Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. They belong to Suzanne Collins.

Note: Here we are at the podium ranks! Then again, is it really much of a podium when one thinks about it? After all, every rank from 2nd down to 24th is basically the exact same thing. Well, in any case, here's the chapter of the very last career tribute still in the arena. Enjoy!

District Two Male
Name: Asterix Hoss
Age: 18
Training Score: 11
Odds of Victory: 4-1
Fact: He had a collection of door keys that he'd stolen over the years. He had no idea who they actually belonged to, nor did he know one of them actually belonged to his district's fourth overall victor - Rook.

Asterix didn't know where it had all gone so horribly wrong.

Maybe it was not refusing to enter the same Games as Getafix. Maybe it was not standing up against Midas as much as he could have. Maybe it was the terrible fall he'd taken into the acid river. Maybe it was Getafix's horrific death and his complete failure to help her.

Nevermind, Asterix knew when things had gone wrong. It was the death of his district partner… his lifelong best friend.

All he could do now was not forget about her and fight his way to the victor's crown. Surely it wouldn't take long now. There were only two tributes left to die and neither of them were careers. Asterix had no idea how Midas had died the previous night, but he was inclined to suspect Tag had ended up killing the arrogant brute.

It felt fitting.

Asterix shook his head, trying not to get carried away with baseless speculation. Whatever ha happened, the fact was that Midas was dead and Asterix was henceforth the strongest tribute left. The odds were in his favour!

Or, were they?

Asterix wasn't showing it, or at least he was trying not to, but he was still in quite a lot of pain from the terrible beating he'd suffered from the boy from Ten several days prior. He hated to admit it, but that outlying boy had been powerful.

He'd given him the perfect chance to get away from his allies and strike off by himself. Asterix knew he'd have died had he stayed with the Ones for too long. It would've only been a matter of time, and not much of it.

Still, he'd never be grateful to that boy. Not when he'd knocked him into the acid. Asterix snorted, sending a good spit at a rock as he thought of the Games' seventh placer.

"Where are you?" Asterix muttered to himself as he weaved his way through one of the arena's many overgrowths.

Asterix was loath to admit it, but he was missing being able to talk to people. Sure, technically he could just talk to any tribute he were to find, but what was the point if only a fight and death would be the result of that? He missed having allies to carry on a conversation with.

He missed Getafix.

His fallen friend had never been much of a talker unless it was either him she was speaking to or because she had to say something. Asterix, meanwhile, had always loved being able to be the centre of attention and have lengthy talks about anything at all. Back home he was the life of the party.

Once he was home life would be a never ending party and he'd have a friends list as vast as District Two itself. The thought of such a grand social gathering had Asterix unable to hide a grin.

Asterix shook his head. Again, a distraction. He couldn't be having that, not until he heard the trumpets. He'd never longed to hear anything quite so much as them in his life.

Well, perhaps second to Midas' dying screams of agony and pleads of mercy. After the brute's murder of Getafix it was all Asterix had wanted to hear. But now the boy from One was dead, his awful last moments happening too far away from Asterix for him to have any clue what happened.

Watching the recap at the final interview would fix that.

Nothing would fix the fact it wasn't him to kill Midas. He hadn't been able to avenge Getafix by gutting the arrogant boy like a pig.

Still, he could honour her memory by winning the Games.

Asterix had been up since the crack of dawn and had been hunting for his remaining two opponents ever since, rarely stopping for breaks. Sure, he was in pain, but what tribute wouldn't be hurting so late in the Games? He felt he had a solid chance… why wouldn't he? Between the forgettable girl from Ten and Tag being much smaller than him it was just a logical outcome.

"Come on, come out and face me," Asterix said, more to himself than anybody else.

Nobody did.

Asterix kept on hunting and prowling around as the day went by. The acid was starting to rise again, no doubt to ensure conflict would break out sooner rather than later. Asterix was nowhere close to the edges where land met acid, but he gave such places a wide berth all the same.

He knew he'd been lucky to have escaped the acid the first time. He wasn't going to try his luck for a second time, not when he was still scorched and ever so sore from the first dunking.

All too soon sunset had arrived in the arena. Asterix leant against a tree, watching the rays of the setting sun reflect off of the acid lake in front of him. So much hunting and nothing to show for it, it made him sick and frustrated.

Asterix figured they were letting it run to an even twenty days overall. Why? He had no clue, he was ready to get on with fighting and get back home.

He was jerked out of his thoughts when he was tackled to the ground from behind, his mouth meeting the dirt. It was only a few moments of struggling around before he was able to ram an elbow back at whoever had attacked him, earning a feminine cry.

The girl from Ten? Asterix could deal with that. When push came to shove she was stronger than Tag and Asterix had no issues killing off his tougher opponent first.

Asterix bucked backwards, knocking the girl from Ten off of him. He took the chance to leap to his feet and grab out his weapon – a medium sized sword – and scramble to his feet.

His prior wounds made him to slow to be able to stick the sword in her gut then and there. She blocked the strike with a weapon of her own, one Asterix hardly would've expected a cowgirl to favour using.

A steel crowbar.

The blade clanged the crowbar hard enough to generate sparks and repel the blade. Asterix played it defensive for a minute or so, content to simply let the girl from Ten tire herself out. From there, injured or not, he'd easily be able to kill her.

But the girl wasn't tiring out. Whether it was adrenaline or something else she just wasn't backing down. She was cut and bruised, but she was putting up a solid fight. Asterix had to remind himself that she'd given Starboard one hell of a beating back in the bloodbath.

Asterix held his ground, convinced he was stronger than Starboard. After all, she was long dead and he was still alive.

"Give it up Ten!" Asterix grunted, trying to force his opponent towards the acid. Why waste his energy on a long duel when he could just let the arena do the hard work for him? "You're never gonna kill me, Ten!"

"I'm not Ten, my name is Mare!" the girl shouted. She deflected another sword strike with her crowbar.

"Whatever your name is you're still not gonna win!" Asterix barked, the acid pool getting closer and closer.

Just a few more meters and he'd be able to end the fight. After that it'd be just himself and Tag left. He could handle a small boy like him, easy peasy.

Victory was so close Asterix could practically taste it.

One fake out movement from Mare and he tasted the cowgirl's fist instead. Asterix snarled, spitting out blood and a tooth.

"Nothing's final until you hear the cannon, Two!" Mare yelled, barely ducking under Asterix's sword.

"My name is Asterix!" the career yelled, leaping aside from Mare's overhead crowbar swing. "The victor!"

"We'll just see about that," Mare replied, dodging once more.

The two continued to fight in this way for a minute or so, both dodging everything their opponent was dishing out and failing to land any hits at all. The only thing being accomplished was wearing each other down.

Asterix didn't mind this, he knew he had more energy in him than Mare did. He was tired, true enough, but she would tire out before he did. He just had to keep going, kill her and then he could get his breath back before hunting down Tag.

All it took was Mare leaping back just enough to suffer a small clipping instead of a major slash for it to go wrong. She tanked the pain and, before Asterix knew it, had slammed the crowbar down onto his right knee. The crack and the sudden dampness in his pants leg confirmed the obvious – it was a critical hit.

Asterix barely had a chance to scream before Mare bought down the crowbar again and again and again. His arm, his chest and his head. He staggered, horribly concussed and with blood leaking out of one ear.

He barely had a moment to lament how he'd have been much more able to fight had he gotten more water before Mare punched him in the throat and then uppercut him with all her remaining strength.

For one second Asterix was weightless and free.

The next second he hit the acid, doused once more in the agonising fluid, and this time he knew there would be no escaping it. He fought as best as he could, unwilling to give up. If there was one thing Olga's training methods had drilled into him it was that giving up was to admit defeat and let death win. He'd never give up.

He'd never let Getafix down.

But the agony and the horribly crowbar beating had taken away all his strength and energy that the dehydration hadn't already siphoned off of him.

Asterix died in pain and alone in the acid, the last thing he ever heard being the sound of an arrow whistling through the air.

Tribute Deceased
Ranking: 3rd
Cause of Death: Uppercut into an acid river (by Mare)
Time Lasted: 19 days, 20 hours, 7 minutes and 21 seconds
District Two Eliminated