Author's Note: MEANT TO UPLOAD THIS YESTERDAY BUT FANFICTION IS BLOCKED ON MY COMPUTER… Another slow update today, of course. Someone will die today, and the list of names will get even shorter. This chapter is in 3rd person, again. We're getting very close to the end, and once this story ends I will start straightaway on the 100th Games :)

Prophet woke to the sight of a dark umber sky, the orange and red colors of the sun mixing together to form a sort of potpourri of color floating above the horizon. The smell of burnt meat is in the air, and Bea is at the campfire, slowly poking pieces of tinfoil that sit in the coals.

"Where did you get tinfoil from?" Prophet asked.

"Ryan." Bea stuck her tongue out. "While you were sleeping, Ryan went out to the remains of the Career camp and looked for supplies. He came back with a packet of tinfoil and a bunch of veggies and meat."

"Whatever. Where is he now?" I grumbled.

"He went out a while ago. To go look."

"For what?" Prophet had pretty much given up the signaling, now. It was useless in the games, he thought.

"You do remember the announcement, right?"

"What announcement?"

"The crossbows, Prophet."

"Oh." Bea smiled.

"I guess you can be forgetful."

"Yeah. But what are we going to do with a crossbow?" Bea smiles again.

"We can build a trap near the Cornucopia. The feast will undoubtedly be there."

Bea thought about that, and then her attention turned back to the fire, where the tinfoil was steaming with a bit of condensation. She bit her lip, taking two sticks and pulling the three packets out of the coals. She opened one, and Prophet could see a mixture of a bit of steamed vegetables, some cheese, and a beef patty. She brought out an unopened bag of hamburger buns and wrapped the bread around the tinfoil meal.

"Tada!" she smiled.

"Ha. I wonder where Ryan is..."

Ryan was wandering the forest north of them, looking for any signs of the "surprise" the Gamemakers had promised. He didn't know what to think. The snow was melting, and there were technicolor pools of water everywhere, as if someone had lugged a leaking oil drum across the forest.

The air was getting hot, and Ryan knew there was no way an island in the Arctic Circle would normally get this hot at any time of year. The Gamemakers must be messing with the arena...something bad was coming. Ryan figured the Gamemakers needed someone to die. Nobody had fallen during that last two days...

Ryan felt like a chicken headed towards the slaughterhouse.

Ryan thought about his parent's life during the Games. President Snow had been an evil old bastard then, known for creating vile traps that tore tributes limb from limb. His mother, Katniss, had been one of those at risk. Katniss was sent into the games with his father, Peeta, as her District counterpart. It had gotten down to the final three: a Career named Cato, Katniss, and Peeta. Katniss killed Cato, but she didn't want to kill Peeta. They had tried to commit suicide, but they were stopped by Snow.

That was the cause for the failed rebellion of the 75th Hunger Games. That was when his aunt, Primrose Everdeen, had been killed in the bombing of District 12. District 12 was rebuilt now, but a large section of the city had been destroyed, including Aunt Prim's medical clinic.

Ryan knew the others didn't have great pasts either. Mr. Dechers was a drug addict and he was messing around with dangerous chemicals, so he was taken by the Peacemakers. Bea didn't know him that well, except for what he had taught her.

Prophet had an okay life, but he was always bullied by older kids and he hadn't spoken a word for most of his life. He wasn't that much of a strong fighter either.

That landed a thought in Ryan's mind. Should he? He wasn't sure, but it would sure help later, where he would hopefully have less competition. He really wanted to get home, but could he really kill his ally in cold blood?

The trap was coming soon, Ryan could feel it. Sweat was dripping from his brow, making little droplets on the forest floor. He could swear he even saw flames in the distance. Wait a second...

Farther east into the forest, Flare backed up from the approaching flames. The tree in front of her burst into flames, crashing to the forest floor with a loud bang, throwing pieces of flaming tinder and sticks across the clearing. A burnt stick hit Flare in the face, marking a line of soot across her cheek.

Flames danced in front of Flare's eyes. She bit her lip, trying to get up from the ground, but her ankle was twisted and it hurt like hell. She had medical supplies in her bag, but that was currently being burned to smithereens by the tree on top of it.

"Fuck!" she cursed, dragging her leg as she struggled to get up. She picked up her spear from under a pile of broken wood, which amazingly hadn't been damaged. Smoke filled the air, and Flare choked, her lungs straining to get a good breath of air. She tried to get ahold of herself, but then she tripped over another broken log and got a faceful of dirt.

Smoke swirled around Flare's head, slowly bringing her to her death. She tried to bring her head up, but couldn't. As she gave up all hope, she felt strong arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her up.

Whoever it was hefted her over his shoulder, navigating through the burning trees, stepping over piles of burnt wreckage. He cursed once or twice, but finally put her down in the shadow of a protected tree. Flare held tightly onto her spear, looking to see who had saved her.

"Why the fuck did I do that? Mother fucking..." muttered Rupert Stevens, staring at his burnt hands.

Back in the western woods, Ryan ran for the camp, fire and explosions clattering behind him.

A pile of gasoline-soaked wood (courtesy of the Gamemakers) exploded, sending Ryan into the still-flaming bushes. He swore he could feel his eyebrows being scorched off.

He screamed in pain, falling backwards through a pile of bracken onto a fallen metal pole. Pain made him arc his back, while Bea and Prophet stared in horror.

"Ryan! What the hell happened?" Bea yelled at him.

"The forest is on fire..." he groaned. He glanced behind him and, sure enough, a steady orange glow was advancing.

Suddenly, another explosion rang out and something rocketed over Ryan's head and slammed into Prophet, knocking his ribcage backwards and smashing him into an ash tree trunk. Blood and blackened wood flew sideways, and Prophet stood there, his mouth open, some metallic thing lodged through his stomach. That's when I recognized it.

It was part of the Rushing Mutt cage we had come across earlier.

The cannon went off and Prophet fell forward, his face in the ash. Bea and I both fell silent, staring at his silent, motionless body. Bea broke the silence.

"WHAT?" she screamed, looking up at the camera that was watching us. "You planned that!" I was speechless. I laid on the ground, waiting, just hoping that cannon had been another tribute's. But it wasn't. Soon enough, the hovercraft came into view and I grabbed our bags and ran away from the camp, Bea in tow.

On the lower part of the island, Heron was enjoying her talk with Ryder.

"It's getting kind of late." Heron smiled, curling up next to Ryder. He laughed awkwardly, wrapping an arm around her. A warm orange glow came from the north side of the island, a sure sign of what Ryder thought was the sunset. Little did he know...

"Ryder?"

"Yes?"

"I don't want to leave."

"Me neither. I could stay here forever."

"What do you want to talk about? I'm not that tired."

"For starters, what are you going to say to Hinder when you get back?" Ryder laughed.

"Oh. Well, he's probably watching right now. So what should I tell him?"

"I don't know. You can't resist me, right?"

"Oh, shut up. I don't know what to say..."

"I just want out of the arena," Knowing the cameras were watching us, I whispered into her ear. "Think we could pull a 74er?"

"I don't know. I don't wanna talk about it."

"It's okay. I really don't either."

"Anyways..."

"Ryder!"

"Okay. What would you do with the money, then? If you made it back, that is." I stuck my tongue out at her.

"I don't know. There would still be the whole deal of the Victory Tour to work out. Who knows what Hinder would even say. And if you won?"

"I don't know what I would do with my life. Knowing you had died, that is..." Heron smiled.

"You're sweet. Don't worry, I'll win for you." Ryder smiled again.

"This feels like a cheesy Capitol joke." Ryder laughed. Heron kissed him on the forehead.

"Go to sleep, Ryder." Ryder settled back into the sleeping bag, Heron curled up next to him. If he was going to die, he was making the most of it. The stars were starting to show, and Ryder grinned widely. He felt awesome. The orange glow on the horizon was growing bigger, but for some reason he did not notice it.

Ryder's dreams were a bit crazy. He dreamt of the bloodbath again, swirls of blood and snow clouding his vision. He imagined Heron falling from the waterfall once again. If she had died, Ryder didn't know what he would've done with himself. Probably run straight towards the Careers. Ryder didn't seem to have a hope without Heron.

Heron dreamt of her arrival back in District 3 – if she made it, that is. She imagined Hinder looking disapprovingly at her, and her family just staring, not knowing what to say. A rich life surely wasn't worth going through the trauma of the Games? Some victors seemed to think so.

Ryder woke up with a sort of burning sensation in his legs. He opened his eyes to see that his pantlegs and the surrounding shrubs were on fire. He yelled, swatting at his legs, trying to put the fire out. The tree in front of his groaned, creaking under the flame's destroying presence.

Heron woke up suddenly, startled by Ryder's yelling and the flames dancing in front of her face.

"What's happening?" she yelled.

"Forest fire!" he yelled looking up. "Look out!" Heron was shoved roughly to the side as an almighty groan came from the tree in front of them. The tree crashed down on top of Ryder, his hands covering his face. A loud bang went off, announcing the cannon. Heron screamed, louder and longer than she thought she had ever screamed before. She slowly backed up from the sleeping bag, Ryder's body slowly blazing in the middle of the night. Heron picked herself up, tears dripping from her face, and ran away into the darkness.

During the night, the fire blazed through the island, burning almost all of flora on the island, melting all remains of the snow. The Gamemakers wrenched up the heat, but only two tributes fell at the hands of the fire. Many more were due to die, but that was for another day. Now the tributes had to figure out how to survive the scorching wasteland of an island. There wasn't much time until the end...

On the twelfth day, the last tribute would fall.

Author's Note: Well, RIP Prophet Thenidiel and Ryder Josker. It's getting pretty close to the end, so you can start placing your bets now :3