Chapter 37 - Posted on ( 5/30/16)

Delia Montgomery

District Twelve Female. 16 years old.

"But even if the stars and moon collide,

I never want you back into my life,

You can take your words and all your lies,

Oh oh oh I really don't care."

Delia could literally only see in black-and-white. Her life was slowly coming to an abrupt end.

She was beginning to hate the Capitol more and more with each past day. There was no action happening for Delia. Ever since she had arrived in the arena five days ago, nothing excited had happened. No tributes around, no mutts, no Gamemaker traps. It was like she was on her own little isolated island. That also meant, no sponsors.

Once again, didn't her looks count for anything? She thought she had made an impression on the Capitol with her interview and all that. Didn't they want a good-looking Victor?

Delia was hungry. She was famished. She was thirsty. Delia could feel herself running out of time. The Hunger Games sure gambled with lives. She had survived without food, or water, for five days and she didn't think she could hold on for much longer.

At least Lignite is still alive. Delia told herself. She thought she had hated Lignite. But all of that had changed, even if he wasn't there. Delia wanted him to win if she couldn't. Win for District Twelve.

Her knees buckled and crumpled. She was too weak; she couldn't hold on any longer. She simply had to give into the pain. Delia felt like she couldn't move a muscle as pain flared up her left arm for falling on it. She let out a small moan, with no energy to scream. She found herself just watching the events unfold, like she couldn't do anything about it.

From her position on the floor she could see her light brown hair, which had swept over her shoulders. Her first thought was: Oh my gosh. Is that what my hair really looks like? It's so stringy! Drinking water kept all of your body hydrated, including your hair. But since she had no access to water in the past few days, she couldn't drink. Her hair looked worse than ever. Back in District Twelve, I would die from embarrassment if I looked like this.

But that wasn't her main concern. She could feel her life, her whole being, slipping away from her slowly it the midst of her emotional and physical pain. Delia was done for - no food and water for five days surely did not improve her weakened state.

She closed her eyes for the last time and began to see the bright light of the stars gleaming in her vision. Death had awaited her with open arms, and Delia had finally accepted that this was her fate; to die on the fifth day of the 76th Annual Hunger Games. She couldn't make it any further.

Delia hoped she had made an impression on the Capitol to learn their lesson. But from the fact that she was slowly dying from starvation, she would have to intitle someone else to do her deeds.

Using all of her last bits of energy to let out one anguished cry, Delia Montgomery leaned her head back, and slipped into a after lifetime of eternal darkness.

Boom.

Eudora "Dora" Macintosh

District Three Female. 14 years old.

"I just wanna make you proud,

I'm never gonna be good enough for you,

I can't stand another fight,

and nothing's alright."

Dora was confused, per usual. She had been chased by mutts, almost killed by Gamemaker traps, and had no beverages/meals for the entire length of her time in the arena. But, she had yet to encounter any signs of living tributes.

Sure, Dora had heard the many cannons booming within the days of the death match. She had seen faces in the sky, and in fact, she had seen it all. But she hadn't witnessed any signs of tributes near her. Not even shouts, screams, or the snapping of twigs. Dora desperately wished for someone who could help her out, but there simply wasn't anyone who could.

Huxley was dead. Everyone she cared about was gone, in general. She had survived to this the fifth day in the arena, but Dora knew her end was drawing near with each passing minute. She couldn't imagine herself surviving far enough to become the Victor of this year's Games, and she knew deep down, that if she was to encounter another tribute, she wouldn't make it if they engaged in battle in response to meeting. Dora felt like she was the only human being in the world now - alone and scared. The arena was playing tricks, and making her think of depressing thoughts.

Dora's throat tightened and her fear heightened as a soft rustling of the leaves, so quiet she may have imagined it, was heard from her left. She whipped around to check out the interruption, but nothing - or no one - was in her sight. Dora crossed her fingers behind her back, hoping it was no immediate danger. Or, if she had no luck, another tribute who was bloodthirsty and willing to kill to survive another day. She had gone so long - since the Bloodbath in fact - without seeing another person that if she did, she wouldn't be ready to fight.

Dora had never been ready to do anything, at all. She was never prepared, and was always the odd one out back in District Three. She was never prepared to school, always forgetting a notebook or a pencil. She wasn't smart, unlike her fellow peers that were the same age, or even younger. Dora never belonged anywhere.

This also meant, that Dora wasn't prepared as someone leapt and tackled her from behind, causing her to shriek in surprise and fall to the dirt-packed ground beneath her feet. Dora had somehow managed to twist her body during the plunge to the floor, so she had fallen on her back and was now facing the offending opponent.

Of course, being as unprepared as she always was, Dora did not recognize the person. It was a girl, who was pretty in her own natural way. She had smooth skin the beautiful color of mocha, and her hair was a dark shade. It was wavy and reached up to her chest. The girl looked muscular, and probably trained. A gulp travelled down Dora's throat as she noted this fact.

The girl was probably not from District One or Four, being dark-skinned. If she was a Career, this left District Two, which was very possible. Dora racked her mind to think of some other partially trained District that would contain this girl. District Seven? District Ten? Maybe.

She was pretty, but the only thing that ruined the whole picturquese view was the wild, delirious look in her otherwise dark-colored eyes. It was as if the girl had drove herself mad. That would be quite the simple, small task to do, of course, considering the death and gore the Games concealed. Dora, on the other hand, had a look of fear in her eyes as her orbs met the girl's ones.

Throat dry and cracked, Dora dared to ask, "Who are you?" She cleared her throat uncomfortably as she waited for the verdict. The girl intimidated her greatly, and Dora didn't want to die by her hands.

The black-haired young woman didn't respond verbally, though she gave Dora a once-over. Dora squirmed awkwardly, wanting the girl to get off her. Dora glanced around for the possible routes of escape, though her choices and options were very narrowed. The older girl was on top of her, with the Dora's arms trapped underneath the stranger's knees, in a similar state to her legs, which couldn't move beneath the pressure exerted in the girl's legs. Dora was completely held down, with no chance of escape.

Finally, the girl responded. "Not any information that you need to know." Sensing Dora's discomfort and uneasiness, she continued. "But what you will need to know, is that your life will be ending very, very soon."

Eudora noticed that, for the first time, the girl was holding a knife in her hands. A very sharp, pointed knife to be exact. Dora recognized it as one of the most dangerous knives, as she was taught at the knife station during Training. Speaking of Training, her time in the Capitol seemed so long ago and so far away. It was a life so carelessly thrown away by Panem's very own President Snow. Dora was homesick and desperate to see her old acquaintances: her family, minus her mother; her mentor; her stylist; and her prep team. Though she had disliked their doings back when she had time to care about what she was wearing or anything at all, now she wished to be back in their care and protection.

But there was no time, at least not in the present, to ponder on thoughts such as those of the past. The girl had lowered the knife towards Dora's neck and pricked the soft flesh, drawing the teensiest bit of blood. As much as the younger girl wanted to scream and move, she resisted the urge, remaining completely still, knowing that the girl had worst things in mind if she didn't follow instructions.

"There is more blood within this body of yours." The older teenager told Dora. "I could draw more. I'll make your death fast, if you keep being good. But if you aren't…well, let's just say this may hurt a little."

The knife began lowering again, and Dora could sniff out the tension in the air. The girl was giving the Capitol a show, which was just what they wanted. They wanted an unforgivable, merciless death that would be talked about in Panem for ages. They wanted death. They wanted blood. They wanted a fight. But Dora realized that they didn't have to give their audience what they wanted.

With a split second to spare before the knife pricked her again, Dora moved her head to the side, causing the knife to miss and make its mark on the ground instead. The girl yanked it free from the ground, an outraged and dangerous look on her face. "Don't say I didn't want you: I'll make your death slow and painful!"

Before the offender could drive the knife down again, Dora took the opportunity to do a move she had never done before: a headbutt. She headbutted the girl, and the sound of a satisfying crack was heard through the areas around the duo. The older girl's grip loosened as she dropped the knife on the ground next to her and clapped her hands to her nose. Apparently, Dora may have broken it. With no time to celebrate her victory, Dora scrambled from underneath the girl and, grabbing the discarded knife, began to sprint away.

The preceding minor was quick to pick up on things. Ignoring the blood gushing from her nose, she stood on her long, lithe legs and began to run after Dora. "I refuse to be outrun by a 12 year old!" The girl huffed angrily. She seemed to be going hard on herself.

Dora didn't have time to correct the girl that she, in fact, was not 12 years old, but was 14. She was too busy trying not to step on twigs and avoiding trees. Glancing behind her, Dora saw trouble appearing as the girl opened a vest and pulled out a throwing knife.

The girl kept her pace as she did this, but she managed to pull back her arm and throw the knife accurately while running at the speed she was. Dora watched, horrified, as in almost slow motion the knife came flying at her. Her brain had no time to register to duck or dodge as the knife came closer, eventually impaling itself in the soft flesh of her left shoulder blade.

Dora cried out in pain and terror, just shy of crashing into another tree. She swerved out of the way just in time, but tried to multi-task by pulling the knife out. Meanwhile, the girl increased her speed and was taking out yet another knife from her vest.

They were almost neck-to-neck now. They were in a race against themselves, and a race against time, to see just who would come out alive. Would it be Eudora, the unlikely 14 year old? Or would it be the mysterious older girl, who seemed to have better chances?

But, Dora unintentionally stumbled on a mound of dirt during her panic, and the next thing she knew was that she was catapulted through the air. The girl, caught in the trap, too, was thrown into the sky.

But those blissful moments that felt like flying couldn't last forever. Dora let out a scream as the ground started coming fast again, and just as she hit it, her body blew and shattered into many pieces. As with the girl. It was strangely similar to the way Zoe Mercedes was slaughtered.

Both adolescents realized their mistake too late. It was a land mine, that Eudora had triggered.

Dora couldn't deal with the pain; it felt like her whole body was on fire. She needed to make it home, too see her family; she needed to see her Capitol friends. But did all that matter, when it came down to being happy?

Dora's brain registered the faint sound of two cannons echoing. The girl had died as well. Dora had always been alone at District Three, her whole entire life, but at least she died with someone.

Maybe they could hang out together in heaven.

Beetee Latier

District Victor of the 35th Hunger Games. 54 years old.

"I'm a little smarter than you

Smarter than you,

smarter than you,

Can't you see I'm smarter?"

They were making good progress on the problem at hand. The mentors had split into two groups; one to break into the chemistry lab and said reasons for President Snow's quarters. As for the former group, their leader was Prim Everdeen herself, and Enobaria, Finnick, and Beetee himself were assigned to that very group.

Prim acted so calm and mature during the current crisis they were facing, it was hard to forget that she was only the innocent, sweet 14 year old who won the 74th Hunger Games at the young age of 12.

As for the latter group, Johanna was their leader, and Cashmere, Gloss, and Seeder tagged along with her. Seeder may have been old, but she had moves.

Seeder was coping with the fact that her granddaughter Isobel died very well. Or so she said. Seeder was good at hiding her emotions. She simply stated that, "Death is a part of life." She was more worried how Isobel's best friend back home, Matt, was taking it.

Prim gave everyone on the opposing team a hug. "No matter what happens, guys, I'm proud of you." Beetee thought that it was unfair how Prim was aging fast and now sounded like the grownup of the team.

However, they parted ways. The chemistry lab was a hallway away from President Snow's office, so Prim's group turned down this corridor now. The chemistry lab's doors was in view, but Beetee, bringing up the rear, glanced behind him, to make sure they weren't being followed.

They weren't, but that may be changed. And very soon.

Prim ran to the door, and the rest of the group was hot on her heels, being sure not to make a sound. The silence that pressed around them was haunting and eerie, and somehow loud. It was the sound of silence.

One glance at it, and Finnick said, "It's locked."

The group was stumped for answers. Of course it was locked. How did they not think of that earlier, though?

After a thoughtful, though anxious, silence passed through, Enobaria dug into her pocket. "I got something." She announced, though quietly. She plucked something out of her jeans and handed it to Prim. It was a Swiss Army Knife.

Prim smiled gratefully at Enobaria in return. She double-checked that it was on the knife option, before sliding it into the crack on the doorknob. One twist was all it took, and the door pushed open. The group let out relieved sighs and high-fived Prim, though that may have been the easy part.

Careful to close the door, they tip-toed in cautiously. They could never be too careful in the Capitol; danger was lurking around every turn. They had to watch their step, and live and learn.

What to find was simple. Beetee spotted a black vault on the far wall of the room, and led the others to it. From all the times he had been in the chemistry lab, he hadn't seen it here before.

Goosebumps formed on everyone's arms as the chemistry lab was very chilly. Prim rubbed them with her hands in attempt to stay warm as Beetee tinkered with the fine object. The vault door popped open within seconds, due to his off-the-charts mechanical skills. The foursome glanced in, nervous for what they might see. Tension made the air thick.

What they saw was something they didn't expect. There were thirteen potions in all, each labelled carefully with a District number. Beetee picked up the one that was very first, which happened to say D1. "District One, I presume."

Prim stared at the one that was last. "D13. There is no District Thirteen."

Everyone shrugged. "Maybe they made these when District Thirteen still existed." Finnick supplied, though he was looking as confused as the others felt. He was uncertain as to whether or not the mysterious District still thrived. There had been many rumors over the years.

They turned their thoughts to the more important problem. Beetee kept studying the vial in his hand. Suddenly, he paled. "It's a contagious disease." He whispered, putting it back into the vault. "They're planning on infecting one person in each District, which will spread to another person and another person."

Prim continued the horrifying thought. "Soon enough, everyone will be infected. The Districts will die." She shook her head to clear her mind. "That's impossible. Wiping out an entire nation?"

They let that sink in for a few, silent minutes. Enobaria broke the ice. "So what are we waiting for?" She asked. She carelessly swiped the D2 glass container from the vault and raised it over her head. "Let's smash it."

Before Enobaria could complete the task, Finnick stopped her. "Then they'll know we were here."

She reluctantly put back the vial. Beetee closed the vault that hid President Snow's secrets and put his hand over the black door. "At least we know what they're hiding." He said, though uneasily.

The others chorused their agreement, though hesitantly. As they made their way out, they couldn't stop the feeling descending onto them that something terrible was going to happen.

President Snow

President of Panem. 77 years old.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

It's such a beautiful country

But the man, he's burning it down."

They don't think I know what they're up to. They don't think I know their plans.

President Snow downed yet another wineglass and gestured for his Avox to get him more. He was holed up in the security room, which was filled to the brim with plenty of screens, which the security camera feed went through. He focused on the one just outside of his office, where the mentors Cashmere, Gloss, Seeder, and Johanna were trying to worm their way in. His maniac smile grew even wider, to the point where it looked like he was baring his teeth, as he watched Peacekeepers silently approaching the rebel group. His guards were so quiet, and the group so immersed in trying to break in, that they didn't notice them until it was much too late. The Peacekeepers knocked them out with a single move, before tying ropes around their wrists and ankles.

The Avox handed him back the wine glass, and Snow said, mostly to no one in particular, "To another victory." He took a sip, and broke into a fit of coughing. The Avox rushed forward to aid his master, but the white-haired man waved him away. "I'm fine." He croaked. "Old age."

He focused back on the cameras. The precious rebel group had gotten caught - how could they not think that he had cameras installed almost everywhere in the building? President Snow shrugged. Their ignorance, their fault.

He looked around at the other computer monitors in attempt to find to find the other group, which he knew was lurking in the chemistry lab. When he found the correct feed, he frowned. Finnick, Prim, Beetee, and Enobaria were surrounding the black vault he had installed in there, looking at the vials. His smile came back quickly. Now they know. So what? They don't know that I have a plan to stop them, either. He was a mastermind tactician when it came to strategies.

Snow grinned. "They'll find out what happened to Haymitch very, very soon." Then he raised his glass once more and took another sip of the wine.

Being President of Panem was a fine job.

Song(s) Used -

Delia Montgomery: "Really Don't Care" (sung by Demi Lovato)

Eudora "Dora" Macintosh: "Perfect" (sung by Simple Plan)

Beetee Latier: "Smarter Than You" (sung by The Undertones)

President Snow: "Dear Mr. President" (sung by 4 Non Blondes)

14th - Delia Montgomery - D12F - To be honest, I never really knew what to make of Delia. She was the last tribute I received to this story, and she was a great character, but I always had some kind of writer's block while writing her. Not all of you thought very highly of her, but I loved her as my character, and she was hopefully an interesting person. We'll miss you…

13th - Eudora "Dora" Macintosh - D3F - I, hands down, loved Eudora! I know many of you did, too, so that's a plus. Dora was an amazing character, so I loved writing her and developing her. She was such amazing character, and was super easy to write. I would really love her to be Victor, but she realistically wouldn't make it. I hope you guys are okay with her dying. To clarify, she triggered a landmine and ended up blowing up herself and Isobel in the process. We'll miss you so, so much…

12th - Isobel Wild - D11F - This may come as a shocker to you guys. Isobel was an amazing character, who was so great! I loved her, and she was really easy to write as well. Isobel could've made it farther, but her submitter wanted to make her go down fighting and Dora's submitter suggested: "Set off someone else's trap and blow herself up by accident. Along with the person next to her." I incorporated the two ideas together and we ended up with Dora credited killing Isobel. It may have been confusing, but Eudora didn't recognize her so I had to refer to Isobel as "the girl". But still, Isobel Wild will be in our hearts forever.

As I promised, plenty of death this chapter! A total of three, to be precise! I hope you enjoyed this. It was sad writing it, and I hope you still continue reading after I killed off a reader favorite…*looks around sheepishly*

Anyway, I can't thank you guys enough for all the support and reviews. You're all so amazing!

On another note, would you like it if I started a forum?

May the odds be ever in your favor!

Tributes:

Clarence Reiss

Jayda Newell

Hestia Gabbro

Vulcan Hardy

Ebony Williams

Bay Riverside

Eudora "Dora" Macintosh

Huxley Cathode

Kinsie Surge

Dylan Tweed

Rosemary "Rosie" Fields

Casimir Moretti

Casey Taurus

Roy Lentz

Zoe Mercedes

Louis Lindbergh

Celine Woodman

Rowan Mattock

Azalea Sequins

Quince Lazarre

Lignite Parker

Taurus Whittaker

Isobel Wild

Delia Montgomery