Chapter 36:

Night Four

Demarcus Pollock, 18, District Four

Demarcus groans as he slowly comes to, putting a hand up to his throbbing head and gently touching it. He gasps at the pain and quickly moves his hand away, but soon slowly reaches back towards the injury and gently feels it, confused by the bandages there.

"What…happened?" Demarcus asks slowly as he pushes himself upright, needing to pause as his head spins and a ringing starts in his ears. He puts his hand to his forehead at the pounding headache that started from him moving, needing to wait a few seconds for things to slow down. "Guys?"

Demarcus can feel his heart start beating faster as he turns around, growing more desperate with each passing second of silence. "Hello? Guys?" Demarcus asks louder as he tries to control his increasing breathing and panic building. "Anyone there?"

Demarcus holds his breath as he waits in silence…waiting for any sound that might mean that he isn't alone in the arena without his sight… But there's nothing. Just a slight breeze blowing through the arena. No crackling fire. No breathing of his allies or snoring as one of them tries to sleep. No quiet conversation…

There's nothing.

His eyes start to water in fear at being alone in the arena and there's no stopping the growing panic in his head. Why would they just leave him all alone? What did he do wrong to them? Was he too annoying? Too dependent on them that they got tired of dealing with him being blind?

Demarcus shakes his head as he tries to recall what happened, but his brain is muddled. There was the fight with Bell and Odyssey…someone crying…yet he can't remember who even won now. He can't remember what led to him passed out on the ground with a head injury – which must be the cause of the gap in his memory. He doesn't even know who is still alive of his allies – no, his former allies… Anastacia, Major, Odyssey, Bell, Delta… They just left him. He doesn't understand how Major and Bell could just leave him after all they had done helping him…

But they didn't just leave him. Demarcus feels at the bandage on his head once more. They…they helped patch him up. But why? Why bother doing that if they were just going to leave him? They should have just left him there if they really wanted to leave him.

He knew this moment would happen eventually…but he had been hoping that someone would want to stick with him. Not even Delta…? Demarcus had been under the impression that they would have a pact to make it to the end. That's what Iona had planned…

But Delta has made it clear what she thinks of him. Of course she thinks he's not worth sticking with… Why would anyone want to stay with him? He's just an anxious paranoid mess who is blind and barely wanted to kill… Maybe District Four is better off with Delta as their shot at winning.

Except…not all of District Four. His family…they won't be better off with Delta winning. They'll continue to struggle with their mental health, unable to ever get the treatment they so badly need because they can't afford it with his parents constantly moving between jobs… They need him to win…

As scared as he is to face the arena on his own and with no sight…Demarcus knows he has to do it. No one else is going to help out his family if he doesn't do what is necessary and win for them. Yet it's so hard to work up the courage to go out and do that when his brain is screaming at him that he can't do it.

Demarcus takes a deep breath, trying to bring himself down and out of a panic attack. "They chose you to be the volunteer out of dozens of good options," Demarcus starts telling himself quietly. "They chose you. Demarcus Pollock."

But why would they make such a stupid choice and pick him?

Demarcus shakes his head as he fights back tears. "I am good enough," he whispers to himself, trying so desperately to believe that. But it's so hard when he knows the others all left him alone. "The split would have happened eventually. You couldn't stick with them forever…"

But couldn't Delta have stayed with him? Out of District unity?

But Delta wouldn't be able to win with him… Only one of them is going to get out of this arena alive… And Demarcus needs that person to be him. Not Delta. Not any of his other allies. Not any of the other tributes still out there…however many that is. Ten? Whoever lost in the fight would bring them to ten, right? Assuming there were no other deaths while he was out…

Demarcus supposes he won't ever get that information now that he's alone. He can only count on himself…which is a terrifying thought without his sight. "But you trained without your sight," Demarcus tells himself as he starts searching around him for water, almost positive he had brought a bottle over with him. "You can do -" He cuts off when his hand brushes against a bag and he initially flinches away in surprise, before slowly reaching back up to better identify it. The bag is heavy, surprising him further and a spear rolls off of it as he moves it to him.

His hand shakes as he searches inside, feeling all sorts of supplies that will help him survive on his own. "I…what?" He asks himself, confused on why this is here. He doubts anyone sponsored this to him, he hasn't done anything to earn their support… So did they leave it for him?

But why would they do that when leaving him?

Someone patched up his injury and left supplies for him… Someone was still looking out for him and wants to see him survive on his own. Demarcus' eyes begin to water at this, not feeling like he deserves someone doing that and unsure who it would have been. But a weird sense of obligation to do something starts slowly building in him, fighting against the anxiety threatening to cripple him – now mixed in with a bit of anxiety about disappointing whoever did this for him.

Demarcus doesn't know what to do now…except knowing that he has to do something. Maybe he could find his allies and they would take him back…or they might attack him. The last thing he wants to do right now is fight anyone, especially his former allies, even though he knows it's going to happen eventually if he wants to win for his family. He'll have to kill again eventually, but he'll put that off as long as possible. But one thing he knows is that he can't just keep sitting here out in the open where anyone could see him and he can't see them. He hates big open spaces, even before losing his sight…which really leaves only one place to go.

Down where all the other tributes are.

Demarcus puts the bag over his shoulder gently before picking up the spear. He feels around it to find the sharp tip and then used the blunt end to help pull himself up slowly as everything spins and he starts worrying that he might empty out whatever is in his stomach. He takes a few deep breaths through his mouth, waiting for the dizziness and nausea to pass him, all while starting to put together what all the symptoms mean from training. He most likely has a concussion…which is going to complicate things further. But people have won with worse injuries before. Tributes with no training at all have won before.

But no blind tributes have won.

Yet. No blind tributes have won yet… He could change that…

Demarcus starts tapping the end of his spear in front of him, slowly guiding himself out of the stands where he was passed out. He has to try and change that… His family is counting on him. So he must try and win.

Demarcus reaches the stairs and hesitates for a moment, knowing that going down below will increase his chances of running into other tributes. But it must happen if he's going to get out of here… So he starts up the steps, repeating over and over to himself, "I am enough."

And yet as he starts down the stairs to the lower level…he really doesn't feel like he's enough to actually win…

Day Five

Amelia Fensa, 18, District Three

With yesterday bringing them down to only nine left already…Amelia knows it's time for her to do something. She can't just keep sitting around and waiting for the careers to pick themselves off and the others and coast by to the victory. No one will want to see a victor that doesn't do anything, especially not for a Quarter Quell…

Which means she has to do something that is inevitable, but something she wishes she could put off.

She has no idea what time it is as she looks over at Fox sleeping against the wall, gently snoring a bit. The only thing she has to tell time down here is the anthem, and that was at least a few hours ago, leaving her plenty of time to think about her next step. Fox will be waking up soon…to no one there.

Amelia wishes there was some other way for this, but she knows she'll never leave him if he's awake and able to plead with her to stay. She'll agree because how can she possibly turn down the sweet young father? But she has to do this. She has to do something in the Games before the Gamemakers force her to and she will not die in one of their traps or force her to make her first kill against Fox tomorrow in the next Trial by Combat.

Leaving him while he's asleep is really the only option…one that she hates. But her hand has been forced. The pressure is on now that they're nearly at the final eight. Those that haven't done anything or those who the audience doesn't like…they're going to start getting taken out one by one, and Amelia refuses to be part of that.

"I'm sorry," Amelia whispers to Fox as she stares down at her sleeping ally, hoping he'll forgive her for this, hoping he'll understand that she is just trying to do what's necessary for her to get out of here alive. And no part of her could ever succeed in killing Fox. It's…best for both of them that they split now and someone else finds him… "Best of luck, Fox."

Amelia picks up her bag of food, a similar pile of safe food next to Fox. It's…the least she can do since she's leaving him alone. She's also leaving behind half of the rest of their meager supplies, even if she has every right to take them. But not the flashlight. That she's taking for herself, even if it means leaving him with nothing to defend himself…

Amelia takes a deep breath as she holds onto the heavy metal flashlight and stares at the door for a few seconds, debating every aspect of this decision. Some would expect her to kill Fox now while he's unaware while others would hate her for it. And then there's some that would want her to stay. But the only opinion that matters is that of the Head Gamemaker…

She can only hope she's making the right choice in his eyes.

Amelia takes one last glance over her shoulder at Fox sleeping, before putting her shoulders back stubbornly and heading out the door. She shuts it behind her gently, not wanting to alert Fox to her leaving already, and then…then she makes her way back into the arena. But this time…it's different. There's still terror inside her but it's being held back by her stubbornness. The tributes remaining are different now too. With two career deaths, Amelia can only hope for the best option that they have split up and increase her odds.

Odds. She shakes her head as she heads down the hallway, thinking about her odds and how Argos had insisted that her odds were good enough to win. Does he still think that about her? Or was he just saying those things to sleep with her and he's already moved on to some other girl? And does it even really matter what he's doing right now when he's safe and she's in the arena?

No…but being alone again, she can't help her thoughts from going to him and how nice his company had been, making her feel alive once more. Hopefully she can stay alive long enough to keep feeling that way towards him. How she wound up with the son of a victor not even from either of the Districts she might call home…she'll never understand how that-

Amelia stops suddenly as a stumbling figure comes into view and fear freezes her in place, gripping her flashlight with both hands in front of her and ready to defend herself. "Stay back!" Amelia calls out defensively, doing her best to keep her voice from showing any of the fear coursing through her as the figure takes a few steps closer to her. "I'm armed!"

Not…quite armed, but one can hope it works. The figure hesitates for a moment and Amelia uses the chance to flip on her flashlight for a moment in their direction, hoping the sudden light with blind them and give her a small advantage. But when she does, she realizes the error of that mistake very quickly.

"Shit," Amelia says as she shuts off the flashlight as Demarcus turns fully in her direction, not at all blinded by the light because he's already blind. He steps towards her, holding his spear defensively in front of her and Amelia covers her mouth with her hand to hold back any sound as she takes a few steps back. He doesn't quite follow her and Amelia takes another step, thinking she might be able to get away from him…

But if she keeps going back, she might lead him right to Fox. And…if there were any tribute for her to maybe find and be able to kill…it would be one of the blind ones.

Ah, shit. She kept saying she needed to do something. Well…here's something.

Amelia glances around the hallway, assessing all of her options as Demarcus keeps slowly stepping in her general direction. The hallway is wide enough that she can slip past him, as long as she stays quiet and then run away. Or…Amelia tightens her hands around her flashlight as she starts taking slow steps along the wall, getting closer to Demarcus.

She pauses after each step and takes each one slowly, knowing that one sound could bring him down on her and she does not like how sharp that spear is.

"Who's there?" Demarcus calls out, turning his head around to try and hear her. "Hello?"

Amelia doesn't answer him as she steps away from the wall, inching closer and closer to him. She raises her flashlight up above her head. Almost there…just a couple more steps…

Amelia cries out as she brings the flashlight down on his head, hearing a loud thump as she makes contact, and Demarcus lets out a noise of pain before falling to the ground. Amelia quickly snatches up his spear away from him before he has any chance to make a move for it and steps back, staring down at the career groaning in pain on the ground, before she quickly turns and runs down the hallway, clutching her flashlight and spear to her chest desperately.

She keeps running and running until she starts to get winded and she turns on her flashlight. She swings the beam of light around, trying to find any sort of sign of where she is in the lower level, but there's nothing to distinguish this bit of wall from where she just left. She just…has to take her chance and just pick a door to go in…

Well…she's had good odds so far with the doors on outer wall…why not try one again? Amelia hesitantly opens the door and as she steps in, she can't help a laugh. What are the odds of her ending up in the same room that her and Fox just recently left?

Amelia shakes her head as she shuts the door behind her and leans against it, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. She looks down at her hands, finding them shaking as they hold onto the flashlight and spear – she has an actual weapon now! And yet…she knows the cost for it.

"Come on, already," Amelia whispers as she stares blankly ahead into the room, waiting for the sound that both terrifies and excites her each time she hears it. She waits and waits, her body tense the whole time, just waiting to hear the cannon go off that signifies that she did something, finally.

But in the dark, she once more has no idea how much time is actually passing. Seconds? Minutes? Who knows? Until…

Boom.

Amelia lets out a breath of relief before her mind starts racing at just what this means. Holy shit…she killed a career. She did. Amelia took down a career! If she could kill a career…what's to stop her?

A laugh starts to bubble up in her, one she can't quite control as she slides down the wall to the floor. When was the last time she laughed like this? Probably that last night before the Games up on the rooftop… But before then, not in a year. How could the Games bring to her all this positive emotion? And an even stranger emotion is building in her, one that catches her off guard as she hasn't felt this since…well since the start of the Games last year.

Hope.

"I might actually do this, Aero," Amelia whispers as she reaches into her pocket to pull out the picture of the two of them. She rubs her thumb across the image, a smile forming on her face as more laughter slips out. "I'm winning for both of us."

Fete Bayard, 18, District Eight

Nine tributes. Nine fucking tributes left and Fete Bayard is somehow one of them. He's honestly as surprised as probably everyone back home is that he's still alive. How the hell did he live longer than two of the careers, one who had one of the highest scores? Well, everyone outscored him, yet he's outlived more than half of them and he doesn't know how. He's done nothing to prove he even wants to win. He sobbed and moped around for days after he lost his best friend. Does he even want to win…?

He's been trying so hard to still have motivation and hope…but what's the fucking point? What's the point in having hope about getting home when he'll be returning to no one? He has no family, no friends. He has cats. That's all he fucking has that gives a damn about him and they can't even communicate with him and give him any support.

It's not really a surprise that Astrid and Clark have given up on him too. No more gifts for him, no more support. Why did they even bother supporting him in the first place? They just wasted time and money trying to get him anything.

Fete wraps his arms around himself as he starts shivering, refusing to cry anymore and just have people keep pitying him. His own pity party is big enough. But damn it, he misses the warmth of being next to the forge. He slept so much better there in the warmth…what he really misses is the warmth of his cats cuddling by his side. His eyes drift over to the bathtubs on the other side of the room, contemplating them once more. He knows that they work…having a water source here was one of the only things keeping his pathetic weak body still going… But he has been a bit hesitant about having a bath on live television in front of the whole country. Just thinking about that has been enough to give him dysphoria he hasn't felt at this level in months since his surgery.

Another big shiver travels down his spine and Fete tries wrapping the thin blanket around him tighter. Warm water would feel so nice right now… But who says he has to bathe naked? Fuck it, he wants to be warm. He'll just keep his toga on and deal with drying it later…somehow. Go back to the forge? Just suffer being cold? Well he's already doing that last one.

Fuck it, Fete wants some damn warmth.

Fete slowly stretches out his cold and tense muscles, keeping the blanket around him as he stands up and has to grab onto the frame of the bed for a moment as the world spins a little. He knows he can't keep going much longer without food, but he just can't bring himself to care and go look for any. What's the point? If he's going to die, at least he can have some warmth and comfort. And stop smelling. Please, let him stop smelling so badly.

Fete takes slow steps over to the bathtub, his whole body protesting each step from the lack of movement. When he reaches the tub, he sits on the edge and plugs the drain before cranking on the hot water. Steam starts rising from the pouring water and Fete lets out a sigh as he kicks off his sandals before dipping his toes in the water. Fuck yeah.

After feeling that small bit of warmth, Fete quickly slips into the tub, feeling a little weird at first about having a toga on in the water, but as it keeps filling up and the water level passes him… Yeah, he should have done this a long time ago. Eventually he reaches over and turns off the water, leaving the room in silence as Fete slips further into the tub, barely keeping his head above water to maximize the warmth. It's a little too hot, which is just perfect for him.

"Finally I can sleep now," Fete mutters to himself as he gets comfortable and shuts his eyes. He lets out a content sigh at finally feeling warm again. He can usually fall asleep almost anywhere but this cold…that was somehow nearly impossible for him to sleep in.

Fete can feel himself starting to doze off, a small hint of a smile on his face. Ah, sweet, sweet darkness of sleep…

Fete's eyes jolt open at the sound of the door slamming open and he keeps his head down in the water, trying not to make any noise in the water. His brain is muddled from being asleep for who knows how long – based on the temperature of the water…a good amount of time. He hears the person shut the door behind them, followed by the sound of them crying. Fete stays low in the tub, just waiting for them to come over and find him…but they don't.

Soon the sound of sobs start echoing in the room and Fete's curiosity keeps building with each passing minute. Could he have been lucky enough that one of the deaf or blind tributes found him? Seems unlikely, given his string of rotten luck in life… But also, crying? There's really only a couple tributes he could see being as pitiful as him and crying over something in the arena… Tributes who might not want to kill him.

Because who the fuck is he trying to fool here…death terrifies him, even if he feels so hopeless about living.

Fete can't fight the curiosity for much longer when he keeps hearing sobbing from the other side of the room. Slowly he begins picking his head up out of the water, trying his best to not make any noise, to peek his head above the edge of the tub to see who is in the room with him.

Fuck.

Fete quickly brings his head back down, barely splashing water in the tub and he's almost certain he'll hear him, but Odyssey's sobs continue from where he's curled up on one of the beds. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Damn it. Why a fucking career?! And what damn right does he have sobbing right now? He's a damn career! He trained and volunteered for this bullshit.

What does he do? Does he just wait in the tub and hope that Odyssey will leave soon? But what if he doesn't? Does he make a run for it?

Fete stares up at the ceiling, his eyes starting to water in fear as he floats in the water. So this is it…this is how he's going to die. Waiting around in a bathtub until finally noticed by the career, unless he somehow gets lucky… Fete nearly laughs at that. Yeah right, he won't get lucky.

As he stares up at the ceiling, a panel opens up and a silver canister starts floating down, beeping cheerfully as it falls to the ground, putting Fete right between it and Odyssey. Astrid, why?! But the canister turns as Odyssey's sobs stop, revealing the bright red '2' on the side of it, and Fete knows he's truly fucked.

"I don't deserve anything," Odyssey says aloud as he starts walking over, his slow footsteps echoing in the room around them as Fete's brain scrambles for something – anything – he can do to try and prevent his death. There's no way Odyssey isn't going to notice him there and the only way he could even have a remote chance of hurting him is if he surprises him…

Fete lets his body relax and float in the tub and struggles to slow his breathing as he stares blankly up at the ceiling as the footsteps get closer. He might not be fooling anyone into thinking he's dead…but maybe he can fool a grief-stricken career.

Fete resists the urge to look over as Odyssey gets closer to him and hears when he stops. "Shit," Odyssey mutters as he starts stepping closer to the tub, close enough that Fete can see him clutching his hand to his chest as he tries to wipe at his eyes with the other, no weapons in sight. But as Odyssey stares down at Fete, a frown starts to form on his face. "I didn't hear a cannon…"

Ah…there's the flaw in Fete's plan. Of course there's a flaw. Why would he ever come up with a plan to fool a career?

Fete watches as Odyssey slowly pieces it together and Fete pushes himself towards him before he makes a move, splashing water everywhere. Fete tries to grab Odyssey's neck but the career quickly shoves him back before slamming him in the head with his fist, stunning Fete and knocking him back into the water.

Fete gasps in pain as Odyssey uses his hands to push him under the water, making Fete take in a large amount of water. He starts choking and coughing, trying to get the water out of his lungs as he fights against the weight pushing him down under the surface of the water. Through the choppy water he can see the blurred image of Odyssey's face as he holds him down, but the image soon starts to fade as his lungs scream for air.

Just like everyone expected…he's not winning. As everything starts to fade away, one thought fills his head, one of regret and guilt…

I'm sorry, Atropa.

Odyssey Gunderson, 18, District Two

What the fuck is he doing?

Odyssey stares over at the tub, the body floating in the water and actually dead now…before turning to look at his hands in disbelief of what he's done. One hand encased in metal, frozen in place from where he held onto Major as they killed him… He can still hear the ear piercing screams as they poured the metal over him, still see the burning flesh… The pain that Odyssey also felt…

Did Major really deserve such a terrible death? Odyssey had thought so in that moment, so full of blazing rage that he couldn't focus on anything other than killing the person he blamed for killing Bell instead of putting the blame on himself. It was so much easier to blame someone else, easier to fight off the guilt haunting him. But now…was it worth it when he did this to himself? Killing Major that way didn't change the fact that Bell is gone and it was Odyssey's fault.

Odyssey holds back another sob, feeling his whole world crumbling around him as guilt overwhelms him. What is wrong with him to kill someone like that? That pain Odyssey felt in his hand… God, he can only imagine just how painful that would be being poured over his head… He could have stopped that. He could have just killed Major with his spear or some other normal weapon. Something less painful… But he went along with what Anastacia suggested.

Odyssey fucking deserves to have lost his hand for what he did.

And now someone else is dead at his hands… Odyssey looks back at Fete's lifeless body, trying to convince himself that he isn't a monster for what he's done to both Major and Fete. Fete attacked him first…with no weapons of any kind. Odyssey had a knife in his pocket and could have killed him that way, not by drowning him… But in that moment, he didn't even think. He just fought back and killed him with what he had available. But fuck…drowning?

First molten metal over the head, now drowning. There's no point denying it anymore… Odyssey is an awful person.

And the worst part…he's afraid of the person he's become. But he's suffering through grief…he was getting revenge for his friend's death…and then he was just defending himself… Yet that doesn't justify what he's done…

Odyssey lets out another sob as he rips the helmet off his head and throws it at the wall, creating a loud crashing as it falls to the floor. He starts yanking at the other pieces of armor on him, trying to rip them off of him, yet he can only get some of the pieces off and some hang there, still attached by straps on his left side that he can't get off with his broken hand. He doesn't deserve this armor. He doesn't deserve this with what he's done.

He lets out a scream of frustration as he gives up on taking off the armor before slamming his metal fist against the side of the tub, a small crack forming in the ceramic. Odyssey stops for a moment, staring at the crack and his hand for a moment, before slamming it back down, over and over again, anger and loathing towards himself building with each hit that he can't feel. Finally, a large chunk falls off and water spills out onto the floor around him.

Odyssey stares at the water around him, breathing heavy as he tries to stop the burning anger in him, but just growing ashamed at himself. He can't even handle his anger and grief… Look at him, taking out his anger on others and things around him when he only has himself to blame.

"I killed her," Odyssey whispers as the silver canister floats on the water near him, starting to beep once more. He doesn't reach for it, even as it stops in front of him, feeling undeserving of any other sponsor gifts. "I killed Bell…my friend…" Odyssey shakes his head as fresh tears begin to form in his eyes and he makes no effort to stop them. "And Major…killing him felt…felt good and I hate that…"

"I don't deserve this…" Odyssey whispers as he reaches out for the canister, even though he shouldn't be supported. Yet he pops open the lid and steam rises out of it and he looks in, only making himself feel worse when he can't even smell one of his favorite foods. Another punishment he deserves, not even able to enjoy pineapple on pizza. But his mouth starts watering at the small bottle of water in there and with a shaky hand, he takes it out and takes a slow sip.

Despite his stomach growling at the sight of the pizza, Odyssey doesn't take it out yet. Does he really deserve it? Not really… Instead, he takes out the note on top of the container holding the pizza. Part of him doesn't want to see what his mentor has to say, afraid that she'll be disappoint in him, just like he is with himself. But curiosity wins over and he tries to brush away the tears to actually read it.

'Get it together already. Everyone is still supporting you so don't let them down. You're our only hope now – Kat and the citizens of Two'

Part of him doesn't truly believe this… How could they still be supporting him after he killed his friend and District partner?

What does his family even think of him after this? His mother…always telling him to plan better… Yeah he really should have listened to her there. Julia…always supporting him, but he doubts she will now. Even Laurentina probably won't support him anymore. This is more reason for Calypso to not approve of him in the Games. And Penny…God, what must Penny think of him now? "I'm sorry…"

And Misha…Misha must hate him now and want nothing to do with him. Misha never did anything like this in his Games. He never had to kill his friend, nor did he brutally kill his former ally. He can't even blame him for not wanting anything to do with Odyssey anymore after this. Even if that would break whatever bit of him that isn't broken.

Odyssey doesn't even know anymore who will be there to support him when he's out…

Odyssey looks at the note again and crumbles it up and he's ready to throw it away, but stops when he sees writing on the other side of it. He does his best to open it back up with one hand, struggling to read what's there.

'P.S. Misha organized this.'

"Misha…" Odyssey whispers as fresh tears form quickly and he lets out another sob. How is he still supporting him after seeing what he did to Bell and Major? And to organize raising money for all of this…at this point, those items can't be cheap… He still supports him. "I don't deserve you."

And yet…those three words spark a tiny little piece of motivation in him that struggles to fight the crushing grief and guilt. Misha still supports him, despite everything… He so badly wishes he was with Misha right now, realizing just how desperately he could use someone comforting him right now. Well, not right here in the arena with him… Fuck no, he would never want that. Guess he will have to get out of the arena to get that comfort…

He just has to do what Darach told him and push aside his feelings until he is out alive. Deal with the guilt when he's safe and has Misha. Except…how the fuck is he supposed to do that? How can he just push this all aside and be numb? If he knew how, he would have done that a long time ago.

But no…Odyssey doesn't want to push aside the guilt. He needs to keep reminding himself of what he did so he doesn't do anything else he regrets… And then…then he just has to outlive seven more tributes.

"I'll get home to you, Misha," Odyssey says before looking down at his metal hand and feeling so much doubt in his ability to actually do that. "I…don't know how…but I will. For you and for Bell…"

Eulogies:

Fete Bayard [8], Ranked 9th, Killed by Odyssey [2]:

I know some people were expecting this death while others were expecting Fete to get an arc, but... Not every tribute is going to get some grand arc in the arena because not every tribute is going to be able to withstand what has happened to them. For Fete, losing his best friend and being alone...it broke him. He couldn't pull himself back together in time and at this point in the Games, tributes can't keep coasting by. It was heartbreaking to write his loss and feeling so hopeless. Mik, you asked for death by bubble bath and I had to make it happen, somehow XD I think I added in that room to the arena just for this lol. Thank you so much for sending him! RIP Fete.

And with that, it's the final 8! Which means time for a small break from the Games to get interviews with the families and friends of our remaining tributes! It also means it is time for a Special Sponsoring Sale! That's right, we're doing a sale. With only eight left, sense items are now going to be 50%* off so act now to get those items! Only one of each sense item will be sent to the collective group.

*50% off is from the base price and excludes daily inflation costs

So I guess all I'll ask with this chapter is of the final 8, who do you think will be the victor and is that answer different compared to the start of the Games?

See you all soon with the final 8 interviews! If it ends up getting too long, I might split it up into two chapters lol, we'll see!