A long wait again, and I'm honestly sorry for that. Still, I hope you enjoy the chapter.


Emberly Layden

District 12 Female

13 Years Old

When those mutts came, it was no longer safe for me to hide in the woods. I was looking around for any kind of closed shelter when I saw a vent tucked in among some large rocks. It was releasing a gentle flow of warm air, with its grating rusted enough that it easily slid off. I climbed inside, as the vent was just big enough for me to comfortably crawl around. I wasn't sure what I'd find as I kept going, taking turn after turn until I could see all these rooms through the vent covers. Some looked like labs or some sort, others like office spaces. Now and then, I'd freeze as I hear footsteps or even chatter below me. Sometimes, I was even able to peek in on the others roaming around this place. It was clear that the Careers were down here already, as well as the girls from Five, Nine, and Three.

Of all the rooms I passed by, one was special: it had monitors showing camera footage from other places throughout the facility, some of which I recognized. And sitting in front of the screens was the girl from Three, Veranda. I remember her from an interview, where she talked about her dreams of living in the Capitol. It was pretty unusual for a girl from her district. Anyway, there she was, watching over the rest of the tributes like a Gamemaker, apparently safe in this room with plenty of dried food in her bag.

One problem: you can't go very long without water, and that small canteen of hers ran out soon enough. As she leaves with her crossbow and supplies, I kick open a vent cover right above some metal cabinets and drop down into the room as I lock the door before doing anything else. Standing in front of the monitors, it appears that they're split down the middle. On my left, I see a few identical-looking hallways, a large dining room, a kitchen, a gym with a swimming pool, a library, and an outdoor garden. On the right is a bunch of offices and labs with glass walls. One of these labs had a few non-moving tracker jackers in display cases, like artifacts in a museum.

As I'm processing all of this, my eyes are drawn toward the feed from the library, where several tributes have started to fight. It's the Careers against some other group that includes the girl from Eight, the one I encountered a few days ago on the surface.

Before I'm able to do anything, two cannon shots ring out over the intercom. The creepy-looking girl from Two just killed two others, although she's pretty badly injured. Meanwhile, the girl from Six is on the ground bleeding as the boy from Seven tries to hold off the boy from Two.

They need help. I take a step towards the panel of buttons and dials in front of me. Just below the monitors showing the library, I see a red, square button labeled "main power." I press it right away and watch as the screens with the library feed turn black.


Poco Olas

District 4 Male

17 Years Old

This cat-and-mouse game has gone on for too long, I think to myself. For several days I've been trying to find her – Cassie from Five – to no avail. And now I can feel that my injuries are catching up to me, the ones from my fights with the girl from Ten and Cassie's district partner. I look down at the crudely bandaged cut on my left leg. Could it be infected?

I decide that I can't continue in this state, fatigued and disoriented. There was a clinic back in the living quarters – maybe I can find some fresh bandages, at the very least. And what about sponsorship? Have they even opened any sponsorship windows yet? How are they even supposed to send us stuff down here anyway?

I shouldn't waste more time thinking about this. The tributes that rely on sponsors carrying them don't tend to do well in the end.

My path back to the living quarters takes me past a large room filled with light-grey cubicles, a small breakroom-type area, and a dimly lit lab full of tracker jackers on display.

Everything seems to get hazier, and walking becomes harder and harder as I continue my trek to the clinic. I pass the elevators (an easy way to get yourself killed) towards the stairwell that'll take me up to the residential levels. But as I turn another corner, I see something that makes me freeze.

It's Bean, standing just a few yards away from me in the hallway. Could it be? No, I saw her lifeless body at the Cornucopia, her face in the sky later that night. What is this then? A trick by the Gamemakers? A mutt of some sort?

She suddenly takes a step towards me, and I want to react, but my body doesn't respond quickly enough. I am greeted a second later with a piercing pain in my abdomen. Looking down, I see she's stabbed me with something small – is that a tracker jacker?

I collapse to the ground in a useless heap as the blonde girl stands over me. Only now I can see it isn't Bean. It's the girl who killed her.

And now she's killed me too.


Veranda Quinton

District 3 Female

18 Years Old

Everything's ruined. That much was clear. I had a room where I could see almost everything and control quite a few things too. I guess I shouldn't have expected to stay there until everywhere else died. That would be too easy, and the Gamemakers definitely wouldn't have allowed it. The thing is, I know this wasn't just the Gamemakers. As I learned by listening outside the door, there's somebody else in the control room now.

After I got locked out, I tended to stick to other rooms close by. Whoever's in there will eventually run into the same problem I did. I have plenty of food on me now, and one of the labs nearby has a large amount of distilled water in it.

We have the cannon sounds over the speakers down here, but no nightly projections. By my count, there should be about 9-10 of us left, though I don't know exactly who. I haven't encountered anyone since getting locked out, and even if I did, I still have my crossbow and a few arrows with me.

Roughly one to two days after, I wake up to a metallic groaning sound coming from above me. Something—no, somebody is moving through those vents. I'm willing to bet this is the new occupant of the control room. Maybe that's how they got in to begin with.

I track the sound as the vent snakes between offices and hallways. This eventually leads me to a corner cubicle, where an open panel in the vent would allow someone to drop down into the room. I crouch behind a desk and ready my crossbow.

Not long after, I hear someone's feet landing on the carpeted floor. I pop out from my hiding spot, crossbow in hand, and launch an arrow into the person's chest. The cannon sounds almost immediately as I see who it is – the girl from Twelve. Not surprising, since few of us could manage to fit inside these vents.

With my business here done, I leave the room. Right as I'm passing through the doorway, I see her, but I'm too late. She stabs me right in the gut with a pocketknife. And again. And again.

"Hello again Veranda," Whitney says. "I've been looking for you."


Marius Hartt

Victor of the 85th Hunger Games

"You sure about this guy?" I ask Harper. "I mean, it's highly unusual for a mentor to travel to a sponsor."

"Trust me, this guy's been sponsoring tributes from districts like yours long before our time," she replies.

What a long-winded way to say "Careers," I think to myself.

"So what made him quit?"

"Health issues, at least officially. Maybe you can ask him yourself."

Needless to say, I'm not too thrilled about having to spend more time with these Capitolites, but it needs to be done. We simply don't have the money to buy Dom's medicine right now. Besides, it beats hanging around Clove, who's been all volatile and snappy since Cora died.

We board a private train-car that takes us from the Training Center to the foothills of Viminalis, home to massive estates of Capitolites who wish to distance themselves from the riff-raff of the city.

Gradually, the skyscrapers of the inner Capitol give way to smaller residential buildings, before those are replaced by carefully manicured greenery and wide-open streets.

"A hovercraft will pick us up shortly," says Harper once we arrive at the station.

Soon enough, one of them descends from the clouds, very similar to the hovercrafts used in the Games, only much smaller.

After about a minute or so, we're at the gates of the estate belonging to Atticus Sherborn III, the software magnate Harper thinks we can convince to sponsor Dom.

"Now Mr. Sherborn is a bit… eccentric," notes Harper. "Just so you know what to expect."

"You're all eccentric," I reply flatly.

A Peacekeeper silently guides us towards the house. The grounds of the estate are populated with Avoxes, all busy with various tasks. Once we reach the front doors, we're handed off to a butler, who brings us upstairs to an office decorated elaborately with crystal, mahogany, and gold leaf.

A gray-haired man sits behind the desk, back facing us, looking out a window at the gardens below.

"Nice to see you again, Harper," he says without turning around. "And whos' the gentleman with you today?"

"Nice to see you as well, Mr. Sherborn. This is Marius Hartt, winner of the 85th Games."

"I see. Didn't watch that one. Lost the stomach for all this nonsense a few years before that, as I'm sure you remember."

"I do remember. Your last year as a sponsor was my first as an escort. But now—"

"So what brings you all this way knowing that I'm—shall we say—retired from this business?" he interrupts her.

"I, we would like to offer you a chance to cement your legacy as one of the greatest Hunger Games sponsors of all time."

Sheesh. A little heavy-handed there, Harper.

"You want money."

"But it's not just money," returns Harper. "It's an opportunity to make an impact. You've been donating to these kinds of tributes for over 60 years, so I'm sure you'd recognize—"

"Alright, alright, let's hear it."

"Marius here is mentoring a fine tribute by the name of Dominic Axton, from District Two. He was the odds-on favorite to win for a while, until a fight that killed his district partner and left him injured. It wasn't a serious injury by any means, but there has likely been an infection now, and he needs antibiotics. They announced the first sponsorship window just yesterday, but we don't have enough to cover the cost of the medicine at this stage in the Games. We're down to the final seven and he has a good chance of—"

"You want the One job, don't you?" Sherborn interrupts once again.

It's hard to tell under all the makeup, but I think I see Harper's face turning red. So that's why she's going the extra mile. The Capitol is all about hierarchies, and the escort system is no different. With Scarlett retiring, the next rung on the ladder is now free.

"I understand. I saw the ambition in you when we first met during the 79th. Ambition, my dear, is never a crime. It's how I got to where I am, after all. I'll sponsor your boy, for old times' sake. Just follow up with my bookkeeper."

"Sir, would you like to know how much?" I finally speak up.

"Fine. Why not?"

"We're short 1.2 million credits," Harper informs him.

"Hah! That's it? Back when you were a little girl, Miss Harper, a friend of mine dropped 87 million credits on a trident for Finnick Odair. Can you imagine if he didn't win?"

He continues to laugh and ramble, but I'm just happy that we're about to leave this overly embellished slice of insanity.


AN: So, I've been locked in by the pandemic, which opens a lot more time for writing. I hope everyone is staying well out there. Let me know what you think of the chapter.

We're down to our last 7 tributes! Who do you think will win? There's a sponsorship window next chapter (similar to the "feast" we saw in the book), so expect more action.