Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine.

Note: Submissions for my new SYOT are now open. Information and the tribute form are on my profile.

Results of the district poll are up on the blog. People seem rather partial to District Four. Personally, where I live is rather Nine-ish, but, personality-wise, I consider myself closer to District Three.

One last poll for this story. This time, I'm asking which deaths were your favorite.

There will be one more chapter of this story, focusing on the Victory Tour, and then on to the next one!

The Other Side

Odelia Agathe
Mutt Specialist

She had ruined it.

Odelia slammed her fist against the table as the recap of the finale played on the screen again. The sound drew Helius over, still grinning like an idiot. "What's wrong, Odelia?"

"What's wrong?" She stared at him, aghast. "I ruined it! The president will kill me! Or you! Or her! Or all of us!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down," Helius giggled. "What makes you think you ruined anything?"

"The mutt killed her – Thea. I didn't even realize that it was about to step on them! I was just enjoying the show, and—"

"As you should have been," Helius nodded. "It was a good show. One of the best finales I've seen, if I do say so myself. What's wrong with a mutt stepping on a tribute?"

Odelia blinked. He didn't seem to understand the depth of her mistake. "A mutt isn't supposed to kill the last tribute. The victor's supposed to."

Helius shrugged. "Who said that? I didn't see that in the rulebook. Not that there is a rulebook. And there shouldn't be. The last tribute standing wins. Well, she probably won't be standing for a while, actually, but the point still stands. She survived. Thea didn't. I don't see the problem."

"But Glenn—"

Helius burst out laughing. "So that's why you're worried. You think you'll end up like my predecessor, the idiot who forgot about the little boy in the swamp. Relax, Odelia. It's a completely different situation."

"How?"

Helius smiled, sitting down next to her. "Think about it. The problem with the Fourth Games wasn't that Glenn didn't kill the last tribute. It's that he didn't kill anyone. He didn't do anything. He just sat there, in that swamp, and Ammond was stupid enough to let him. He wasn't even there during the finale – he was on the compete opposite side of the arena. Carolina – she already had blood on her hands. She was right there, right in the thick of things, at the end. And she was directly responsible for Thea's death, even if the mutt delivered the killing blow." He shrugged. "Now, if the mutt had killed both of them, then you'd be in trouble."

That didn't make her feel any better. "But that could have happened. Just as easily. If Carolina hadn't seen it coming—"

"But she did. She was paying attention. She realized we didn't have complete control over the mutts – probably when the brachi whacked her with its tail. Assuming you didn't do that on purpose."

Odelia shook her head. That hadn't been intentional, either. The mutts had been acting on their own. "Should I have done more? Controlled them more?"

Helius shook his head. "No. No, it would have been stupid to try. That's the compromise we make: in order to make the Games as realistic-looking as possible, we sometimes have to give up our illusions of total control. Sure, we can herd the mutts toward the cornucopia – that's easy. We just have a camera in the area emit a signal that draws them all in, keeps them from attacking each other, until we're ready. When Thea shot the tyrannosaur, we stopped transmitting. The mutts started to behave like real animals – because that's what the audience would want to see. But you can't make an animal and not expect it to act alive. To be unpredictable."

"But the president—"

Helius chuckled. "Let's get one thing straight, Odelia. As long as the audience is happy and the districts are scared, the president doesn't really care what happens during the Games. He's got bigger things to worry about. The audience loves Carolina for killing Alicante, and the districts – the only one that's really got a right to be upset about this is District One, and Jade's handled this well before. Remember Mags?"

Odelia nodded. Mags' Games had ended when she had lured her pursuers – including the boy from District One – into a part of the river they thought would be safe to cross. They had been swept away by the current and drowned. "She didn't kill them, either, did she," Odelia realized.

Helius nodded. "But you never thought about that until now – and rightly so. No one credits the river with their deaths. That would be silly. That would be like saying an arrow killed Lyre, or the compys killed Alicante."

"But she'll think she outsmarted us."

Helius shrugged. "She did. So what? She's clever; that doesn't make her a threat."

"Shouldn't we keep an eye on her, make sure—"

Helius rolled his eyes. "You're being paranoid. The moment we start micromanaging the victors – the moment we start scrutinizing their actions for any hint of defiance – is the moment we really do lose control. Because if we start to blow things out of proportion, rest assured, they'll follow." He shook his head. "I need a drink. All this death is making me philosophical."

Odelia smiled. Maybe he was right. It had been a good show – so good that she'd nearly forgotten to do her job and have the mutt lift Carolina into the hovercraft at the end. The audience didn't care that a mutt had stepped on Thea; they were much more concerned about Carolina's condition. But Helius had assured them all that the girl would live. Regardless of how it had happened, they had their victor.

Maybe that was all that mattered.

Carolina Young
Victor of the Tenth Hunger Games

The first thing she felt was a pair of hands wrapped around hers.

Carolina squeezed as tight as she could. Which probably wasn't all that tight at the moment, but it made it a little better – as if by gripping hard enough, she could somehow ease the pain, the weight. She didn't dare open her eyes – not yet. Once she opened her eyes, it would be real.

The pain wasn't as bad as it had been – not as sharp, not as persistent. There was a numbness – a deep, cold, emptiness – mixed with the pain in her legs. She was almost certainly drugged. That would account for the lightheadedness, as well. The dizzy fog that seemed to be clouding her mind, dulling her senses.

But she was alive.

"Care?"

The name hit her with a weight she hadn't expected – a weight almost as heavy as the mutt's foot. The weight of the girl she had been. The girl who had cared – about Shaw, about Maeren and Koray, about keeping her hands clean. The girl who had defended Shaw's noble intentions. The girl who had rushed back during the chariot rides to help a little girl who had fainted.

That girl would never have done the things she had done. That girl would never have pushed Maeren back in the mud. Would never have let Koray go back for her alone. Would have kept her promise to try to help Ardrey, useless though it would have been.

That girl would be dead.

That girl was dead.

"Don't call me that," she mumbled, her voice thick with the painkillers and little more than a whisper. "I've lost the right to it."

"And that's a load of sentimental rubbish."

Care managed to smile a little as she opened her eyes. She wasn't quite sure who she had expected to be at her side, but there was a part of her that certainly hadn't expected it to be him. Her left eye was still useless – still missing – but he was seated in a chair on her right, smiling at her with something that was almost warmth. She squeezed his hand a little tighter. "Good to see you."

Lander nodded. "You, too."

"How long was I…?"

"Almost a week now. The doctors wanted to leave you under a bit longer, let you heal a little more before waking you up, but the audience is getting restless. They want to see that you're all right."

"Am I?" She certainly didn't feel all right. Several tubes were running into her hands. Her legs were covered with a thick blanket, but she could feel that they were heavily bandaged. Half the world was still dark, and the other half was fuzzy from the medicine. "Am I all right?"

Lander shrugged. "No. And, chances are, you never will be. You just won the Hunger Games and got stepped on by a building-sized mutt, in case you hadn't noticed."

Carolina grimaced. "I noticed. Not the sort of thing you forget."

Lander shook his head. "No. No, it isn't. Physically, the doctors have patched you up pretty well, but even they can't do everything. Your legs were completely crushed. They pieced everything back together in the right order – at least, they say they did – but there will be pain. For a long time – maybe indefinitely. You may eventually be able to walk, but it'll take time, and you certainly won't be winning any races even when you can. They've already fitted you for a mechanical eye." He handed her a jar. Inside was an eye – a perfect match of her own. "I said blue, but, if there's some other color you'd prefer, that's your choice. Personally, I think you'd look fantastic with a lime green one," he added with a smirk.

Carolina set the jar aside. "Blue's fine. I just—"

"If you don't want to wear it right away, that's fine, too," Lander nodded. "The audience won't care. They just want to see you."

Carolina looked away. They wanted to see her. Their victor. The tribute who had become a killer. A monster.

"I know," Lander nodded. "Believe me, I know. You don't want to see them. But it won't be for long. Just a recap of the Games, a short interview, and then we can go home and you can hide away from the world and wallow in your guilt for a while."

Carolina glared. "I'm not wallowing—"

"Yes, you are. And that's good. It's good to get it over with – because if you put it off, it takes a lot longer to get through. Vester put it off, and now it's taking so long that he's still not done wallowing."

"And you?"

"The doctors are going to ask if you want your legs replaced," Lander continued, changing the subject. "That's your call, too. Learning to walk with prosthetics is probably a bit tricky, but it'd also be a lot faster than getting your own legs back to the point where they're actually useful. Like I said, it's your choice, but they're going to need an answer one way or the other before we leave the Capitol – the doctors back in Eight aren't equipped to handle that sort of thing."

"I … I don't know if…"

Lander nodded. "That's what I figured. And you don't need to decide right this second. Give it some time, think about it. They'll want an answer after the interview, at the latest, though."

Carolina nodded weakly. "When's that?"

"Tomorrow afternoon. So you've got time. But there is … there's something else. Something you need to know before the interviews. Before you see the highlights. Something you should know going in, because otherwise…" He trailed off, oddly subdued.

Carolina felt a knot in her stomach. Whatever it was, it was making Lander uncomfortable. And that scared her. Part of her knew she wouldn't really want the answer, but she asked, anyway. "What is it?"

Lander took her hand again. "You need to know what happened to Maeren."

Lander Katz
District Eight Mentor

She hadn't taken it well.

Not that Lander blamed her. No one would have taken that news well. When Carolina had left Maeren for the mutt, she had probably expected her to die quickly. The mutt was huge, after all. It could have eaten her in one gulp.

That would have been better.

He had described it all – what Alicante had done. He hadn't spared any details. No matter what she saw on the screen during the recap, his words would fall short, but it was better for her to go in as prepared as possible. Better for her not to break down in front of the entire audience when she realized her ally's true fate.

She had cried. Screamed. Punched the bed. Caused so much of a ruckus that the doctors had come running, and Lander had to stop them from sedating her. Numbing her wouldn't help. Dulling the pain wouldn't make it any better. It had to be released. It had to go somewhere. If she tried to hide it, bury it inside her, it would eat away at her every day. Better to get it out. To channel it at someone who actually deserved it.

And, in the end, she had. She was angry, of course – mostly at herself, at first. For coming up with the plan in the first place, for leaving Maeren, for not going back with Koray and at least giving her ally a quick death. She was angry with the Gamemakers – obviously, the mutt could have killed Maeren, and they had decided it would be more entertaining to leave her alive.

It was Lander who had pointed out that there was one person who actually deserved most of her anger. Alicante. And he was dead. She had killed him. Well, she and Kaji and some little lizard mutts, but she had definitely played a critical role. Without knowing it, she had already exacted her revenge.

That helped.

People who said that revenge never solved anything had obviously never been in the Games. Revenge had helped him through the aftermath of his own Games. Revenge had helped all of them deal with what Pardeck had done. And knowing that she had already exacted her revenge against the person who deserved it most would help her – in time.

But, for now, there was really nothing he could do. Nothing any of them could do. She had to fight through this on her own. She had to face it herself.

From his seat in the mentors' section, Lander watched as Carolina wheeled herself onstage. Cornelius helped her out of her wheelchair and into a seat beside him. All before the cameras started rolling. They wanted her to look perfect. Strong. Healthy. At least, as much as possible.

She still wasn't wearing her new eye. An eye patch covered her left eye, a deep blue to match her dress – a simple, elegant gown that would have reached the floor, had she been standing. As it was, it completely hid her mangled, bandaged legs. The stylists had done their work well. From a distance, she looked like the perfect victor.

But only from a distance.

Pain was still etched in her face; the only medicine strong enough to dull it left her mind hazy, and she had been insistent that she didn't want to be in that sort of state during the interviews. For that, Lander had to admit he was proud of her. He would have wanted to be as out of it as possible.

But he hadn't had that option.

Lander shook the thought from his head as the music began, cuing the rolling cameras. After a few silly pleasantries, Cornelius called for the highlights, and the footage began to play.

Carolina Young
Victor of the Tenth Hunger Games

She wanted to feel it.

Carolina was glued to the screen as the recap began to play. They had wanted her drugged, at least enough to dull the pain, but she wanted to watch this. She needed to watch this. Because Lander was right; if she didn't do it now, it would haunt her. If she didn't get through this now, there was a chance that she never would.

And she wanted to get through it.

She had thought that watching the reapings, at least, would be easy. But she still felt a knot in her stomach when they came to District Eight, and the boy's name was called. And Shaw volunteered. He could be alive. He could be at home, right now, in District Eight, if only he hadn't acted so rashly.

And then Maeren. She had almost forgotten that Maeren had volunteered, as well. What would have been different, she wondered, if it had been her sister in the arena, instead? Would she still be sitting here? Or would she be the one who had died?

Training. Interviews. Those were easier to watch. Her own silly comment about her dress. Shaw talking about Nicoline. Maeren talking about her sister.

Then came the bloodbath, and Carolina could feel a lump in her throat. She had known that Shaw had died, but she had never known how. Now, she watched as the girl from Eleven killed Sura, Shaw's ally of sorts, and Shaw attacked her. Trying to avenge his fallen friend. Rash. Noble. Just like his decision to volunteer. And, as Lander had predicted, it had gotten him killed.

The tributes scattered, and Carolina watched as she and her allies fled to the south, carrying only their map. Carolina fought back a wave of anger at the Gamemakers. They must have planned it. Must have known she would go for the map. Must have known that the mutt nest would look like the safest place to be.

And she had fallen for it.

She had never suspected that it might be a trick. A trap. A way to lure her in, put her and her allies in danger and make it look like it was their choice.

But it had been their choice.

Seven dead in the bloodbath, and, not much later, they were joined by the boy from Six, clubbed to death with a rock by the girl from Five so that she could steal his supplies. His ally reached him too late, and sat there, weeping, cradling his body, for a long time. The next day, he briefly allied with the girl from Three, only to be immediately attacked by mutts and finished off by his own district partner.

Meanwhile, Carolina and her allies had found the baby mutt.

Stupid. So stupid. Carolina cringed as she listened to herself explain her plan. It was her fault, in the end. Her own fault that her allies were dead.

Carolina knew what was coming. She wanted desperately to look away, but she forced herself to watch as the mutt came charging through the jungle. As she, Maeren, and Koray ran. As she betrayed her own ally, shoving Maeren back towards the mutt and leaving her to die.

But she hadn't died.

Lander had warned her. He had tried to prepare her. But there was only so much he could do. Even his vivid description of the torture Maeren had endured couldn't hope to compare to actually watching it onscreen.

Koray, at least, got a quick death. Carolina found herself silently thanking Kaji for that. She wished he had killed Maeren, as well, but he was doing the same thing she was: trying to survive. He didn't want his ally to turn on him, the way she had turned on hers.

So, instead, he watched. And she watched. Tears filled her eye, spilling down onto her dress, but still she watched. She saw every cut, heard every scream. She owed Maeren that much, at least. The images would haunt her forever. But she deserved to be haunted. It was better than being empty, numb, emotionless. It meant she was human.

And, more than anything, she wanted to feel human.

The next day, the girl from Seven, who had been hiding in the jungle, as well, died at Kaij's hands. Carolina hadn't expected to feel guilty about that one, but, all the same, the girl had died because Kaji had thought – at first – that he was chasing her. In the dark, he had mistaken his district partner for Carolina.

And it could easily have been her, instead.

If she had stayed in the jungle. If she hadn't run. If she hadn't been following the river. If she had gotten lost.

But she hadn't. And she was alive.

That same night, the girl from Four blew a whistle, startling the mutts in her area into a stampede, scattering her allies and nearly killing the girl from Twelve, who was later finished off by the girl from Five.

Carolina watched herself wander though the jungle to the mouth of the river. The long-necked mutts were still impressive onscreen, but that couldn't begin to compare to seeing them in real life. Meanwhile, three-horned mutts carried the tributes from Nine and the boy from Two towards the cornucopia.

But only two of them jumped off the mutts.

Carolina watched, surprised, as Ardrey rode off into the dark on her mutt, leaving Cormac and Hadrian to face the alliance at the cornucopia alone. So she had abandoned her allies, too. She had done the smart thing – just like Carolina. Carolina now had no doubt that, had their roles later been reversed, the other girl would have tried to kill her, too.

Carolina watched in horror as both boys were wounded, but not killed. Not yet. Watched as Alicante and Kaji forced them to fight each other. As Cormac killed his own ally to spare him the torturous death their captors had planned.

Carolina could feel the tears welling up in her eye once more. She hadn't known Cormac. They had never spoken during training. He had found his allies quickly, and she had found hers. But it was hard not to admire his courage, his selflessness. What would she have done, she wondered, in his place? Knowing that they both would die – that it was only a matter of how – which would she have chosen?

She had a feeling she wouldn't have been quite so noble.

She forced herself to watch as Alicante removed Cormac's hands and feet and strung him up like a scarecrow. Slowly, her pity for Cormac was mixed with hatred – hatred for Alicante. Maeren's death, Carolina could blame on her own poor choices. Her own imbecilic plan. But this? They hadn't had a choice – not really. If they hadn't jumped off the mutts and attacked … then what? The mutts would probably have circled back and thrown them. The Gamemakers had wanted a battle. They had wanted blood.

And they had gotten it.

Finally, Thea took pity on the poor boy, killing him with a single arrow and fleeing from her own allies. Carolina stared. So Thea hadn't been left to guard the cornucopia. She had been waiting to ambush Alicante and Kaji when they returned.

Flying mutts carried Ardrey to their cave behind the waterfall, and Carolina watched her jump. Watched herself run over to inspect the situation. Watched as she tried to kill Ardrey, then promised to try to help her, then killed her, anyway.

She would have died, anyway. How long would she have lasted like that – with a broken arm and leg? Not long, even if Carolina had possessed some of the medical skill she had claimed. Which she didn't. There was nothing else she could have done – nothing except walk away.

The next day, the girls from Four and Five finally attacked each other, and, by the end, both were dead, leaving the boy from Ten alone in the swamp, cradling his ally's body after arriving too late to save her, but soon enough to avenge her.

Then the cameras turned to the jungle, and Alicante and Kaji attacked each other. Carolina watched intently. She had assumed that Alicante had simply overpowered Kaji, but, watching them now, the two of them were fairly evenly matched. In the end, it was interference from the Gamemakers that doomed Kaji. Carolina watched, trying to stop herself from trembling, as Alicante hung Kaji from the tree and started a fire.

And then she was running. Running towards the sound of his screams. Arriving in time to see Alicante feeding some of Kaji's roasted flesh to the mutts. Throwing the little mutt at Alicante, cutting Kaji down from the tree, making a split-second decision not to run. To hold her ground. To make her stand.

And, together, they took Alicante down. Got their revenge – both of them. Kaji for himself, Carolina for Maeren, though she hadn't known it at the time. Carolina watched as the mutts consumed Alicante, and, for the first time since the highlights had started, she didn't feel any remorse. He had deserved this. Every moment of it.

In fact, he had probably deserved worse.

Then he was dead. And Kaji quickly followed. Carolina watched as the mutts carried her and Lyre towards the cornucopia. Thea quickly slew Lyre. Then it was down to the two of them. Carolina saw herself dodge. Hide. Use the mutts as a shield. Saw the long-necked one throw her into the air.

That was when she had figured it out. When she had realized that the Gamemakers weren't carefully controlling the mutts' every movement. And, in those few seconds before getting to her feet again, she had come up with a plan. A risky plan. But she could never have defeated Thea in a contest of strength alone. It had been her only chance.

And it had worked.

Carolina watched as the mutt's foot came down, crushing Thea's body. Crushing her own legs. She could feel the pain. The weight.

Then she heard the audience.

They were clapping. Many of them were standing to applaud her. What she had done. Carolina held back her tears. Forced herself to smile. But it was as empty, as hollow, as her smile had been the day of the reaping. The crowd – they didn't understand. It was all a game to them. Even Cornelius, sitting next to her, was beaming, as if she had done something wonderful, something worthy or praise.

She felt so small – sitting there next to him. So small, so helpless, so alone. They didn't understand. He didn't understand. She just wanted to disappear. To go back to her room and sink her face into her pillow and cry herself to sleep.

She just wanted to be as alone as she felt.

Lander didn't knock.

Carolina supposed she shouldn't be too surprised. Her stylists had finally left – after helping her out of her dress and into a much simpler nightgown, and lifting her back into bed. She had been about to try to sleep.

But Lander didn't care.

And part of her appreciated that – the fact that he didn't pretend. He was rude, yes, but he was honest. And his honesty had spared her the horror of learning Maeren's fate in front of a watching audience. For that, she was grateful.

"I know it's late," Lander nodded. "But there's something you need to see." He had a tape in his hands.

"Please, no more – not tonight," she said quietly. What did he have? Deleted sections of the Games? Unshown footage? Why? Why would he do this now?

Lander took a seat next to her. "I told you before that what you decided – about your eye, about your legs – should be your choice. They want a decision. I told them not to rush you, but we'll be heading back to District Eight soon, so … they want to know."

Carolina nodded. She hadn't even really given it any thought. She hadn't had the time. But that still didn't explain the tape. "So why are we watching the tape again?"

Lander shook his head. "It's not a tape of your Games. It's a tape of mine." With that, he pressed a button, and the screen lit up.

This tape was much shorter – a condensed version, maybe. Carolina watched, surprised, as Lander – four years younger – sprinted away from the bloodbath with his district partner, Mira. The two of them traveled the arena together – always staying one step ahead of the other tributes, avoiding the quicksand and the lava that littered the arena, until only five tributes remained.

The other tributes found them and gave chase. They weren't far behind when Mira stumbled into some quicksand. She was screaming, begging – at first, for Lander to save her, but, then, when she realized that was impossible, begging for him to simply kill her before the others could.

And he did. From his position on the edge of the quicksand, Lander flung a knife into his district partner's chest before sprinting off, escaping, as her cannon sounded.

Then came the screams. The other three tributes had been ambushed by a pack of furry, flying mutts. Lander turned back to find them trapped between the mutts and a rising river of lava. He rushed back and attacked, slaying one of them while the mutts tore another to pieces. Lander quickly tackled the remaining girl, but, by then, the lava was spreading. As they wrestled, it began to rise, burning both of them. The girl was screaming. Trying to get away from the fires. But Lander held on. Held her head down with his hand as the lava rose over it, burning away her flesh.

And his.

By the time it was over, Carolina could see the bones through the mangled flesh of his hand. The cannon sounded, and he was quickly carried away. Then the tape cut off.

Carolina turned to Lander, her gaze drawn to his hand. The left one. She hadn't noticed. In fact, it was nearly impossible to tell.

Lander smiled wryly. "Convincing, isn't it?" He held it up. Wiggled the fingers. But, now that she knew … there was a bit of a mechanical look to them, their movements a bit too robotic.

"So you chose—"

Lander shook his head. "No. That's the point. I didn't have a choice. My whole body was burned, but this was the worst of it. I was unconscious the whole time, so they never bothered to ask. They just figured this was what I would want. Rather than trying to work with what they had – which they later told me might have been enough to give me back some of the feeling, some of the mobility – they just assumed that it would be better like this." He shrugged. "And maybe this is what I would have picked. I don't know – and that's the problem. It isn't what you choose that's important – it's that you have a choice."

Carolina stared. That was exactly the conclusion she had come to, after leaving Maeren: that it was better to think about it as her choice, rather than the Gamemakers'. That her decisions in the Games – for better or worse – had been hers, and hers alone. That her choices were important. That they made a difference. Maybe this was Lander's way of saying that he understood.

That she wasn't alone.

There was a knock on the door. "That'll be Dr. Linus," Lander sighed. "You don't have to give him an answer yet, if you're not ready. But—"

"No, let him come in," Carolina nodded. She had made her choice.

They were almost home.

Carolina could feel the train slowing. Lander laid a hand on her shoulder, the other resting on the back of her chair, holding it steady as the train continued to slow. Carolina reached down, adjusting the blanket that lay across her legs.

She had decided to keep them. She would need something – something to focus on, something to occupy her time – at least at first. And working towards being able to walk again – it would give her that. A goal. A reason to keep working. To keep going.

The eye, however, she had changed.

Dr. Linus had been delighted that she had decided to go with red. Red for blood, he'd said, was very appropriate. And it was – but not for the reason he thought. It was a reminder. A reminder of everything that had happened – of who she used to be, and of who she had become. Lander had rolled his eyes, calling the choice overdramatic and theatrical, but, in the end, he had supported her.

"Ready, Care?"

This time, the nickname didn't hurt quite so much. That, too, was a reminder: a reminder of what hadn't changed. What she hadn't lost.

Because it was a balance, in the end. A constant struggle between the old and the new. Between who she had been, who she was now, and who she wanted to be.

But it was a struggle she wouldn't have to face alone. She gripped Lander's hand tightly as the train doors slid open. "Ready."

And she was.

"All major changes are like death. You can't see to the other side until you are there."