"Like stars in darkness glow so bright

You once told me I'd have to dim my light

My mystic being, held by gravity

I almost let you hold me back from everything…"

~Goddess (Elport X Cadmium)

o0o

Aegis Harlow (18) District Two Tribute

"A-Aegis?" My head jerks up at the noise, Thames' voice still weak and a dry rasp in his chest. Hazy golden eyes blink open, still unfocused, blinking and trying to adjust from sleep into the waking world.

"Hey, Thames," I smile down at him, and his face slowly lights up, reaching a hand up to run it across my cheekbone.

"You're- you're here?" He sounds surprised by this.

I raise a brow. "Where else would I be?"

Sitting up, the boy from One sighs and rubs at his eyes, before lacing an arm around my neck and resting his head on my shoulder. "I wasn't sure if I dreamed everything up."

"Everything?"

A nod. "Like… everything. The Games, last night, you…"

My heart gives a pang. "I'm real, Thames."

"I know," he mumbles back, twisting his head so the words are muffled against my skin. "I know, I know, I know. But…" he pauses, and I turn to look at him, brow furrowed. "But sometimes I wish this was all a dream," he confesses. He said dream, I note. Not a nightmare.

"I understand." I understand the feeling of wishing you could just wake up from this horrible situation and be safe in your bed back home, without having to deal with all of these feelings. We're trained Careers. Go in, slaughter the rest, as we were trained to do, and come back out victorious. We aren't supposed to develop feelings for each other. We aren't supposed to get attached to anything that could prove a liability later on, when everything comes down to the wire and it's two of us left. The Capitol isn't going to want a sobbing mess of two Tributes who keep arguing about who kills the other. They're going to want a long, bloody battle, not what we're going to offer.

Thames lets out a soft noise and presses his face into the juncture of my shoulder and neck, and I hold him there.

We remain like that for a while, I holding him and he resting against me, enjoying the peace and quiet of this moment. The peace and quiet of us.

And yet even this moment of solidarity cannot last. Not in the pit of hellfire we're living in. And the interruption comes in one of the worst forms possible.

I'd almost forgotten about the massive, metallic dog that we'd seen during the Bloodbath. The one that had ripped Elwood Liang clean in half. After the first few hours afterwards and the creature making no new appearance, I'd just assumed it was put in the Arena as an initial scare and would never show up again. But here it is. Prowling towards us, whirring and blue eyes gleaming in the matching lights of the Arena.

Beside me, Thames goes tight and tense and sits up straight again, a hand going to the spear on his back.

But halfway to us, the wolf pauses.

It chuffs, a metallic sounding wuff of air, and stops in its tracks.

Something inside the thing whirrs, and it makes a low, humming noise. Like something powering down.

Indeed, it lowers itself onto its haunches into a crouch, looking at us with those unnerving eyes, resting its head on its front paws.

Thames makes a noise of confusion by my side. "Um. What?"

The wolf makes another whirr, and a beam of light shoots from… somewhere and focuses on the single pack I managed to grab before the Cornucopia blew sky-high.

"Does it want something?" I study the dog. Look over at the pack. All that's in there is a few medical supplies, the rest of the burn ointment, a few packages of crackers and a water canteen and…

The realization hits me like a thunderbolt.

"It's mechanical… right? So it has to run on gasoline or kerosene or whatever I got in that Sponsor gift." I turn to Thames "And I still have some left…"

"This is a bad decision," Thames mutters, as I kneel down beside the dog and unscrew the plating on its side.

"I am the king of bad decisions," I inform him loftily, and tip the rest of the gasoline into the animal automata, and screw the plate back into place.

It takes a few moments for the gasoline to reach the appropriate systems, but when it does, everything jolts back to life. The great metal dog sits back and blinks, eyes whirring as they seem to scan us, taking us in. Thames tenses beside me, a hand on his spear, gritting down on the pain as he prepares to fight or run- whichever proves more effective.

But before either of us can make a move, the dog makes a mechanic huffing sound, tail wagging across the floor of the Arena, cocking its head to the side and swiveling its ears.

Thames frowns. "Why isn't it attacking us?"

"I don't think it'd attack something that just saved it's life."

Indeed, all the wolf- FANG- does is sit there. Stick its mechanical tongue out, which is weird in so many ways, cock its head to the side, and look at us with those unnerving blue eyes. They match the light of the Arena perfectly.

I don't know how much time we stare at the thing and it stares back at us. We probably would have stood there for another few hours when FANG's ears stand up straight, and it rises onto all fours with a growl rumbling low in its throat.

"Shit," Thames mutters, tensing beside me once more. But the growl seems to be directed at the forest, more towards the treeline, and FANG tips its head to the side. As if listening. Taking the cue, Thames and I do the same, and then I pick it up. The thudding of paws on earth. Coming this way.

"We need to go," I breathe, and FANG seems to have the same idea, letting out a huff of air or steam or whatever the fuck it is, and starts herding us away, pacing around the two of us before we break into a run. Then, he lopes alongside us, long legs easily eating up the ground,

FANG howls a warning, and we skid to a stop just in time.

We're standing at the edge of a ravine, a deadly drop below us, and there are other mutts right on our heels.

We're trapped.

o0o

Mikail Drakil (18) District Four Tribute

Asher's dead silent as we make our way through the city. Not a single sound comes from him, vocal or otherwise, and if I'm being completely honest, it's a bit unsettling. I'm used to the chatter of the rest of a gang as I went around my day back in District 4, and even in the Arena, I'd hum quietly to myself just so that the silence wouldn't get to me. Get to my head.

If this is an intimidate tactic, something to throw me off my game, it's certainly working. And if the Wolfchild wasn't my ally, I'd respect the strategy. But we are allies, and we're going to have to form some sort of bond of trust beside the one we have, which is more fragile than shattered ribbons.

I won't be the first one to break the silence though. This silence may be a poison to me, because in this void of sound the shallowness of whatever conversation may spring up is laid bare. Where the potential of intellectual, understanding banter lay is now utterly vapid. Whipped, broken, and bridled. Yes, this silence may be poison, but I will drink it willingly for the reward of remaining unbroken.

If he won't talk, then neither shall I. All alliances in the Hunger Games end anyway, when everything reaches the ultimate peak and only the strongest survive. Only one will survive, and that one will be me. There will be no other Victor. If the road there is lined with shattered glass and hot coals that I must walk over on bare feet, then I'll bear it.

I almost want to shove my hands into my pockets as we continue to walk, but I remember just in time that these suits don't have pockets, to keep from embarrassing myself. My sword swings at my side, and I run a hand over its pommel, taking reassurance in the knowledge that I have a weapon and I can draw and use it if needed, that I can gut anyone coming to cross our path within a heartbeat.

With my focus on weapons, my eyes trail to the gloves that Asher wears. So comfortably, as if he doesn't have death itself at his fingertips, ready to answer his beck and call. A fitting weapon for a son of wolves, I suppose, although it's a bit on the nose. Poisons or a dagger is more my style- more like the Eel of District 4, with a sharp-edged tongue and glittering eyes, ready to assassinate victims, bursting from the shadows without warning to slit a throat or bury an axe into their stomach.

Although I suppose Asher is just as deadly. Wearing his weapons for all to see, on his hands, at his sides. Even if my sword is bare against my side, the metal warm from my body heat. It's not me. The gang leader walking beside me is completely in his element, though. A swaggering grace and charm, easy and seemingly aloof, unbreakable against the horrors of this world.

An assassin and a murderer. Is that what we will be called by the time these Games are over? I have no objection to the title. Assassin means brains, while murderer means brawn. Anyone can be a murderer, but it takes guts to be an assassin. To slip into someone's mind, to someone's home and most personal thoughts and predict their every move, and to kill them slyly, on the downlow, when no one will notice and you can slink away into the shadows, unseen. Unheard and unknown, as panic erupts around you.

All a murderer has to do is walk up to someone and swing a sword, or pummel them to death in a back alley. There is no grace there, behind the movements, there is no meaningful motive. An assassin is an artist.

Although there will be no time for art here. There will be no time for meticulous weeks of planning once we all come together. Then I must act on instinct alone and rely on my wits and my sword to keep me standing through the last, blood-drenched moments.

We come out of the city, and still, not a word has been spoken between us. Asher silently points towards the spiralling loop of road that rises out of the ground, and I nod. That is where we will set up base and wait for the rest of the tributes to stream into the lamb pen so we can slaughter them and cloak ourselves in their blood.

There is no roar of light cycles as we walk up the various ramps and paths in order to reach the top of the Spiral Course. All there is is stillness. A hush, that settles over the two of us as we begin to lay out supplies and prepare for the night ahead and whatever it may bring.

There will be few words spoken between us.

And so the last thing our enemies will hear is the silence of annihilation.

o0o

Aegis Harlow (18) District Two Tribute

Looking closer at the drop-off, which is covered in the same latticework that the rest of the Arena is, I can see that there are little ripples in the dips and corners of the lines, proof that the cliff does indeed have hand and footholds. Something to hold onto, should someone go sprawling over the edge. Here's to hoping that none of us have to find out whether those holds are actually enough to save a life.

The three of us- because FANG is with us now, its allegiances, for this moment, are clear- turn. The mutts will be breaking through the trees at any moment, and the only options we have are to jump or to fight. And I'd rather die with a weapon in my hand than throw myself off a cliff like a coward. There is no honor in that.

My sword whines as I draw it free of its sheath. It shines in the Arena light, the broad silvery metal cool to my touch as I run my palm along the flat of the blade before leveling it and planting my feet. Beside me, Thames lets the spear elongate in his hand, and his treasure-chest eyes shutter closed, face going cold as he prepares for battle. FANG, a formidable force in its own right, lets out a snarl, mechanisms whirring as it drops into a crouch, this time prepared to leap into the fray and wreck havoc on whatever's about to explode out of the forest.

The first creature comes tearing into view, and something in me recoils at its flat face and inhuman eyes as it lunges for Thames, mouth gaping wide, exposing long, viciously pointed fangs.

The other Career takes the animal on his spear, driven back a step by the force of it, and throws it to the ground, off his weapon, bits of the things fur and guts still sticking to the spearhead.

But that first mutt opened the floodgates, and they begin to appear at the edge of the treeline, howling and snarling as they run down the stretch of ground between us, gaining speed and flinging themselves on us as soon as they're in range. It's not the most effective way of killing us-it could be, if they have strength in numbers.

Which they do: there are so many of them. Too many to count as they continue pouring from the forest, howling and barking shrilly. FANG acts as a barrier- a bottleneck, forcing the waves back and ripping into the ones that don't, but even the metal wolf is forced to yield step after step because of the sheer number of the creatures flooding onto our little plateau. It takes all my strength to heave one off me that's landed there so I can face the next three that storm towards me, sidestepping the first two and beheading the third, sending them over the edge into the river below.

The fight goes on and on and on. There is no pause to breathe, no offered respite.

I don't know where Thames or FANG are. I don't know where they've been swept off too, except I know that they haven't gone over the edge, or I would have heard a scream from Thames if he were forced over that drop.

But even with that knowledge, there is no reassurance that Thames is alive and that FANG has not been overrun. For all I know, FANG could be a heap of scrap metal beneath the tan pelts that just keep coming and coming and coming, and Thames could be a limp body piled beneath the mutts he killed on during his final stand. No. They are not dead. I refuse to believe such a thing.

But… the things seemed to have grouped back. To have rallied, farther up the way, closer to the treeline, and they're getting ready to charge again. To perhaps throw me, the only visible obstacles standing in my way, over the edge of the cliff face. Is this the part where I die? It can't be.

There's too much I have in my heart that I must settle, there are too many words that have gone unsaid that must be voiced, and be voiced by my lips alone. The necklace at my throat proves that, and my hand strays to my token. Leo.

In this Arena, Thames might be the one I protect with my life, but he will fall, in the end, and when it all comes down to to the core of things, Leo is the one for me.

It's him.

It's always been him.

And with the way things went in during our goodbyes, before I was shipped off to this hell of a place, covered with sparkles and luxury and opulence to hide the rotten interior, there is still much uncertainty between the two of us, and that cannot be so.

I have to make things right, and the only way to do that is to survive.

There's a reason I allied with Thames, though. An able-bodied fighter, powerful and skilled with a spear like no other. I'm going to need him for a while yet.

Where is he? Where is he where is he where is he-

As if in answer to the thought, a cry rises above the noise and growls of the mutts, and there's a sudden wave of the creatures being thrown into the air. Thames hurtles towards me, golden eyes alight, FANG by his side, and behind them, a wave of howls and grunts and all other sounds under the sun crests and begins to crash down.

"Move!" Thames is screaming. "Move, move, move!"

Move? Move where? Thames is gesturing wildly with his arm, and I look to where he is pointing. Look to the edge of the herd of mutts and, once again, understand. I scramble to the side, shield in hand as I dive to the side. I don't even know if this is going to work, but I'm going to have to try. Better this than certain death. I heave my shield up in front of me and scramble behind it, protecting myself as best I can against the impending wave. Plant the thing against the Arena ground, as best I can, throw my weight into it, and hope. Cling to that one kernel of light that lives somewhere inside me, lives somewhere deep inside all of us, and pray that it will keep me alive. I can barely make out the two figures that are Thames and FANG, skidding to a stop at the edge of the cliff. Barely see the way Thames uses FANG like I'm using my shield, and how those massive, lethal claws dig into the black ground and hold fast against the mutts that crash against them. I'm buffeted by wind and fur and the stink of them as they hurtle past me, but it's nothing compared to what my ally must be experiencing, as the mutts break and break against FANG's barrier, and fall to their deaths.

But even that mighty creature can only take so much.

And all I can do is watch as dog after dog goes flying off the cliff, and FANG and Thames go plummeting over the edge with the last of them.

o0o

Lauren Silver (18) District Three Tribute

By the time I reach her, it's too late. Ambrose Volta's body is a crumbled, bloody mess on the Arena floor, and the crimson letters by her body turn my vision to red. A calling card. A taunt, as if Killian is laughing at me from afar. Which he probably is.

But that knowledge doesn't stop me as I stumble to my knees beside my former ally, taking her cold, mutilated face in my hands and screaming, screaming to an abyssal sky that swallows pain and misery like the sweetest treat the Capitol can provide.

Who would do such a thing? And to someone so small… so young and innocent… it should have been me. It should be my body, my corpse lying here, not hers. She was only 14. She had her whole life ahead of her. She could have lived, could have made a family back in District 5.

Every dead Tribute in this Arena had had that opportunity taken away from them. And for what? For a brief rush of sated bloodlust and amusement for the viewers back in the Capitol? That's bullshit.

Everything's turned into a raging tempest that's swirling in my chest, and I don't know which emotion is which. Whirlwinds and riptides and thunderstorms are happening simultaneously and it's hard to focus on which storm to calm first. Or I could just let go. Let all this out and show the world what I really think.

I've been playing the meek, quiet mediator for too long. I have my own ideas, my own passions and opinions, and I'll be damned if I die without the world hearing Lauren Silver.

And so I scream. I scream, and pour everything I know and feel into the scream. It echoes and rebounds, long into the daytime. I want people to turn off their televisions, block their ears, try to do anything and everything possible to get my scream out of their heads. I want them too, because it makes them want to cry and rip themselves apart. This scream is pure agony, the scream of a soul dying, and I want them to hear it and I want them to know.

I'm beyond caring if my lament attracts others. It's either kill or be killed, and I'm done running. If I die, I die on my feet with my eyes open, or I don't die at all. Ambrose's knife is in my hand, the hilt heavy against my palm, an unfamiliar wait, but a strangely welcome one nonetheless.

It does seem like my howl has brought someone to me, however.

"Hello again, Lauren Silver." I whirl around at the voice, eyes wide to see Killian standing before me, one leg nonchalantly crossed over the other, leaning against his light cycle. I don't even want to know how he managed to keep it solid after he dismounted, but I do know that it pisses me off. Makes something ugly twist inside me at the thought, that someone so vicious and ruthless can be so cunning at the same time. He appears to be setting something up on his bike, looking to balance what looks to be a camera on the seat. He'll be filming his own death scene.

He's wrapped in some sort of hood and cape garment, the robe long enough to trail around him as he moves, not long enough to hinder movement, but it gives him a certain dramatic flare. Probably what the Capitol wants. His hood is long enough to obscure most of his face, and it gives him all the sinister air of a viper poised to strike.

Not on my watch. My grip tightens on the knife, but still, it's Killian that makes the first move. He pushes off the bike in a sudden burst of speed, leaping for me, as if to tackle me to the ground. I bring up my knife, hoping to impale him on the blade as he comes towards me, but in a burst of movement, Killian twists aside, landing steadily, looking at me with those dead, dead eyes. I lunge, no finesse in my grip as I fling myself at him. Killian sidesteps easily, and that stupid cloak whirls about as he spins and catches my arm on my next blow, dragging me towards him and using my own momentum against me as he hurls me to the ground. A snarl builds in my throat as I regain my feet. Killian just stares at me, his expression passive as I bare my teeth and throw my whole weight into the next attack.

Once again, he slips away, spinning back around to watch as I hit the ground rolling, rolling, shoulder barking in pain. I force myself back up onto a knee though, growling at him. My next strike is overhead, and he reaches up, grabbing hold of my arm again, and my stomach drops as he hurls me to the floor before delivering a vicious kick to my side with his booted foot that has me groaning in pain as my ribs bark and buckle in protest. I think I hear something snap, but I'm not sure as Killian steps back and finally draws his weapons.

Now it's a true fight. I heave myself upright, and the first ring of steel against steel rings out across the Arena. I think I'm gaining the upper hand as I bear down on his crossed blades, but Killian skitters back, fast and nimble, before lashing out with his own knife, a slender, wicked thing and it draws a line of fire and agony across my chest. Stumbling back, I place a hand over the wound, almost unable to believe it as everything begins to throb, and my hand comes away red.

Killain comes forward again and I'm forced to block his three offenseive strikes- center, underhand, overhead- before he spins off me, elbowing me in the back to send me to the ground once more.

"You've lost," voices whisper, in the back of my mind, poisonous and leeching. "You've lost this battle, and it has cost you the war. There's no coming back from this." Killian's beautiful face is twisted in something like disgust as his foot comes down hard on my hand, and the knife clatters out of my grip, a cry rising in my throat as my wrist shatters.

The Lauren of two minutes ago would have fought it. Would have clawed and bitten and scratched with every ounce of power left in this frail body to rise again and take this monster down. To live to fight another day, and perhaps see Wyre again. See my family again.

I am not that Lauren, though. And instead, I welcome the pain like an old friend. Welcome it, as Killian takes his knife and slits me open without a hint of remorse.

o0o

Thames Venturi (18) District One Tribute

The terrified howl of the mechanical dog is still ringing into my ears as we tumble over the cliff-face, desperately scrabbling for purchase, trying to find something to cling onto. My fingers find a tiny ledge in the stone and I latch on, desperate, even as my feet dangle in the open air, a lethal drop lurking below me.

"Thames!" Aegis appears at the top of the cliff, his face drawn and pale from terror and pain. He's still bleeding heavily, and the blood trails down his left arm, which hangs at an awkward angle. His teeth are clenched through the pain though, and we stare at each other for a moment. There's no way he can pull me back up, not without injuring himself further, because even if his arm isn't already broken, it has to be sprained, and also hurt like hell. I try to yell back, but the pounding of the water below me drowns out my voice. Let me go, Aegis. It hurts to say- hell, it hurts to even think it- but I know I'm not going to survive this. This is how I die, plummeting to my death and snapping my neck on the rocks below, or maybe getting impaled on one of the sharp rocks jutting out of the river below.

I shake my head. There's no use. Get out of here while you can.

"I'm not about to let you die!" Aegis' voice is panicked, the first time I've really seen the other Career abandon his cool, calm demeanor.

You've got to. Who knows how much noise we've made trying to get away from that attack, it could have drawn every surviving Tribute in this Arena straight to us. And in his condition, Aegis doesn't stand a fighting chance, not against Halliday or anyone else who might stumble across us.

Aegis shakes his head at me, this time, defiance in every aspect of his stance as he vanishes from my line of sight, presumably looking for a hefty stick to use as leverage to get me back onto flat ground. He's not going to be able to find one. The forest is too far back, and besides, there are hardly any fallen branches. With my luck, I would have tripped on one of them while we were fleeing the mutt pack.

I could always just let go. Aegis couldn't do a damn thing about it, with his back turned to me. It would probably save both of us massive amounts of grief and tears and who knows what other embarrassing things, in the long run.

And yet my fingers cling tight. I don't want to die, though. Not yet. Not now. Part of my reason to continue breathing is searching for a way to save me. Parts of it are back home, watching this with bated breaths.

One of them is sitting in a room right now, cobalt eyes glittering at the screen set up before him, Sponsors lined up outside the door, waiting to be let in.

I hold fast.

At that very same moment, Aegis appears above me, clear desperation humming through his every move, his every word. "Thames, Thames, I can't find anything. I'm going to try to pull you back up!"

That's not going to work, I'm too heavy. I try once more to vocalize my thoughts, but Aegis either doesn't hear me or doesn't acknowledge what I'm saying. His hand appears over the edge, and grapples onto mine, and the two of us cling to each other, fingers lacing and interlocking.

"Hold on!" Aegis roars from above me, eyes blazing. "Thames Venturi, don't you dare let go."

My grip is slipping anyway. There's nothing I can do about it because my palms are sweaty. There's nothing I can do to dry them on my leg of my suit or something without letting go of his hand and plummeting to my death.

"You gotta try, Thames!" Aegis yells from above me. There's nothing in my head now but white noise and the roaring water, but his words cut through the fog. "You have to be helping too, I can't pull you up all on my own!"

I shove up with all my remaining strength, limbs burning, breath fire in my lungs and my arm socket aching, and Aegis heaves upward at the same time, every part of him visibly straining, pain and effort creasing his forehead. We work together, a single, collaborative effort… and I'm hauled back over the edge, both of us panting with exertion, sweat glistening on my lover's bronze skin as our eyes meet, gold connecting and colliding with darkened blue.

Then, his mouth covers mine, and all logic is gone: replaced by the smooth slide of his tongue against the seam of my lips. The rushing water churns below us, crashing and roaring against sharp, lethal rocks that would have no problem piercing fabric and the skin beneath. The fear and adrenaline are still running through me, fire in my veins and a song in my blood as Aegis pulls me closer. There is nothing soft in his kiss, and it's as unrelenting and sure as the river below. There's unyielding pressure, his body firm against mine as I slide a hand up along the broad planes of his back, tangling my fingers into his hair. His own are on the back of my neck and the curve of my ass respectively, kneading, pressing, making me see brilliant lights as he slips his tongue into my mouth. He coaxes mine into a dance- sure and resolute. Leading me effortlessly, showing me the way, though we've done this countless times before. It's our first kiss that hasn't been taken over by lust and bedroom passion, I realize. Because here, although the same feeling curls low in my gut, making me arch and groan, I can feel the emotion running through him. His hands, strong as they are, are still trembling from the effort of dragging me back over the cliff. He is not fearless, no- despite the fact that he faced the mutts down with his jaw set and head held high. There was true panic in his eyes as he led them to the edge of the cliff, FANG by his side. As he saw me, nearly pulled over the edge with them and the metal dog. Not fearless, but dauntless. He is dauntless, as his kiss becomes more forceful, more assertive, and those long fingers press against my skin.

"Thames Venturi," he murmurs, and my name on his tongue is nearly my undoing. His next words, beautifully familiar and painfully sincere, are whispered straight into my mouth. "You are nothing like anyone could have ever expected."

o0o

7th: Lauren Silver, District Three Tribute (Submitted by GreyWolf44) Died due to blood loss, but the kill was ultimately attributed to Killian Doppelman. Lauren, you steadily grew on me, and I just kept pushing your placement higher and higher until you got to where you are now. You were so fun to write, and also one of the saner characters left in this Arena. Rest in peace, Lauren Silver. May you fear no evil. Feel no pain. [KDA: 0/1/0]

o0o

Alliances:

Angels and Demons: Thames Venturi (D1M) and Aegis Harlow (D2M)

Ice has Melted Back to Life: Halliday Frost (D1F)

Claws and Cruelty: Mikail Drakil (D4M), Asher Foster (D5M)

Living on the Edge of Insane: Phoenix/Killian Doppelmen (D6M),

o0o

A/N: Start counting down chapters, ladies and gentlemen! Chapter 30, Over the Edge means only eight chapters left, five of which are in the Games! Chapter 31, Welcome to the Hunger Games, will detail Arena night 4, and I'm gonna start working on that in 5 minutes, actually. Start strong.

So, credit is due where credit is due, that fight between Lauren and Phoenix/Killian was based off of the fight between the Weeping Monk and Aurthur in Netflix's show Cursed. It's quite good, the Weeping Monk is one of my absolute favorite characters, and inspired a tribute right off the bat, haha.

Sash and Ambrose are both dead, and with the tragic death of the rockstar that is bound to shake Panem to its newly laid foundations, the lower Districts have been eliminated.

Thames and Aegis, and Halliday and Killian are in the forest, albeit on opposite sides of the place. Asher and Mikail are lurking at the Spiral Course, and thus the competition dwindles.

FANG, my favorite mutt, has (sadly) gone over a clifftop. Do you think he's shattered into a million mechanical bits at the bottom? Or do you think a hovercraft miraculously swept in and saved the war machine?

Over, out, and may the odds be ever in your favor,

~SetFires (Vixen)