A/N- Greetings everyone! Happy New Year and all of that goodwill stuff! Sorry for the slightly late update, but what with Christmas and everything, I haven't had a lot of spare time to write this. Nevertheless, I have finished it now and here is our first (of three) final chapters!


Bleep. Bleep. Bleep.

The regular and steady sound is what plucks me from my slumber. The monotone notes claw my mind away from the swirling patterns of my dreams and dumps it back into the dull world called reality. As I start to regain consciousness, my head does triple backflips as my thoughts align themselves from my askew dreams. I prize open my heavy eyelids and a painful bright light scorches my eyes, rays of white light stabbing deep into my retinas. Squinting to limit the amount of light able to enter my eyes, I wait patiently until I'm adjusted to the new glow, then once the light no longer scratches at my pupils, I open my eyes fully.

I look straight ahead and see a plain white and ever so smooth ceiling spread out above me, which draws me to the conclusion that I am lying on my back. My gaze sweeps along the ceiling where it connects to a wall, also of the same white shade, with rows of identical shelves hoarding hundreds of tiny bottles of goodness knows what. The thought of the chemicals that may be kept in those bottles leaves a sick taste in the back of my throat. I keep my eyes moving, assessing the room that I am lying in. Most of the other things I see in the room are white as well, which gives the whole room a clinical feel that makes me want to squirm in my bed. I must be in some kind of hospital…

"He's awake." I hear someone say, and the statement is followed by a series of shuffles and mumbles. I go to move my head to see where the people are, but something pulls tight across my face, limiting my movement. Panicked, I bring a hand to my face and begin to claw at the device strapped across my mouth and nose. They're trying to kill me, I think, they're feeding a poisonous gas into my lungs. As these thoughts escalate, my heart begins to beat faster and oddly, so does the bleeping sound beside me. I start to panic even more and my fingernails cut into the skin on my face as I desperately try to remove the thing from my face. I feel suffocated. I can't breathe. I—

"He's struggling." The same voice speaks again and my eyes dart around madly to locate them, but all I can see is the ceiling and the same patch of wall that holds the shelves of bottles. "I need 5 units of S37 over here quickly."

A shadow looms over me and when I open my mouth to yell, the air I breathe in is thick, muggy and tastes of plastic. My fingers wrap around the mask that is held across my airways and pull hard, my nails digging into the delicate skin of my cheeks. And through the corner of my eye I can see the hands of the shadow reaching for my other arm.

I lash out, my fist swinging at the shadow, but my punch is caught by a pair of gloved hands and my strength is overthrown, my arm being pressed down against the bed. I struggle against the gloved force, but it is too much for me and my arm remains stuck. I start to squirm more in the bed, trying to wriggle out of the grip and-

There's a sudden sharp pain in my arm and I slip back into the shadows of unconsciousness.


My sight is blurred as my eyelids open for the second time and there's a foul taste of bile in the back of my mouth; all down my throat feels burned and disintegrated. My head feels woozy and fragmented as I come around; slipping out of unconsciousness is far more difficult than slipping into it. I blink away the moisture in my eyes and see that I am still staring at the same ceiling as I did before. And I too realise that the same mask is strapped across my mouth and nose, but it is secured slightly looser than it was. But instead of rushing to tear its grip from my face, I leave it alone. If it was feeding me poisonous gas, then I'd surely be dead by now, or at least feeling some side effects. I think that maybe I was wrong and these people aren't trying to kill be, but rather trying to save me instead.

"He's conscious again." Someone says.

Curious as to whom the voice belongs to, I lift up my head and find it much easier to do so than my first attempts before being sedated. Nothing is strapping me down to the bed, which makes me feel a lot calmer and less likely to throw a tantrum…

"Hello, Guthrie." The voice belongs to a woman, who stands at the bottom of my bed. She is tall with a skinny frame and very pale skin that ever so slightly reflects the light from the lamp beside her. Her hair is quite a peculiar shade of turquoise, and is pinned back in a sort of pineapple shape on top of her head. Because of her white uniform that hangs loosely from her stick figure, I'm guessing that she is a doctor.

"How are you feeling, Guthrie?" She asks kindly.

I clear my throat, which feels as dry as a desert and as rough as gravel. "I'm ok, but if there is any water available…"

"Of course." The woman rushes over to a counter where a large crystallised jug filled with clear water rests. She pours some water into a similarly crystallised glass and hands it to me.

"Thanks." I say, before sipping the water. Almost instantly, my throat eases and it becomes comfortable to swallow again. After draining the glass in one, I go to place it on the table beside me, but the woman rushes forwards and takes it from my hand.

"I'll do that, Guthrie." She says, placing the glass on a counter. "Can I get you anything else? Food, blankets, pain relief?"

"No, thank you." I reply. "My head feels a lot clearer now, so I won't be needing any pain relief."

"How about your wound," she says. "is that in pain?"

"My wound?" I ask, confused. All my memories haven't yet been recollected, so I can't remember being injured. In fact, I can't remember anything before waking up in this room.

"Yes, the wound you received in the left side of your stomach." She says. "Where you were stabbed."

I give her a blank and confused look.

"Do you not remember?" The woman seems surprised, then suddenly begins to nod. "Oh yes, the sedative does have the tendency to cloud memories for a while. After all, its job is to put your mind to sleep… Would you like something to clear your mind of the sedative?"

I glance at the rows of bottles on the shelves and quickly shake my head.

Seeing my concern, the woman smiles comfortingly. "Don't worry, it's perfectly safe. The Capitol have formulated the serum so that it has zero side effects and works within seconds. It is very commonly used after one has been sedated. Most cases are when a victor has been pulled out of the arena—"

"What did you say?" I ask suddenly.

"About the serum?"

"No, about the victor thing."

She nods. "Oh yes, of course. I said that in most cases, the mind clearing serum is used after a victor has been sedated just after they've been pulled out of the arena. I've worked with many victors in my job and nine times out of ten, they need to be sedated. Being in the arena for that amount of time can often disorientate their minds and many have been known to lash out, thinking that they're still in the arena. That's why we had to sedate you, Guthrie. You must have—"

I cut her off again. "I'm sorry, but are you saying that I was pulled out of the arena?"

She nods.

"So…that means I'm a Victor?"

A second nod.

"I can't…" I choke on my words. "believe…"

"Yes, it is quite a lot to get used to." The woman agrees. "But once your mind has been cleared you'll soon get used to it. Then you can continue with your life. Well, of course it won't be like your old life because you'll be rich and famous and living in a huge house in your Victor's Village, which I've heard is simply lovely in District Eight. I've never been there, but apparently the gardens are stunning and…"

As she rambles on I forget to listen, my mind somewhere else away from petunias and tulips. My memories still haven't resurfaced yet, but I can feel my mind already becoming clearer. And all I can think about is that I'm the Victor.

I'm the Victor of the 500th Hunger Games.


A/N- So yes, quite a short chapter as I said it would be. Aw, Guthrie, it must be horrid to wake up and not remember anything. However, I'm not sure I'd want to remember what happened in the arena... But his memories will soon return and how will he feel towards them? He has been through a lot in the Games and will it be as easy as just 'getting on with life'? We'd like to hope so, but obviously it isn't... :(

The second of Guthrie's final chapters will feature Guthrie's interview after becoming Victor... What sorts of questions will be asked and how will Guthrie answer them? You'll have to wait until the next chapter, which hopefully will be up fairly soon...

Thanks for your continued support, we only have two more chapters together so please please please leave a review before there's nothing left to review! Even if you haven't reviewed this story before, I don't mind, as long as I hear from my readers then I'll be a happy bunny! So get reviewing please, I really would like to hear your opinions and if you have any suggestions/requests for questions to be asked in Guthrie's interview, then I'm open to taking some! So if there's anything you'd like to ask Guthrie, then you know what you need to do...

Thanks, FireflyLlama xxx