Author's Note
I do not own the Hunger Games.
And here we are at the end of this!
They've all killed people.
They've all got blood on their hands.
A day passes to give them time to rest, time for the audience to get pumped up.
They eat their remaining food and drink their remaining water and prepare their weapons.
They're woken early the next morning by those terrible shambling mutts. They're not out to kill, for the audience doesn't want that, but they force them onwards, driving them back together.
The boy from Two and the girl from Ten are the first to meet and he rushes at her with his sword raised. She springs away from him, but she's armed with knives and a mace, and he's bigger than her.
Her saving grace comes, surprisingly, in the form of the boy from Four, who takes him down with his trident and a yell, blood spraying across the dark ground. She screams as his body falls at her feet and dives to seize his sword.
The boy from Four raises his hands, I don't want to hurt you – they edit that out – and she rushes him, screaming, desperate.
He doesn't want to kill her, but he doesn't want to die.
Her body falls and her cannon rings.