Disclaimer:

I do not own the Hunger Games book series. It is the property of Suzanne Collins and the publisher Scholastic Press. The movies are owned by Lionsgate and other associated producers and creators. I am simply a humble fan, writing this for the enjoyment of other fans. Please support the official release.

Arena - Day 13

Wren Hyde

District 10 Male Tribute

When the announcement had been made the night before, he had been under the assumption that he was in the best possible spot. All the food and water in the palace would be removed from the games, leaving only him with his supplies. Wren was planning on getting as much food and water, hiking it out to the cave, before destroying the rest. If it meant going home, he'd stave the other tributes.

That was his plan. When he woke up, the supplies he had buried himself under were gone. When he went to sleep, he was completely hidden from view. Now waking up, the Cornucopia was empty.

Leaving him exposed. Wren jumped up and looked out, hoping to see an empty courtyard. The gate might still be closed, but he could hide behind the Cornucopia, and wait for the bloodshed to end, and jump the weakened winner.

Following the same trend of his luck, Wren found he wasn't alone. Though perhaps luckily, the only other person wasn't a Career. It was the blond boy from District 12, his blues staring at Wren. They reminded him so much of his brothers.

When he raised his arms, Wren caught sight of what he held. It looked like a bastardized version of the guns the Peacekeepers always had on their person.

Where the hell did he get that? Wren thought, throwing up his hands. "Wait. Don't shoot!"

If it looked like a gun, then it might really be a gun. If it was, Wren would like it best if he avoided getting shot.

"Don't shoot? Why?" The blue-eyed boy asked. If this was any other place, Wren would have tried to appeal to his sense of decency, but it had been Katniss Everdeen who summed it up best. He had heard her say it during her tour of Ten when he was hired as wait staff for her party. No one decent ever wins the games.

"Listen, there are other tributes still around. Two Careers," Wren said, trying for the pragmatic approach. "Even with that gun, they still trained their whole lives for this. They're not just going to drop dead. I can help you."

"You can help me? How?"

"I can draw fire from you. Keep them from focusing all their attention on you. It would put the odds in our favor."

"The odds are never in our favor!" Twelve hissed. The gun was still pointed at him, and Wren began to wonder if this was the end of the line for him. Is he going to be gunned down by a tribute from Twelve in the Cornucopia? Was this how far he was going to make it?

To Wren's surprised, Twelve slowly lowered the gun. "I think you're right though. Only the two of use. Allies until we're the last ones standing."

At which point Twelve would be free to gun him down. "Deal," Wren agreed. It gave him time to try and work out a plan to survive. If they both ended up the finale two, he had to find some way to keep Twelve from killing him with that weapon.

Cassandra Arellius

District 2 Female Tribute

She finished cleaning the blood of the blade, discarding the stained rang on the floor by the bed. Cassandra had a feeling this was going to be her last day in the arena, one way or another. There was no more food or water, assuring that the tributes would be forced to go to the feast. Which meant they'd all be in one place at the same time. Another blood bath to end these games.

The doors opened and Gleam walked in, leaning on the door frame. His scythe rested peacefully on his shoulder. In the safety of her head, Cassandra could admit the boy from One was beautiful. He was the single most handsome boy she had ever laid eyes on, per the norm of his district. Holding the scythe like that, Gleam looked like the grim reaper, waiting to take the souls of the dead to the underworld. Well, if there was an afterlife.

"Are you ready?" Gleam asked. Cassandra noticed right away that he lacked the cocky smile that he had worn all the whole time she had known him. At that moment, the boy from One looked tired. More tired than she had ever seen him.

"Yes." She wanted to ask him if he was alright, but she decided that it didn't matter right now. Not so close to the end.

She stood up and Gleam mimicked her motion. "How do you want to handle this? Traditional rules?"

Tradition among the pack dictated that they stay together until the field numbers were cut down low enough. Usually, when the pack was whittled down to two, they worked together until it came down to them. Cassandra didn't know if she had the skills to take him out, but she was willing to stake her life on her skills.

"I'll make your end quickly," she said in way of agreement.

Gleam smiled at her but didn't say anything.

This would be her last day. She would either be dead or a Victor by tomorrow. If she won, would her parents finally forgive her? Would the district. She couldn't remember any Victors in Two being hated.

Dionysus Whitmore

Cadet at Institute for Peace and Prosperity

He finished the form with a flick of his wrists. It might have been a blunted sword in his hands, but that didn't mean being hit by them wasn't painful. While Dionysus knew he'd be feeling the welts tomorrow, he had made sure the three practice trainers had gotten the worst end of the stick.

Semele, the head instructor for the placement examination, watching him expressionlessly. Her cold blue eyes bore into his, and Dionysus had to wonder what she was thinking. He and his brother were the best of the males in their year, and he wasn't afraid of not getting the promotion. His skills spoke for themselves. But Semele had been a pain in his backside since his brother and he had been plucked off the snowy streets by the Peacekeepers.

"Congratulations," Semele finally said. She grabbed a bronze tag from the table and held it up. "You've officially been promoted to Bronze Rank. Hand in your stone tag."

Inwardly, Dionysus breathed a sigh of relief. He kept the cocky grin plastered on his face as he swaggered up to her desk. He took the tag (literally made of the heavy stone mined in the quarries) from his neck, setting it in his pocket, taking the other from her hand. Putting it around his neck, Dionysus couldn't help but think it looked a lot better than the stone tag.

He passed Diana on his way out, and the blew him a kiss. He turned around to watch her ass as she walked through the doors. Like him and his brother, she was at the top of the girls in their year. Plus she filled out nicely.

His brother Bacchus was waiting for him. Dionysus lifted the bronze tag from behind his shirt, showing it off proudly. Bacchus mimicked his grin, showing off an identical bronze tag.

"Come on. We better get to the viewing room," Bacchus called.

Dionysus looked back at the door. "I was planning to wait-"

Bacchus snorted. "On Diana? Really? You know she isn't going to give you a second look. Not unless you've been hiding a pair of tits from me."

Dionysus' hand reached out and pushed his brother. "You don't believe the rumors, do you?"

Bacchus was his twin brother, and ever bid as good as him, so he easily regained his balance. "I don't know man. I'm just saying, Aron swears he saw her making out with Selene. Cupping a feel the way I hear it."

Dionysus didn't care for the lecherous grin crossing his brother's face. "Aron is constantly horny. He spends more time gawking at the girls than training. It's why he's still stone."

It was embarrassing enough for someone in the Thirteenth Cohort to be held back. Dionysus' cohort.

"Whitmore!" Athena Grayson's voice snapped. Dionysus silently cursed as she snapped to attention. The Head Mistress glared down at him and Bacchus, her eyes narrowing. "Mandatory viewing is about to begin. You had better get to your assigned viewing room quickly. You can't afford to miss it."

That was true. The rumor was abuzz through the Institute that today was probably going to be the last day in the arena. The feast would make sure of that. Which meant tomorrow, normally classes would be suspended, and they'd be going over every moment of it. If for some reason he hadn't watched the finale, his instructors would assign him a week in one of the work camps. Minimum rations, long labor hours, and a hard bed to sleep on.

"Yes, ma'am!" His brother said quickly. He followed Bacchus' lead and saluted her.

The Head Mistress nodded and walked past them. It wasn't the first time Dionysus had seen her up close, and it wasn't the first time his desire to ask about her father swelled up inside him. Achilles Grayson was the very first Victor the Hunger Games ever had. He had won and spent ten years trying to convince President Summers that a training school for tributes would provide more entertainment. He eventually got his wish, and the Institute for Peace and Prosperity was founded.

"Come on. I sure as hell ain't getting sent to a camp!" Bacchus hissed, grabbing Dionysus' arm and pulling him down the hallway.

Wallace Branwell

District 9 Male Tribute

"Here. Take this," he said, handing over the dagger to Maisie. He could see the sunlight streaming through the windows, and knew the feast wasn't far off. "We should get moving."

When he looked back at her, Maisie was staring at the dagger's blade. It was spotless and clear, enough to see her reflection. Maisie hadn't killed anyone yet, and though he could say the same, he was prepared to end a life. He had found and killed that thing that looked like Romeo many times, and despite hardly knowing him, it hurt. Right now he was so close to getting home. A few tributes left...

Wallace focused his gaze at Maisie. His weakness.

He had debated about killing her in his head every night. She knew planets and fruits, but in the palace, it wasn't as useful as it might have been in an outdoor arena. If anything, she was a drain on him, taking resources. Using him for protection. That wasn't a very fair arrangement.

He had also played with the thought of abandoning her. Surely a mutt or another tribute would kill her. Take it off of his hands. He wouldn't be blamed for leaving his district partner.

If it came down to just the two of them, District 9 would only accept him killing her if they were the final two. Then, and only then, could such a sin be forgiven?

But the longer he stayed with her, the more Wallace had come to realize that he didn't have it in him. He wasn't cold-blooded enough to kill her. He liked her. She had been with him since the beginning. Against all commonly accepted logic where the games were concerned, he had come to care for her. He never had any siblings, and he privately wondered if maybe having Maisie around was what it felt like to have a little sister.

A little sister that he would die for. He wouldn't let any of the other tributes kill her. If it came down to just the two of them, Wallace had already made his choice. She was the one going to be going home, not him.

Amelia Rosale

Victor of the Sixty-First Hunger Games

Trajan Mayhew was one of her best customers. He had only been a young man, barely out of the throngs of puberty, when he had first purchased her. Trajan had been the first one to have her, but he was hardly the last. Amelia couldn't go one time coming to the Capitol without the Minister of Education calling her to his bed-chamber. Even now, with her daughter's life on the line, President Snow made clear that she was to go let him have his way with her, or else a fix would be made against Maisie. It would only take one call to Plutarch Heavensbee to make sure she never stepped foot back out of that arena.

It was lucky for her that Trajan was such a fan of the Games. Not even having her here would distract him from the excitement of watching the finale live.

Trajan rolled over from his spot on top of her, breathing heavily. His died-green body glistened with sweat. "You are always great, my dear. But the feast should be starting soon, and we wouldn't want to miss it. I'll get one of the avoxes to bring us up some wine."

If only I could tell them to take you away, she thought hatefully. Being forced to smile and lay down next to the man who forced himself on her the year after she got out of the arena made dredged up that all to familiar hate. What she wanted right then was a scolding hot shower, so she could rub her skin raw, and try to get the sensation of his touch out of her mind.

"Where is Pompey?" She asked, keeping her voice casual.

"My brother is watching the games at his house. Said he couldn't make it this year. Some personal business," he told her.

It was like a knife to the heart. More than anything, she wanted the man she loved to be with her right now. Not that she could express that love in front of Trajan, least he makes sure she never saw him again. Unlike his horrid brother, Pompey wasn't a bad man. If it were under any other circumstance, he would be here. Doing his best to keep Trajan away from her, but this year it would be too hard on him. Their daughter was fighting for her life in the arena, and no thirteen years old had ever won the games.

Rye Mellark

District 12 Male Tribute

Rye wasn't about to trust his impromptu ally. It was clear Ten didn't want to die, but Rye was going to be the one to make it home. He didn't hold any grudge against his ally, but when it came down to it, winning the games was important. He remembered last year when Katniss and Peeta came home. Twelve was showered with food and gifts all year long.

He and Ten hid behind the golden Cornucopia and waited. He thought of home as he tried to pass the time. The scents of the bakery, his father's warm smile, his old brother's infectious laugh, Peeta's good-natured jabbing. Rye couldn't believe he had been jealous of Peeta when he came back. He had so much money, and if Rye won, so would he. But after going through the games, making as far as he did, Rye realized that it wasn't worth it. No amount of denarii would ever make this okay.

The sound of metal grating against metal pulled him from his thoughts. He turned to look at Ten, seeing the other boy just as startled as he was. Rye poked his head around the Cornucopia and was surprised to see a table sitting in the middle of the courtyard. It hadn't been there when Rye came out, and he guessed the sound was the gamemaker's putting it where it needed to go.

The table was littered with steaming food, and crystal clear water. Rye caught a whiff of the smell, and his stomach rumbled. His mouth started to water, and he was half tempted to make a run for it before he remembered how stupid that would be. The feast was here, and that meant the other tributes would be here soon.

"Hey," Ten whispered to him. Rye turned back to look at him. "I'm going to run for it. See if I grab some quick."

Rye bit his lip, about to tell him it was a stupid move. Then again, if Ten was fast enough, he might be able to make it before any of the other tributes came. Plus Rye was hungry.

He reluctantly nodded. Rye watched as Ten sprinted out from their hiding place, running up to the table. He cursed the other boy when he watched him take a mouth full of the roasted pig, but he seemed to be grabbing plates of food.

Ten had just turned around when a knife came flying through the air, out of the archway leading into the palace. He managed to duck and avoid it, but the last two Careers sprinted out of the building. For a moment Rye wondered if they had also been lying in wait.

Rye sprinted out from his spot behind the Cornucopia and leveled his gun at the girl. She must have caught sight of him because she turned to engage. Rye pulled the trigger, and shards of glass and metal bits shot towards her. It gave him a small amount of pleasure to see her bloodstain her clothes from the spot he shot her. He pulled the trigger again, but she turned back in the blink of an eye and ducked behind the open palace door.

"GLEAM!" She yelled. "HE HAS A GUN!"

The handsome Career boy broke off his attack and turned to look at him. Rye made the mistake of taking his eyes off where the girl was, to turn his gun. Before he could fire off another round, he felt something sink into the skin of his shoulder. The girl from Two had thrown a knife, and it found it's mark.

She bolted from her spot and sprinted towards him, drawing her sword. Another knife stopped him from firing, and when she was to close, he let the gun fall to his side, the strap keeping it in place. He pulled a knife from his belt and slashed at her. He cut into her face, a line of red below the eyes. It didn't slow her down and Rye felt the blade of her sword cutting through his chest.

It hurt more than any beating he had ever taken from his mother, and he bit down to avoid screaming. She was already set in for her next strike, raising her sword, when she pulled back.

As she moved out of his field of site, Rye caught the boy from Nine swinging a long sharp weapon at her back. She ducked under it and seemed to be ready to go on the offensive when Rye grabbed the gun. He pointed it at her and fired another round of glass. He had hoped to get her, but the Career girl moved like a cat, managed to avoid being hit a second time. She turned around, disappearing behind the door into the palace.

"Hey!" Nine called from his side. Rye turned in time to catch him a lot closer than he could have liked. The boy's blade was held firmly in his hand, and Rye wouldn't be able to move out of the way before he could swing it. "Truce. Just until the Careers are dead?"

Which worked out perfectly for Rye. The boy wouldn't attack him when he had the chance. "Done," he answered quickly.

Nine gave a single nod before he sprinted towards Ten and One. Seeing as One would be facing off against two tributes, Rye booked it towards the palace. Running through the doors, he held his gun up. His finger held tight against the trigger, and his eyes roamed the large room. It was empty.

He was just about to give up and head back outside to help deal with One when he heard the sound of footsteps behind him. Rye turned around just in time to see Two run from her hiding spot behind the golden doors.

Her sword sank into his stomach before he could stop her. The pain ripped through his body and that time he couldn't stop himself from screaming. Somehow it got worse when she pulled it from his stomach. The spot where the blade went through was like white-hot pain, sending ripples to the rest of his body.

The pain overwhelmed him and Rye fell to his knees in front of her. He saw her slash through the air, watching his blood fly off the blade. "Sorry, Twelve. I'd like to make a show out of you, but I have other targets-"

The rest of her sentence was cut off with a scream. A knife came flying out from behind the closest crystal staircase, embedding itself within her eye socket. Two pulled back, grabbing the embedded knife.

Rye wanted to take advantage of the situation, but his body felt so heavy. It was a struggle to lift his arm, and the more he moved, the more pain shot through him.

Something ran right by him, taking the gun out of his hands. He turned his head to see the little girl from Nine point his gun at Two and pulled the trigger. Glass and metal shot out, hitting her right in the chest. The little girl unloaded everything into the Career, and Two eventually fell over backward. Rye didn't know if she was dead, but he hoped.

The girl looked at him. "It's empty."

Rye had more makeshift clips in his pocket, but he wasn't going to tell her. If he could just ignore the pain and get his body to move, he might still be able to win. He might be able to go home and see his family.

When he didn't say anything, hurled the gun across the room. "I'm sorry," she whispered, before turning on her heels. He saw her run out of the doors, but she didn't escape unharmed. Two, with seemingly her last bit of strength, threw one of her knives through the air. It sank into Nine's shoulder, electing a scream from her.

Rye turned slowly to look at Two. She met his eyes, staring right at him. "I can... Finally, see... Eitan again... And tell him how sorry I am..."

Rye didn't know who Eitan was. Was she talking to him? She didn't speak again.

The pain was getting even worse, and Rye was struggling to keep his eyes open. His vision blurred and he began pulling himself across the ground, to the spot the girl had thrown his gun.

When the darkness overtook his vision, Rye heard a cannon boom. He didn't know if it was his or the girl from Two.

Peeta Mellark

Co-Victor of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games

Peeta couldn't take his eyes off Rye's personal feed. There his brother lay, bleeding out all over the ground, and Peeta was sat far away in the lap of luxury, watching him die.

While he couldn't be there for his brother, Peeta was still a mentor, which meant there was something he could do. District 12 still had three million denarii in its account, and while the gifts were astronomically expensive right now, he had an astronomical amount of money.

He dragged Rye's feed to the corner of the screen, clicking on the games store icon. It opened before him and Peeta quickly touched the medicine icon. He scrolled the list, reading the descriptions of each one as fast as he could, cursing the Capitol right now. Haymitch was with Vivian Ramirez, the Victor of the first Quarter Quell. They were stuck with Caesar and Templesmith commenting. As the last two Quell Victor's, Peeta had been told the opportunity not to have them in the studio was too great to pass up. Right now he could really use Haymitch's help.

He found exactly what he was looking for halfway down. A pink cream that will close open wounds in minutes, and has pain suppressors made into it. It couldn't be a long term solution for Rye's stab wound, but it would hopefully hold long enough for him to get to his gun. If he could wait out the final battle, he could shoot the winner.

He pressed the purchase option, but a red exclamation mark appeared as his terminal beeped. He pressed purchase again to the same result. "What?" Peeta hissed, slamming his hands against the terminal.

The room he was in was empty. Beetee and Wires left long ago when Rance died, and Haymitch was in his interview. He was considering seeing if one of the other Victor's would be willing to help him when he remembered he had a direct line to Gamemaker control.

Peeta pressed the store screen, sliding it to the side. He jammed his thumb against the green G icon, and a victor link opened. A woman in a purple rob appeared, eating what Peeta had come to recognize as a

"Mr. Mellark," the Gamemaker answered smoothly over the link. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Something's wrong with the store," he told her, making sure he didn't speak too fast. "I keep trying to buy Rye medicine, but it's not working."

To his shock, she was smiling. "Ah yes. This happens almost every year to the Victor's. Well, when their tributes make it the end. There is nothing wrong with the store, Mr. Mellark. You no longer have the authority to purchase anything-"

"What?" He yelled, his temper getting the better of him. His brother was dying there on the ground, and Peeta had the money for the two million denarii small tub of medicine. It'd nearly whip him out, but he could get it!

"Yes. You see, people in the districts, even here in the Capitol if you can believe it, seem to have a misconception of the games. While we allow mentors to buy sponsor gifts if they have the money, it is a privilege. One that can be, and is every year, taken away. You see, Mr. Mellark, the Hunger Games are a show. Entertainment. When the games have a narrative going, we will sometimes prevent gifts. If we didn't, well let's just say there would be more alliance Victors than normal, with the amount of finical support they get."

"What?" Was all he said. He understood the words, but his mind didn't see how they were connected. The words were leading him somewhere...

"Allowing the transfer of that medicine might change the narrative, Mr. Mellark. Right now that narrative is a final battle between the tributes. A struggle of life or death. The winner of the Hunger Games must earn it, not accept it at the hands of well-financed mentors, you understand. Rye played a very good game. For a first-year mentor, so did you, but I can only offer my condolence of your loss. Happy Hunger Games, Mr. Mellark. Better luck next year."

The Gamemaker had the nerve to smile at him before the feed was cut. Rye's stream extended to full size, and Peeta was left to watch helplessly as his brother slowly side. His vitals entering the red, before finally flat-lining.

Gleam Delmas

District 1 Male Tribute

The boy from Ten was more of a nuisance than he had thought the outlier would be. Still, it was clear to him that Ten wasn't anything special. He had no training, and though he seemed to be good at dodging Gleam's scythe, he couldn't keep it up forever.

Ten ducked below his scythe swing, and that was his first mistake. Gleam swung the blade left and lifted his leg, kicking Ten in the chest. The boy tumbled back and that was the end of him. Gleam was only a few inches from killing him when a smaller scythe came at him from the left.

He stepped back to avoid the swing and wasn't please at all when he saw it was the Nine boy. Gleam hissed and cocked his free hand, smashing his fist into the other boys nose.

Ten recovered quickly and attacked, but he was sloppy and Gleam was able to step out of his way. Since they had started going at it, Ten's movements began to slow. He was losing steam. If it wasn't for Nine, the boy wouldn't be a problem.

Nine came at him again, and Gleam brought up the scythe to deflect the smaller one. Gleam raised his foot, kicking Nine in his side. The boy winced and dropped his arm. Gleam swung his scythe for the kill, only to stop a few inches from Nine's neck when Ten threw his knife.

Gleam sneered at the two, pulling back. Where the hell was Cassandra. It would be a lot easier if she was here, Gleam thought. It would be a lot easier if he never volunteered in the first place. A little too late to complain considering how far he came.

As he kicked in Ten's knee, Gleam wondered if his family was proud. Or if they hated seeing him murder. Contrary to popular belief, not everyone in his district approved of the games. His father had raged against them almost as much as he had against Fortune.

None of his sisters cared much for them as well, though they were a shallow lot. More interested in social status and clothes than the national sport.

Nine moved in with a swing of his blade before Gleam could kill Ten, but he had enough of them both. He knocked Nine's weapon out of the way, quickly uppercutted him. A swift kick to his chest sent him stumbling back.

From the corner of his vision, Gleam saw Ten coming. Moving as fast as he could, he swung his scythe towards the other boy, catching his neck. In one swoop, Ten's neck fell from his body.

A cannon sounded but Gleam had no time to consider what he had gone. Nine tried to ram into him, but Gleam moved back a step, letting the boy run by him. Flipping around so Gleam was behind him, he kicked the back of Nine's knee, forcing him to the ground. Gleam raised his scythe, prepared to take another head and get that much closer to getting out of the hell he found himself in.

The searing pain in his side stopped him. "Enculer!" He yelled. Gleam looked over at his right side, finding the sight of the girl from Nine, her knife deep in his skin. Gleam pulled his hand back and punched her as hard as he could.

"Salope!"

As she went down, her partner roared and Gleam turned around just in time to see Nine's fist connect with his. Before he could recover his balance, Nine's cut deeply through his chest. The knife in his side was nothing compared to that small scythe.

Gleam dropped his scythe and grabbed Nine's head, pulling the boy down to the courtyard floor. He smashed Nine's head against the stone as hard as he could. One. Twice. Three times. Nine stopped moving, the pool of blood below his head expanding.

Gleam collapsed at his side, the pain shooting through his chest. He looked down at the wound, and could only see his shirt stained red with blood. While he couldn't see the damage, he certainly could see it. Training to stand up only caused him almost to blackout. His arms felt like stone. There was no way he was going to survive it. Not without immediate medical, which he would only get by winning. He knew for certain there was one more tribute.

As another cannon boomed, the girl from Nine slowly approached him. The space around her eyes already starting to darken. Blood leaked from her eye itself, and he could see the red stain on her shoulder. She might be in bad condition, but she'd outlive him. He was sure of it.

"Hey. Kid," he managed to ground out. Talking somehow made the pain feel even worse, a feat he didn't know was possible. "Can you do me a favor?"

The girl narrowed her eyes. She brought a knife up, holding it tightly in both hands. "What could I do for you?" She nearly sneered.

"Nothing that I'd like," Gleam admitted. "I don't think I have long, and you're not a doctor. Listen, can you please kill me."

He could see the shock written on her face, the anger draining away. "What? Don't you want to live?"

He laughed, which made the pain spike, turning it into a scream. Shortly afterward, he hurled up his blood, the coppery taste filling his mouth. "Of course I do, but unless you're willing to die for me, I'm not going to survive this. Even if I could stand up, I don't think I have the energy to kill you... I am going to die. I'd rather go out quickly than sit here waiting for it. It hurts so much... Please, just end it."

Maisie Rosale

District 9 Female Tribute

She looked down at the broken boy who had once led the Career pack. When she saw him fight, he looked like a demon, swinging his scythe around like it weighed nothing. Now so close to death, he looked small, tired and scared.

Could she do it? Kill him? She had attacked Two, but she hadn't stayed around to watch the Career girl die. Her death would haunt Maisie enough without watching it. She didn't want to see someone die. She didn't want to kill them...

But the boy in front of her, not the most of a Career he had been, was asking for it. To be put out of his pain. If she was lying dead on the ground, only asking for her misery to end, Maisie hoped someone would have the kindness to do it.

She nodded and walked towards him, leaning down at his side. She slowly brought the knife above him, holding it over his head.

"You can hate me for this, Gleam. I will too."

As she said it, Maisie knew it was true. She'd hate herself for it. Gleam would never leave her, not really, and it was what she deserved.

Maisie brought the blade down, cutting into his neck. "One day, I'm sure I will be punished," she whispered to herself. Gleam smiled at her and Maisie watched the light leave his eyes. A cannon boomed.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! I am proud to present the Victor of the Seventy-Fifth Annual Hunger Games! Maisie Rosale! I give you your tribute from District 9!"

Author's Note:

I hope you have enjoyed the twenty-first chapter!

I think this is the most characters I've killed in one chapter. Now that most of them are dead, I'm kind of sad. You didn't get to read a lot of my original work before it got deleted, but I really got into writing each of them. They've all grown on me, and now that they're dead, it's hitting me that I won't get the chance to write them again...

Well, maybe one more chance. But you'll just have to wait to see what that statement means until the next chapter.

Anyway, folks, there it is. The end of the third Quarter Quell. I can't say I'm completely satisfied with how it ended (RIP my poor deleted chapters), but this was the end game for a while now. Just took another path to get there.

Congratulations to Maisie Rosale, the Victor of the Third Quarter Quell.