I knew it was too good to be true. No way I was just going to win the Hunger Games without having any blood on my hands. I steady the gun in my hand as I dodged the knife thrown at me from the dirty blonde.

Gun versus knife. It's painfully obvious who had the upper hand here. I watched her trumble for the last time just before her final screams silenced the birds.

Observer's POV:

Periodic clicks of the pen echoed through the room, as No.17 gets shot. Katniss, No.11 is doing better than I thought. The floating screen reflected upon my glasses as I noted down yet another thing about 11, "Can take life when her's is in danger."

I am an observer of the 74th Hunger Games. My job is arguably much better than the game makers. Just pick out tributes who would later be trained to control the Avox and the rebellions. Right now No.11,7,3,21, and 24 seem to be the top candidates.

Tilting my head to the right, I check on yet another dead tribute. The system takes care of it. I grabbed on the black chair behind me and I rolled it towards me. Then I ran a hand over my white coat as I straightened its fabric from behind before sitting on the chair. It's going to be a long day. Relaxing the muscles of my temple, I took another sip of the caffeine in hopes of staying awake.

Katniss POV:

Placing the gun back in its holster, I step forward to check if she's dead. Pressing the index and the middle finger up against her silent pulse confirms her passing. I stand up with her bag, dust it, and sling it over my right shoulder. Trying to not step on her spread arms, I set my foot carefully on the ground.

A strange electric hissing makes me snap my head back to where her body lay, as I place a hand on my gun, prepared. "Huh?" Her body is glitching into smaller static blue blocks, as the blocks start to disappear into the air with her. Now there burnt an 'x' where her body once was.

Well, that was clean? I turn around and continue on my route. Her bag periodically bounced with my steps. Is that how the players are 'cleaned out' from here? I ponder while walking, my grip tight on the bag strap.

My train of thoughts gets snapped shut as the pain shoots from my left leg. I squeeze my hand over my mouth to suffocate the scream that would be sure to get the hunter over to me. The one whoever set the bear trap.

Gwaning at the insides of my cheek, I look down to see my foot chomped at a disturbing angel by the metal jaw. Painted red at its teeth as it sits proud, cutting through my flesh.

My breath heaves as salty moisture keeps streaming down my cheeks, dripping onto the black cloth. Taking a shaky breath, I force the trembling hands to pry open the metal jaws. My vision is more blurry because of the stupid tears, my head feeling lighter and the constant ringing in my ears.

More of my blood soaks into the pants, and the ground below, as I finally feel the sharp edges pull out my flesh. Gritting my teeth, I pull at the opening of the bear trap, as I collect the remaining of my strength to pull out my chewed foot.

As soon as I placed the dangly foot down, I let go of the trap, flinching as they closed back up with a sharp 'clang'.

The pain is not much noticeable now. Leg numb, as I try to keep myself from fainting out of blood loss. The metallic scent floods my nostrils. I planned on checking my loot in a much safer place, but I have to see if she has anything useful.

Emptying her bag out on the ground, my eyes scan for anything that would stop the blood. At this rate, it wouldn't be long until I got jigsawed into the blue blocks floating in the air, just as she did.

The image of her distorted body blocks swipes clean from my mind as my hand feels the patterned knits of a cloth. Pulling it out, I see it's a shirt. Awesome. I grab my knife and swiftly cut out strips of the shirt. Then press the end of the cloth onto my calf as I wrap layers around the wounded part to stop the bleeding.

Hissing from the stinging of the cloth against the punctured muscle, I complete the layering. A lot of blood loss, but hopefully no amputated leg.

Staying here much longer would just mean an invitation to death. I tried to move, standing up is just as harmful. The bleeding might start again. With a heavy sigh, I decide on crawling onto the rocks near the stream.

Placing the round edge of the bottle to the chapped lips, I savour the test of the water. Then chew down on a couple of bread slices. Yes, they are still edible and not mouldy. Strange, but I won't complain.

After my little snack, I place both of my palms onto the ground, trying to get a grip on the earth as I pull my torso and injured leg. Sharp jolts and stings crawl up my spine from the leg as I continue crawling.