Oh boy. Another warning before the chapter is even posted. Look, I don't swear much in real life, but as you guys probably know by now I try to depict teenage swearing as much as possible, especially depending on the character. Lorelei is going to swear a lot. Remember how Honora said the c word once and I had to warn you? We're getting multiple c-bombs. And f-bombs. And every bad word under the sun bombs.

Day Seven, Afternoon

Willow Horvat, District 11, 13

When I woke up I realised that my jaw really fucking hurt.

I put my finger to the bruise across my jaw, wincing and realising that touching it didn't help at all. Even clenching my jaw hurt like a bitch. I tried hard to not wince as I leaned up from the comfy bed, looking around the room. How the hell did I get tucked up comfortably in here? One second I drove my hatchet into a boy's calf, then he struck me. And Panem knows what happened from then on. I was just knocked into darkness, but judging from the pain in my jaw and the fact it knocked me out stone cold, he was definitely really strong.

So what happened? As I stood up, weakly, I entertained the thought that I'd won. But I was still in a stupid dress, and not a hospital gown, so that didn't happen. If only. What kind of tribute would be so hospitable as to tuck me into a bed? I glanced at the bedside cabinet, noting a full glass of water too. What kind of person would do that? I made my way out of the bedroom, peering into the kitchen.

The District Eight boy was sat there calmly, looking towards me.

"Did you rest well?" He asked. I shuddered when I noticed the area around his eyes was bandaged up. Something bad happened there.

I quickly reached around for my hatchet and realised that it was gone. Shit. That was my prized possession, and I was suddenly rendered weaponless. Despite the fact he probably saved my life, I still found myself panicked, almost as if I were on the attack.

"You're looking for this?" The boy placed my hatchet onto the table, where it clattered. Oh. "You also got a sponsor gift, delivered to you while you were out cold," he placed a emerald green vial onto the table. "Interesting choice of sponsor gift, poison."

"What? You're not allowed to go through my stuff," I growled.

"Well, there aren't any official rules in the arena," he stood up, making his way to the kitchen sink. Naturally, it was difficult for him to navigate around, but he was supposed to blind. He shouldn't be able to navigate at all. I gawped after him uselessly as he poured a glass of water, forcing two painkillers down his throat as he downed some of the water. "But I don't intend to keep them. They're yours," he gestured to the table and I made my way after my stuff, clutching onto both. I glanced at the vial, wondering if it would ever come in handy. "Did you only have those supplies on you? How the hell did you survive for a week?"

"I had a lot of supplies, the Six boy and Three boy took them," I said. I omitted the fact that I had been helped by my allies; I wanted to appear tough and stoic, I wanted Darius to feel as if I'd made it all on my own.

"Oh. Explains why you attacked them. They're a problem."

"You tell me," I sat by the kitchen table, glancing at him. Suddenly my memory became more clear. "You were fighting them, too."

"Yeah," he sat at the table, facing me straight. I looked at his hands, purposely not looking at his face. "They just came here and they were pretty ruthless. I'd have died if you didn't jump into the scene and take a nice chunk out of his calf," he said. "My ally wanted to just dump you somewhere in the arena where you couldn't find us, but I told her that we owed you more than that, because you saved me. It's nice to know that some people in the arena have humanity," he smiled. Me? Humanity? Maybe he dialled the wrong number. "Going around and helping each other, not just mindlessly striking people down."

"It wasn't like that," I said earnestly. "They stole my supplies, I wanted revenge. They fucked me over."

Darius paused, knowing I had a point. "Still, thanks. It's just nice to see other people," he sighed a bit. "We lost our ally not so long ago. It's been hard."

"I lost two of my allies," I told him, feeling oddly competitive. But on second thought I didn't want to think about Tear or Luke, who were lying out cold in a morgue somewhere. God, that was just a pretty awful thought. And the even more terrifying thing was that I could be joining them.

"We had another ally, but she died in the Bloodbath. It wasn't good."

"It sucks."

"Yeah, it does."

The saloon doors open and a tall, strong looking girl with dark skin entered holding a bucket of water. She opened her mouth to talk to Darius, but her eyes flickered over to me, as if she wasn't expecting me to be there. She didn't say anything for a good minute and continued with her chores: she thrust the bucket onto the kitchen counter, scrubbing around her lightly cut face with a sponge. Darius didn't say anything, almost as if he had done something he wasn't supposed to do. Eventually she turned to me and forced a smile.

"You're awake, I see."

"You're the one who wanted to dump me in the middle of the Palace, right?"

Mirane paused. "Yeah, sorry about that. I'm sure you know that here in the Games we're sometimes supposed to make... difficult decisions."

"I respect that."

"Yeah?" She put her hands on her hips, looking me up and down, as if she were assessing me. There was something challenging in her voice - but not because she wanted to be difficult. She wanted to see if I was worth her time. "And you better respect the fact that while you're in our alliance, you're taking up our resources, especially because you came into the alliance with very few of them. In case you haven't noticed, things are hard," I was suddenly made conscious of the gun strapped to her waist. "And there's a lot of weight. You sure you can pull it?"

I glanced up into her dark eyes, smirking.

"Bring it on."

Jericho Aylin, District 2, 18

It had been an hour since Lorelei had lost her baby, and she still howled despairingly, tears streaming down her eyes as we all just watched. What happened? All of us were stunned with shock. I think I felt my jaw drop to the ground. Honora looked horrified. Pullox, despite being quite pale, had displayed that he could become even paler. And as we all stood together Lorelei continuously beat her fist against the wall until her knuckles bled, screaming the same words over and over again as tears fell from her eyes. This wasn't right. I tried to ignore the bad stuff in the Hunger Games, but it was a baby.

I couldn't just leave her alone. My ally - my friend - was suffering. And while there was nothing I could do, I crouched beside her and held her close. I mean, maybe the baby wasn't even dead... No... The baby was gone. The way she bled like she did... It couldn't be alive. Maybe it was stress or trauma or something, but it was gone and that was that. Lorelei stared past me emptily as I tried to hold her, still writhing, screaming and sobbing. She was inconsolable. I didn't even know why I was trying, but I'd had enough of sitting at the sidelines.

By being a bystander I let this happen. All of it. And for my father's pride? Suddenly I felt like this wasn't worth it. None of this was worth it. Not the death of a baby. No fucking way.

"Lorelei, please listen," I said shakily.

"My baby..." Was all she sobbed, making my heart rise to my throat. Suddenly Pullox was by Lorelei's side, gripping her jawline and glancing right into her eyes. He seemed extremely nervous.

"You've done enough damage," I growled. Pullox struggled as Lorelei was still sobbing. Honora was pacing around the room, running her hands through her hair. "You said the baby was okay."

"The baby was," Pullox stressed. He glanced at me seriously, sympathy in his eyes as Lorelei sobbed. "It was fine. But something has gone wrong. Everything has gone wrong," I tried to talk but he interrupted me, glancing into Lorelei's eyes. "Jericho, something happened. It wasn't stress of trauma that killed the baby," he inspected Lorelei's eyelids, which was weird. "This was murder, of a sorts. This was poison."

"Poison?" I said, feeling sick.

"Maybe she t-took it herself," Honora sounded like she wanted to be sick, she gestured a hand towards Lorelei. "She knew after her fight with Magnus how weak she was when there was some sprog sucking the nutrients out of her in that womb." Lorelei suddenly stopped sobbing, but still trembled in my arms. "Maybe she forced some kind of abortion, I don't fucking know. She's proven that she'll put her baby's life on the line for some short term pride just be fucking volunteering for this thing, she's been a stupid bitch and she regrets it!"

"Shut the fuck up Honora!" Lorelei screamed until her throat went red raw. Honora stepped back, intimidated. "Just because you're a fucking-"

"Calm down, everybody," I stressed, holding Lorelei's hands together lest she did something stupid. I think I was crying, or shaking, or on the edge of throwing up. This was just... awful. "We need to-"

"In fact, why haven't we considered the fact that Jericho fucking did it?" Honora pointed immediately at me, her finger shaking. Pullox's eyes widened, as if he hadn't expected Honora to make such an accusation, and Lorelei was sobbing wildly again. I glared at Honora, but she was still being wildly paranoid. "We all know Jericho has been playing the good boy, playing for daddy's pride. We all know the best Careers are the ones who are fucking snakes!" I opened my mouth to speak, but she interrupted. "What if he's wanted to do this all along? We all know he's been pointing fingers and judging us behind out backs, lets not pretend any fucking differently!"

"Fuck you!" I snapped at her. "Lorelei is my friend!"

Honora laughed, and Lorelei shoved me away while she sobbed. I suddenly felt extremely dejected and stood up, glaring at somebody who I hadn't been able to bear the past few days. Now I'd show her what happened when she broke my temper.

"You honestly think friendship is an actual thing here?" Honora said. "Might as well admit you're a fucking baby killer now, Jericho!"

"Lets not be rash," Pullox was still crouched beside Lorelei, clutching the stomach where her baby once rested. I heard Lorelei retch on her tears, though no vomit came out.

I ignored Pullox. "The only person here who is cruel enough to kill a baby here is you!"

"Is that so?" Honora sneered. "Try and make everyone else believe that, baby killer."

I snapped. I just went into rage mode. Like a juggernaut, I charged towards Honora and she got some kind of kick from it. She laughed and stepped aside, though I braked before I hit the wall. I expected her to strike and ducked as a leg swung above my head. I stood up and struck my elbow towards Honora, though she grabbed my arm and spat right in my face. I was so filled with fury and rage and disgust.

"Want me to break your arm, baby killer?" She laughed.

"No..." Pullox sounded genuinely shocked, as if he had just found something awful.

It was enough to provoke both of us into peace. Honora let go of my arm, which fell limply as we both turned towards Pullox. Pullox wasn't by Lorelei, anymore. Pullox was by the cold pot of soup which Honora had cooked yesterday. He removed some kind of tub, shaking it and looking even more horrified when no noise was produced. Honora's bag had been torn open, weapons and food spilling onto the floor as Pullox glanced at the empty medicinal storage.

"This is what women take when they have abortions," Pullox said quietly, glancing at the soup. "And it was in Honora's bag."

No.

Honora looked pale, the kind of pale you turned when you'd been caught red handed.

No.

I stepped back, disgusted. And still I was shocked. I thought Honora was an awful person, but I didn't think anybody in the Career alliance was capable of doing that. I felt so nauseated by Honora's presence I shifted my weight closer to Lorelei, who had stopped crying for the second time and had turned a shade of green, forcing herself to stand up. Honora looked at all of us in turn, trying to talk but producing no words.

"The carrot soup," Lorelei said, her voice barely audible, but carried by the silence. "You put the pills in it, didn't you Honora?"

"I..." Honora glanced at me pleadingly, and I purposely moved my gaze from her.

"I fucking trusted you..."

"Lorelei-"

"You fucking babykiller," Lorelei immediately reached for a knife. "You fucking cunt."

"I did not fucking do it!" Honora screeched, kicking the cold pot of carrot soup, its cold contents spilling everywhere. "Look, I am not a fucking babykiller."

"All the evidence is against you," I stressed. "For once in your life, be fucking honest you fucking cretin."

"What part of 'I didn't do it' can't you understand?" Honora screamed so loudly it put Lorelei to shame. "I did not fucking do it! Instead of being stupid cocks actually listen to me!" She picked up supplies, petulantly throwing them around and screaming again and again. I removed my sword from its hilt, and Lorelei suddenly had knives in hand. She was doing what she did best: trying to intimidate us. But the cards were stacked against her favour. Despite knowing Honora was capable of doing anything to get a sick thrill, she suddenly didn't scare me anymore. Not one bit.

Lorelei was screaming the same expletives and accusations over and over again, and suddenly I knew that it wasn't the baby that was going to die. One of us, maybe more, were going to die now. The Careers had always been dynamites. Now it looked like Honora had finally blown herself up by lighting the match and striking the explosives. The end of the alliance was officially here. I know Lorelei and Honora weren't thinking that, but I sure was.

Honora seemed less reluctant to fight that Lorelei and I, oddly.

"Just please fucking believe me!" She snapped, her hand on the barrel of her gun just in case she needed to utilise it.

"No," I said calmly. "We've been blind all along, you can't take that away now."

Honora turned to the last person she could trust. Her closest ally. Pullox was leaning against the wall almost casually, watching the events unfold. He avoided Honora's gaze and stooped down, collecting the spilled cooking pot. Maybe he didn't want to face the situation, maybe he just wanted to ignore this whole thing, and I didn't blame him. Pullox was evil. All of us were. But, contrary to what I initially hypothesised, he was the lesser of two evils.

"Pullox, you have to believe me," she begged, wiping crocodile tears from the corner of her eyes. "Please fucking believe me Pullox, I know y-"

She was cut off midsentence. Pullox quickly stood, swinging the pan towards her in an uppercut like style with an agility I didn't know he had. Honora's skull shuddered as the pot rammed into her, and before she had time to react Pullox swung the pot again and made sure it smashed right into the centre of her face. There was an impressive crunching sound as Honora's nose broke and she toppled to the floor.

Honora had never had much luck these Games.

"Sorry, baby killer," he said, dropping the pot so that it rattled again. Lorelei collapsed and started vomiting for real this time, her sick tinged red with blood. Pullox glanced at her once, sadly. "She's yours to dispose of."

Carlie Compton, District 10, 17

Hm, how long had it been now? I crawled out of my little base, squinting at the afternoon sunlight as it imprisoned the whole courtyard. Nothing had changed; the stone walls and benches were the same, as were the corridors inside and the stained glass windows that gave me a glimpse into the Palace. I wandered around, somewhat lost as my dishevelled dress shimmied behind me.

And yet there had been no deaths since yesterday, which left me quite disappointed. I glanced at the moss that crept across the cracks in the stone floor, contemplating. The last person to die was the whacky Five boy, a little over twenty-four hours ago. I was hoping that, as I hid away safely, more tributes would begin to drop down like flies. I was hoping we'd be close to the final eight. Turned out the tributes that were alive were much more resilient than I thought, including Trojan and Seb.

I smirked at the crossbow in my hands, along with something I had been sponsored. It was some kind of powder, explosive powder. According to my escort, it was activated once it reacted with stomach acid. Then it exploded. If I spiked someone's food with it, well, it would not be good for them. While I needed every other tribute to die, Seb and Trojan were my ultimate goals. They made me suffer, it was time to make them suffer ten times more.

I had been out of danger. I was incredibly good at that, I realised.

I heard some kind of footsteps inside one of the corridors. I was immediately intrigued, if not a little worried. I crouched to keep out of sight and moved toward the stone archway, wondering what tribute had just wandered into my little spiderweb. Hopefully if their guard was off I could creep behind them and pelt an arrow right into their head. But I did need to be weary. I knew that the Gamemakers often gave tributes a break once milestones had been reached (the final twelve, for instance), but the Gamemakers must have sent some kind of trap to kill tributes. At least I had been safe.

I peered around the corner, seeing which tribute had passed.

And then it struck me when I saw a monster's naked, fleshy back.

Unlike some other tributes, I had been safe for too long.

I made no noise, but whatever the thing was it could sense my presence. It made a rattling noise, a noise no human could make, and turned around slowly. I wanted to just pelt arrows into it but fear and shock made me freeze in the spot for those few vital moments as it slowly faced me. It was tall, lanky and pale. It was almost human like if you ignored the fact that it had no face, only blank, vertical slits where its nostrils were supposed to me.

"What the fuck?" I said to myself, hoping it was blind and raising my crossbow bolt.

It raised it hands, which held long pointy fingers and longer blackened nails. The pale hands stretched across the canvas of its face, spread like butterfly wings. But there was something really, really wrong.

Right in the middle of its palms were eyes. Human eyes.

"Oh my god," I choked on my own words. It screamed angrily and charged towards me, reminding me that I was actually in a fight for my life. I fired a crossbow bolt, missing spectacularly, barely having time to fire another and pierce the monster's shoulder. It slowed the thing down, but it didn't kill it. Judging by its angry screams, I had only pissed it off a lot more.

Not wanting to take any chances I turned and ran, halting for another precious second and deciding if I wanted to go into the Palace. It wasn't as limited as the courtyard when it came to space for running away, but there was a chance that I would bump into a scary tribute. And I had none of my resources there. Screaming loudly, I turned towards the courtyard and ran down the stone steps, my feet getting tangled up in the hem of my dress in the rush.

I barely remembered falling. In another split second blood was trickling down my temples, my knees were grazed and the crossbow I held was skidding across the courtyard before resting by a flower patch. Suddenly I realised that even though dresses were much prettier than suits, I was resenting the fact that the Gamemakers had given them exclusively to girls. Not fair.

Just as I stood up hands seized both of my arms and pulled me back. I yelled in terror, realising that whatever this freak was it couldn't see while it was pinning me like that. I thrashed my head around, avoiding the creature's jaws as they repeatedly tried to dig into my windpipe. Remembering what daddy told me to do if a man ever tried to pin me down and do something bad to me, I stomped on the creature's foot. It gave an angry scream, and its grip loosened slightly. I then yanked my head back, feeling my skull throb as it smashed back into the creature's head.

I wanted to go for the crossbow straight away, but realised that the creature was useless without its eyes. Improvising, and improvising rapidly, I tore my nails into the monster's palms, feeling it tear into the jelly like substance where its eyes were supposed to be. Blood burst around my palms, making me want to throw up. This time the monster gave another scream, one that was agonised. I knew it was blind and hurried towards the crossbow.

Feeling like some kind of ninja, I turned the crossbow towards its head as I screamed and writhed uselessly. One touch of a button and its body slumped onto the stone floor, lying still and dead.

I didn't even have time to think on it. I didn't want to think on it. I left my sanctuary because being cooped up in one place for twenty-four hours made me go stir crazy. But craziness was better than danger. So without further ado I ran back towards my burrow, threw the hatch open and jumped in, finding the darkness and dank smell welcoming. It was safe.

Trojan Reid, District 3, 15

I stood outside the door as the rain fell, keeping a careful watch in the empty street as my parents spoke hurriedly to each other. The house's front door was propped wide open, and my parents emerged, each gripping one side of an expensive looking dining room table. There were boxes piled on the table, boxes that were probably filled with other goodies. There was nobody in the street, and the owners had left after my parents had faked a prize draw, telling them that they could go to the Capitol if they arrived at the train station at a particular time.

"Hurry, hurry!" I said. Only being eight years old, I was nervous of being caught. I was standing beside an unconscious Peacekeeper. According to my parents, chloroform worked like magic. "We could be caught!"

"This is District Three," my mother said calmly, gesturing me to open the garden gate. They pushed the dining room table out of the gate, moving it towards the van. Vehicles in Panem were incredibly rare to find, but my parents had stolen the van. And also stolen a license plate so that said van wasn't caught. They certainly had their way of surviving, which, despite not understanding at the time, I still kind of admired.

"Why a dining room table?" I said to them, moving to the van and understanding exactly what my task was. Until I learned to be as agile and stealthy as my parents were, I just had to do other boring, manual stuff. Like opening van doors so that they could stuff the stuff inside the van. Two kids passed us, and we purposely turned away our faces so that they couldn't describe us. My parents even made sure that my distinctive red hair was kept underneath a cap. The kids passed casually, probably thinking that we owned the house and we were moving or something. Once they were out of sight, I continued: "We stole a dining room table from the McNabb family, and it's so much nicer!"

"We'll sell this one on the black market," my father tapped it with a smile, and then he slammed the van doors. That was it, it was gone now. My mother moved into the driver's seat, my father the passenger's seat, and I put myself in the back. This was how it happened every day. "And then we'll have a nice stash to go with this."

"I don't see why we have to do this," I said a little miserably in the back. "He was my friend... Was... Now I'll have to avoid him."

My parents had used the new friend I made to further our own gain. We used to be poor, but after being the best thieves in District Three we eventually had a good chunk of wealth to ourselves. And yet my parents wanted more and more and I didn't understand. When I told them I was friends with a lawyer's child, they were immediately interested. They made me go to his house, as a friend, and tell them about any goods there, and any escape routes. Then they conned them into leaving the house at a specific time and here we were.

I was always told by my parents that crying was weak. My father always told me that he'd never shed a tear in his life and he was an impoverished orphan. I suddenly felt guilty and spoiled for crying, but sometimes I just wish we'd live like other people did. Maybe they struggled a little more than we did, but at least their money was hard earned, or gained without a need for guilt.

I expected my parents to scold me. My father just gave my mother a certain look, and then glanced at me sympathetically.

"Why do we have to do this?" I sniffled, quickly stopping myself and wiping the tears from the corner of my eyes.

My dad glanced back out into the room blankly, avoiding my gaze.

"Because we have to," he said monotonically. "It's the way of the world."

"Fuck," Sebastian hissed as I carefully pulled out what I hoped was the last bullet. Blood leaked down his leg, and the skin immediately fused itself together. I was glad I hadn't been hit once, though the Eight girl was definitely a great shot. I didn't want to drink any more of that potion. Obviously I'd need it eventually but I was beginning to wonder how much it benefitted us. It made us so arrogant. Sebastian thought he could charge into the barrel of a gun because he knew he'd be okay at the end of it all. It wasn't wholly stupid but I wasn't being comfortable with being that reckless.

"All out," I told him, placing my dagger back into my pants.

"Yeah, you took that one out way too quickly," Sebastian snarled, his fist tightening. He was still in some level of discomfort. "Were you distracted or something?"

"A little," I admitted, standing up. "Sorry about that."

Seb reached for the Victor's Vial. We weren't even a quarter of the way through it but I was worried he was taking things too far. Still, he only let a drop or two fall onto his tongue, so it was no great loss. I watched him blankly, not reacting much. He shuddered against the wall for a few minutes before he finally stood up, as tall and strong as ever.

"I feel okay now," he told me. I nodded, checking the shotgun to see that it was loaded. "Do we have much ammo left?"

"We're almost out," was all I replied nervously. "We don't need this much, anyway."

"I guess not..." Seb was nervous. "So, where do we go from here?"

"Well, we need to do something," I said, walking down the corridor. "Or we just become boring."

This corridor seemed familiar. The tables, the candles, the paintings on the wall. I had been here before - with Seb. I looked at Seb as he looked around, noticing the corridor too. He seemed kind of sad, actually. This was leading to the ballroom where we met, where we got rid of Carlie. I hurried forwards, pushing the large arched doors open and stepping into the oval room.

It was exactly the same as it had been on day one. I remembered the damage that had been done to it, I remembered Carlie broke the piano stool when she beat it with me, the cracks against the marble floor which I had created when I shoved one of the statue off the balcony railings. Everything was okay again, the room had healed and no objects seemed to be in disrepair. The chandelier was still above us, glinting in the light. The marble floor was impeccable. Despite the coldness and emptiness, it were as if it had been partied in yesterday, cleaned and left alone for another day.

And its day would come.

"I have an idea," I said to Seb, moving towards the centre of the room and turning around to inspect it. Seb still lurked at the doorway, obviously left uncomfortable by a room filled with ghosts and bad memories. "Our biggest threat isn't the Careers. Its the Eight boy, he's like us," I faced Seb, smirking. "He has some weird voodoo power, and his District partner is a good shot. No doubt that they've teamed with the little rat you spared. And she knows too much."

"She isn't a danger..."

"She could've killed either of us," I told him tartly. "We need to kill all three of them. No mercy. We find them and we kill them. I'd say it's that simple."

"But she's just a kid..."

"We're all just kids."

There was a horrible silence. I think Seb wanted to say something, but he was interrupted. There was the sound of music. Beautiful, haunting music. It was calm, but it held some kind of tragedy. Seldom did music every make me stop and think, but this symphony did. And then I turned to its source, realising that a person had to play music. And yet the piano was playing itself: there was nobody there, but keys would press down by themselves and synchronise the beautiful melody. Seb also watched after me, somewhat entranced.

I thought it would be some kind of malicious spectre or trap, but we just watched after the piano as the same melody played over and over again. It didn't stop, and nothing spectacular or brutal happened either.

When I turned back to Seb, he was sat against the wall, wiping the tiniest traces of tears from his eyes.

"So we kill them all?" He said. "Including the girl?"

"Including the girl," I said. "And I know just how we're going to do it..."

"Why do we have to do this?" Seb said pleadingly.

I glanced at him, startled, barely managing to reply with my pre-programmed response.

"Because we have to. It's the way of the world."

Rayann Grace Carter, Victor

So, that was it. I was officially tribute-less.

I stepped into the elevator and watched as the doors closed after me. Then I pressed the button so that I could shoot up to floor Five. Since Magnus died yesterday, I had mixed feelings, as selfish as that was. I'd spent six whole days worrying about my tributes, and after those six days both of them were officially dead, which meant that I had no reason to worry now the whole thing was over. But then there was the bad feelings, which I think significantly outweighed the good feelings. There was sadness that they had died, and then there was guilt.

It was not my fault. I told myself that over and over again. It was not my fault that Leda was barely Mrs. Survivalist of the Year. Similarly, it wasn't my fault that Magnus wasn't right in the head, killing himself and Leda in the process. It wasn't my fault that whenever I tried to send medication of sorts the Capitol would repeatedly delay my sponsorship. And yet I couldn't help but feel some kind of guilt. I don't think Magnus had a family, but Leda sure did. I leaned against the metal wall, sighing and refusing to cry over it. I just hope they didn't put any of the blame on me.

Would it be like this every single year? Watching kids die in such brutal ways? Knowing that a person was lost, and that their family would suffer as a consequence? I exhaled, forcing myself to stand straight. If I could survive this, I could survive anything. At least I had a break until the Games were over. I would spend that eating as much junk food as possible, and watching really bad movies with happy endings. And there'd be moping. And crying. Yeah, having a traumatic past and having to re-visit repeatedly every year was not a good thing.

A tune rang out and the elevator doors opened. I stepped out as a flock of my Avoxes stepped into the elevator, purposely avoiding eye contact with me. I turned to give them a questioning look, but the doors suddenly closed and the elevator ascended or descended into oblivion. That was weird. I was pretty sure that was every single Avox who worked around the fifth floor. They don't usually all go at once. My suspicion metre suddenly went very high, but I pressed on. At least the door to the living quarters was still locked, and as I scanned my iris and heard the lock unclick I realised I was probably being pretty paranoid.

Walking through the Living Quarters gave me bad memories. Magnus and Leda were here once, talking, eating, doing whatever angsty things you did when you thought you were going to die. Now they were just corpses on the ground. I wandered through two corridors before settling in the television room. I leaned back on a plushy chair, sighing as I got my first opportunity to relax in weeks.

"Projector on," I commanded, a holograph of a television screen covering the wall.

I used my finger to scroll through the channel selection options. Channel One - The Hunger Games. Channel Two - The Hunger Games. Channel Three - Hunger Games Recap. Channel Four - Hunger Games XTra. I surfed through every available channel wanting to watch anything but the Games. Too bad that viewing the Hunger Games was kind of mandatory, meaning it was on every channel. Thankfully, this TV had a lot of pre-recorded movies. I selected one of them, not fully managing to get into it. I think I almost fell asleep at one point after thirty-minutes of a dull romance plot.

The television projector bleeped.

That meant an instant message, which was one of the many ways Capitolians communicated:

Get ready to die.

The message immediately sent my adrenaline pumping and I stood up, staring at the message as it flickered across the screen. Then it faded in seconds, leaving me staring at the movie, which suddenly seemed less appealing.

"Television off," I commanded, the wall becoming plain once again. I moved towards the kitchen area, grabbing the largest knife from the knife set and looking around, paranoid. I needed to get out of here. Maybe it was just some kind of sick joke, but considering everything I had gone through I realised that I could definitely be in some kind of danger.

The phone rang and I sighed with relief, realising that I could finally contact somebody and get some kind of security upstairs to protect me. Could I even trust the Capitol? Who was there to trust? I held the knife in one hand and made my way towards the nearest phone, quickly picking it off the receiver and putting it to my ear. I realised that the room was dark. Very dark.

"Hello?" I said as I answered it, waiting for a reply. There was none. I repeated myself: "Hello?"

When I glanced into the mirror I suddenly saw a figure.

My first instinct was to duck.

And I was right to, there was a bang and the mirror in front of me exploded. Reacting on instinct, I launched my phone at the figure, who was masked and armoured. He stumbled back slightly and I kicked up at him, watching him get launched back into the floor. Noticing that he had a gun, I realised that in a physical fight I was definitely at a disadvantage, so decided to run towards the front door desperately.

I ran towards another living area, just as I turned left there was another masked figure heading towards me. I screamed and halted as the charging man propelled himself into one of the couches, flipping over the coffee table. When I heard footsteps behind me I jumped over him, rolling and ducking behind one of the couches as multiple gunshots screeched around the room.

Shit. Shit. What do I do?

I launched the knife at the standing figure, hearing him give a shriek of pain when the knife rammed somewhere into him. Then I turned left and right sharply, making my way towards the exit. When I got there I desperately tried to force the door open.

It was locked.

Realising I had barely anytime, I tried to unlock it with another iris scan.

"Access denied."

I couldn't fight, and while hiding was probably going to get me killed, it was the one option I had. I forced myself into the nearest cleaning cupboard, feeling the darkness surround me as I pressed my back against the wall.

I didn't know what was happening. I didn't know who these people were, never mind how many of them there were. I think I saw three. Could there be anymore? And I was locked in the living quarters with them. Yeah, this was not my ideal break. I gripped the nearest thing I had to a weapon, which was an umbrella. Deciding that while I was probably going to die, I did stand a chance. If I killed one of them, I got the gun. The last time I held a gun I killed somebody with it.

Creaking footsteps were slowly heard outside. Sucking in one breath, I forced the cupboard door open.

It slammed into one of the perpetrators, and he grunted as he slammed into the wall. He dropped his gun and I slammed him in the head again with the umbrella, whacking his helmet off. Just as he gave a battle cry I jammed the tip of the umbrella into his mouth, forcing him against the wall as he choked on his own blood.

He was on the verge of suffocating when I let the umbrella release, the metal skewering through his cheeks and leaving his face looking like a pin cushion. I didn't exactly think that was silent.

Just as I got to his gun another of the attackers arrived. He didn't expect me to have a gun, so I treated him like a dummy at the firing range, pumping multiple bullets into him and watching his corpse fall to the ground. When the last one came, I realised I had no bullets. I felt a bullet graze my shoulder, leaving a trail of blood as I forced myself into the nearest room: the bathroom.

I locked it, knowing that it would bide me little time. Knowing I could be resourceful, I threw multiple bottles and bars of soap around the floor, hoping to god he would trip on them. Just as I heard his foot slam into the door, I picked up a bathroom razor and watched as it glinted in the shallow light. I then stood in the shower, waiting for him to force his way in.

His gun broke the lock pretty easily, and the door fell to the ground as if it was barely an obstacle. The guard then charged into the bathroom recklessly, slipping on one of the many bottles of shampoo or bars of soap, as I had hoped. As he stumbled, I forced myself out of the shower and slammed him against the wall. His dark hand repeatedly tried to reach for me but I jammed the razor through it, getting a sense of satisfaction as his blood squirted over me. He yelled, desperately trying to hit me or reach for his gun, but it was too late: by that point I had jammed the razor into his exposed, naked neck.

There was only a second more of struggle before he gave one final moan, gargling on his own blood and leaning towards me. I was crying and shaking, almost hugging him as he died in my arms.

What the hell had just happened? Judging by the armour, they were Capitol guards or assassins of a sort. What was there to do? Could I report it? Perhaps. And could they arrest me? I didn't think so? They would probably just blame it on the rebels trying to assassinate a Capitolian treasure, and then that would be that. But they still tried to kill me in the first place. I would never be left alone. I would never catch a break.

I emptily traced the path I had used when I had tried to escape, doing everything I could to not look at the corpses. The last time I had killed... Well, the last person I had killed was Maximotus. That was in my Games. I hoped to god I didn't have to do it again. To make it worse, deep inside a part of me didn't care.

I finally reached the spot I was fifteen minutes earlier. The shattered mirror was in sight and the phone was lying on the floor. My bloody hands gripped it and I punched the receptionists' number, putting the phone to my ear.

I decided that if I appeased the Capitol, if I didn't point any fingers at me, they wouldn't kill me, or would go a little easier on me anyway.

"Hello?" I said, emptily. "I'm locked in my living quarters, and I think some rebel assassins just tried to kill me."

The receptionist's gasp was heard down the line.

Yeah, things are getting intense again.

And yeah, I do love Pan's Labyrinth too. :)

~Toxic