Let us all repeat after me, Nina/Phoenix is tired and lazy and has been doing holiday stuff and updating blew her mind. She is so tired it took her 20 minutes to convince herself to get on the account.

And she apologizes for being a loser X_X

BUT HEY! Next update will likely be Thursday or Friday. If it's on Friday, I'll update Sunday. IF it's on Thursday I'll update Saturday. There will be NO update on Tuesday as it IS Christmas. I will see IF I can update on Christmas Eve though IF I HAVE TIME! We have a big to do on that day, so I might not. If not, the next chapter will go up on Thursday...unless I feel generous and do it sooner.

Much love and sorry for the wait. Armani double header baby!


Sean Armani of District 10

Arena, Day 3 Morning

by cottoncandychoctop


'Wisdom, compassion, and courage are the three universally recognized moral qualities of men.'

-Confucius


"Mother f-"

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I begin this wonderful morning: slamming my forehead with as much force and momentum as my body can muster up from a resting point straight into the ridiculously low rock ceiling above me and unwillingly realising various profanities out into the sulphur filled air around me. And now, a show of hands, who wants to trade places with me? Going once...going twice...sold, to absolutely no one.

Okay, in my defence, I'm not really as blockheaded as that sounds. A little context might help clear this up for you. So imagine this, you're lying in a three-by-five metre bunker, barely big enough for all of your six foot one frame, which for the first time in your life you resent. Outside, your world is a burning earth, raining bullets and bombs, the air is thick with sulphur and charcoal and human blood fuels the ground. You haven't been asleep for long, lord knows it's nearly impossible to sleep in this hellhole for a few minutes let alone hours, but you've finally managed to force your extremely overworked heart to take a break and settle down to a normal rate for a few precious moments. And when at last some merciful higher power decides to give you a brief moment of reprieve, and you manage to doze off for a few blissful hours, the loudest, most deafening, most ungodly noise ever created by nature or man thunders around you, causing the entire earth to shake and tremble in its wake. So what do you do: you sit up as fast as is humanly possible, forgetting just how tiny this little bunker is, and you smash your skull against a few tonnes worth of rock. Suffice to say: the rock wins. And goddamnit does it hurt.

"Ouch."

My head throbs so hard I can legitimately feel my own heart beating against my skull. Needless to say, it's not a particularly enjoyable sensation. But that pain doesn't last long, not when it has to contend with so many others. Take for example the stinging pulsing in my upper arm, a result of one too many nasty battles with barbed wire lost. And then of course there's the hunger: the all consuming, stomach-wrenching, insides tearing each other up hunger that's become such an unwelcome companion over the last two days. I've been hungry before, being an outlier means that hunger and I are on very close terms with one another, but never like this. Never to the point where I honestly saw how it could kill me.

The flash of silver in the corner of my vision is a welcome sight, and I don't think I could have gotten up any faster if I tried. I'm outside and unfastening the clasp on the package before I've even thought about double checking for safety: I guess sometimes hunger can trump survival instinct. Maybe that says something about me, or maybe it's just a human thing: who knows? Either way, I don't die, so I suppose it doesn't matter all that much. All that matters to me right now is the mouth-watering smell of freshly baked bread that fills every inch of my mind as I open the canister. It's only after sinking my teeth into the still-warm pastry that my eyes take in the few words printed on a small white card at the bottom of the canister.

Watch your head moron, you just might need it.

I look up at the sky above me and roll my eyes while giving Aleah the biggest bloody smile I can conjure, despite my mouth still being half-full at this point.

"Yeah, yeah, sis," I whisper between mouthfuls, "Thanks for the life-saving advice."

But as my teeth tear off more and more chunks of bread I can't help ignoring the strain in my jaw and the constant clicking that occurs with each closing of my mouth. And better yet, I know exactly who to blame it on too: Damian Blackwater, District Eight.

Let me set the record straight here, in case you haven't picked it up yet, I'm about as violent as a wobbly-legged new born baby lamb. I mean look at me, I just used a livestock related simile: and I'm from district ten. If the cliché in that doesn't say something for you I don't know what will. But take my word for it, if and when I see that district eight prick again I will make sure to return the sentiments he showed me. I mean what a douche: okay so I accidentally ran into the back of him and nearly pushed him into some barbed wire, it's not like that's much of a murder attempt. We were in a maze: excuse me for not stopping to look around every corner to make sure that no self-righteous thieves were loitering around. He didn't even give me a chance to apologise, just launched right into the attack. Obviously he's just a top class person.

But of course after thinking about Blackwater my mind is immediately flooded with bombs and guns and blood and pain. The bloodbath, and damn, did it earn its name that day. Only two days ago, man it feels like it was a lifetime ago. Surely it wasn't only two days ago that I said goodbye to Aleah, a mere forty eight hours ago that I first got a glimpse of this inferno and only three thousand minutes since it had happened. Since I had last seen her.

(LINE BREAK)

Look, this may not exactly come as any kind of surprise to you, but let me just clarify anyway: barbed wire really freaking hurts. Now, obviously, this wasn't exactly a revolutionary revelation for me, but it still bloody well came as a shock to be thrown face-first into it. Luckily for me, my reflexes had been slightly faster than Damian had anticipated and I'd been able to turn my body in such a way that my arms went up to protect my face, meaning that my upper arm took the majority of the blow but the feeling of my own flesh being torn, the thin skin barrier forced open as the metal was thrust into it was excruciating. And having to use those very same muscles that had just been torn in two to get myself back up off the ground wasn't exactly a pleasant experience for me, but it was that or wait to have a missile dropped on my head. In comparison, a little anguish was preferable.

That was when I had first seen her. I knew exactly who she was, even despite the slight hue of the firelight reflecting off the onslaught of rain blurring her features. No one else would be traipsing back and forth between the trenches with their arms outstretched in front of them. No one else would teeter and stumble in the mud as they crashed into the sandbagged walls beside them. No one else would be jumping out of their skin and turning around at each colossal 'boom,' of another landmine being set off. Anyone else would know to be looking up at the guard towers, would be able to see the shaft of a machine gun being pointed at them. This girl was Londyn Aureole. The blind girl from district six.

Her mud-drenched copper hair clung to her face, and blood was streaming down her cheeks from a deep gash on her forehead. Her clumsy gait was slightly uneven as she carried what appeared to be a slight limp in her left leg and her upper arm was charred from what looked like a shrapnel burn. She was stumbling around aimlessly, the pale skin of her palms being cut open as she accidently put her hand out onto some barbed wire. Watching her stagger around helplessly, Aleah's words from what had been only hours ago began to ghost back to me.

'You go nowhere near that Cornucopia, understand? It doesn't matter what's there, how tantalisingly close the supplies are to you, you do not take one step towards the bloodbath. You turn around immediately and hightail it back the other way. If you see another tribute, no matter who it is, you go nowhere near them. And for the love of god if you see a career within ten metres of you, you make sure they don't get one inch closer. You die in that bloodbath I promise you I will make sure your eulogy is a damn pathetic one.'

They had been pretty simple instructions, even for me, but surely this had to be an exception. I mean the chances of Londyn making it out of a regular bloodbath alive were pretty slim, but this? In this literal hell, where bullets and bombs fell with the rain, where trenches and tunnels carved an intricate maze through the mud, where smoke and gunpowder clogged up the air, here they were almost non-existent. So for some reason when I had seen that tall dark skinned man aiming his rifle down at Londyn from his perch up on a guard tower Aleah's words completely left my mind and my body just started moving on its own.

I ran straight towards her, yelling, 'Londyn move!' but it was completely inaudible above the cacophony of gunfire and explosions around us. As I got closer and closer to her my eyes kept flitting back to the man with the gun, his finger edging closer to the trigger with each passing moment. Once I was within range I dove out towards Londyn, semi-tackling her as I pushed her out of the path of the bullet, milliseconds before I heard a loud, 'thud,' as the bullet sank into one of the sandbags behind us. Londyn screamed as we both fell into a barbed wire fence in our path, and immediately a sharp stab of intense pain began to pulse in my upper left arm. I let out a small hiss of pain as I looked over to see the blood begin to spurt out of the wound, the sight of the gash making the burning pain seem oh so much worse.

Ignoring the scream of protest in my arm I pushed myself up off the ground and turned around to Londyn. There were more scrapes and slashes across the dotted skin of her arms and her face bore a look of absolute fear and shock. I had extended my hand down to her to help her up and I saw her arm moving out towards mine in what I thought was her accepting my help.

And instead she punched me right in the face.

And I'm not talking about some wimpy little tap or anything, I mean she punched me. This chick had one mean right hook, and almost immediately I could feel a throbbing pain radiate through the entire right side of my face. Not only had I been decked by a girl, I had been clobbered by a blind chick. Alright, I guess I deserved that for underestimating her. Believe me it wasn't going to bloody well happen again, not after that. But I could see her lining up to hit me again and although I was prepared for it this time and managed to grab her hand before she made contact I immediately realised I probably needed to explain myself before I got the shit bashed out of me.

"Wait! Stop, I'm not going to hurt you," I had stammered out defensively, hoping that my pleading tone sounded as genuine as it actually was, "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm trying to help."

Londyn immediately looked sceptical, and started firing back at me, "Right, and launching me straight into barbed wire was helping me how?"

"Believe me, a few scrapes from some barbed wire are nothing compared to a bullet through the chest."

"A few scrapes? Do these look like a few scrapes to you? You go get your flesh torn by sharpened metal and then you come talk to me about just how minor a few 'scrapes' are."

"Look, you can't see where you're going but I can guide you," I pleaded, anxiously checking to make sure the gunman wasn't reloading his rifle and taking aim again, "If I can help you make it to a shelter you'll be able to wait out the worst of this in safety. Just let me help you and then I'll stop bothering you."

She seemed to quickly consider her options, neither one appearing particularly appealing, before giving me a quick, "Fine," and getting back up onto her feet.

"We need to get you out of the open," I said as I looked around for any kind of shelter, and failed, "We're sitting ducks out here."

She nodded, and despite flinching when I put one arm around her shoulder to guide her, didn't fight against me when I began to lead her through the trenches. As we ran I whispered instructions into her ear, telling her when to duck, jump, dodge and turn whenever an obstacle approached. I kept an eye out for any more trigger happy gunmen but luckily I only had to shield us from one bullet, immediately dropping us both to the ground when I saw a little blonde child aiming her gun our way. It had taken a good twenty minutes of weaving our way through trenches before I had eventually found a safety bunker. It was positively tiny, only about three metres wide either way and so shallow rooved that I had to duck a little to fit in, but Londyn was considerably smaller than me, plus it was cover and that was all we really needed. Beggars can't be choosers I suppose. I helped Londyn sit down in the corner of the bunker before walking over and watching the entrance.

"You should be safe here for the next few hours at least," I had said as I ripped the edge of my sleeve off and using it as a makeshift bandage to tie around the gash on my arm, "As long as you're quiet and no one stumbles into you, you shouldn't be found. There's no food but if you wait it out till it quietens down you'll be able to go outside and find something."

Londyn's lips began to quiver and her eyes started to water as she curled herself up into a feeble position.

"Th-thank-thank you,' she stammered in between each small sob, "I was- I was so scared and I didn't know where I was and I- I thought I was going to die and-"

"You can drop the act," I said with a small smile and a little chuckle, "You're a damn good actress, there's no doubting that. But here's the thing: not only did you just absolutely knock the crap out of me back there you also gave me hell afterwards. The girl who decides to deck her potential attacker and then verbally abuse him, she doesn't come in here and cower like a frightened puppy."

She paused for a few moments before a tiny coy smile comes across her lips, "Can't blame a girl for trying."

I chuckled a little at that, "I guess not."

There were a few silent moments between us as I stood crouched in this tiny bunker wondering just how tough this girl was and how much I'd underestimated her, and she looked just as lost in thought as I was. Eventually she decided to end the silence.

"Okay so riddle me this," she said, leaning back against the wall of stone behind her, "Why the hell does Sean Armani decide he wants to help a poor, defenceless blind girl get herself out of trouble."

Admittedly it was a pretty valid question. Did I have an answer? Nope, not a one. I knew for a fact that Aleah would probably kill me for this, if she wasn't trying to save my life that was. If I made it home, she'd most likely give me grief about it for the rest of my life.

I shrugged a little as I looked into her ebony eyes, "He's not quite sure. Sean Armani will let you know when he figures it out himself. Maybe he just likes to help a fellow underdog."

She had scoffed at that, "Well obviously Sean Armani doesn't realise that he is in no way an underdog. He scored a ten in training, had a killer interview and has a victor for a twin sister. Londyn Aureole likes Sean Armani's odds much more than her own."

I sat down, trying not to hit my head on the roof of the bunker in doing so, "Well first off, Sean Armani is getting sick of this third person thing. And secondly, who the hell cares about odds? You may be blind but now that you're out of the literal firing line you're going to be fine. So you're not as equipped as some of the other's, you've still got a real fire in you. You'll be kicking ass and taking names in no time."

She smirked a little at that but didn't speak up.

"Plus, statistically, I imagine my odds are pretty good. But really, how many of the other tributes do you think honestly consider me a threat. I'm not Aleah; I'm not as smart as her, or as strong as her. I don't know how to play the game like she did and as we've just proved my killer instinct is quite severely lacking. I'm not a frontrunner, I'm just normal. Unremarkable. An underdog. Someone no one really thinks stands a fighting chance."

Londyn continued to sit in silence, but her obsidian eyes watch me with a seemingly knowing curiosity. I couldn't help but stare at the blackness of her eyes, the delicate splatters of gold on her cheeks and the patchwork of small dots on her arms. Those weren't the marks of someone who was unremarkable. I may have called her an underdog, but looking into the deep black fire of her eyes I wasn't quite so sure anymore.

"I should probably leave you to it then," I had said, getting up in the process, "I did promise to stop bothering you after all." And it's not like I could stick around. For one Aleah would have my head within seconds, the last thing she'd think I'd need would be to be carrying around a blind girl for the next few days. But more than that I knew I couldn't keep helping Londyn, not if I wanted to win. And I did still want to win, more than anything. Plus I doubt Londyn would want me around even if I offered, and I meant what I said before. No one should count her out yet; she's got some serious fight in her.

"That you did," she said with a smirk, "But do me a favour?" She asked nonchalantly, "just what does it look like out there? "

Just for one small flicker of a moment, I was almost jealous of Londyn for not knowing. Because the things that I'd seen I'd probably never be able to unsee, not after all of this. But I knew that that was completely and utterly stupid. Here I was, in the middle of some ancient-style battlefield, the entire world around me covered in fire and gunpowder, and I was jealous of a blind girl. Talk about irony.

"Those barbed wire fences we...um...fell into before," I started, conveniently ignoring the slight sneer on her face at my attempted deflection, "About one hundred metres behind those is the cornucopia, and it's facing towards the sky rather than down on the ground like normal. We're in a really complex maze of trenches; the walls are made of a combination of mud, wooden blockades and sandbags. There are planes flying up above us dropping bombs and bullets, those are the explosions you can hear, and there are guard towers positioned all around the battlefield with gunmen shooting down at us-"

"Wait," she cuts me off, "Who are the gunmen? Avoxes or something?"

I give my head a little shake, "I don't know, but I don't think so. The ones I saw all looked pretty thin, and none of them had any outstanding, capitol-esque features. I think-I think they might be from the districts."

"Bastards," she whispered venomously, and she didn't have to clarify just who she thought were the bastards. I knew exactly who she was talking about. Making our own people rain bullets over us, it was more brutal than anything. Wasn't it bad enough that they got to send us in here, now they got to physically kill us as well. Yep, bastards is about right.

I smiled at her, "Pretty much."

"So what's outside of these trenches?" she asked, wiping away some of the blood dripping down her face with her sleeve.

"Well there's a huge minefield surrounding the trenches but what's behind that I have no idea," I admitted casually, "My advice would be not to stray that far. No offence but I don't see you and a minefield mixing too well."

"Blind jokes?" she said with a grin, "Cruel. True, but cruel."

I laughed and moved over towards the exit to the bunker, "You're going to be fine, Londyn. But good luck just in case."

She gave me a small glimpse and muttered, "Yeah, good luck to you too, I s'pose. And, Sean?"

"Yeah?" I turned back around to see her looking at me, her onyx eyes reminding me strangely of stars glittering in the darkness of the night.

She bit her lip for a second before continuing, "Just so you know, act or no act, the guy who helps save the poor, defenceless blind girl: he's not unremarkable. In fact I'd say he's pretty damn extraordinary. Off the record of course."

I laughed and muttered, "Of course," before turning around, walking out of the bunker and returning to the game.


I don't even realise that my hand is ghosting along the plane of my still bruised cheekbone until I accidentally lean down onto it, forgetting that it had been absolutely clobbered a couple of days back, and the quick shoot of pain through my face causes me to flinch back and knock myself against the wall behind me. Again. Some places just aren't built for people my size. Either that or I'm just a total moron: you can choose which one I suppose.

I quickly duck my head outside of the bunker and grab the billy can I left lying on the ceiling last night. It's been my one counter strike against the worst thing about these games. I mean giving us no weapons, fine I can deal with that: in fact it's probably a massively great thing, you know, since no big bad careers can come and impale me on something sharp. But no food? And no water? Now how is that going to entertain anyone? Dehydration may be a serious issue but it's hardly the kind of deaths that the people in the capitol enjoy, they' probably much prefer the aforementioned impaling. What? Admit it, it's true.

Even though I haven't been able to find any water sources per se my one compensation is that it's been raining freaking cats and dogs on an off this whole bloody time, so by leaving this billy can that I found in one of my bunkers the past few days lying out over night I've been able to collect enough to live off. Oh hell yeah I'm still thirsty, water is really not something one should be resourceful with in this situation, but at least I'm not, well, dead. These are my options people; sure you don't want to trade again?

As far as weapons go I've had to make do with what I've got around me. The small knife that Aleah managed to send me on day one was invaluable because it meant that I could use it to sharpen some wooden stakes I found lying around after a couple of explosions. Between that and some makeshift skewered spears I had forged using some barbed wire and more wooden stakes and I was as geared up as any melee, guerrilla warrior could hope to be. Admit it, your laughing at the prospect of me being a guerrilla warrior, don't worry I am too.

I'm not exactly a stranger to roughing it out, back home everyone's had to do it tough at some point. Whether it was some cattle getting out and having to chase them down across the outback stretches for hours, making it way too late to get home so you just have to sleep out under the stars and hope to god it doesn't rain. Or if a horse was about to give birth and you had to make sure you were there when it happened. Even just getting lost in the huge open plains as a kid and having to find some shelter so the coyotes don't find you out on your own. I'll admit, I'm guilty of all three of those and in comparison sleeping in this bunker is like sleeping on a rose scented quilt of feathers and silk. But maybe this is the one advantage that we outliers have that nobody else does: we know how to survive off the bare minimum. We can't fight like some of those giant, ridiculously strong guys from one and two but we've all been hungry, thirsty, had to risk life and limb just to get by. I guess that that's one thing that gives us more of a chance this year than any, especially now that we're all in such a dire situation. I'd love to see how some of them are doing right now, maybe that in itself is the entertainment factor the Capitolites are looking for. What I wouldn't give to see how Admire is coping right now...

Anyways back to relevant information. Even though the bunker has helped keep me safe this past twenty four hours, I know that I can't stay here: as much as sitting here and hoping that everyone out there kills each other is tempting I know it's hardly a realistic prospect. So, after ducking my head to make sure I don't slam my skull into the roof again, I warily take a small step out in the open. And I immediately regret my decision.

The minute I step outside, gunfire begins to rain down on me. Actually that's not technically correct, gunfire begins to rain down about three metres behind me. Whether the people in the towers are just really awful shots or whether they aren't actually trying to hit me, I can't tell but either way I feel pretty confident that running for it is the best possible option here. I begin weaving through the maze of trenches around me, the bullets following me with each step, never getting closer but never getting further away either. I turn left around a corner, intending to try and head out towards the minefield when the bullets suddenly begin to break the ground in front of me rather than behind me. I immediately retreat and turn back around, going to the complete opposite direction to the one I want to be heading in. With each turn the firing changes direction, and sometimes I have to do a full one-eighty to make sure I don't get a face-full of metal.

They're trying to herd me somewhere, like they did with those walls moving in on Aleah last year. She got moving rock, I get bullets. Lucky me.

My lungs feel like they're on fire as my legs begin to feel the strain from all this exertion. The pain in my ribs doesn't exactly make things an easier either, and once again I can feel the few measly inches of new skin that had grown over the wound on my upper arm split open, causing more blood to pool out of the gash. Brilliant. I feel like I'm about to collapse when I make one sharp turn to my right, skidding to an almost sudden stop and causing the dirt around me to fly up into the air as I realise I'm staring at crudely made wall of sandbags and wood.

Shit. A dead end.

Suddenly, mercifully, the firing stops, and I'm about to thank whatever higher power there is until I look forward a few metres in front of me. There, only maybe five metres in front of me, is what looks like a two square metre silver plate, kind of similar looking to the ones that brought us up into the arena. Only once I stop to catch my breath in front of it, looking at it apprehensively and wondering why the hell the Gamemakers have brought me to this dead end, I realise that it's not at all like the plates we came into the arena on. For one, rather than elevating, this one descends down into the depths of the earth below, leaving me staring at some sort of opening into the ground beneath me.

Okay...?

The obvious confusion begins to set in, and I'm pretty much ready to turn around and walk as far away from this creepy little scenario as fast as possible when the silver parachute catches my eye. Coincidence? I'm starting to think that I don't really believe in them anymore. Sure enough, this time I'm proved right.

'Sean, what you most desire is in that hole. We both know it's your only chance. So are you going to risk it?

Love,

Phoenix Snow.'

The note falls to the ground as its implications begin to settle in with me. A whip, that's what she's put down there for me, a whip. And just the thought of it makes my entire body shake with anticipation and I fight my immediate reaction to dive headfirst into the opening on the ground. But only because some tiny little semblance of intelligence in the back of my brain tells me to stop and think, and luckily I manage to listen to it. There has to be a reason she's doing this, I kind of doubt that Phoenix is the kind of girl who decides to give people everything they want and need simply out of the goodness of her heart. Does she even have a heart? Whatever her reasons for wanting me to do this it's going to be because it's in her interests and, just generally speaking here, Phoenix's interests don't exactly tend to match those of the tributes. Need proof? I'm sure there are a good twenty-three dead tributes from last year that would be willing to vouch for me here. Except they can't...because they're dead. Proof in itself.

No. No. How can I even be thinking about doing this? It's insane: completely and utterly insane. I'd have to be an idiot to so much as consider this...

Okay, so I guess I'm an idiot.

I can hear a dissonant blend of deep, rumbling grunting sounds emanating out of the cavern below, making my entire body start to quake. She's definitely not going to have made it easy for me, that's a given. But at the same time she's right, we both do know that I've got no hope in hell without that whip.

Damn I hate this, and what's worse is I know exactly what Aleah would do in my position. She would walk away without a second thought and find herself another way to win. She'd never even consider putting herself deliberately in the line of fire, not for anything. But Aleah would have been fine without any weapons; she won with nothing more than a few big knives for god's sake. Me, this is it. This whip is my only shot and I, and apparently everyone else on the planet, know I'm as good as dead without it. I mean honestly a small knife Aleah had sent me on day one, a sharpened stake and a few barbed wire skewered spears, how are they going to go against swords and knives and arrows and Jet's bare hands? Obviously not so damn well.

So my options are basically: go down into that hole, take on whatever unimaginable monstrosity waits down there and in all likelihood die. Or wait it out and pray to any and every higher power that some rare horse-related disease that I've developed an immunity to floods through the arena and kills everyone else because honestly without a whip and short of some miracle they might as well start working on my tombstone. I know, they both sound so damn appealing it's a shame I only get to pick one. Last chance for anyone who wants to trade places...

I step up towards the edge of the entrance to the hole, my toes dangling off the tips of the rock, begging my eyes to make out some shape amidst the darkness but it's pointless.

You're an idiot. You're a total, complete, absolute idiot. You're playing right into her hands. You know you're playing right into her hands...and you're going to do it anyway aren't you?

I heard once that when the time comes to make a choice, the choice itself is already made. I guess that's why I'm not quite so surprised at myself for doing this. Appalled? Yes. Horrified? Yes. Surprised? Not so much.

I tilt my head up and give the sky, and more precisely Aleah, a small, apologetic smile. She's not going to like this, not for one second. But I have to try, I have to at least attempt to make use of this opportunity, or just wait for the grim reaper to come knocking further down the road.

"Sorry sis." And then I'm freefalling into nothingness, until my feet touch base with the concrete below me and the screeching pain of impact causes me to fall against one of the smooth walls beside me.

For a few moments, the darkness is all-consuming. It's one of those moments where everything is so pitch black you're not even sure where you are or if you even still really exist. But just as the grunts and groans begin too echo off the walls towards me, the sounds chilling me to my bones, a huge burst of light causes me to flinch and immediately bring my hands up to my eyes to obscure the blinding flash. For a few seconds, I just stand there with my eyes closed to the light, trying to let them adjust to this newfound sensation of potential sight. And it's only when I can bear to open my eyes to the light around me that I dare a peek outwards, and regret immediately wish I hadn't. Instinctively I lurch backwards, double checking to make sure that my eyes aren't playing some kind of trick on me, because this just seems way to impossible to be true.

"You have got to be kidding me."


Aleah Armani, Victor of 24th Hunger Games

Control Room, Same Day


'But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.'

Final two verses from 'I know why the caged bird sings,'- Maya Angelou

"Everyone has a breaking point. Deny it, and you'll blind yourself to know when you've reached yours."
Dorothy McFalls,The Huntress


"Moron."

God he can be brainless sometimes, that brother of mine, but its generally when he's at his comedic best. I mean only Sean would manage to go to sleep in the freaking tiniest bunker I have ever seen, completely forget that he's over six foot tall and then only remember upon bashing his skull against the ceiling of the damn thing. Obviously, despite the gene pool being appallingly unevenly split in his favour, I managed to get a couple of good bits of DNA in me: namely the ones to do with awareness.

I quickly type in the instructions for a small bread roll to be sent down to Sean on the projected computer screen to my left. It's not much but it's cheap and despite the fact that the arena is devoid of any little morsel of food, weapons or any clean standing water I've been able to keep Sean alive for this long. Of course Sean being Sean already had sponsors lining out the door for him, between that training score, his interview and him being my twin and all he was a crowd favourite. People loved the idea of a twin back-to-back victory, I mean who doesn't? It'd be like some huge, amazing fairytale. My only issue with it, there's a little too much fairy in the tale. Oh and of course the amazing irony is that there is only one person on the entire face of Panem who wouldn't be an insy binsy bit happy to see Sean come out of that hellhole alive. And of course, by some sadistic and unimaginable trick of fate, she's one of the few people who actually matters.

Speaking of the embodiment of all that is horrific and wrong with this planet, Phoenix and her little cronies must have had an absolute field day planning this thing. I mean talk about over the top. Surely the whole gritty, dirty, blood-ridden war theme would have been enough for them but no, she needed to chuck in a few gunmen, a maze of trenches, a minefield and even an upwards facing cornucopia just to spice things up a little. Oh and then of course that little cherry on top: no food, no weapons and no supplies. Honestly? In my mind there's a line, way back there so far in the distance that I need some serious binoculars with which to see it, that reads in big, bold, golden letters, 'DO NOT CROSS. CROSSING THIS LINE WILL MEAN GOING PAST THEATRICALITY AND TOWARDS INSANITY. AT THIS POINT ADDING ANYTHING MORE HORRIFIC AND TERRIFYING WILL HAVE MEANT YOU ARE SIMPLY MAKING THIS A JOKE NOW. SERIOUSLY: DON'T CROSS. I'M BEING REALLY SERIOUS NOW. NO WAIT DON'T...OH FUCK IT.' But apparently, nobody here seems to appreciate the seriousness of this line. I tell you now, no one with a brain half as fucked up as Phoenix's would be able to pull this off, but then again that's why she's the one running the show after all.

But maybe it's time to give her the sack, I mean haven't we reached the point where this is just so damn boring. Okay, the arena is horrific and threatening and there are district people gunning down on their own and yada yada yada. That was interesting on day one. But this is day three now, day three, and only five people dead? And they all bloody died in the bloodbath, well except for that Bastian kid, oh crap there's the mental picture of that wack job from two tearing off his skull again for you. You're welcome. Surely there's a whole bunch of bloodthirsty, sadistic sons of bitches sitting around in some Capitol bars who have drunk a few too many martinis and just want to see one kid impale another. I mean honestly, the only interesting thing that has happened in this entire game so far was that that little boorish blonde from one had rung her belt around that hick from four's beefy throat. And who can we thank for this one little spark of entertainment? Who else? I'm not even in there and I'm responsible for a fifth of the current death toll.

Despite still being haunted by everything, despite still being submerged in this absolute pit of self-hatred and loathing, if given the chance to trade places with Sean this instant I would take it without even a second thought. I mean really, how easy had it been for me to take out that slimy, half-witted bozo from four? These people may have enough brawn to take on some seriously juiced up body-builders but trained assassins or no they're all still just your regular career tributes: invariably big-egoed, thick skulled and easier to screw over than your common floozy. Someone amongst them would inevitably decide to take Con's place within the group at some point and realise that this alliance can't last forever, and if I was down there that's the first weakness I'd hit. Of course there are freaking weaknesses everywhere this year so it's almost hard to pick just who I'd go for first, there's just so much opportunity. Curse Sean and his innate, unwavering goodness. Couldn't he just, I dunno, put that strong sense of morality and integrity on hold for a little while and embrace his inner me?

All the others, well let's just say I haven't mentioned any of them for a reason. What's that reason? Oh that's right, they haven't actually done anything. Nobody has freaking done anything yet. I mean honestly, by our day three I had already killed Maia (easily too), caused Boston to absolutely flip his lid (even easier), and already had my complete game strategy planned that would ultimately lead to my victory. How are these two-bit pansies going? Obviously not so hot. Okay so your life sucks, people are shooting at you and dropping missiles on you and you're hungry and thirsty and you don't know where you are and you want your mummies. Well here's a tip from your trusty auntie Aleah: if you want to get the hell out of that little piece of purgatory you are now currently trapped in you need to do something about it. Sitting there whining about it, not going to help any of you one little bit. And that was your free, three second trial of 'advice from a past victor': to purchase the full programme simply send in three down payments of $39.99 a month and we can have your limited edition CD to you in a week's time.

But saying that, there are still a couple that I've been keeping my eye on. The kid from three was one to watch, and I only say that because I in particular have been known to underestimate certain tributes from district three *cough* Jules Surket *cough* and I don't plan on making the same mistakes again. Look at me, learning and developing. Believe me, I'm just as shocked as any of you are. But the kid from twelve worries me immensely as well, there's just this certain slightly unstable look that he gets in his eyes that makes me think he's a few sandwiches short of a picnic in respects to the whole morality thing. Wow, and now I'm considering district twelve tributes threats, who'd have thought it? My issue with that drake kid is that I just don't see who it's going to be to take him out: maybe Canicus if he could find him, possibly the kid from three, of course the psychopath from two would give it a good go. I wonder if one is allowed to send a bomb as a sponsor gift...what? Come on, as if that wouldn't be the best freaking plan in the world, 'Oh look someone sponsored me! Hooray! Someone must think I'm a worthwhile human being! Wait, what's this? And why is it beeping? Oh, no-" What? You don't think putting bombs in parachutes is realistic? Fine, screw you all, one of these days my ideas are going to be legitimate ones and you're all going to feel like idiots. It'll happen, just you wait and see. It'll happen.

"Miss Armani?"

I recognise the voice without even having to turn around. I don't even know why I'm surprised to hear that oh so shrill and annoying Capitol accent reverberating from behind me. I mean she was here yesterday at exactly the same time, and the day before that as well. I guess third time's not the charm hey? I turn around in my chair to face the nameless woman with the perfectly sculpted chestnut hair, all my hatred and rage focusing in on this brainless bitch. She extends her overly manicured hand out to me, a small, folded white card trapped between two of her lacework nails. I continue to glower at her but despite the fact that her hand is physically shaking and her plastic smile does nothing to hide the all-consuming fear in her eyes, she doesn't run away screaming bloody murder as I'd hoped. I take a deep breath before turning around, the thought of looking at this awful hag any longer making me feel physically sick, before drawing on all the venom I have in me and threateningly murmuring.

"Put it over there."

Out of the corner of my eye I see the small white card come to rest next to my elbow, and I wait to hear the sound of the moron's stilettos get further and further away, but I don't. I turn around to face her again, standing up to my full height this time and taking a step in so I'm looking directly down at her, despite the fact she's in six inch platform heels and I'm barefoot she's still a good inch and a half shorter than me.

"What the hell are you still doing here?"

"It's from Head Gamemaker Phoenix, Miss-" she starts but my loathing glare bores holes into her eyes before I cut her off.

"I know who it's from, you brainless twit, so save the speech and get the hell out of this room. Surely your numerous talents are required elsewhere."

The bitch couldn't get out of here faster if she tried, not that I blame her. If I had to do what she has to do every day I'd be scared for my life too. Because I swear to god if that woman shows up tomorrow I might not hesitate to rip out her throat. It's just so bloody tempting. Okay so I have anger issues, don't you think after all this time I'm probably allowed to?

I don't even have to read that damned white card. I already know what it says. It says the exact thing that the one that came yesterday said, and the one before that, and the very first one.

Tribute Training Center Tower

Floor 10

Room D

I rake my hands through my hair and yank as hard as I can, hoping the pain will keep my focused and withhold the approaching blackness threatening to consume me. Putting my elbows back down on the desk and rubbing my temples as hard as I can, I try to reign in the dark feelings around me, attempting to hold back the ghosts beating forward against the wall I'd fortified so many times in my brain.

I know exactly why she's doing this to me, and it has nothing to do with 'needing experience,' like she and that stuck-up, goon of a clone of hers keep saying. This has nothing to do with my 'lack of experience.' This is purely about how much pain they can inflict as possible. They know exactly where to hit me to make me keel over. She just wants to hear me scream. Good thing my pain threshold is pretty high, there may be cracks forming but that hoe is going to have to start upping the ante if she really thinks she can break me.

But even still, this constant reminder of how once again she's turned me into one of her pawns always seems to take me back to that dark place. It's like the walls of my cage just keep pressing in and in around me, and despite however hard I fight just to keep breathing I can see myself running out of air. And admittedly, it's bloody terrifying. Goddamn claustrophobia.

Its almost unbearable as everything begins to once again clog up every freaking fibre of me, but luckily a voice manages to break through the silence and snap me out of whatever deep, dark, monstrous memory my masochistic brain decides to churn up.

"Are you ever not in here?"

Scarlett Everly, district six mentor and the only person with the authorisation to be in this room who is younger than I am. I turn on my chair, my ice blue eyes meeting her bright green ones and give her an impish grin.

She was one of the few people whose Games I could remember; well you'd have to bloody well hope so considering she was only the year before me. Similar to Heath, she was almost a complete and total fluke. I mean she only physically killed one person. She'd allied with the boy from eight who had taken one look at her and fallen head over heels in love with her. Luckily for her, that kid from eight had the highest training score out of all the rest of them. Whenever any kind of opponent showed up she didn't even have to lift a finger, the poor love struck brute did all the work for her. When the two of them came down to the final two he declared he couldn't kill her. She'd said the same, and then plunged a knife through the back of his chest and into his heart when he had wrapped her into his arms. It had been a complete shock to all those drama-junkie Capitolites who had been sure that she was in love with him too. But to anyone with a brain, i.e. me, it was fairly obvious she was just in it for the perks. I won my Games with my brain; she won hers by batting her eyelashes a few times. Needless to say, I kinda like her style.

"Nope. Because obviously I'm a natural at this whole mentoring thing," I respond with a wink, "You on the other hand could deal with a few pointers."

She rolls her eyes, "Is my tribute still alive? Yes she is."

"Only because my blockheaded git of a brother had an attack of conscience and decide to save her blind ass," I point out with a smirk. It was what had got us talking in the first place. I'd been scandalising a few pampered victors with my extremely colourful vocabulary as Sean proceeded to get himself decked because he'd tried to help that Londyn chick and had quite vehemently yelled that Sean should have just got up and left her to get shot. Scarlett agreed with me, saying it probably would have saved us all some time. Right about then I'd decided that this girl was one of the few victors around that I would be willing to tolerate. I don't know if you'd call us friends per se, more like two people in common situation with a common outlook on life. Look at me, being all technical and whatnot.

"But alive none the less," she concluded, "but honestly when was the last time you left this room? If you don't get the hell out of here soon we're all going to asphyxiate from your BO."

"Okay one, I do not have any kind of bodily odour about me: Carmen's got me so thoroughly drenched in her latest perfume that if anything you'll asphyxiate on that. And secondly I left this room last night thank you very much." Not a lie, I did leave. For forty-five minutes. And came back significantly more tired than I had been when I left.

My eyes dart to Heath, who had strategically placed himself on almost the exact opposite side of the room from me. After the first night I had been perfectly content to never speak one word to him again for the rest of my life. But then that airheaded bimbo showed up with that second white card and everything changed. He had been the one to go to Phoenix when I had showed it to him that morning; I already knew that it was pointless. But he'd been the one to demand that this had to stop. To decree that he just wouldn't keep doing this. And she responded exactly as I told him she would.

'If either of you wants to see Sean return home I won't hear another word of this from either of you. This is about showing me that Aleah is prepared to suffer the consequences of her actions, and that she won't ever do anything to challenge me again. I want to see the blood flowing from her knees as she repeatedly bows down to us. It'll be my greatest pleasure to see the great Aleah Armani at my feet, begging me to spare her brother.'

And then of course there was the next note she sent me that afternoon, after the chaos of the bloodbath had calmed down and the majority of the mentors and tributes had gone to sleep. But not me, I was there in the darkness, my eyes held hostage by this new message and my heart filled with a combination of utter dread and blinding fury.

"Edrick Quillheart was a warning to the Districts that it is by our mercy alone that we don't kill all twenty-four tributes. But for you, Aleah, it means much more. He is a warning to you, wouldn't it be a pity if another missile found Sean? This is your only warning, Aleah."

Edrick Quillheart. Never met him, never wanted to. Never talked to him, never even bothered to consider learning his name just because of how damn unimportant he was going to be to these games. And yet, somehow, I'm the one who killed him. Add his name to the ever-growing list of people I've advertently or inadvertently killed. Just in case I needed another ghost to haunt me, maybe Phoenix thought I was getting a little bored of the old ones. Well isn't she just the sweetest?

The shadows of my mind begin to press in on me again but luckily Scarlett's voice grounds me once more.

"Did you not show up for mentoring one-oh-one?" Scarlett says with a smirk as she flops down into the chair next to me, chucking a bread roll at my head in the process, "When your tribute is sleeping you are sleeping. Even the great and powerful Aleah Armani can't do battle with her body's needs forever."

I snort, managing to catch the bread roll anyway, "Please, like I could sleep right now. What if Sean gets throttled in his sleep and I did nothing because I was too busy catching some zs? I'm sure that would do load for my currently severely overworked conscience."

She laughs a little as she sticks a piece of cheese in her mouth, "Alright so say he is getting murdered in his sleep, just how do you plan to deal with it? You send him anything to warn him and it's like a giant beacon to anyone near saying, 'Hey everyone! Sean's here!' And by the time he's found there's nothing you can do to stop it, so you might as well try to address the ever growing problem of the bags under your eyes because seriously, I could bury a body under those things."

"Would the two of you pre-tweens please shut the hell up," Ava Hobbs booms from the other side of the room, "Some of us legitimate mentors are trying to do our jobs."

"Oh shut up, Ava," I say with a dismissive wave, "You need to loosen up. Go drown a kitten or something, surely that will be just what you need to cheer you up."

Chuckles and snorts echo throughout the room as Ava's face turns such a luminescent shade of red that I legitimately think she's about to explode when her eyes flicker to a giant screen above my head and a small sneer covers her pudgy pink lips.

"Well maybe you can buy one as a replacement for the brother you're about to lose and I can drown that one," she says with an evil looking grin and my stomach immediately drops out from underneath me.

"What?" I whisper quietly as I fling myself back around to face the screen behind me. Sean is running, his breath coming in short, raspy intakes and sweat pouring down the side of his face as a whole flood of bullets follow him. I immediately curse myself for being so damn stupid and not paying attention before locking my eyes on the screen and clutching the arm of my chair so damn tight I nearly break it off. Heath gravitates towards me, neither one of us willing to make eye contact, but I think he's trying to make sure I don't suddenly turn into some raving psychopath. Okay so it happened one time. What was I supposed to do when Sean got his ass-handed to him by a blind chick?

All of a sudden, Sean turns a sharp corner, straight into a dead end, and the gunfire behind him stops. I'm about to thank each and every higher power ever worshipped that Sean managed to not get a bullet through the chest before a small patch of ground in front of him begins to peel back and a small opening into the ground below him is revealed.

Oh this can't be good. This can't be good at all.

And just when I think things can't get any weirder, a small silver parachute descends right down in front of him. Sean looks as confused as I do as he extends his hand out and opens the small metal parcel attached to it.

"Who sent him that?" I ask to everyone in the room, turning on my feet as fast as I can, trying to find some kind of explanation. I get one, but not from the source I want. A camera zooms in on the small white note in Sean's hand, and my entire body begins to quiver with dread as I recognise that oh too familiar cursive handwriting. Oh fuck no.

I run over to the computer and beginning typing faster than I ever have in my entire life, bashing the keys so hard that the touchpad beneath my fingers looks like it's halfway to cracking. Oh well: anything I can do to add to Phoenix's maintenance bill. Three words on one tiny piece of paper, it's pretty much the cheapest thing I can send him, but it's going to be bloody effective. God I can't believe that moron is even thinking about this: did he not listen to anything I said? I swear the next time I get my hands on that idiot I'm going to throttle him: and mark my words I will get my hands on him. When my message is ready I take one final look at it before readying to press the big green, 'Deploy,' button on my projected screen.

Don't you dare.

ITEM REQUEST DENIED

"What the..."

I look at Heath, and from the reaction he gets looking at me it's pretty damn obvious that my face screams approaching insanity, 'This isn't what I think it is, is it? It so better not be.'

Heath doesn't say anything, just looks back over to the giant projected screen to our left, on which Sean is inching closer towards the entrance to the cavern holding god knows which unfathomable beast Phoenix and her psychopathic lab rats have developed this time. Oh god, he's getting closer to the edge. I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill her. I'm going to kill everyone. I run over to Scarlett and slam my fists down against the bench next to her, making her pretty much jump out of her skin.

"Send this message to Sean," I say, my voice rising about six octaves higher than it's ever been before, "Now!"

She doesn't even begin to question me, she just gets typing immediately, her typing skills considerably more advanced than mine, well hey don't judge she has been here a year longer than me. But once she slams her fingers down on the deploy button those bolded red words jump out off the screen again.

ITEM REQUEST DENIED

I immediately turn around to face the rest of the people in the room, most of whom already have their gazes fixed on me anyway, looking at me like I'm some weird exotic species that they just don't know how to approach. Well fair warning, no one should dare cross me right now, I'm in a highly murderous mood and despite all these witnesses have no doubt I can make it look like an accident if necessary. And oh god it would feel good to punch someone right now.

"Anyone! I will sponsor each and every one of your tributes, or I will deliver you some greasy, balding billionaire on a platter for you and get them to sponsor you. Just someone send my brother that message right now to stop him doing this. NOW!"

In spite of my booming command for haste, the majority of these half-witted meatheads just sit there with their ridiculously large gobs wide open staring at me like I've gone completely off the deep end. Some of them back off a couple of paces, making sure that they're out of my arms reach, probably a fairly smart move given the circumstances. But those sparse few who do manage to use those pea sized pieces of meat they keep hidden in their skull and turn around to begin typing commands into their computers all seem to be met with that same bold red text.

ITEM REQUEST DENIED

ITEM REQUEST DENIED

ITEM REQUEST DENIED

I will kill her. Right now all I can do is come up with more and more inventive ways to slaughter Phoenix Snow. Murdering her in her sleep seems far too placid now, and I've moved way beyond quick, efficient and polite and straight on to long and excruciatingly painful. I should have killed her and her devil-spawn offspring when I got the chance. But I can't focus on the vivid array of methods for murder spontaneously popping up in my head right now, not when Sean is edging closer and closer to the edge of that opening.

"Sean don't do this," I shout at the TV above me, "He can't do this. He won't."

I can see the mental battle going on inside him right now; can see the lines on his forehead furrow as he weighs up his options. Slowly but surely he takes a step in towards the entrance to the underground.

"Sean no!" I scream, bashing my fists against one of the giant plasma screens on the wall, completely ignoring the fact that he has no chance of hearing me through a television screen: not when we're physically hundreds of miles apart, "Don't do it! They're trying to bait you into this; this is a complete set up! You can't go in there! Sean don't!"

He looks up at the sky, the cameras perfectly capturing the guilt-ridden, conflicted look on his face as he gives me a tiny, apologetic smile.

"Sorry sis."

"DON'T!"

And as Sean's head sinks below the surface of the ground, a small metal disc shutting off his only chance at escaping back through the opening, I let out one more rabid shriek, bashing my fists against the screen so hard that it cracks beneath my blow, glass shards shattering out causing blood to course out of my open knuckles and down my forearm. But I don't even feel it, the pain doesn't even begin to register. The only thing I can think as Heath grabs my wrists and pulls me away from the shattered screen, forcing me down into a chair below one of the smaller television screens above our heads, is a thought considerably more painful than any bloodletting blow could ever hope to be.

This is it. He's going to die. And it'll be all my fault.


SEAN ARMANI


Bulls. I'm trapped in a tiny, concrete room with half a dozen bulls. I know: if these horrific creatures don't kill me the irony just about will.

But as I look at them for a few moments I can see that their much more than just your everyday run of the mill Bessie. For one, these things are freaking huge, I can literally see the muscles in their huge torsos and quads throbbing as they breathe. The bloody things have to be at least three hundred kilos in weight, maybe more, I mean with that much bulk these beasts could give a steam roller a run for its money in a head on collision. But even that isn't the strangest part: their huge pink eyes widen in the light and I can see their pupils shrinking as they look around them. I've seen that look on cattle before: these things are angry. Really freaking angry. Lovely.

And then of course there's the really bleatingly obvious fact that I probably should have mentioned first: these brutes don't just have two horns, they have a shitload more. I mean we're talking four or five huge, long, very sharp looking horns per bull. Come on. Just in case these monsters needed extra help taking out lil' old me they were given some extra fire power. I didn't even have to think twice to see that these beasts were definitely not anything that anyone could have just found lying around in your standard cattle pen.

Mutts. Why does it always have to be mutts?

But then something kinda hits me: these things, mutts or not, are still cattle. For the first time since entering this goddamn hole I actually feel a little bit of confidence rise up in me. I've got this. I mean I've been working with cattle since before I could spell my own name. Genetic engineering or no, I know how bulls work and how they react to high-pressure situations, after taking a couple of them to an abattoir anyone would understand how they function. I know where the weak spots in there hide are and how to take them down if necessary. If this is really what I need to do to get this whip then maybe I'll actually be able to make it out of this alive.

But more than that I know how very dangerous this situation is. Even with regular bulls you put yourself in the wrong position and things can become very ugly. Looking at the horns on these creatures (all fifty thousand of them) and the ridiculously overproportioned amount of bulk they're carrying (so much so that I am legitimately questioning if it's genetically possible that they're so freaking huge) I know that I can't let myself get trapped between them. Those horns could skewer me like a piece of corn on a shish kebab and as much as I feel like getting turned into a piece of minced meat the irony would just be too much for me to ever live down.

I'm actually feeling like I might live through this and I'm just about to make my first move when the lights are switched off and the entire room is plunged into complete darkness.

Really? Really?

With my eyesight down for the count the rest of my senses seem to heighten, almost like they're trying to compensate for the loss of vision. I can feel the air moving as the mutt's deep heavy breaths cause vibrations in the ear and I can smell the dank musky stench of their breaths like they're standing right in front of me. I can hear the panting and the groaning of the mutts coming from the other end of the hall, they're huge muscled bodies the only things standing in between me and that whip. Taking on six genetically engineered, multi-horned overly powerful and muscular cows: simple right?

Okay Sean you can't go on the offence here, not when you're so greatly outnumbered. Just keep yourself from getting mauled and try to slowly get closer to the whip. Once you've got it, everything will get a hell of a lot easier.

I close my eyes, not that they were of much use in this pitch black anyway, and my heightened eardrums search for the familiar sounds I know will meet my ears. Sure enough, the pounding of hooves against the concrete beneath me is my first indicator and I quickly dodge to the side with my arms outstretched, just in time to feel the hide of the first mutt charging beside me. Quickly using my outstretched hands to gauge where the weakest spot between the huge creatures ribs is, using both my hands and all the force I can I plunge one of the rough wooden stakes into the thick hide of the mutt, hearing a low dissonant shriek as I felt it's thick blood splatter all over me.

One down.

As I take a few steps in the direction of the whip I'm not fast enough to get out of the way of the next incoming bull and as it slams into my side and presses me against the wall I manage to, luckily, avoid it's horns piercing my skin. I grunt as the momentum of the bulls movement causes my head to fling back and my cheek to slam against the wall of rock behind me, feeling the anguish bull's weight pushing harder on my already bruised ribs. I immediately drop to the ground and push myself off the wall with all the strength in my legs, dragging the small sharp knife under the mutt's underbelly as I slide underneath it before I hear the huge 'thump' as the bull's considerable bulk falls to the floor.

The sound of the next mutt charging at me is fairly obvious above the silence, and like I'd done so many times as a young kid jump to the side right before it's about to hit me, before wrapping my outstretched palm around one of its numerous horns and hoisting myself up onto the creatures back, straddling the beast as it continued to run forwards. The bulls begins to buck wildly, trying desperately to remove its extremely unwelcome rider, but with one arm latched tightly around it horns and the other grasping onto the skewer adorned with barbed wire I had made previously I manage to hang on long enough to plunge the sharpened metal down into the exposed skin in the bulls neck. It writhes around in pain, throwing me off its back in the process, before I hear it fall in a heap on the floor. I ignore the shooting pain through my ribs as fly through the air and crash onto the floor as well as the sharp stinging sensation that shoots through my arm as I push myself back up onto my feet. Well, I was never going to get out of this scot free.

I run forwards towards where I know the whip will be, hoping that I'm not to be met by one of the three remaining bulls but my luck only lasts out for so long. I hear movement coming from both sides beside me and immediately drop to the ground. The two bulls crash into each other and after I hear a definite 'crack' sound one of them immediately slumps to the ground and lands right on top of me, my torso caught underneath the ridiculous weight of its hind legs. I groan as I attempt to push it off me, the muscles in my arms aching from the exertion as I try to push the beast off me before getting trampled by another one. Somehow, mercifully, I manage to push the dead carcass off me and roll over to my side just as the hooves of another mutt stamp down exactly where my head had been previously. I launch up onto my feet, my chest heaving up and down as I try to regain my breath, and begin to move towards where I know the whip is lying. I know how close it is, how teasingly close I must be to it. And I think that's why I don't quite pay enough attention to the sounds coming from my right until I'm slammed into the wall beside me and blood begins to pour out from my side.

I gasp in pain and grimace as the huge horn drives its way through my side, the writhing pain so strong I can feel every nerve in my entire body screaming out as the fiery pain begins to course and throb through me. I can feel my flesh tearing at my side as the bull rams further towards me, and despite my knife being lodged into the thin layer of skin at its neck it still has a ridiculously large amount of strength. I hear the shuffling of its hooves on the cement above the roaring of my heartbeat in my head as it begins to step back, preparing to ram into me again. Despite the feeling of blood gushing down my side and the all consuming agony pumping through me I lurch out of the path of the bull, just before I hear it crash into the concrete right where I had previously been standing. Knowing I can't keep up this fight for much longer, I muster up every single morsel of strength I have left and dive forwards towards the whip, my arms outstretched and my finger wide as my hand slowly but surely grips around the whip.

The minute my fingers clasp around the edge of the stockwhip's handle, that intense white light floods the room again, making my eyes water, and all the sound around me disappears. My ears stop ringing, the dark splotches on my vision evaporating as my gaze flits around the room, a complete wave of relief hitting me at the incredulousness of what it is I'm seeing right now.

The mutts are gone. I'm completely and utterly alone.


ALEAH ARMANI


I can't breathe.

The fire in my throat is excruciating as I gasp for air, desperately trying to heave in any miniscule amounts of oxygen but each haggard breath sends another round of liquid fire down my windpipe. My lungs claw desperately for sustenance but the rapid, uneven intakes of air coming through my mouth aren't nearly enough. The pounding of my heart in my ears and the uncontrollable shaking of my entire body consumes me so entirely that black splotches begin to appear in my vision and I can't sense which way is up anymore.

I can't do this. I can't do this.

The shaking and choking is terrifying, so much so that I feel more like I'm dying now than I ever did in the arena. What the hell is wrong with me? Why on earth is this happening? Why is my body just shutting down around me: my windpipe shutting, my heart going into some form of arrhythmia? This time last year Physics died: well today Biology just got buried in the grave next door. Stupid freaking mortality.

"Aleah!" Heath's voice is barely audible above the roaring drum of my heart pounding in my ears, "Aleah, breathe!"

I shake my head, feeling stolen tears cascade down my cheeks, "I- I ca-can't. I can't br-breathe," I stutter out through gasping breaths. Oh god what's happening to me?

Heath turns and whispers something to Scarlett and she gives a quick nod before getting up and running off somewhere. Heath turns back to me and grabs my hand; gripping it so damn tight I swear he breaks a few of my bones. Great, just what I needed to add a little extra to this day, broken fingers. Stupid insensitive brute.

"Yes you can," he says strongly, his piercing gaze considerably stronger than I would have predicted, "Just focus. Everything's fine. Sean is fine. You're going to be fine."

I quickly pull my hand out of his, "I may-may be panicking bu-but that does n-not mean w-we are all buddy-buddy all-all of a s-sudden."

He rolls his eyes, "You're going to be just fine."

"Wha-what's wrong w-with me?" I splutter out, trying to calm my raging pulse, and failing miserably.

Heath smiles a little, and if I had any control over my limbs right now I would throttle him, "There's nothing wrong with you Aleah. This is just how people respond when someone they love is in danger."

Pathetic saps like you perhaps, I can't help but think, but me? This is not how I respond to danger.

"Can you walk?"

I shake my head pitifully, knowing the trembling in my legs and the severe misunderstanding of how gravity seems to be working right now definitely would not be a good combination with movement. Heath doesn't need to be told twice, and within milliseconds he scoops me up off my feet and into his arms, carrying me towards the door. If I hadn't been semi-catatonic right now I would have absolutely lashed into him for even considering this, but given the situation I was prepared to let this one slide. Never mind the fact that I would never, ever, live this down. Everyone else in the mentors' room is looking at me like I've gone completely insane, and I can't say that I wouldn't be doing the exact same thing. Not that they didn't already think I was insane or anything, now they just have certifiable proof. Look you'll get no argument from me, it's official now: I'm definitely a few peas short of a casserole if you get my meaning. Damn it now I'm hungry. Great job Aleah, marvellous work.

Heath carries me down the hallway a few metres before turning into a small, heavily embellished sitting room where Carmen and Scarlett are sitting waiting for me. At the sight of me Carmen's face turns grave, and she quickly gets up off her feet and helps Heath put me down onto the couch next to her. Scarlett gives me a quick smile and a small wink before getting up and leaving the room. Heath begins to follow her, turning back to look at me for a few moments. His eyes dart to Carmen and I could swear to god that that look in his eyes is almost something along the lines of...worry? Surely not you idiot, you must just be imagining that. But Carmen gives him a reassuring nod before he quickly turns around and shuts the door behind him as he leaves.

I sit on the couch for a few moments, trying to remember how that whole respiratory process works again. You know the one: oxygen in, carbon dioxide out. Apparently it's somewhat important to the human system. Carmen doesn't say anything, just sits and waits for me to speak.

"So I guess I'm insane, hey?" I say meekly, a really pathetic attempt at covering this up.

Carmen rolls her eyes before giving me a small smile and pushing a glass of water my way, "You wish it was that simple, darling. If having to actually deal with your emotions means you're crazy, than you're crazy. But so are the rest of us normal people."

I just sit there in the silence for a moment, trying to hold back the panic and the rage that are settling in around me, hoping that with some time they might just fade away. No such luck it appears.

"He's okay, Aleah," Carmen says gently wrapping an arm around my shoulder, "He's a little worse for wear, and my god he looks awful, but Sean is fine."

"He's not okay," I counter, getting up off the chair and turning back around to face her, "As long as he's in there he'll never be okay. So he lived through this but obviously Phoenix has it in for him and that's entirely my fault. So next time when all hell breaks loose, and trust me there will be a next time, what if he doesn't live through it?"

Carmen sits still, her face not betraying anything as she lets me continue to rant, pacing across the floor in front of the couch.

"He's in there because of me. If he dies, it's because of me. And even if he doesn't he'll come back as fucked up as I am right now, probably even worse because of how horribly good natured Sean is, and that will be because of me."

I rake my hands through my hair again, the pain surprisingly comforting, "I wish I'd just never-" I start, not quite knowing how to express the absolute turmoil bubbling inside me, "I wish I hadn't-I wish I had just-" I have to stop myself from saying it, because I know I can't mean it.

Even without me saying it Carmen understands where I was going, "Died? You wish you had just died in that arena?"

"I can't." I say, still pacing back and forth in front of her, "I can't freaking wish that I died because that's not fair. Because twenty-three people did die, and even if some of those imbeciles maybe did deserve it, they all still fucking died so that I could stay alive. So I can't wish I was dead because saying so is like another great big slap in the face to all the people who died and everyone who hoped that they wouldn't. I'm not allowed to want to be dead, not after all of this."

I slumped down on the couch in front of her and put my face in my hands.

"And I don't wish I died, not really. I still want to live, I'm glad I'm alive. But this isn't really living. It doesn't even matter really," I whisper into my hands, "Aleah Armani did die in that arena, and look at what came back," I say with a pathetic smile and a weak gesture to my ridiculously feeble self, "some weak, pathetic excuse for a victor living under the pretence of being the girl she used to be. Pathetic."

"Aleah Armani is sitting right in front of me," Carmen says reassuringly, taking my hands in hers and squeezing gently, "And she's just as strong as ever. More than that, she's stronger. You're not broken, you're just bruised. Caring this much about your brother is not a weakness, it's a strength," Carmen says gently, "And you are definitely not pathetic."

I'm not sure how much I believe her, but even so it's reassuring to hear it. Maybe she's right, maybe I am still here underneath all the darkness and the pain. I vowed I wouldn't let that heartless monster break me, promised myself I wouldn't shatter into a million pieces. Perhaps a few cracks along the way were inevitable but I still feel like Aleah is here underneath all those shards. And she's going to help Sean win this goddamn thing, and then she'll be here when he begins to feel like he's about to break. And more than that, Aleah Armani is going nowhere, not now, not ever. For some reason that word that I'd used those last few hours of the arena begins to flood my mind again.

Survive.

"Right," I snort, feeling another hot tear trickling down my cheek, "Because all this choking and blubbering and spluttering is such an indicator of strength."

"You've been strong for the last thirteen months Aleah," I can't help but notice she looks a little smug, "and you've had a shitload of terrible things happen over those thirteen months. You don't have to be invincible all the time. You're definitely owed one meltdown. Or two, or three, or twenty. And I'll be here every time to remind you that that's okay."

"Don't worry, this will not happen again," I promise, one hundred percent certain of myself this time. Well at least I am until Carmen speaks again.

"You love your brother, Aleah; I swear to you this will happen every single second of every single day until you know that, either way, he can't be hurt ever again."

Well fucking brilliant.

Survive, Aleah. Just Survive.


SEAN ARMANI


I let out a few small burst of laughter, my uneven, breathy chuckling probably looking hysterical to anyone else watching me right now. And even though I could still feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins and my whole body shaking in fear waiting for more of the bull-mutts to show up I couldn't stop laughing. I did it, I actually survived that. My hands tightened around the stock of the perfectly crafted whip in my hands, and I couldn't help but do a little fist pump in victory. I made it, and now I get to reap the rewards. All of a sudden, the scales have seemed to tip a little in my favour.

Once the amazement of me actually still being alive wears off a little, I take a few moments to admire the weapon in my hands. I can see immediately that it's in absolutely beautiful condition. The wooden stock has been perfectly carved, and I can't help but snort at the 'S.A.' carved into the cane. The six-plaited leather thong of the whip looks to be at least two and half metes long, a little longer than I was used to but nothing to be all too worried about. The tapered rawhide fall appears to be considerably higher quality than the ones on any of the whips I'd ever owned throughout my life and I knew that the cord cracker fastened expertly onto the end of the whip would be far more effective than the cheap hay band crackers I was used to.

With a renewed energy and ignoring the protest in my ribs, I grip the stock tightly and raise it above my right shoulder, before using all the strength in my arm to bring the whip down onto the stone below me, the familiar, 'crack,' of the leather hitting the stone making my skin tingle. Somehow, everything had worked out okay. But as the sound bounces around the room, constantly revisiting me and filling me with a newfound lightness, I can hear another sound amidst the crack of the whip, one that doesn't at all seem to fit in place. A strange, soft scuttling sound passes through my heightened eardrums, so weird that I have absolutely no clue what it is. For a moment, I think I'm legitimately going mad because I've never heard anything like this in my life. But as the sound continues to gradually grow, the hustle and scraping getting louder and louder, the walls around me begin to shake a little and a few loosened stones tumble off the walls of rock around me.

There's something else out there.

"Okay, now you've got to be kidding me."

And that's as much incentive as I need to absolutely bee-line it for the currently opening shaft in the roof of this cavern and get myself the hell away from this hole as quick as humanly possible.


ALEAH ARMANI


"Aleah?" I hear the door open at the same time I hear Heath's words. I immediately wipe my forearm across my face, trying to dispose of all evidence of tears from my face, before turning around to give him a nonchalant leer.

"What?" I try to say casually, as though I'm completely unphased by all of this, but that all goes out the window the minute I see that look on his face. I know that look: that's his, 'shit just hit the ceiling,' look. I can't help but immediately start to panic because Heath is not the kind of person to get worried over nothing.

"Okay you can't give me that look because that's the kind of look that screams, 'I need to panic,'" my stomach immediately drops and I can hear my heart thundering in my chest as I try to justify that look on his face, "Wait: Sean- is he-he's not-"

Heath quickly shakes his head, "No Sean's okay." His face screams the exact opposite.

"Then what is it?" I've seen that look on his face before, many times before, and not once has it ever been unjustified. Something's up, and with my luck it's never going to be a minor problem.

He pauses for a few moments before "I think you need to see this." He pushed the door behind him open in one swift movement and gestures for me to go through it. Carmen looks at me with a concerned gaze but I give her one, quick reassuring nod before walking through the door, back down the hallway and open the door to re-enter the mentors' room. But I don't make it more than two steps over the threshold before I literally stop in the tracks, my stomach taking another deep plunge down the apparent rollercoaster that is my abdomen as my eyes lock onto the large screen above the district three mentor Gage's head.

"Oh shit."