Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games

Note: I won NaNoWriMo! More chapters coming soon, and I promise What You Fight Against will be updated relatively soon, as well. It's just easier to do the binge-writing necessary for something like NaNoWriMo when something's already at the Games stage.

Also, just a friendly reminder to vote in the Victor poll if you haven't yet.

Day Five
Fair is Foul

Oliver Merdoch
District Five Mentor

This was all a bit too familiar.

Oliver drummed his fingers on the table as Macauley and Darian made their way up the stairs towards the top of the tower. It wasn't that long ago, really, that Darian had climbed a different tower with Elliot, searching for tributes. It had only been … what? A few days. It seemed like longer than that. But as long as it seemed for him, he knew it seemed even longer for the tributes. His own Games had been twelve days, and that had seemed to last forever.

Oliver just hoped Macauley would have more sense than Elliot had. Not that Darian really had a reason to want to kill her – not yet. Of course, he hadn't had a reason to want to kill Elliot, either – not until he'd realized he was fighting his own district partners and would be better off joining them. Fortunately for Macauley, a better opportunity wasn't particularly likely to come along at this point.

Especially considering the options. Aleyn was still on the run – well, on the limp, at least – and had made it to the armory. Skyton was still on the stairs – but a completely different set of stairs. Margo was on the other side of the arena. Ronan and Shanali showed no signs of wanting to get moving anytime soon. And the rest of the tributes – Retro, Genevieve, Vashti, and Barlen – were still in the tunnels below.

And that was it. Eleven of them. Eleven tributes left, and District Five still had three tributes alive. That was no small feat, but it was also something they couldn't afford to take for granted. Genevieve just needed a little longer, and she would probably make short work of both Vashti and Barlen. That would put District Nine out of the running, and District Five would be left with Macauley and Retro.

Oliver had to admit, Retro wasn't exactly the one he would have expected to make it this far. Then again, he hadn't expected Vashti to make it this far, either. Most people would probably say it wasn't fair that they'd lasted longer than Elliot, who'd at least had some training and had been part of the Career pack. But 'fair' wasn't the same as 'interesting,' and interesting was what the Gamemakers cared about. What the audience cared about.

Sabine took a seat next to him, shaking her head. "Here's hoping she has enough sense not to trust Darian," she concluded, echoing his thoughts.

Oliver nodded. "I don't think any of them trust each other at this point." He certainly hadn't, when there had only been a handful of tributes left. Sure, he'd trusted Harri, but that was different. His life hadn't depended on the prairie dog dying. In order for Macauley to win, Darian would eventually have to go. And in order for one of the others to win…

Retro didn't have any allies left. And Vashti … Well, it was only a matter of time. Maybe it had only been a matter of time all along. Oliver glanced over at Harakuise, who was nursing a drink, watching as Genevieve slowly advanced on the two laughing tributes. What were they thinking? Maybe Vashti was simply losing it, going into shock. And Barlen had always been a bit off. But the way the two of them were cackling now was more than a little unnerving, and clearly Genevieve agreed. They almost sounded like—

Oliver blinked. Oh. He made his way over to Harakuise, who nodded as he approached. "Worked it out?"

"Are they nuts? Do they really think that's going to work?"

Harakuise shrugged. "Who knows. But they're not crazy. Just desperate. Out of options. I certainly know the feeling, and I'm sure you do, too."

Oliver nodded. He did. He watched silently as the ooze bubbled up higher, threatening to spill over the edge of the pit and onto the floor. Genevieve was eyeing it cautiously, as if worried that it might be poisonous, or perhaps acidic. But as long as she kept her distance, it would reach Barlen and Vashti before it reached her.

And neither of them showed any sign of moving.

Vashti Rii, 16
District Five

Barlen didn't move.

Vashti held his breath as the ooze from the pit began to spill over the edge. He wasn't moving either, of course, but he didn't have much say in the matter. If he and Barlen were wrong – if the ooze ended up being toxic or corrosive – then the two of them were as good as dead. But if they were right…

The liquid reached one of his hands. It was dark and slimy, cool to the touch, but it didn't hurt. He nodded at Barlen, still laughing. It wasn't going to harm them. Barlen laughed louder, and the ooze began to flow faster. Genevieve, emboldened by the fact that neither of them had burned to a crisp or melted or something, took a step forward into the goo.

When she tried to take another step, however, her foot froze, stuck in the ooze. "What—" was all she managed to get out before Barlen charged, still laughing wildly. Almost maniacally. The ooze was spilling out of the doors now, and was up to Genevieve's ankles. She was trying to wriggle her way out of her shoes, but had to stop her attempt as Barlen dove towards her, unbothered by the slime.

Barlen circled around behind Genevieve, laughing. She could turn a little bit, but not enough. Barlen took a swipe at her leg, barely dodging her dagger in time as it came down, missing him and plunging into the goo.

It didn't come back up.

As Genevieve bent down, tying desperately to yank her weapon free, Barlen leapt onto her back. Genevieve toppled backwards into the goo, her knees bending back awkwardly under the weight. Quickly, Barlen forced her head under the ooze, laughing all the while.

Vashti was laughing, too. It was a bit funny watching a thirteen-year-old kid take on a Career, but that wasn't why he was laughing. It was Barlen who had worked it out – that laughing caused the goo to keep moving. It was sheer dumb luck that it trapped anyone who wasn't laughing, and that the girl from One hadn't worked it out in time.

Barlen's knife stabbed down at where the girl had disappeared under the ooze, but it was pointless. She was already drowning, unable to bring her head back up. The cannon sounded, and Barlen raced back to Vashti, still laughing. "I did it!"

Vashti, still seated and up to his waist in goo, clapped Barlen on the back. "Good work."

Barlen's gaze strayed down to the ooze. "Okay, that's enough. You can go back in the pit now," he called, giggling.

The ooze didn't listen.

Of course it didn't. Barlen tried again, but Vashti shook his head, chuckling wryly now. "I don't think it works like that, kid."

"But if we stop laughing—"

"We'll get stuck in the goo," Vashti agreed.

"And if we keep laughing—"

"We'll drown."

"It's not funny."

"I know. Look, if you go, you might be able to find a way back up to the main floor."

"You really think I'll be able to find one before—"

"I don't know. But I'm not seeing any other options here."

Barlen's forehead wrinkled with concentration. "Can you swim?"

"What?"

"I know you can't really walk right now, but do you think you could swim?"

"I don't know," Vashti admitted. He'd never learned, but the goo was thicker than water. Maybe it wouldn't be that hard to stay afloat. "Can you?"

Barlen's laughter filled the room. "I don't remember."

Of course you don't. "Where are we swimming to?" The goo was rising higher now. Vashti swung an arm around Barlen's shoulders so the younger boy was supporting his weight and stood uncertainly, the rest of his weight supported by his good leg. It was a bit easier to stand in the goo. Reluctantly, Vashti removed what remained of his armor, including his helmet. It would be hard enough to swim in his condition without all the extra weight.

Barlen pointed to the ceiling. "Up there."

Vashti stared where he was pointing. "What makes you think there's something up there?" Barlen held out his hand. On it was a droplet.

"Because this isn't goo."

Retro Liu, 12
District Five

It was some sort of goo.

Retro nearly jumped as the liquid bubbled against his shoes. He couldn't see very well in the tunnels now; most of the candles had been blown out. Snuffed out. Something. But he could see the puddle of goo oozing closer. He tried to take a step away from it and nearly tripped. His shoes were stuck.

Tar? Maybe, or some other sort of similar substance. He didn't plan on sticking around long enough to find out. Retro carefully slipped out of his shoes and took off around the corner. But where was he supposed to go? If the goo was spreading through the tunnels…

But there wasn't time to worry about that. He had to keep moving, or it would catch him. He could figure out exactly where he was going as he went. If he stopped, the ooze would catch up with him, and then … well, he wasn't exactly sure, but it wouldn't be good, especially if it got any deeper.

So he kept running. It was so dark, he almost didn't see the stairs until he reached them. He didn't hesitate. He couldn't afford to. Whatever was above him, it had to be better than the goo that was oozing through the tunnels. Once he made it back to the main level, he could get a look around and get his bearings. Right now, he just needed somewhere safe.

He raced up the stairs as quickly as he could. By the time the goo reached the bottom of the stairs, he was halfway up. Finally, he could feel feel a trap door above him. Retro held his breath. There could be anything on the other side. Or there could be nothing. The one thing there probably wasn't was a lot of goo ready to trap him. As quietly as he could, he pushed the trap door open.

The first thing he noticed was that there were some sort of walls around him. No, not walls, exactly. Something tall and dark. Retro poked his head up out of the trap door. A cauldron. He was in the middle of a large cauldron. Retro held back a laugh as he closed the trap door behind him, slumping back against the side of the pot. He couldn't really ask for a safer place.

Still, it would probably be best to get a look around, at least see if there were any other tributes in the room. Light was filtering in a little from the next room – the cornucopia, he was pretty sure – but he didn't really have a reason to venture over there. Not right now. Not until he figured out what his next move was.

Besides, the floor was covered in water.

Retro glanced down again as his brain caught up with his eyes. Sure enough, the floor was covered in water. How that had happened, he couldn't be sure, but that was even more reason to stay put for now. Between the ooze, the water, and the three cannons since the Gamemakers had announced the feast, the audience was probably satisfied that there was enough happening without him.

The water could wait until later.

Barlen Rimmonn, 13
District Nine

It was a drop of water.

Barlen grinned, still laughing, as Vashti studied it, then looked back up at the ceiling. "You think it came from up there?"

"Where else would it have come from?"

"You're sure it's not just sweat?"

Barlen tasted it. It wasn't salty at all. "Nope. Water. As long as we can stay afloat until we're up there—"

"Which only happens if we keep laughing," Vashti reminded him. "You got that? You have to keep laughing." Barlen made a move to write it on his hand, but Vashti shook his head. "Won't help. Once the goo reaches that candle, no more light. You'll just have to remember. I'll keep reminding you. Just keep laughing."

The goo had reached Barlen's shoulders now. Vashti was already letting the goo support his weight. Maybe it was easier than trying to stand. "All right," Barlen agreed. "Once we're up there, we look … well, feel around, I guess, for where the water's coming from."

"We won't have long," Vashti reminded him. He reached down into the goo and picked up the girl's dagger. "Got your knife?"

Barlen turned it over in his hands. "What for?"

"In case we need to pry something open."

Barlen laughed. Well, kept laughing. The goo rose higher and higher. Swimming wasn't as hard as he'd thought. Maybe he had learned somewhere, after all. He didn't remember learning to swim, but…

Suddenly, everything went black. Pitch black. "Vashti?" Barlen called. He could still hear his friend laughing, but the sound seemed so far away. Or maybe it was just the way things were echoing.

"Keep laughing," Vashti reminded him. Barlen did. The goo rose. They kept laughing. Finally, Vashti called, "I can feel the ceiling."

Barlen hesitated. Was that good or bad? "Now what?"

"Reach up," Vashti called to him. "Feel around for a door. A handle. Something."

Barlen reached up. It wasn't far. "I don't feel anything."

"I think I do. Over here." Barlen followed the sound. Something grabbed him. A hand. A hand that guided his up to a crack in the stones. That was where the water had come from. Now they just needed to find a way to open the door.

If it was a door.

That was what they'd been assuming, after all. That it was a whole door, rather than just a little crack. "We need more time," Vashti muttered between laughter that sounded much more strained.

Time. They needed more time. "Raise your arms," Barlen suggested.

"What?"

"Raise your arms, and stop laughing. If the goo stops, that'll give us time to work the door free."

"And we'll be stuck."

"Only until we start laughing again."

"Are you sure?"

"No," Barlen admitted. "Do you have a better idea?"

"No." He stopped laughing. "Okay."

Barlen stopped, too. The goo stopped. "Okay." He slid his knife into the crack. It went in easily, and kept sliding. "Maybe there's something that'll trip the—"

Before he could finish the sentence, the rock slid away. Immediately, water flowed down on top of them. He could hear Vashti laughing. It took him a moment to work out why. Above them, light poured in from a hole that was just large enough to squeeze through. Water was pouring in, too, but slower now. Barlen reached a hand up, laughing as he pulled himself through.

The cornucopia. They had been right below the cornucopia all this time. Barlen pulled himself up, glancing around, but there didn't seem to be anyone. He reached down and caught Vashti's hand, helping the older boy through. Vashti was still laughing – and kept laughing until they were both a safe distance from the goo. Then he slumped down on the ground, his face pale, his expression pained. "Are you all right?" Barlen asked, rushing to his side.

Vashti shook his head. "No." He nodded to his leg, which was bleeding again. "The tourniquet … it must've slipped when I crawled through the hole." He sat up a little, supporting himself on his elbows. Suddenly, his expression hardened. "When you pulled me through the hole, you careless little oaf."

Barlen took a step back. "I … I didn't realize. I'm sorry. I—"

"Forgot," Vashti spat back. "Of course you forget. You'd forget your own head if it wasn't attached. Get out of here."

"But—"

"Out!" Vashti was practically shouting now – as much as he could in his current condition, at least. Barlen took a step back. "Go!" Vashti barked, pointing off to his right. "Now!"

Barlen ran.

Margo Devereaux, 18
District Two

The younger boy was already too far away.

Margo shook her head as she staggered towards the older boy, the one from Five. Her head ached, and she was still a bit dizzy from being tossed around in the water – the water that had suddenly receded. But this … this was enough to make up for it. This was her chance. She didn't have the energy to chase after the little boy, but she could take care of this one.

The younger boy could wait.

Margo almost smiled as she took a step closer to the boy, watching for any sort of trick. But he seemed to be all out of tricks. He'd used his last one to chase his younger ally away. He was deathly pale, barely managing to sit upright on his own. "Go on, then," he managed through gritted teeth. "Get it over with."

Margo raised an eyebrow. He didn't seem to be armed, but they were at the cornucopia. There were plenty of weapons within arm's reach if he decided to make a move for them. Margo glanced around, then chose a spear. Safe enough to use from a distance. She swallowed hard. She could do this. She had done it during the bloodbath, after all. She and Mae had killed the girl from Twelve. This was no different.

Except it was.

The boy in front of her scoffed. "Come on. If it helps, don't think of it as an execution. Think of it as a mercy. I'll be dead soon, anyway, thanks to your little district partner." He patted his leg, which was bleeding despite a loose tourniquet applied above the wound.

Margo took a step closer. "Darian?"

"No, the little girl. But we got her, my…" He hesitated. "My friend and I. We took care of her. There. Call it revenge, if you like." Slowly, the boy propped himself up against one of the larger bags of supplies. Margo took a step closer, then another. Revenge. Right. For her district partner. Or maybe for herself. It was this boy's district partner who had given her the wound in her leg, after all. But he was dead. The boy in front of her hadn't done anything to her.

Neither had the girl from Twelve during the bloodbath. What was the difference? Maybe it was the adrenaline. During the bloodbath, her heart had been racing, her blood pumping, every instinct screaming that she needed to fight. Now … this wasn't a fight.

"Fine," the boy grunted, reaching for a nearby sword. Instead of swinging it, however, he used it to lean against as he hauled himself to his feet, swaying a bit. "Must've hit your head pretty hard," he grumbled.

"What?"

"Concussion. You're disoriented, confused, probably a bit dizzy. Explains why you haven't killed me yet." Then, in one quick, desperate movement, he lunged forward. Fell forward, was more like it. She just happened to be in the right direction, and the sword just happened to swing. There was no effort behind it, and Margo dodged easily, driving her spear forward as the boy fell. It met no resistance as it entered the boy's stomach. Neither did the second blow, which drove straight through his chest.

The cannon was almost immediate. Margo pulled the spear out, her stomach churning. Maybe she had hit her head a bit too hard. With any luck, the audience would believe that, rather than the other, more obvious explanation – that she simply hadn't wanted to kill an unarmed, helpless opponent. Fighting was one thing, but this hadn't been a fight.

It hadn't been fair at all.

Aleyn Tillens, 15
District Four

It wasn't fair.

Aleyn shivered as she sat in the corner of the armory, her knees tucked to her chest, trying to keep warm. The water was gone now, but she was still soaking wet. She had been lying on the ground, trying to stay as flat as she could in case someone happened to come along, when it had come washing over her. At least she knew where the water had come from, but she wasn't sure if knowing that someone had probably opened the door to the dungeon made it better or worse.

Maybe neither. It didn't really matter now, after all. What mattered now was that she just couldn't seem to get dry. Maybe it was the air in the castle. Maybe it was just too damp for her to dry out.

There was an answer to that, of course. She could always head back to the roof. There were some stairs in the opposite corner that would almost certainly lead up to the top of one of the towers.

But that was what the Gamemakers wanted. She was sure of that. If she ventured up and outside the walls of the castle, she would be exposed. Anyone would be able to see where she was. Another group of tributes had already spotted them on the roof once. That was what had forced them into the hole in the roof that had led to the cornucopia. That was what had gotten Charu killed.

Consus, on the other hand … She had gotten him killed. He'd been trying to do the same thing to her, of course, once he'd worked out what she had – that only one of them was going to make it past the Careers. But she was the one who had struck the first blow, who had turned on her ally. Maybe she hadn't personally killed him, but she was responsible for his death, just like she was responsible for Wes'.

It wasn't fair. But the worst part was that she would do it again. She would kill Wes. She would leave Charu for dead after dropping through the roof. She would leave Consus to be killed by the Careers while she ran off, alive. She would do it all over again, because she had made it out alive. There were only ten tributes left, and she was one of them. She was still alive.

But if she was going to stay that way, she would have to be smart. All she had as far as weapons was one of the knives that was still in her pocket; she'd left the rest when the weapons had become too hot to grab in the fire. She didn't have any supplies. They'd all been aflame by the time the feast was over, and she'd used the last of them to toss at the girl from Five. She would need water, food, and something more than a knife to fight with.

But not yet. Right now, she needed rest, and this was probably the best time. Since the feast had begun, there had been three cannons – the girl from Two, then Consus, and then … someone, not too long ago. Surely the audience would be satisfied with that.

Boom. A fourth cannon echoed through the castle, and Aleyn lay down, satisfied. Four cannons. Four dead tributes. Nine of them left. The audience would be content with that for a little while, at least. Long enough for her to get some sleep. And without the candles to light the room, this corner was as good a place to lie down as any. Probably better than the stairwell, actually, because the stairwell was a place someone would look for tributes who were trying to hide. No one would think to look here.

At least, that was what she was trying to tell herself. She had to sleep eventually, and that meant she had to sleep somewhere. There was no one left to keep watch, after all. They were all dead. Wes and Charu and Consus. They were all dead, and she was the one who was alive. A small smile crept over Aleyn's face. How many people had really expected that?

Stop it. She couldn't afford to get cocky. Not when there were still eight other tributes out there. Not when her leg was still injured, though that wasn't likely to change anytime soon. The audience would probably be satisfied with her performance for now, but that wouldn't last forever. Eventually, she would have to make another move.

But for now, what she needed was sleep.

Skyton Tate, 16
District Ten

He couldn't sleep.

Skyton rolled over on the stairs as another cannon sounded – the fourth one since the announcement about the feast. Someone was certainly busy. After a moment, the anthem began to play, and a face appeared on the wall. One of the girls from One, and then one of the boys from Five. Both Careers – or at least from Career districts. He hadn't done the best job of keeping track of which tributes from Career districts had actually been trying to present themselves as more Career-like. Arabel hadn't.

Well, not really, at least. There had been four of them at the start, though. Skyton shook his head. That seemed like a lifetime ago, when he, Connor, Arabel, and Klaudia had been sitting around over lunch, deciding to work together in the Games. Now all of them were dead. Hell, their alliance hadn't even lasted through the first day of the Games.

But Merrik…

Skyton rolled over again, then sat up. He couldn't keep thinking about Merrik. That wasn't going to help him. He had to do something. If he wasn't going to be able to sleep, he might as well keep moving. Maybe if he made it to the top of the tower, he would be able to think more clearly. Or maybe Pigeon was up there, waiting for him. That was where he would go, if he was a griffin. Out into the open air.

Yes. Yes, that was it. Arabel, Connor, Klaudia, Merrik – they were all dead. But he still had Pigeon, if only he could find him. The thought brought Skyton to his feet, and he began to climb. Higher. Higher. Just a little more. Finally, he reached the top of the tower.

The sun was high in the sky, and that was nice in and of itself – the fact that he could see clearly. It was probably around noon, but he still wasn't hungry. Hadn't been hungry, really, since Merrik's death. But if he could find Pigeon again…

Skyton looked around. There was no sign of the griffin. But he could be anywhere. Maybe he'd flown off and was hunting somewhere. If he came back – no, when he came back – it would be best if Skyton was up here, waiting for him. He sat down, leaning back against the wall of the tower, waiting. Yes. Yes, that was it. He would wait for Pigeon to come back, and then…

And then what? Maybe he could go after the tributes who had killed Merrik, if they happened to be back in the other room. Or maybe he could find someone else first. Someone who would be easier to take on in a fight. Someone who didn't have a three-headed dog mutt waiting around to help them.

Skyton stretched his arms and legs. He could worry about that later. Right now, he could rest a little while he waited. The sun was warm and inviting after the sudden dousing of water he'd gotten earlier. Maybe he could just sit here and dry out for a while. Skyton leaned back against the wall. Yes. Yes, he could wait a bit longer. The Gamemakers had probably had enough fun for today.

He could afford to get some rest.

Darian Travers, 14
District Two

Now he was glad they'd decided to rest.

Darian grinned as the figure on top of the other tower moved again – not much, but enough to let them know that he was there. When Macauley had suggested that they could rest at the top of the tower for a while, he had been reluctant. He had wanted to keep moving. They hadn't found anyone up here, after all, so there was no point in staying. Besides, the top of the tower was so open, so exposed. Anyone could see where they were.

But that also meant they could see where other tributes were. Any who happened to be on the other towers, at least. At the moment, that meant one tribute, but that was enough. He didn't show any signs of going anywhere anytime soon. The trouble was, he was all the way on the other side of the castle. They would have to cover a lot of ground if they wanted to reach him before he decided it was time to move on.

"So what's the quickest way there?" Darian asked as they made their way back down the stairs. There hadn't even been any discussion about whether they should go after the tribute on the other tower, or even who it might be. It was too far away to tell, but that didn't matter. Couldn't matter. They were Careers. They were supposed to be hunters. And they'd spotted their prey.

"Let's go back through the cornucopia," Macauley suggested. "See if anyone's made their way back there."

Margo. Margo might have made her way back there. But Darian said nothing. He simply nodded. If Margo was there, he would deal with that then. If not, all the better. Maybe there would be another tribute or two along the way. The giant hole in the roof meant that the cornucopia was probably one of the only places in the arena where tributes would be able to see properly.

Of course, anyone with any sense would probably know better than to stay there for long. Still, he didn't have much of an argument for going any other way, and Macauley had seemed fairly certain that would be the quickest way to go. Was there something else going on? Did she have some reason to think that another direction might be slower for some reason?

Maybe. Maybe he was just being paranoid. There were two of them, after all, which probably made them one of the larger remaining groups. The boy they had killed at the feast had been working with a few other tributes, but the girl who had run away was probably all that remained of his alliance. He was pretty sure that was the same group, after all, that they had been shooting at on the roof; the girl from Six who they'd found dead at the cornucopia had been working with them, as far as he could remember.

Then there was Margo. As far as he knew, she was still alive, but if she was, she was alone. There was no way of knowing, really, who else might be left, but there hadn't been that many large groups to start off with, and he'd been part of one of them.

Technically, he probably was again. Macauley had been one of his allies at the start, after all, but they hadn't really spent much time together – either before or during the Games. He and Elliot had been left to guard the cornucopia when the others had gone off, and that had been the last he'd seen of any of them until a few hours ago.

Hours? Maybe. Somewhere around there. The sun had been right about overhead when they'd been on top of the tour, which put his best guess around noon. If the feast had been at dawn like the Gamemakers had said – and he had no reason to believe it hadn't – then it had only been a few hours since then. A few hours since he'd lost one ally and gained another. There were only nine tributes left, and he was still one of them.

But that sort of luck wouldn't last forever. And it had mostly been luck. If he played his cards right, the audience might believe that he'd seen the tributes on top of the table and arranged matters so that Mae would be the one to reach the top first. The truth was, he'd had no idea. He had simply slipped while climbing up the table leg. But he was damned if he was going to say that out loud. As long as the audience thought he was some sort of manipulative mastermind, they might stay interested. And as long as the audience was interested, the Gamemakers weren't likely to target him.

Weren't likely to. That was the other reason why it was best to keep moving. There was no way to be sure of what the Gamemakers would do. And if they saw a Career who had spotted another tribute and not gone after them, things weren't likely to go well for that Career.

A Career. Darian couldn't help a smile as he followed Macauley down the stairs. For the first time, he actually felt like a Career, rather than just tagging along with the pack. Maybe he did have what it took to be a hunter. There were only nine tributes left, and he was one of them. He was still alive, when most of his allies were dead.

Maybe he had a chance, after all.

Shanali Theisen, 17
District Eleven

Maybe they had a chance, after all.

Shanali stood up and stretched a little. It had been a while since the last cannon, but Ronan was still sleeping soundly. She had volunteered to keep watch, figuring he needed the rest more. He'd slept right through the most recent two cannons, and showed no sign of waking up anytime soon.

Not that that was likely to be a problem. He was still recovering from his injury, so the audience wouldn't expect them to be doing much. It hadn't been that long ago that they'd killed the boy from Three, after all, and the feast had probably kept the Gamemakers happy and the audience entertained since then. Besides, all the candles had gone out, making this the perfect opportunity to get some rest.

She could probably afford to get some sleep, as well. It was too dark to see anything, anyway, so keeping watch probably wasn't much use. And it would be hard for anyone to find them in the dark. But every time she tried to lie down and close her eyes, something kept her from falling asleep. Nothing she could put her finger on, really – just a feeling in the pit of her stomach that something was about to happen.

Maybe she was just being paranoid. There were seven other tributes out there, after all – not counting Ronan – who would would love to find and kill her. And at least one who had a good reason to. She and Ronan may have only been the messengers, so to speak, but they had killed the boy from Three, and his ally had gotten away. That meant there was at least one tribute who had a grudge and knew exactly where they were.

That was assuming, of course, that he was still alive. There had been four cannons since they'd last seen him, and although it didn't seem likely that he would have gone to the feast, there were other tributes who could have found him. The fact that there had been four cannons meant that someone was out killing tributes.

But it wasn't her. Maybe that was what was bothering her. Not that she wasn't part of the action, necessarily, but that she didn't have any way of knowing what the action was. No reliable way, at least. There had been five faces on the wall since then, but only half of those had actually been tributes who had died, and that was assuming that the Gamemakers hadn't decided to change the way the faces were working.

Maybe they hadn't. There had been three faces in the first group after only two cannons, after all. If they were still following the cannons, that made those the faces of the killers, which made sense. Two of them could have killed a third tribute at the same cannon, leaving two cannons for their three faces. But she had no way of knowing who they had killed.

The second set of faces was easier. The girl from One and the boy from Five. But the fact that they were dead didn't tell her much of anything, aside from the fact that those two cannons hadn't belonged to the boy from Ten. Other than that, she didn't have any real way of knowing who else might be left.

Okay. Okay, the faces in the first group had been a boy from One, a girl from Two, and one of the girls from Four. One of Ronan's district partners. So unless she had been killed immediately after killing someone else, that meant she was still alive. And possibly the boy from one and the girl from Two, as well. Damn, that was a lot of Careers.

Well, maybe. Technically, Ronan was also from a Career district – well, as much as Four was a Career district nowadays. But any Careers who were still alive were probably doing a reasonably good job of acting like Careers. After all, she and Ronan were doing a fair job on that count. They'd tamed a mutt, gone exactly where the Gamemakers had directed them, and gotten a kill. Wasn't that what Careers were supposed to do? Keep things interesting and kill tributes?

Did that make her a Career?

The idea left a sour taste in her mouth. Then again, there had been tributes from Eleven throughout other Games who had taken up the idea of acting like a Career pack even though they hadn't been one. That was what Violet had done during her Games, after all. And way back during the second Games, Ivy had been a Career in all but name. She'd been the Hunger Games' first volunteer, after all. It just so happened that no other tributes from District Eleven had chosen to follow her example.

That made sense, of course. Eleven didn't have the Capitol's favor the way some of the Career districts did. Even early on, Career districts had better access to the weapons they would need for training, because the Capitol could trust that those weapons wouldn't be turned against them when the time came. That had put District Eleven at a disadvantage, even though its tributes tended to be on the stronger side. So many of them were field workers. They had the strength, the endurance, the patience needed to do well in the Games.

They just didn't have the skills.

But this year, neither did the Careers. Ronan wasn't any better prepared for the Games than she was. He didn't have the skills that tributes from Four usually had, and she was doing just as well as him, if not better. They were both still alive, but she was completely uninjured, and Ronan … Well, he was still sleeping. Shanali drummed her fingers on the wall. She was doing just as well as he was, if not better, and he was still the one the sponsors had sent a gift to.

It shouldn't matter. Not really. Even if the dog whistle had been sent to him, it had certainly helped them both. And his mentor was the one who had better resources, better access to the sponsors in general, because even though Four's position as a Career district may have been damaged during the 41st Games, Imalia's victory the following year had gone a long way towards repairing that relationship.

Shanali shook her head. Come to think of it, Imalia was Ronan's mentor, wasn't she? Yes, the gift had helped both of them, but she had sent it to him. She could have worked with Shanali's mentor, Tamsin, to send them something together, but she hadn't. Maybe she simply hadn't needed to. Or maybe…

Shanali glanced over at Ronan again. No. No, he wouldn't. He wouldn't do anything to harm her. Not because she was his ally, his friend, but because he still needed her. There were still nine tributes left, and he wasn't in any sort of position to take on anyone in a fight. Not without her help. Not now that the dog was gone. She was just being paranoid.

Wasn't she?

Ronan Callaway, 18
District Four

He was just being paranoid, wasn't he?

Ronan kept his eyes closed, breathing evenly, quietly. With any luck, Shanali thought he was still asleep. And the audience probably would, too. He wanted to sleep. He really did. But the truth was, he hadn't been able to sleep a wink – not with Shanali keeping watch.

Part of his brain knew how ridiculous that sounded. They'd taken turns keeping watch before, and he hadn't once felt uneasy. Not even after Shanali had killed the girl from Seven. She'd done that to protect them – all of them. There was nothing different now. There really wasn't.

Was there?

Well, there were fewer tributes left, for a start. Only nine of them, as opposed to … however many there had been back then. He wasn't entirely sure. Things were a bit blurry when he tried to think that far back in the Games. Maybe that was the medicine going to his head. Or maybe he was just tired. He was definitely tired. He just couldn't sleep.

Because things were different, as much as he might try to deny it. There were nine tributes left. Nine. And he was injured. He was a liability. How long would it be before Shanali decided she would be better off without him?

Ronan shook the thought from his head. If she did, he couldn't exactly blame her. Hell, he might do the same in her position. But the chances of her turning on him still seemed slim. Most likely, she would just take off and leave. That's what he would do. He wouldn't kill an ally unless he absolutely had to.

And he wouldn't have to. Not yet. As soon as they swapped turns keeping watch, there was nothing to stop him from leaving, instead. Was that why Shanali hadn't woken him? Was she worried that he might decide it was time to split up and just leave? Maybe. Or maybe she was just trying to let him rest as long as possible.

Maybe she was just trying to be kind.

Suddenly, he heard a noise. Shanali cursed under her breath. She'd probably run into something in the dark. Then he heard footsteps, slow and quiet. But they weren't coming towards him.

She was leaving, after all.

Ronan kept his eyes closed until the footsteps had faded into the distance. Sure enough, Shanali was gone. From what he could see in the dark, she had left him about half the supplies, along with his mace. She'd taken the axe they'd taken from the boy from Three. And she'd left the dog whistle, for all the good that was going to do him. He'd given it a try occasionally since the dog had disappeared, but it showed no signs of coming back. The mutts were probably gone for good. They had served their purpose.

Just like him.

Stop it. Ronan looked around in the dark, turning his mace over in his hands. Maybe he'd done what the Gamemakers had wanted him to do, but that didn't mean it was over. It just meant that he wouldn't get any more special help from them. He was on his own, but he still had just as good a chance as anyone else in the arena. And there were only nine of them left.

Only nine of them left. If there were only twenty-four tributes, that would be different. That would mean more than a third of the original tributes were still left. But there weren't twenty-four tributes. Hadn't been for … well, almost as long as he could remember, really. He'd only been nine years old during the 41st Games, when everything had gone wrong. He remembered there being the right number of tributes then, but ever since…

District Four had won the very next year. They'd sent six tributes, and Imalia had come out on top. She'd ended up allying with an outer-district tribute, too – the girl from ten – among others. It had come down to the two of them that year. The island that had formed the arena had begun to flood, and Imalia and the girl from Ten had fought until … well, until the other girl was dead. Because that was how the Games worked.

Ronan shook his head. Maybe it was a good thing Shanali had left. He didn't want it to come down to the two of them. He didn't want to kill her.

But part of him already knew that he would, if he had to. If she was the last one left, and that was what it took to get home, he would try to kill her. And she would try to kill him. That was how the Games went. The last two tributes couldn't just decide not to kill each other. If tributes could just do that, none of them would have to kill each other.

That was what had gone wrong during the 41st Games, after all. A group of tributes had decided to try to stop the Games, to kill off everyone else and then just not kill each other. It hadn't worked then, and it wouldn't work now. The Gamemakers would find a way to get what they wanted. There was no use fighting it.

He would just have to hope someone else would kill Shanali first.

Macauley Tierney, 17
District Five

They would just have to hope someone else didn't find the boy first.

Macauley glanced down at the candle she was holding as she and Darian made their way into the next room – the cornucopia. Darian shook his head, as if he could tell what she was thinking. "Best not to blow them out, probably. Can't know for sure we'd be able to light them again."

Macauley nodded. He was right. Besides, the candles were pretty thick and rather large to begin with. They would last a bit longer. And if they did find a way to light them, there were always plenty more. It was just a matter of plucking one or two off the walls. Maybe there were some matches at the cornucopia…

Macauley glanced around quickly, but didn't see anything except a body. "Guess they cleaned up the other one," Darian noted, looking around for another one, apparently. "This one's new."

Macauley took a step closer, then rolled the body over. Sure enough, it was her district partner. She'd known he was dead, of course; his face had been one of the most recent to appear on the wall. Really, it was more of a surprise that he'd lasted this long. That meant she and Retro were the only ones left from District Five. If Retro was still alive, that was. He'd been alive the last time she saw him, but that had been…

What? Days ago? Maybe. She wasn't entirely sure, but it seemed like ages. His face had appeared on the wall, but she was pretty sure that had been one of the groups of killers, rather than the groups of the dead. As long as those were still accurate groups, of course. If not…

Macauley took another look at the body in front of her. No, he was most certainly dead. There was a pool of blood, a wound in his stomach, and another in his chest. Either one of those blows would have been deadly – especially to him. The only question was, who had killed him? It hadn't been that long ago, had it? If the other tribute was still around…

No. No, they didn't have time for that. Darian was already heading for the other end of the room, towards the room that would lead them up to the top of the tower where the other boy was. Where she hoped he still was, at least. He could very easily have left in the time it took them to head down the stairs, across almost the entire arena, and up another flight of stairs.

Except if he was going down the stairs while they were going up, they would still find him. And they would still have the advantage, because they knew where he was, and he had no idea that they were coming. All they had to do was get to the stairs before he decided it would be a good idea to leave. Yes, they would take care of that first. Then, if they wanted, they could come back to the cornucopia and take care of whoever had killed Vashti, if they were still around.

Then they could figure out what to do next.

Vester Pierce
District Two Mentor

"You figured it out, didn't you."

Vester sat down next to Harakuise, who looked up with a look of unconvincing confusion. "Figured what out?"

"The goo. The tar. Whatever it was. You figured out that as long as they kept laughing, they would be safe, and Genevieve would get stuck. That was why you weren't worried."

Harakuise shrugged, then glanced over at Basil. "Did you figure it out?"

Basil shook his head. "No, but I figured the Gamemakers would do something. They wouldn't just have a pit full of goo there and have it not do anything."

Vester sighed. He was never going to get used to this. Everything had to have a reason now, a purpose for being in the arena. Nothing could just be there. "And the trap door that just happened to be right above them. Did you know it was there?"

Harakuise raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you see the map?"

"The map," Vester repeated.

"The map that Mae got just before they went down into the tunnels," Harakuise answered patiently. "Do you remember what was on it?"

"Dots representing the trap doors," Vester agreed. "Four leading down into the tunnels and one leading from the roof down to the cornucopia."

"And…" Basil prompted.

"And what?"

Harakuise smiled knowingly. "And didn't you think it was odd that they would use the same color for two completely different sets of information?"

"Unless," Basil reasoned, "they weren't completely different sets of information. Two sets of trap doors – leading from the roof to the main level and from the main level to the tunnels. Two for each dot, not one."

Vester shook his head. "And you knew that?"

"No, but I hoped it was the case," Harakuise admitted. "It was the only way they were getting out of there, short of Vashti convincing Barlen to leave him behind."

Vester shifted a little in his seat. "Sorry about what happened – with Margo."

Harakuise shook his head. "He was dead the moment that tourniquet slipped. What Margo did was a mercy, even though he practically had to goad her into it. Right now, I'd be more worried about what the audience thinks of her performance."

Vester took a long drink. "I think Harriet can handle that." It seemed a bit better than saying, Not my problem. Technically, his job had been over the moment Leo had died in the bloodbath. He could have just gone home, and no one would have blamed him. Helping arrange for Leo's remaining ally to team up with two tributes who might be able to help him had given him an excuse to stay. He'd never imagined that Barlen would be the one to survive the longest.

Still, that was an excuse, not a reason. Vester's gaze strayed to Avery, still asleep on the couch. Both tributes from Three were gone, as well. Technically, she wasn't even mentoring, but she had come along anyway, because as painful as watching the Games here was, watching them alone was even worse.

So he usually didn't. He avoided the screens and the crowds talking about the events of the Games, and he spent a lot of time during the Games in his house in Victor's Village, drunk out of his wits. It helped. But it also meant that he only remembered bits and pieces of the most recent Games. He took another drink, trying to remember anything useful about Basil's year. The boy seemed sharp enough, but—

But nothing. Basil's tribute was still alive, after all, while both his and Harakuise's were dead. He certainly hadn't expected that, but it was where they were. District Two had two tributes left, of course, and District Five still had two, as well – all in relatively good positions. In fact, most of the tributes who were left were in pretty good positions. Aleyn and Ronan were injured, and Margo had hit her head. How hard, exactly, he wasn't sure, but Vashti had seemed to think it was pretty serious. And of course, Skyton was about to be cornered.

But…

"If the pit of goo was there for a reason," Vester ventured, "do you think the griffin was, too?"

Harakuise looked up. "You're wondering if I think it's going to come back and save Skyton?"

Vester nodded. "Wouldn't be the first time." Ever since mutts had been introduced into the Games, the Gamemakers had felt the need to get more and more dramatic with them. There hadn't been any mutts in his arena. He'd never had to worry about predicting what they might do. "So what do you think?"

Harakuise turned to Basil. "What do you think?"

Basil shrugged. "Don't care, really. My tribute's nowhere near them." Barlen had taken shelter in the treasure room after running from the cornucopia, and at least he'd had the sense to stay quiet and out of the way.

Harakuise smirked. "Lesson number six. Everything in the arena matters, even if it's nowhere near your tribute. So what do you think?"

While Vester was wondering what the first five lessons had been, Basil thought for a moment. "I'd say it depends on what he does. Skyton, that is"

Harakuise set down his drink and leaned forward. "Good. Elaborate."

"They're not going to send the griffin in there right away, in any case. They'll wait and see what he does, see if he puts up a good fight. If he gets in a good blow or two, or maybe even manages to kill one of them, they might send the griffin in to help him finish off the other one. But it's not going to step in just because he'll die if it doesn't. They'll only send it in if it'll make for a good show, and they'll wait until the moment when it would be the most dramatic." He shrugged. "That's what I'd do." As soon as the words left his mouth, he seemed to realize he'd said them out loud. "I mean…"

Harakuise waved a hand. "You meant exactly what you said. You're going to have to get used to thinking like that, if you're planning on doing this for a while."

Basil took a drink, smirking. "Maybe I don't plan on doing this for a while. My tribute's still alive, after all."

Harakuise chuckled. "Touche."

Basil glanced from Harakuise to Vester. "Come to think of it, neither of you still has to be doing this. Even this year, there are enough Victors from your districts – ones who won more recently, I mean."

Vester rolled his eyes. "You can say 'younger,' kid."

Basil recovered quickly. "Younger, then. That's how we do it in District Nine. Not that there's been a whole lot of choice recently, with sending three tributes instead of two. I don't think Tobiah's mentored since—"

Harakuise waved his hand dismissively. "Tobiah's a drunk."

Basil glanced meaningfully around the bar, waving a hand at the emptied drinks and a few of the Victors who were passed out on the couches. "And…?"

Vester chuckled. The kid had a point. He was green as hell and too inquisitive for his own good, maybe, but he had a point. "Tobiah doesn't care," he corrected Harakuise. "Lot of us here drink because we care too much, or because we don't want to care, or because we don't want to care that we care. But most of us hold it together at least until our tributes are gone. We make an effort. Sometimes a grudging effort or a misguided effort, but an effort. We try to help our tributes. Anyone who can't do that shouldn't be mentoring, whether they're the oldest mentor or the youngest. Understand?"

Basil nodded. "So that's why you're still here?"

Vester shrugged. "District Two's chock full of mentors who are willing to make an effort. This is a one-time thing, and then I'm done again. Thought I was done before, but … Well, things happen. But next year, it's back to two tributes, two mentors, and I'm done. This one, on the other hand." He clapped Harakuise on the back. "I think he actually enjoys it."

A hint of a smile played on Harakuise's lips. "Something like that."

"Fair is foul, and foul is fair."