Chapter 66: Ampere Chang

A/N: Everything I hinted I'll be including in future chapters is null and void. Don't expect any sort of format/special occurrence in the chapters succeeding the 73rd Games, those were just ideas I threw out as a naive 14 year old boy. But now, I'm back to writing as myself, not as someone who wanted to please others or fit into a community. No, I am now writing for what I should have been writing for since the start. To tell my story.

Katniss tapped a finger on Ampere's photo, gazing curiously upon his features and his surroundings. "I vaguely remember his Games. Brutal, weren't they?" she murmured.

Peeta tilted his chin a little, scruffing through the canals of his mind to draw out memories of Ampere's Games. "I think they were, yeah. The Careers certainly were, at least in the Bloodbath. Not to mention-" He shuddered at the thought of one tribute in particular, one whose name would be permanently seared in the minds of everyone who had the misfortune of witnessing those Games. One look at Katniss's horrified grimace, and Peeta could tell that she was thinking of the exact same boy, one who hailed from District Six.

Titus.

The name did not need to be spoken aloud. It had already clung itself into the chalky atmosphere, drooping ever so close to the fragile, traumatised minds of Katniss and Peeta. A name that conjured up the ghouls of the past, nightmarish hellhounds of memories characterised by a lone boy with fresh, red blood dripping from his fang-like teeth, a manic look in his eye as he trudged across the snow, leaving big, heavy footprints akin to those of mutts, a menacing axe soaked with blood and gore gripped tightly with two, gore-stained hands calloused from his work back home and stained a horrifying shade of pinkish-red.

Titus.

Suddenly, in the eyes of Katniss and Peeta, Ampere almost seemed to don a halo above his head, a heroic cape lounging itself upon his back. For he had been a murderer, yes, but at least he had vanquished arguably one of the most despicable tributes since the era of Sterling Jones...

Ampere Chang

District 5

Aged 17

2 Kills

Wimp.

Coward.

Weakling.

Titus Creed only had those three words to describe Ampere Chang. A weedy little rat that looked destined to plunge into the Underworld moments after the ring of the gong. He stared at him with a mixture of amusement and disgust. Those tears, those sad, childish tears. He was the only person with wet eyes in what turned out to be a surprisingly strong batch of tributes, the youngest of whom was already sixteen. Most were muscular compared to their fallen brethren and counterparts in the years gone by, with the exception of a few, including the girl from Eight, but even she seemed intriguingly cocky and prideful regarding her odds, flaunting a good deal of intelligence and willingness to kill for her Victory. Before Ampere showed up, the Reapings felt as though they were rigged. Rigged by the stupid damn Capitol who never did seem to mind their own goshdarned business. Titus could tell by the stoic, hardened looks on the tributes' faces and the powerful auras they exuded that they must have had some experience in either criminal or rebellious activities. He licked his lips, thinking back to his own District partner, a robber who'd once harmed an elderly lady in one of her endeavours for some cold, hard cash. She boasted a great deal of fighting experience and the precise amount of cocky coolness to sweeten the deal.

Oh, this was definitely going to be one hell of an interesting year.

But then, District Five showed up. The girl fit the bill, launching a flurry of curses and a choice pick of swear words at the escort, the audience and the Peacekeepers too, for good measure. Her proud declaration of being the fittest girl in Five was probably a debatable one, but Titus did admire her confidence. It would make her an interesting and potentially pivotal player in these Games.

And then step forth the lousy wimp known as Ampere Chang.

Oh, he was a mess right from the start. The second his name was called, he burst into a fit of tears, wailing for his mommy like some piece of shit. Titus burst into peals of laughter as he trembled and tripped on his way to the stage. Such awful patheticness was so devilishly sweet to behold, yet so revolting to watch. Still, he knew that if he could lay his hands on Ampere, Titus would have one heck of an easy feast. Ever since he was eight, he'd been forced to engage in cannibalism in order to survive the cold, harsh winters in poverty-stricken Six. Once he'd hit Reaping age, that survival instinct had become an obsession. As he watched Ampere trembling on the screen, a smirk curled on his lips just at the thought of it.

Oh yes, Ampere Chang would no doubt be his first victim.

Porter wasn't entirely sure what to make of him. Amidst a strong pool of talented tributes, Ampere seemed like a hapless nobody, and his official odds and popularity ranking further proved this. He exuded an aura of weakness about him, as if he'd already known his fate and was bemoaning constantly about it. The other tributes took full notice of this, showering upon him a rather nasty selection of insults and taunts throughout Training, each one more creative and hurtful than the last. Their impacts quite evidently showed, as Ampere's mood would dampen by the hour, the dreary look in his eyes only darkening until one could be forgiven for thinking he was a soulless zombie. Heck, even the kids from Twelve managed to chime in here and then, and they were supposed to be the weakest of the bunch! Sure, their jibes about him being 'blunter than a century-old pickaxe' confused pretty much everyone who heard it, but hey, the intention and confidence was there, something kids from Twelve typically lacked. This was a strong group of tributes, and Ampere was simply falling behind in every metric possible, being the only tribute thus far who, as far as Porter could tell, hadn't already gotten himself a significant fanbase from the deranged Capitolites.

But yet, something held Porter back from branding him a completely hopeless kid.

A few little cracks, a few little slips, a few unpolished blemishes in his suit of tears, on his armour of cowardice. There was just something about the way his tone dramatically altered at times and the way he let slip a couple of subtle hints that this was all an act, that made Porter wonder how powerful he really was as a tribute, whether he secretly was the strongest contender around.

But she could not tell.

She knew little about the boy, he barely ever spoke to her, or anyone, really. He knew sign language, which was a relief as communication didn't prove to be too much of an issue, at least when it came to him understanding what she had to 'say'. She was also aware that he was the son of a doctor by the name of Jovan who, a couple of months ago, had been caught embezzling hospital funds and stealing from Peacekeepers, acts which practically condemned Ampere to the arena as Jovan himself had mysteriously disappeared and thus could not be hanged for his crimes, so the Capitol had gone for the next best option. It was sheer bad luck, really, that Ampere had a terrible father, and none of the crimes were even his fault to begin with, but Porter had known for ages that logic and reason simply evaded Capitolite minds. He seemed to be quite intelligent, Porter having found him fast asleep on the first night in the Capitol with a book on advanced biochemistry on his lap. Other than that, she had absolutely nothing. Ampere Chang remained an enigma to her and the other District Five Victors, with the only bit of information that any of them knew about him being the fact that he could often be seen in hospitals, according to Switch, although whether as a patient or medical worker, it was unknown.

Despite her constant written pleas for him to try and master some survival or weaponry skills, Ampere spent the vast majority of his time during training at the medicine station, but judging by the trainer's frustrated range of emotions, she doubted he was making medicine. But if so, then what was he doing, sloshing coloured chemicals about and tossing in an array of herbs and insects that the trainer fervently tried to yank away from him, if not making some sort of healing potion?

Porter could feel something tugging in the back of her mind, some faint idea, some vague inkling as to what the heck Ampere was trying to achieve. As she trudged towards his room to have a conversation in sign language with him, she crossed her fingers, making a long, silent prayer that she was right, lest Ampere be dead meat.

Titus glanced around him. Light flooded into his eyes and he found himself unable to see much. A couple of blurry, squiggly figures entered his line of sight, but he couldn't quite figure out what they were. Prey? The Cornucopia? Features of the arena? He couldn't tell. As the pedestal continued to rise into the arena, Titus was hit with a sharp, icy bite, clawing and gnawing horrendously upon his skin. A pity, really, considering how much effort the stylists had put into dolling him up for the cameras. Cold weather was surely going to ruin his now delicate skin.

Not like Titus cared, anyway. As his vision cleared and the bright light dimmed, he managed to just barely make out the other tributes through the numbingly strong gush of a blizzard. Holding a hand to shield his eyes from the chill, he examined them carefully. The smug boy from Seven. The overly flirtatious girl from Nine. The headstrong Career boy from Two. The rash hacker girl from Three. The arrogant thief boy from Twelve. He studied their determined looks, and for the first time since he could remember, not a single tribute appeared scared at first glance. Not even Ampere, for that matter, which Titus found odd. Then again, Porter probably drilled something into him, and besides, he was still a weakling, nothing to worry about.

The countdown was coming to a close. Titus licked his lips in anticipation. Rubbing his hands, covered by thick, red mittens, together, he snickered as he thought of who would be his first victim. He'd hoped it could be Ampere, but he was all the way on the other side of the Cornucopia and poised to make a quick dash away from the danger zone. A pity, really, but the feast of blood had to continue with others for now.

Ten seconds.

A cold blister of wind blew in from the snow-capped peaks, making several of the tributes shiver a little, damaging their concentration, but not Titus. District Six was notoriously cold, this blizzard bothered him minimally.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

The gong rang, and Titus sprinted forward. Grabbing a large bag and a machete, he whirled around and came face-to-face with the boy from Seven, wielding a pair of sais, a wide smirk on his face. Titus didn't even hesitate. He lunged, then sidestepped, catching the boy off-guard, and then jammed his foot into the boy's side, causing him to double over. Then Titus raised his machete, but instead of aiming for the boy's head or chest, he aimed it at his legs, slicing them both off as blood squirted into the air. Titus couldn't even hear the boy's frantic, manic screams over the voices inside his head. Oh, the blood, the sweet, juicy flesh. Titus grinned as he proceeded to chop up the boy, limb-by-limb, before stuffing them into his bag and racing off, a cackle echoing through the frozen air as he dashed through the tundra.

Oh, he was going to have a feast soon.

Titus prowled about, trying to make his footsteps as soundless as possible. His eyes darted about anxiously, well-aware that anyone- or anything- could be hiding someplace, somewhere, lurking beneath the shadows, waiting to pounce upon him and rip him apart. He paused for a second and squatted in order to pull out a bottle of water, stained with blood, and take a nice, long sip of the refreshing liquid. In such a dry environment, the water felt like a relieving potion. Re-energised, Titus powered forward. He pulled the hood of his parka over his head, frowning. Where could the other tributes possibly be? It was the fourth day, and other than the five who had perished in the Bloodbath, there had only been one death on the second day. Plus, he could not see any other tributes around, nor had he encountered even the foggiest sign of them, which was a real cause for concern.

"Come on, come out, come out, wherever you are," he muttered underneath his breath, his feet sloshing through fluffy white piles of snows. Just then, he heard a faint thud, emerging from not too far away, to Titus's left. Instantly, his ears perked up, the tastebuds in his mouth tingling in anticipation. He turned on his heels, and with quick, stealthy footsteps, surged forward through the frozen wasteland, ducking behind blocks of ice and large boulders to avoid detection. After a while, he heard the sound again, much louder, much closer. It was coming from right around a huge chunk of ice floating about in a small pond. Titus's eyes lit up with excitement. This was it. All he had to do was...

"You have got to be kidding me," he seethed. A herd of moose. That was it. A damn herd of moose. Titus let slip a rather choice selection of cursed words, not caring for even a moment that the Capitol would likely be pissed with his attitude in a 'family-friendly' programme. It was as if the Gamemakers were making a mockery of him, sending him running only to stumble upon some useless moose? It made Titus enraged to the core.

And then he heard snickering. Titus's head swivelled, and in the distance, he saw the pirate pair from Four, battered, unarmed, but looking as cocky and snooty as ever. They were both strong volunteers who had tried to intimidate and hurl insults at Titus during training, before sabotaging his meal, leaving him with a nasty diarrhoea. And the stuff they'd said during their interviews, the stuff they'd bragged about doing, well, they were far from family-friendly. Sure, he was a cannibal, but back home in Six he only feasted upon those who were, in his eyes, wicked or unnecessary (if he attacked someone benevolent, the investigations would begin and he'd get caught and hanged), while these two commandeered a fleet that attacked at random.

Titus didn't take a keen liking to that at all.

And so, he whipped out his machete, and charged at them, a ravenous glare in his eyes.

Not ten minutes later, he grinned at the finished product. Both from Four were dead on the ground, having been skinned alive then choked with their own severed toes. Their limbs had been sliced off, their hair stuffed up their nostrils, a gruesome sight, yes, but Titus marvelled at his work of art. A sadistic glint twinkled in his eye as he stuffed the severed limbs into his bloody bag, his stomach growling with adrenaline and hunger.

It was time to eat.

Zlato Montgomery couldn't believe what he'd just seen. The tuft of black hair, the hunched figure sitting gingerly on a rock, that should have been Ampere Chang, one of the five remaining tributes currently alive.

At least, that was what he and his sister Katya had thought.

But they had instead fallen victim to a deathly trap, one set up by a cunningly despicable mind. Katya had only managed to get within seven feet of Ampere before the boy whirled around, and all hell broke loose.

It wasn't Ampere.

"Titus!" was all Zlato could remember screaming before a flaming ball of physical torment struck him like a bowling ball, and his vision turned pitch black. Zlato could feel his emotions numbing, his body falling, ever so rapidly, into a deep, dark pitch-black pit. Yet even as he fell into a deep slumber, his mind raced with a singular thought, echoing deep within the caverns of his brain, a faint, distant growl that begged for attention.

Katya.

When he'd woken up, the first thing he noticed was the trail of dried blood leading away from the rock where Titus had sat upon. Titus's black wag and fake District Five parka lay strewn on the branches of a deceased tree to his right, blanketed with thick layers of fresh snow. Thick, bloody slash marks had been carved into its bark, an indication of a big fight that had undoubtedly taken place.

And then the pain hit him.

Zlato let out a guttural scream when he stared down at his left arm, or at least, where it had once been. Because all that was left now was a stump, drenched in his own blood. A cannon boomed in the distance, and Zlato instantly forced himself to stand up, ignoring the heavy wrecking balls of pain that surged through his shoulders. Danger possibly lurked nearby, and he wasn't about to risk it all by being a sitting duck. Gritting his teeth to avoid screaming again, he hauled his sore legs forward, willing himself to attempt to look for shelter as dark clouds loomed overhead, signalling the brewing of a storm. Perhaps he could even find Katya, who had hopefully won her battle against Titus.

Or maybe Titus had already killed her, in the same gruesome manner as he had done with the girl from Two-

"Stop it," he scolded himself. "She's alive and well, that cannon was some poor tribute's or Titus's, not Katya's." And yet, a flickering bit of doubt lingered over his heavy heart, but he refused to acknowledge it.

As Zlato trudged on, his shoulders began to feel heavier and heavier, the pain constantly throbbing and aching to no conceivable end. He needed help quickly, but as he tilted his head towards the sky, to his dismay, no sponsor gifts seemed to be flying in anytime soon.

Great, just great, he thought to himself, grunting with frustration. The decision to volunteer was quickly turning out to be a regretful one. He thought about all the things he could, and probably should be doing right now, back in his comfy estate in District One. Oh gosh, he really did miss home, and the smell of fresh roses and carnations in his garden, the warm aroma of freshly-baked bread, the long, fun fishing trips with Katya...

Katya.

With every step he took, Zlato could feel her name echoing louder and louder in the caverns of his head, as though a realisation was soon to be upon him about her fate. How long had it been since her fight with Titus? Ten minutes? A couple of hours? A few days, maybe even? Zlato couldn't say for sure, nor could he afford to think about it for the moment, because out of nowhere, Ampere Chang, this time the real version of the boy from Five, appeared in front of him, a concerned look on his face, his arms crossed, his posture straight and healthy as ever.

Zlato bit back a curse. He wanted Ampere dead, for being the person Titus had impersonated, for even existing in the first place and standing in his way of victory.

But no matter how much he hated to admit it, Zlato needed the help of Ampere in order to survive.

"Please," he gasped. "H-help me, and I'll h-help you fight Titus." It was a desperate plea, and Zlato didn't actually intend on helping Ampere out. No, he planned on backstabbing him the second he got the chance. Ampere, though, possessed something, an asset that Zlato knew would mean the difference between life and death for him.

His medical skills.

Zlato had taken note of the boy crouched in front of several bottles of mixed liquid and crushed herbs over at the medicine station during Training, his face scrunched in deep concentration, oblivious to the numerous sneers and snickers being flung in his direction. That boy, Ampere, could figure out a way to save his life right at that moment. He held the keys to his victory, right there and then in those bottles of his attached to his belt.

All he had to do was negotiate his way to them, then dispose of their owner and get the hell out of this place.

Zlato watched as Ampere's eyes widened in fear. His eyes darted all over the place, probably scanning for weapons, but Zlato didn't have any. It seemed that Titus had snatched his broadsword away while he was unconscious.

The slimy rat.

Ampere took a nervous step back, visibly trembling from fear, or the cold, or more likely, both. Zlato took that as a sign to up the game a little. "I may not have my arm, but if someone sponsors me medicine, well, let's just say, I'm definitely still stronger than you. Even if you do manage to somehow best me in a fight, Titus will literally gobble you up for breakfast. So..." Zlato raised his chin. "What's it gonna be, huh? You gonna help me out or not?"

There was a faint spark in Ampere's eye, one that, in normal circumstances where he wasn't in extreme pain and was more alert with Katya beside him, Zlato would flag out as suspicious, but this time, he figured it was just a byproduct of the snowy sunlight shining upon them. He simply watched as Ampere nodded briskly, taking small, hurried steps towards him. He nearly tripped over his own feet at one point, something Zlato tried his best not to roll his eyes at. Was this really his best choice of ally right now?

He has medical skills, he reminded himself firmly. Just put up with him for one night.

Ampere stood at attention right in front of Zlato, fidgeting nonstop and always looking around with anxiety scribbled all over his dark eyes. Zlato sat down upon a snow-capped boulder and gestured for him to come over. He did so, and then Zlato pointed to his arm. "Fix it up, he ordered."

Ampere clasped his parka, playing with it nervously. "Uhm, what do you mean? I-I can't regrow it..."

"Just make sure I don't bleed to death, you dolt!" Zlato barked, already feeling a little light-headed from the loss of blood. "And then bandage it, give me painkillers, I don't know, do something now before I snap your neck!" He knew he was on borrowed time, having not yet bled to his grisly fate and being able to walk to Ampere in the first place. He just wanted Ampere to hurry up!

Ampere once again nodded briskly and began fiddling with his bottles, each without a label (how on earth did he tell them apart?) and sporting different colours. Ampere glanced back and forth between his bottles and Zlato's arm, murmuring something about painkillers and advanced medications under his breath as he checked all of his bottles one by one. Finally, he settled on one that contained a bright red liquid.

Bright red.

With a heavy pang in his heart, Zlato realised that this had been Katya's favourite colour. But there was no time to mope around, he had to survive.

For Katya.

"Don't take that yet," Ampere warned. "Put this on your arm first."

He fished out what looked to be a tube of sticky green paste and handed it to Zlato, who instantly unscrewed it and rubbed large quantities of it on his stump of an arm. Instantly, he felt a soothing, warm sensation that made him relax a little. The pain faded away soon after, little by little, although it still stang a little. "That feels better," he uttered.

Ampere nodded, pulling out a bottle of cyan liquid. "Take a few drops of these two. To stop the bleeding for good and make sure the pain goes away completely," he instructed. Zlato did as he was told, eager to get this over and done with so he could backstab Ampere and get back to his route to victory. Grabbing the two bottles, he proceeded to chug more than 'a few drops' down his throat. "Don't- ah," Ampere began, but clearly thought the better of it and simply watched Zlato with a curious twinkle in his eye.

Again, another red flag Zlato, in his normal, sane state, would have instantly flagged out.

He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and let out a soft burp. Now that his family wasn't here in the arena with him, good manners simply meant nothing to him. "Okay, now let's go find Titus. Do you have any weapons-"

Suddenly, he felt a tight, sizzling pain in his gut, even greater than the one he'd felt when he realised his left arm was gone. He doubled over, watching in horror as blood began to ooze out once more from his stump of an arm, the pain in that area returning like an old enemy that had been gone for a grand total of one minute, sixteen seconds. He doubled over, trying to groan in pain but he couldn't even do that, as purple liquid frothed at his mouth.

AMPERE CHANG!

That sick little bastard had poisoned him! Zlato tried to raise his right hand in defiance and anger, but it felt numb. When he looked down at it, he realised that dark purple blotches had begun to form on it, quickly engulfing all of his fingers, his palm, his wrist, his elbow, his biceps and triceps, his shoulder...

He began to twitch horrendously, the pain too great to even think about anything other than his own inevitable demise. As his head jerked violently to the side, he caught a final glimpse of Ampere, who merely stood there, not an ounce of the fear he'd shown less than five minutes ago on his face, arms crossed, sighing as he observed Zlato like a failed experiment.

Not long after, Zlato finally slipped into oblivion, his ears soon to once again hear Katya's chiding by his side.

Well, that was at least one positive that awaited him.

Titus knew he wasn't particularly popular with the Capitol right at that moment. But hey, many of the Victors hadn't exactly drawn great remarks from the higher-ups but they'd still beat the odds to win.

Which was exactly what Titus planned on doing.

He'd fended off the pack of wolf mutts that had come his way and had managed to escape the patch of toxic snowstorm the Gamemakers had condemned him to by hiding in a cave.

Two more to go, then he could relax in the Victors Village, free from this hellhole of an arena and the hunger and poverty of a typical Six citizen.

Titus was surprised by how easy is final two opponents would be. The boys from Five and Eleven. Ampere and Jack. Both of them were shorter, younger and most certainly weaker than he was, with scores of three and five respectively.

He had this win in the bag.

Speaking of bags, he pulled out a severed finger, one that had belonged to the girl from One, and began gobbling upon it nonchalantly. He had to eat to survive the cold storms, after all. She tasted a bit odd, perhaps that was due to the influx of cosmetics she and her brother probably diffused upon themselves ever since they could toddle about. He especially revelled in the thought that somewhere, the Capitol were watching him in utter disgust at his cannibalistic actions, belching over the thought of eating a fellow human.

Eh, not his fault people were more appetising than, what was it they'd served him for dinner during Training? Beef stew? Yeah, that. Ugh, that stuff would've tasted so much better with pepper and human flesh! He sat on by a tree, setting his supplies down beside him as he thought about life as a Victor. Endless money, endless influence, it would be a far cry from his old life as a starving orphan in the streets of Six, working part-time in a mechanical shop in a particularly seedy part of the slums. If he were being honest, maybe being a Victor would be a chance for him to break his cannibalistic habits. The Capitol would make sure of this, he was certain. And maybe that was a good thing, too. Deep down, in a far corner of his heart that never quite saw the light of day, he knew that cannibalism was wrong. He knew that killing was wrong. But he still did it.

Addiction really did stang worse than a hornet.

He whistled as he got up to use the bathroom, or the arena equivalent of it, anyway. The cameras would turn away (at least, he hoped) and he could pee in peace, all the way contemplating his life as a Victor.

As he trudged through the snow, something made him trip and fall over with a loud grunt. As his body came crashing down against the ground, something else, this time something sharp, grazed at his knee, inflicting a searing pain that made Titus wince. It wasn't exactly unbearable, but pain was pain, and it was still quite the inconvenience. Struggling to his feet, Titus murmured a rather foul word as the pain began to ebb in his knee as thick red blood began to pool at the wound. He could walk, although he might have to settle with limping for a while. "Ugh, stupid, what even was that?" he grumbled, glancing around him to find a rock about the size of his fist and the broken head of a spear on the ground. The spearhead was wrapped with a shredded bit of his trousers and stained with a few drops of blood. His blood. Sighing as he kicked a pile of snow at the bothersome obstacles in frustration, he trudged back to his supplies. Sadly, he didn't have a bandage with him, but washing the wound with a bit of water should prevent infection.

Once he arrived back at the tree where his supplies lay, he felt his throat burn a little. With a smack of his forehead, Titus realised that, caught up in the process of butchering the girl from One and evading the toxic snowstorm, he'd forgotten to take a sip of water. "How silly of me," he murmured, uncapping the now half-empty opaque bottle that he'd snagged from the pair from One. Just as he raised the bottle to his lips, however, he could've sworn he heard a rustle of leaves from behind him. Swivelling his head in panic, he quickly rose to his feet, giving his surroundings a thorough look. But there was no one there, nothing except for a frozen bush and a couple of other trees, neither of which seemed like ideal places for tributes to hide. Yet, he had heard something! Walking over to the bushes, which were a good twenty paces away, he began to shake them mercilessly, unleashing forth a pile of dead leaves that fell into the snow, becoming quickly entombed in their permanent white prison. But there was no one there. He shrugged. This arena was really driving him nuts, putting him through a degree of paranoia he had never experienced before. Just the other day, he'd thought he'd seen a tribute, only to realise that it had merely been a pile of deadwood that didn't even look like a human being.

Oh, how he longed to get out of here.

Returning to his uncapped bottle, he snatched it up and took a hearty gulp of water, the fresh, clear liquid dribbling down his throat. Sighing contentedly, he sat back down, content to rest for just a short while. He was starting to feel quite tired, and if he were being honest, perhaps a little drowsy. The Hunger Games tended to have that effect on tributes, especially those who'd been moving around a lot like Titus.

His head began to feel heavier and heavier, as if he'd ingested a tractor. Damn, was he really this tired? Titus knew he couldn't afford to sleep out in the open like this, he had to find a cave or a hidden hole, and then ensure it wasn't a disguised mutt den. Many a tribute had in the past dozed off in a sheltered location, never to wake up again once the mutts had come out to play. Titus was well aware of this and strived to avoid making the same mistake.

But he was so tired.

In a desperate bid to stave off the imminent tsunami of drowsiness, he jammed his fingernails into his skin, drawing a faint bit of blood, but it was no use. He could feel his senses shutting down, his brain chugging towards sleep mode, his eyes fluttering to a close. From the corner of his bleary eyes, he spotted a dark figure in yellow dashing across the woods, grabbing a pile of green stuff and slamming it against his knee wound. Titus could, however, do nothing but whimper as the effects of the heavy sleeping drug Ampere had spiked his drink with while he wasn't looking began to seep into his systems, sending him into the deepest, numbest slumber he'd ever had, all while infection began to tick against his wound, Ampere's sticky, green substance acting as a swift catalyst for it.

But the kill never went to Ampere.

The Gamemakers, perhaps trying to show off their power, perhaps trying to prove a point, perhaps just plain bored, sent an avalanche crashing towards a sleeping Titus, and before everyone could figure out what on earth had just happened, the cannibal from Six was dead, long gone, shipped back to the Capitol in a body bag.

The finale had begun.

Jack balled his fists, faltering nerves coursing through his veins as he paced around the frozen landscape, his injured left leg sloshing through the thick patches of snow. He was so close, so very close to winning these stupid Games. After twelve horrific days, he could finally go home. Not that many people would be waiting eagerly for him, though, he knew the people of Eleven well enough to know that they'd probably jeer at him throughout his entire 'triumphant' return. After all, why would anyone welcome a serial scammer home? It had all been in the name of keeping his family alive after his mother was hanged due to suspected rebellion, really. It hadn't felt good at all, but he'd done what anyone in his position would've done to stop his little brothers from starving to death. Sure, he'd basically cheated numerous families and even Peacekeepers of large sums of money, in exchange for fraud products, fake drugs and rotten foodstuffs, but the money had gone into giving little Briar the medication he'd needed to stay alive.

A shame it had gotten him a ticket to the arena.

But now, he could go home. Home, where his three brothers, though spiteful of him for his criminal acts, could finally receive good food, clothing and education, without ever having to worry about living a day of hunger or poverty anymore. It would take some time of explaining, but he hoped one day they'd understand why he'd done all his scam work in the first place. Jack took a deep breath. One final fight. He'd already taken down the girl from Ten, by comparison, Ampere shouldn't be that hard of an opponent, right?

Yet, Jack wasn't that stupid to completely underestimate the boy from Five either. He knew that Ampere was a medical expert to some extent, which was why he resolved to try as hard as he could to hide his leg injury, lest Ampere take notice and attempt to use it to his advantage. Then he was absolutely screwed.

"You can do this, Jack," he murmured to himself. "Everyone will hate you, but that doesn't matter when you're rich and protected."

Suddenly, he heard a rustle in the distance. Inhaling sharply, Jack pivoted on his good foot, coming face-to-face with none other than Ampere himself, standing about a few dozen metres away, unarmed, just like him. Jack had actually caught a glimpse of Ampere on day nine of the Games, sporting a belt with several bottles attached to it. Now, all of those were gone, probably discarded to prevent Jack from snatching them and using them to his advantage, or to get rid of anything that might hinder him in a final fight. Or perhaps he was just cocky, Ampere wasn't exactly the easiest tribute to read. Unlike Jack, Ampere looked sharp and in the pink of health. There was a bandage around his right foot, but he was moving way more effortlessly than Jack. Either he was really good at sucking the pain in, or he'd somehow nursed himself back to health quickly, because Jack hadn't seen any bandages during their last run-in. While Jack's face probably looked hardened and weary, slowly being driven to sickness after days of eating suspicious-looking food items and being stuck in an environment he'd never had to experience before, Ampere looked as though he'd spent the last twelve days lounging in a Capitol hotel, sporting the healthiest, sharpest look possible.

Damn, this kid's good.

Still, he was a healer, not a fighter. And considering he was unarmed, well, the odds really were far from his favour.

"Hey, Five!" Jack shouted, taking a bold step forward and trying his best to hide the pain in his leg. "Ready to go down?"

Ampere didn't respond. His eyes twitched slightly, a look of fear, genuine fear, this time, blazing across his eyes. A steady smile tugged at Jack's lips. This was a brilliant sign. With every nervous twitch Ampere made, Jack's odds went up and up. He could well be on the next hovercraft home, alive.

Then, Ampere's eyes darted to something on Jack, what exactly, Jack couldn't tell. He straightened his parka, and seemed to be formulating a plan in his head. Jack didn't plan on letting him do that. But just as he took a single step forward, Ampere charged straight at him, bolting through the snow as though he had hot coals in his shoes. Jack braced himself for the attack, not wanting to risk injuring himself further before Ampere had even reached him. With outstretched fists, Jack narrowed his eyes in a silent challenge to Ampere's move.

Ampere's next move, however, caught Jack and the entirety of Panem off-guard. Instead of taking him head-on, Ampere seemed to trip over his own feet, causing Jack to momentarily relax and raise his eyebrows in amusement at this absolute clown of a tribute. Oh, Jack's odds were definitely skyrocketing now!

But Ampere hadn't tripped.

He'd dived straight at Jack's wounded leg, quickly whipping out a silver object in a matter of milliseconds, before plunging it right into his flesh.

He must've hit an important artery or a bit of bone marrow or something (Jack didn't exactly pay attention in Biology classes), because the pain simply crushed every damn thing inside of him.

"AAAAAARGHHHHH!"

No, no, no, no, no... This couldn't be happening, no, he had everything under control, hadn't he? Jack screamed and screamed, his leg ablaze in searing, white-hot pain, pain that transcended anything he'd ever felt before in his life. His leg, oh, how it hurt! Ampere had tackled him to the ground as Jack tried his best to thrash him off, but Ampere managed to dodge his frantic blows as he held up what Jack thought was a shiny, silver scalpel, one he repeatedly plunged into Jack's injured leg, sending ruptures of pain jolting through his entire body.

No...

As Jack's energy began to fade, the pain quickly taking over him, his vision beginning to blur, it was evident that Ampere had taken notice of his weakened state. He'd sat up and had once again raised his scalpel.

"Please..." was all Jack could mutter before Ampere began to stab him violently, hitting him in all of his vital organs, veins and arteries in an attempt to take him out as quick as possible.

But with a scalpel, things tended to get messy and death wasn't as quick as hoped, especially not since Jack reflexively thrashed about, unintentionally making the process even more painful than need be, as he caused Ampere's hits to often miss, dragging the final battle out for five long minutes that never quite seemed to end.

Torture, that was exactly what it was. Horrible, horrendous, horrific torture.

Ampere sat on the train ride home, all alone on the roof of the moving vehicle, all alone save for the company of the twinkling stars above, his only protection amidst the world of sorrows. Getting out of the arena hadn't been too hard, especially when his background was factored in. His mother had been close to him, often teaching him useful medical skills as well as more than a few fun facts about the human body, medicine and psychology. She was District Five's most skilled medical researcher, who'd had the misfortune to be married to a greedy, criminal doctor, Ampere's father, who could rot in hell for all Ampere cared.

After all, it was his crimes that sentenced Ampere to a lifetime's worth of pain and trauma in the arena.

His mother essentially cared for him all by herself, forming a close bond between the pair. She often brought him to the hospitals and research centres she worked in to act as her personal assistant, allowing him to gain valuable knowledge regarding poisons, drugs and cures, all of which served him greatly in reducing the health of other tributes like the girls from Nine and Four, actually killing tributes as in the case of the boy from One, and keeping him in a constant state of peak health. He'd also learnt everything there was to know about the human body, which was how he'd managed to spot Jack's injury from the get-go, and how he knew which spots to target to deal the most damage. While helping the nurses at one hospital in particular, he'd also met a friendly neurologist who'd shown him into the mental ward, allowing him to interact with some of the more stable patients and gain valuable insight into the realm of psychology, again another very useful skill that ultimately saved him in the arena.

But getting out of the arena, for Ampere, hadn't been the problem.

It was the aftermath of it all that really hurt the most.

Telling those kids in the mental ward 'it's going to get better soon' had been simple enough, but telling himself that? After murdering children? Oh, it was nowhere quite nearly as easy as it seemed.

The faces of the dead still haunted Ampere, his kills replaying like a broken record in his mind for the foreseeable future. Porter, Switch and Shocker had tried to comfort him, but he hadn't wanted any of the honeyed words the other Victors had to offer for him. He knew they were just that, honeyed words to take that pain away from reality, a coating of sugar upon the harshness. But Ampere had been taught from a young age that he shouldn't paper over his cracks.

No, he was going to face them head-on.

He made a mental note to pay a visit to the home of his mother's best friend, Doctor Snyder, a renowned psychiatrist. She'd be able to fix it up, and the fact that her twin kids just happened to be his own friends was an added bonus.

Oh, and did Ampere mention he planned on joining the rebellion?

Katniss and Peeta held a moment of silence for the boy who'd survived the frozen tundra- and Titus- before moving on to the next Victor. As soon as Peeta flipped the page, Katniss began to scowl. "Oh, him," she murmured.

Peeta scratched his chin. "He wasn't nearly as bad as many of the other Careers."

"I know," Katniss conceded. "But still..."

The boy in question had arguably the grandest photo of all the Victors in the notebook, boasting a proud, handsome face smiling triumphantly into a sea of fanatic followers, clad in a rather grandiose set of armour and a spear in hand. His luscious blonde hair shone tremendously under a beam of sunlight, that seemed to have shone upon him like a heavenly spotlight. He looked every bit the gladiator celebrity the Capitol made him out to be, and judging by the crowd's delighted faces in the picture, he was living up to the title of 'Panem's Favourite Son', although that name probably should have an asterisk next to it that clarified, "The Capitol and District One's Favourite Son', because the other Districts probably wouldn't have been happy with the fact that their tributes had died in the arena, some of them at his hands.

"Augustus Braun-Montgomery."

VICTORS

District 1-Sapphire Huntington(4), Onyx Hibonite(9), Franc Montgomery(14), Crystal Montgomery(21), Sterling Jones(25), Luxe Carmichael(36), Geneva Cooper(37), Cartier Cooper(44), Valkyrie Montgomery(54), Gloss Irvine(63), Cashmere Irvine(64)

District 2-Ragnar Sveinsson(5), Reyna Boudicca(6), Draco Hadley(10), Scipio MacAllister(17), Freya Carson(22), Hercules Nichols(28), Julia Dawson(39), Brutus Gunn(42), Lyme Sveinsson(45), Evan Fortis(55), Enobaria Golding(61)

District 3-Nikola Johnson(13), Gadget Schroeder(24), Beetee Latier(40), Wiress Jansen(47)

District 4-Marina Bluebell(1), Mags Flanagan(11), Jolien Fisher(31), Timmy Fisher(32), Iris Fisher(33), Rafael Fisher(34), Coral Thiller(41), Poseidon Nakamura(58), Nemo Williams(62), Finnick Odair(65)

District 5-Shocker Crimson(8), Switch Kim(19), Flash Morrison(27), Porter Tripp(38), Marie Meredith(52), Ampere Chang(66)

District 6-Ford Hamilton(20), Kimi Bentley(51), Audi Lando(59)

District 7-Hassan Greenwood(2), Jill Wilson(15), Olive Sanchez(26), Birch Davison(35), Blight Gavin(53), James Silva(60)

District 8-Woof Casino(16), Calico Pepper(48), Cecelia Rheys(56)

District 9-Gwendolyn Whitfield(18), Laurel Flamsteel(29), Miller Thompson(49)

District 10-Ringo Alvarez(7), John Gatwick(23), Mare Trybull(43), Colt Dias(57)

District 11-Orchid Bloom(12), Seeder Crue(30), Chaff Mitchell(46)

District 12-Axel Millar(3), Haymitch Abernathy(50)

Victors that are underlined are deceased.