering to herself as she traces circles on the stone floor. Instinctively, I take a few steps back. Something isn't right.

"Vespera?"

Her head swivels to me, eyes bright and unnerving. "Do you see what he did?"

I shake my head, not understanding what she means. "What did he do, Vespera?" By 'he', she probably means Hunter, but beyond that I can't guess what he did. He lives in her mind; I'm not privy to his actions.

My ally doesn't answer me, at least not directly.

Instead, she says, "He's right." Clutching the needle-dagger so hard that her fingers turn a bloodless white as she rises to her feet, she fixes her gaze on me. "I have to do it, too."

I don't get the chance to ask what 'it' is before she darts forward, her gaze wide and unfeeling. I spin out of the way as the needle cuts through the air, inches from my shoulder, and her rasping breath brushes past my ear. I lay my hands on her back and push her away, trying to put as much distance between myself and the edge of the weapon as possible.

"What are you talking about?" I cry, scrambling away from her. "Why?"

She tilts her head to the side, knees cracking as she crouches low. "Because," she says, springing towards me. I deflect the blow and land a cut on her upper arm, though it's nothing serious. I don't actually want to hurt her. "Only one will make it out of here alive. It has to be me."

Vespera stumbles, but manages to regain her balance. She spins to face me, unkempt hair falling over her dark, dead-set eyes.

She's completely serious.

A shiver runs down my spine as the realization clicks into place.

Advancing toward me, she repeats the same mantra, over and over. "I have to do it. I have to do it. I have to do it. I have to do it."

She stands between me and the door. I just have to distract her long enough to escape.

I move to avoid her next blow, but at the last second she slams her shoulder against my collarbone, sending me flailing into a wall.

The mirror shatters, falling around us in a shower of silver shards. She grabs my shoulders and pushes me to the ground, ragged breaths hissing between her gritted teeth, the broken needle poised right above my heart. I wrap my hands around her wrists, trying to keep the weapon at bay, even as sharp edges of glass press into my shoulder blades, sending waves of pain across my back. Her hair brushes against my face and an animalistic whine rises from her chest.

I'm not dealing with my ally anymore. I'm dealing with a murderer.

With one hand, I desperately scrape along the glass, searching for my dropped needle. Even through the black haze of panicked exertion, I feel the edges digging into my skin, and I wrap my fingers around the first shard I can get ahold of. I launch it up into her neck, and her eyes go wide, suddenly afraid and childlike. The clear crystal quickly turns red, my blood mixing with hers, and a strangled gasp escapes her lips.

Vespera pulls away, pale spider fingers grasping at the deeply-lodged weapon, but her efforts are futile. I hit something important.

Within seconds she slips to the ground, twitching and gurgling, and her lips form a single condemning question: Why?

Because you would have done the same to me, I think, not quite able to comprehend the person dying in front of me. Because you were right. Only one will live, and it has to be me.

I involuntarily shake my head, grabbing fistfuls of hair despite the gaping cuts on my left hand. I can't use her logic. I am not Vespera. I don't see imaginary people, I don't hear imaginary voices, and I didn't start this fight.

I am not crazy.

Vespera's back arches, and she tries to scream, but it comes out as more of a drowned sob. I clamp my hand over my mouth and take a few steps backward, unable to avert my eyes as she struggles for her last breath. Her chest sporadically expands, face contorted with utter horror, and she goes completely still. The cannon follows only seconds later.

Sinking to my knees, I grow increasingly aware of the throbbing in my hand as the adrenaline wears off. You did this, I want to say, even though it isn't true. I killed her. She may have given me a very good reason, but her blood is still on my hands.

I should have been more selective about my allies. But didn't want to be the jerk who judged a book by its cover. I wanted to believe that just because Vespera suffered from delusions, it didn't mean she was a bad person. Even so, I turned a blind eye to the signs. I pretended there wasn't a problem, in the hopes it would go away, because I didn't want to end up alone. As expected, the problem only got worse. It almost killed me. She almost killed me. And I've ended up alone anyways.

Biting my tongue to hold back tears, I grab the fruit and water, clenching my fist to stem the flow of blood.

Up until now, I haven't been serious about this Game. I've been playing according to my own petty fears and desires, and fat lot of good that did me. If I intend on surviving, I need to start playing according to how things actually are, not how I'd like them to be.

The lyrics are from the song "Games Without Frontiers", by Peter Gabriel.

Vespera Zona, District Five Female - Killed by Nieve Oswald; Placed 12th

Vespera was interesting. I liked her personality, but when I first received her, I didn't quite know how I'd handle her imaginary friends. It was a delicate thing to work with, and in the end I chose to have her friends represent different parts of her personality, because I'm fond of the internal war motif. I liked writing for her, and I hope this chapter summed up her character well.

Yeah, another three-week update. I've been struggling with a lack of motivation as well as the inevitable rush at the end of the school year. The next chapter probably won't be out for another two weeks because of finals, but after that, I should have a smooth(er) schedule.

Thanks for reading despite the disappointing lack of cats. Let me know what you think!