Cheating Death: Those That Lived

by CragmiteBlaster

To cheat death is to survive in almost impossible odds. Seventy three tributes did it before Katniss and Peeta ever set foot in the arena. Whether they were brave, scared, vicious, insane or simply got lucky they all have a story to tell and all such tales, one per Victor, can be found within. Let it be shown how they made their mark on Panem in their own unique ways. [74/74]

51. Haymitch Abernathy

Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. They belong to Suzanne Collins.

Note: It's certainly been a long time coming, but here we are at the second quell. Two thirds of the way through the story and now double the number of tributes. If that ain't a milestone then I have no idea what is. But now, Haymitch's Games! Given we have a lot of knowledge over what happened in this particular year from canon, I figured that it'd be a good chance to switch up the format a bit and do something a bit differently. Hope you'll all enjoy it!

---

"It feels like every victor from Twelve won the Games only because they used some kind of trick they weren't really meant to use," Katniss said, gazing at Haymitch's imprinted face. "Our stunt with the berries, Haymitch with the forcefield, Duke creating his own cave to hide in… seems like our district only won by accident."

"I… can't exactly disagree," Peeta admitted. "But so did a lot of other victors. Chassis, Snag, Bentley…"

The pair were silent for a moment, unsure of what else to say.

"Think Haymitch will find his peace one day?" Katniss asked. "Think any of us will?"

Peeta reached to gently hold Katniss' hand.

"I think we've made a good job at taking the first step," Peeta said, softly smiling.

---

50th Annual Hunger Games: The 2nd Quarter Quell

Name: Haymitch Abernathy

Gender: Male

District: 12

Age: 16

Kills: 4

---

"By the time we get to District 12, I'm completely overwhelmed by the sheer number of kids going to certain death." – Katniss Everdeen.

---

The tributes from One felt no fear whatsoever for the morbid, brutal competition that was due to start the next morning. All four of them were vicious and ready to go, practically eager to get on with the killing of the weaker tributes. It had been mutually agreed that they would all work together until they were the last four standing. No early betrayals, no sir.

Not if they wanted to live. Treasure had been able to put together an alliance of twelve tributes and a single betrayal from any of her fellow Ones would result in the rest of the pack torturing the deserter. It seemed like a foolproof plan.

"We won't run!" Treasure yelled, pacing in front of her district partners.

"We won't run!" the other three chorused.

"We will fight!" Treasure shouted, raising her clenched fist.

"We will fight!" the other three repeated.

"What will do to the other tributes!?" Treasure roared.

"No mercy!" her allies replied.

"No mercy! Only death!" Treasure screeched.

"Death! Death! Death!" the other three parroted.

Treasure nodded, seemingly satisfied. She sat on her own personal armchair, an eerily calm look in her eyes as she turned to watch the show playing on the TV.

"When the pack splits we go for the Twos first. They're our biggest opposition," Treasure stated. "Nobody else comes close to those four."

"That about the Fours or the recruits?" one of the boys, Fantastic, asked.

"Only two people from Four in the pack. They don't have the numbers," Treasure stated, shrugging. "Same for the recruits. A Seven and a Ten. They're just here to fill space."

"Makes sense. Doesn't really matter who they are if they're only gonna die," Fantastic conceded, shrugging as well.

"Exactly. Us four to the end. Nobody else deserves it. Nobody else has what it takes to get there," Treasure stated, balling her fists.

"What about that boy from Twelve? The older one?" the second boy, Ramesses, added. "He had a look to him."

Fantastic punched Ramesses, snorting. Treasure did the same a mere second later.

"Hey, fuck off!" Ramesses barked.

"No, you fuck off and shut the fuck up!" Treasure snapped. "It's Twelve. Twelve. They had one victor and he got himself killed two years ago. They're being mentored by the lazy lump of the Second Games. A twelve tribute is just a walking corpse, don't forget it."

"Yeah, Treasure's right. Remember how the younger one squealed in training? That was rad," Fantastic said, laughing.

"Still no need to punch me," Ramesses scoffed, particularly irked.

"Oh shut up, worse things can and will happen to you in the arena," Dreamer, the second female, responded. "Now shut up and let me watch TV in peace."

While the four trained murderers sat on the sofa to enjoy a Fiona and Lawrence rerun, their mentors were seated at other parts of the room. Peridot sat at the dinner table, trying to read a new issue of one of her favourite comic book series'. Platinum sat beside her, scratching her head.

"So… she's called the Cat Welder?" Platinum asked, confused.

"Correct," Peridot replied.

"And… she welds cats to bad guys?" Platinum continued.

"Uh huh," Peridot said.

"And this is a hit series? Like, seriously?" Platinum looked incredibly weirded out.

"That's what I've been saying," Peridot replied. "The character development is solid."

"…I'll take your word for it," Platinum said, rising to her feet. "But if it's all the same to you, I'll stick to classic literature."

"Whatever floats your boat," Peridot said, returning her gaze to her comicbook.

Platinum left to fetch a bottle of wine. Peridot watched her go, lightly shaking her head in dismay.

"Pffft, implying comic books aren't classic literature. Hopeless," Peridot muttered, annoyed. "At least our tributes have the best odds this year."

Out on the balcony things weren't going quite so peaceful or calm as the talk between the two female victors. As was often the case ever since the day they first met many years ago Bronze and Crown were having an argument.

It was so vicious, in fact, that the peacekeepers below had needed to herd away all the Capitol citizens that had been nearby so as to maintain their bubble of a world without any problems.

"Like are you honestly for real how can you even live with yourself after the shit you've done?" Crown asked, genuinely at a loss.

"Quite easily, actually," Bronze retorted. "It's always easy to sleep when you have money, fame and women."

"Women like Crimson?" Crown's normally friendly face adorned only hatred. "You've ruined her life Bronze. There's no two ways about it no way no how no sir. This is sick Bronze, sick!"

"So?" Bronze just shrugged, scoffing. "Just because you guys have all your little gripes about the Capitol's rule doesn't mean I have to. Why would I when my life's awesome thanks to the Capitol?"

"At the cost of almost everybody who has ever known you? At the cost of others' freedom and their families if they refuse to obey you?" Crown gaze Bronze a very sickened sort of leer.

"Every man has his price," Bronze replied, chuckling. "You can call me any swear word in the book. Call me a cunt if you really have to. I have everything I could ever want so I'm not gonna act like I feel bad or anything. Besides, what right does one killer have to judge another?"

Crown, for once, was silent. He took a deep breath in and then a deep breath out.

"Your arrogance is gonna get you in some serious trouble one day like you have no ideas what it's gonna be like because boy howdy you've pissed off lots of people. Lots and lots of people," Crown paused, shaking his head. "About the only person you've never hurt or angered is Snow himself."

"What can I say? Me and Snow, we get each other. We're a team," Bronze idly stretched out, smug.

"A team where you do the dirty work like a thug and he gets all of the rewards?" Crown asked.

Bronze rolled his eyes. He made the move to roughly shove past Crown, making sure it'd be hard enough to potentially leave a faint bruise.

"Say whatever you please, it doesn't change a damn thing," Bronze said, bored. "You've old news Crown."

Bronze was soon gone in search of a fine bottle of wine. Crown sighed as he leaned upon the railings. He dared not say a thing out loud, not when anybody might be able to overhear him, but in his mind and his heart he sure hoped that District Thirteen would have something in mind for himself and Harp to do in the name of overthrowing the Capitol.

He really owed Mizar at least five crates of candy for informing him that Thirteen was still alive and would one day be ready for round two.

---

Treasure Romantic killed many tributes with her personal axe with a grin on her face. She died with that same axe buried into her skull, a look of terror frozen upon her face.

Dreamer Luna was easily the fastest runner of the career pack, but a badly timed trip made it all too easy for the lava of the eruption to consume her. Nothing was left of the once beautiful young women.

Ramesses Firebird was all about full frontal power in the arena. His failure to watch his back ended with a poisoned arrow in his neck and his life very much over.

Fantastic Tzar thought it was funny to mock and torment the two miner boys during the training days. This came back to haunt him when the eventual victor slashed his chest open with five slashes of a knife.

---

The District Two tributes were proud and powerful per the yearly norm. If anything this was the year they were the most of those qualities than ever before, both for the fact it was such a special Games and how there were four of them. Each was a warrior and more than ready to start ending the lives of others.

None were more ready than Comengetorix, a niece of the late Vercingetorix. Incredibly loyal to the Capitol and among the most formidable tributes that Two had ever offered up, it wasn't a shock to anybody that Olga had laid claim towards mentoring her. Both mentor and tribute were incredibly confident of victory.

"You know why you are doing this, correct?" Olga asked, firm.

"Affirmative. To honour the Capitol, play my role towards ensuring a stable nation, to punish the descendants of violent rebels, to bring glory and honour towards my District, my family and myself… oh, and to ensure none of the innocent of our district have to enter the arena before they are ready?" Comengetorix replied.

"All correct, but don't forget about avenging your uncle," Olga paused, seething to herself. "His death was a mistake. A vile one. Worse than what got Boris killed. He may have ended up not being quite the victor I hoped for, but he was still better than bloody Rook. Win and avenge him."

"Consider it already done," Comengetorix replied, salting. "Rebel blood will stain the grass."

"Ands if there is no grass…?" Olga prompted.

"They'll still bleed until all life in their eyes is gone. In the name of the Capitol it'll be done," Comengetorix finished with a salute.

"Excellent. Now, above all else… kill Six and make it painful," Olga commanded, her face turning just a little red from hatred.

Comengetorix saluted, confirming it'd be carried out exactly as Olga wanted. The tenth victor allowed herself a brief smirk, more confident than ever that Two was going to win and, a first for the Games, get a back to back victory.

At the other side of the apartment's living room were Brutus and his tribute Gorn were having a tense arm wrestle. Both sweated and clenched their jaws as they tried to gain the upper hand over each other. It seemed like it could go either way.

"You're… good at this…" Brutus grunted, putting his all into the duel.

"You're not… so bad… either," Gorn replied, his face covered in sweat. "How long… have we been… doing this…?"

"Two… hours…!" Brutus wheezed.

It was only a matter of time before the arm wrestle had its winner. Brutus gained the advantage when Gorn finally tired out, bringing his arm down to the table. Brutus panted, cheered and guzzled down the contents of a bottle of water.

"That was good. Real power in that arm of yours. You're gonna do great," Brutus grinned, clapping Gorn on the shoulder. "Banana sundae on me once you step out of that arena."

"I wanted to win before, but now I really want to win," Gorn remarked, laughing. "I can't wait to get cracking!"

"Your knuckles or the other tributes' necks?" Brutus asked, smirking.

"Why stop at necks? Plenty more bones than just those," Gorn replied. "Alright, I'm ready for round two."

"Good man!" Brutus said, laughing as the arm wrestle began anew.

Not far from the pair and seated at the dinner table was Mercy. The misfit victor of Two wasn't having a great mentoring experience. She'd hoped that she'd at least have a tribute with some honour to watch over, but Camakazi was proving to be among the most violent and incredibly sadistic young women it had ever been her horror to meet.

"I can't wait to begin," Camakazi practically shuddered in glee. "They'll bleed and cry and scream and oh fuck I cannot wait."

Mercy could only flinch, rather reminded of the monster from the Forty First Games as she looked over her tribute.

"You know, I need your advice Mercy," Camakazi began to casually sharpen her steak knife. "What do you reckon would be better? Slicing a knee tendon with a hacksaw or hammering a few teeth out. I wanna try it on one of the Twelves."

"Uh… that would only slow down the kills and-," Mercy was cut off before she could say much of anything.

"Exactly, I want to make it last a while. The audience love it, my family will love it and I'll love it. Hacksaw or hammer?" Camakazi repeated, impatient.

"…I trust that you'll be able to work it out for yourself," Mercy quickly rose to her feet, looking rather sick. "I need a moment. Bathroom."

Mercy quickly left. Camakazi shrugged to herself, starting to casually juggle a few of the sharpest steak knives.

Over in a quiet corner was Runa. To her relief she'd been paired with one of the quietest Two tributes in years, a bulky boy by the name of Smolg. He was mighty but more the sort to listen and act, not waste time with talking or any theatrics.

"So, any last minute advice before I get on with it?" Smolg asked. "I feel ready physically, ready mentally, ready emotionally… I'm ready, but I don't want to assume I am, you know?"

"That is most wise," Runa replied. "My Grandpa gave me plenty of advice back when I got reaped. You volunteered, but it should probably be applicable for you anyway."

"Sounds good. What advice do you have?" Smolg asked.

"For starters, if something looks too good to be true then it probably is. In my arena a sack of bread was left out in the open. I ignored it. As I found out later post-Games it was bait to trick tributes into a spike trap. Basically, do not go for anything that looks out of place and good, like a tree full of juicy fruit," Runa paused, collecting her thoughts. "For that matter, always eat dinner last just in case somebody else poisoned it first."

"Sounds good. I can work with that," Smolg cracked his knuckles, lightly grunting. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, one thing. Aim high in life but watch out for flying boxes," Runa stated.

Smolg was silent for a few moments. He tried to think over the advice but could only gaze at Runa with a blank, lost stare. He lamely shrugged.

"What the hell?" Smolg said, confused.

"Beats me. I never understood that part of Grandpa's advice, not even when falling boxes fell my way in my Games," Runa replied, softly chuckling. "Ah, Grandpa… damn, I miss him like you wouldn't believe."

---

Comengetorix Hartwright was a powerful leader and among the most patriotic tributes ever seen, just shy of Olga herself. She was too trusting, having foolishly turned her back on Treasure and left herself wide open for a late-Games betrayal.

Camakazi Nuddix was lucky enough to find a cave away from the flowing lava and avoid being engulfed. Unlucky for her, she ended dying by smoke inhalation. The lava would've been the better way to go.

Gorn Viper was unable to escape the lava, especially due to being partly on fire already. In his final moments before his fiery demise he let his spear fly, taking out an outlier and eliminating District Nine in one go.

Smolg Takeshi killed over fifty poisonous mutts within the arena in the time after the volcanic eruption. It took only one stab from Haymitch to bring him down.

---

The tributes of Three tended to be smart in just about every single year, the exceptions to this being particularly low. The second Quell was not among this small list as each of the four tributes had a recorded IQ of over two hundred. Intellectually no other tribute could come close to them.

On the other hand the four were particularly weedy and both of the girls could hardly see a thing without their glasses. With brawn well and truly impossible for any of them it fell towards the quartet having to use their brains to survive.

That was why the tributes were seated on the sofa, notebooks and pens at the ready, while Honorius paced in front of them.

"Alright guys, class is in session," Honorius declared. "There are four of you, so in theory we have double the chances of winning."

"Doesn't it work out to being the same since each district has four tributes?" one of the girls, Beep, asked.

"Not if you four stay as one unit and end up with a number advantage," Honorius replied. "Stick together at all times, for your own sakes and those of the district. Being found alone would doom each of you."

"How lovely…" the other girl, Code, mumbled. "Do we have any chance?"

"You will, just so long as you listen to everything we're going to tell you," Honorius stated, gesturing to himself and the other mentors. "For starters, what cuts harder? The sword or the brain?"

"The brain. It can create things more dangerous than a sword," the first boy, Dattery, stated.

"Exactly. Use your brains to make the things you need; you can make staffs and spears out of branches if you try hard enough. Rocks can be sharpened to become daggers. In fact you could probably make a fine whip out of a sharp stone and a vine," Honorius continued to pace back and forth. "The arena can be your greatest weapon of all, just so long as you think with clarity, conciseness and calmness."

"How can we stay calm if people are gonna try to kill us?" the second boy, Orbit, whimpered.

"Again, strength in numbers," Honorius explained. "If you stay with each other and work as a team then you'll provide a great emotional support for each other. Madness will set in far slower, if at all."

Honorius soon moved on from talking about the mental benefits of human interaction and went on to cover the landmines located by the launch pedestals. The four tributes listened with rapt, almost eager attention to what the first victor of Three was saying.

"It's a long shot, but if you manage to find the time to do it… see if you can dig up the landmines around the launch pedestas," Honorius suggested. "Theoretically you'd have your own personal supply of hand grenades to fight with. A sword hurts, but bombs hurt far more."

Honorius stepped aside for Beetee to take over from him. The tributes all looked fascinated by the idea of weaponizing the landmines, a fact Beetee did not miss.

"Don't get too excited. It pays to remain rational, for better or worse," Beetee said. "Honorius has suggested that plan each year ever since the Fortieth Games and so far it's never had a chance at working. The careers never leave the cornucopia unguarded… and if they do any tributes of ours are either far away, or dead."

"So, what do you suggest we do?" Beep asked, crestfallen. "Just die and hope that we somehow don't?"

"Not at all. There are plenty of things you can do if the landmines are not an option," Beetee took a tiny taser out from his pocket. "Making a taser wouldn't cost a particularly severe amount of sponsor funding. Neither would making traps; you'd merely need to be creative. That's what it will come back to above all, being creative and being quick to adapt."

"…And killing?" Dattery asked, timidly.

"I'm afraid it would be near impossible to win the Games without killing a single person," Beetee looked grimly understanding. "At bare minimum every victor has taken at least one life. Even Pliny, though hers was admittedly a mercy kill."

"Let's just… pretend they're clockwork or something guys," Beep tapped her fingers together. "Just… clockwork toys full of red paint. Toys we need to put away in the toy chest."

Everybody looked at Beep in a confused silence.

"…It makes me feel better to think of it that way," Beep muttered. "Like I'm less of a murderer-to-be."

"That's good. If it helps make it easier on you then keep doing it," Beetee said approvingly. "If something makes the Games even a tiny bit easier then by all means do it. Anything may save your life."

After talking to the quarter of tributes about how to purify water and contaminate the water of other tributes without making it obvious Beetee walked to the side and let Wiress take his place.

Naturally it was a few moments before Wiress said anything at all other than soft mumbles.

"Try to… live long and… do the thing," Wiress said, making awkward gestures with her hands. "The thing, being something like… not dying?"

The tributes tried not to make their hopeless expressions overly obvious. Alas, the Three alliance didn't seem hopeful.

"Aw nuts," Code muttered.

---

Beep Horton died upon the mountain as it erupted. Rather than lava or smoke, she got crushed like a bug under a massive boulder expelled from within the volcano.

Code Redding had been walking with a limp ever since the bloodbath. She had no chance of outrunning the lava and died screaming for her mother.

Dattery Griswald came up with over three hundred plans for survival while fleeing from the horribly hot lava. Not a single one could save him when he tripped over a single pebble.

Orbit Rilgar made it to the base of the volcano, his allies all dead behind him. His relief did not last long, as the eruption sent a boulder at a tree. The tree crushed him underneath it before he could scream.

---

It was a fairly unusual situation that the District Four floor was host to in this year of the Games. It was not unheard of for tributes from Four to join the careers or be at the mercy of them, whether one or both in either direction. In this year however the older and burlier tributes, Beach and Rod, had been accepted into the pack and were both ready to get on with the Games they'd volunteered for. The younger and weaker pair, Guppy and Dylan, had been reaped and were already targets for the careers. So much so that Rod had called them dead kids walking and cast them away as weaklings.

In spite of all the tension going on it was a fairly quiet and peaceful night for the Fours. Well, relatively speaking of course. It was understandably hard for anybody to feel truly at ease when a deathmatch loomed with only a one in forty eight chance of not being killed.

Beach and Rod were passing the evening by with a game of cards against each other, Mags and Tide. All four had their poker faces on, each giving nothing away to their opponents.

"You've gotta give up that poker face sometime Rod. C'mon, blink already!" Beach exclaimed.

"Not gonna happen. I've got years of practise doing this," Rod replied with a snicker. "Nothing you do is gonna get me to lose focus."

"What about that boy from Eight?" Beach asked, smirking. "The fat one? You guys have been going at it since before the parade. Honestly, it's getting repetitive."

"We'll settle it in the arena first thing tomorrow," Rod replied, growling. "Once I grab a trident he won't stand a chance."

"Well, be careful. He did score an eight," Beach stated, looking back at her cards.

"What's he gonna do? Sit on me?" Rod asked, scoffing.

"Don't tempt him," Tide stated. "I'd be willing to bet money he'd totally do it. Ok, all in!"

Tide laid down her hand, showing two pairs of queens. She grinned smugly as Rod and Beach both cursed, laying down their own poor hands of pairs of twos, sixes, sevens, and tens. With grumbles they passed over a few caps into Tide's hands.

"Many thanks," Tide said, snickering. "I know exactly what I'll do with this money."

"Let me guess, make more bets?" Mags guessed, her voice ever so dry. "You don't buy much Tide, I've noticed. You just bet to gain more money."

"A woman's gotta have a hobbie," Tide replied, shrugging.

Mags reached out to grab the money from Tide's hand, a rather smug grin now covering her face.

"Hey, give me money back," Tide said, scowling.

"Why ever should I do that? I won," Mags said, cheeky as could be. "Read them and reap, Tide!"

Mags laid down a hand of four aces, smirking as she took in the bewildered look on Tide's face. For a few moments it seemed like Tide's brain had broken.

"What… wait… what… what the hell?!" Tide clutched her head in both hands. "Where the hell did you get those cards Mags?!"

"…Same place you got those cards in yours. I've known you for over twenty years, do you really think I don't know when you're cheating?" Mags snickered again. "Please do cut me a little bit of credit here, Tide."

Tide groaned, defeated for now. She soon began to shuffle the deck of cards once again, ready for the second round to begin. Rod and Beach both exchanged a brief glance.

"So, since Tide cheated and Mags basically admitted to it… can we get our money back?" Beach asked.

"I second that notion," Rod added.

While the career duo and their mentors continued to play cards the two youngsters and their mentors were spending their time watching TV. Guppy and Dylan quietly ate popcorn as they observed the strange commercials playing on the TV from their spots on the sofa beside Museida and Librae.

"Capitol TV is really odd," Guppy mumbled, still confused over the commercial she'd seen that advertised a fish de-boner that had been called the 'wonder boner'.

"You think that one was bad? It gets a whole lot more stupid and wasteful than that," Museida muttered, a dismayed look in his eyes. "Just you watch, it'll get worse."

"How much worse?" Dylan asked, somewhat unnerved.

"Like, much worse dude," Librae replied with a shudder. "You just wait until you see the clown-for-hire commercial."

A new commercial soon began. The mentors and young tributes watched as Leprechaun with bunny ears pranced around within a forest, bragging about his delicious brand of cereal. It wasn't long before two kids entered the area and brutally murdered the leprechaun and started eating his innards. Guppy recoiled, Dylan screamed and both Museida and Librae didn't react.

"Eh, I've seen worse," Librae admitted.

"I've done worse," Museida shrugged, shaking his head.

Guppy covered her face, letting out a soft whimper. Dylan gently put a hand on his ally's shoulder in a futile attempt to comfort her.

"Holy crud guys, what kind of a commercial was that?" Dylan asked, pale faced. "Isn't that kind of insane for something as basic as cereal?"

"Well, this is the Capitol you're in Dylan. This kind of thing is pretty tame around here," Museida said, a grim look in his eyes. "You'll get used to it… if you can win the Games."

"Plus, dude, if you wanna sell boxes of cereal to the Capitol citizens you've gotta pump the gas. Pedal to the metal you know?" Librae nodded her head towards the kitchen area. "I saw our escort buying around sixty boxes of the stuff. Blood works around these parts."

Dylan and Guppy exchanged a helpless sort of glance.

"How about we just turn off the TV and read a book?" Guppy suggested.

"Agreed," Dylan quickly said.

---

Guppy Charles proved she was far from weak when, despite being the youngest tribute in history - seven hours younger than even Omi of the 36th - she stabbed one of the girls from Seven to death. This meant nothing to Rod who killed her like she was nothing, caring little that she had been from his own district.

Beach Pekali was an expert surfer. Almost as good as Librae's legendary skills. However, surfing on lava was far less successful and she was the first to due during the terrible eruption.

Dylan Keen tried to hide from the careers in the back of the cornucopia, taking a few cuts along the way there. He'd have likely avoided having Treasure's axe end up in his neck had she not smelled his blood.

Rod Blacktide got into a vicious rivalry with Patric from Eight that started over who would use the sword training station first. Despite Rod's aggression and years of combat training it only took Patric five minutes to kick him in the balls and decapitate him while he was stumbling. His family were disgusted at his mere 4th place ranking.

---

The night was bittersweet all around to the tributes of Five, but none moreso than Watts and Khloe. On the one hand death was likely to be coming sooner than later, their lives over before they could truly begin. All when they'd never done a thing wrong.

On the other hand, they did have Porter mentoring them both at the same time and the sweet mute had been nothing but supportive and helpful from the very start. Indeed, she'd even agreed to their final request.

To marry them to each other.

Having become an ordained minister in her free time Porter was eager, willing and able to make it happen. It was all too easy for a victor to rent out a wedding dress, tuxedo and buy a fancy cake for the admittedly small and slightly rushed ceremony. But it didn't matter to Khloe and Watts, both able to get what they had wanted for over a year now.

Porter used a speech pad to get the ceremonial words out, even now preferring to never utter a sound, and made use of a few cue cards to ensure the young couple kept to the general outline of what was meant to happen.

Porter couldn't help but shed a tear as the groom and bride shared a kiss as their marriage was confirmed. Both out of happiness for the couple in front of her and from the pain of loss she still felt for her own lover Dez, taken away by the Games so mercilessly.

Inevitably it was to be the same way for this new couple, one way or the other.

"Thank you Porter," Khlor whispered, teary eyed and gleeful.

"You're the best mentor ever," Watts agreed.

Porter turned a shade of pink, ever so flattered as the newlyweds gave their silent and comparatively shorter mentor a tight hug. She always had liked Five so much better than Four.

While Porter and the newlyweds were getting along just fine the same was not able to be said for Neon and his tribute Marvin. Neon, once a lecherous predator, was a broken shell of a man. Constantly drunk and always miserable after his own traumatising Games. He could only sit on the sofa, downing bottle after bottle of beer.

He was, all things considered, a wholly useless mentor.

"I just… I juuuusssssst…" Neon trailed off into a miserable sob. "I wish I'd d-d-d-d-died in that fffffucking arena."

"You might wish that, but I'd rather not!" Marvin yelled, slightly desperate. "Come on, can't you do anything? Gather sponsors? Tell me a few tips and tricks? I don't know… anything at all!?"

"They're… they're always there…" Neon whispered, shaking. "Always trying to get me…"

"Who?" Marvin asked, totally lost.

"The girls! All the girls!" Neon began to drunkenly sob. "Those twelve girls! All the women in the streets, the two girls who came with you, even Crimson and Porter! They all want to kill me! I can't… I can't!"

Neon began pathetically sobbing once again between chugs of a bottle of whisky. Marvin sighed as he looked at the sorry sight of his mentor. He got up with a shake of his head and left Neon to his self-inflicted torment.

"Hey Porter? Mind giving me a bit of help? Neon's being useless again," Marvin said, torn between desperation and annoyance.

While Marvin stormed away from his mentor the final tribute from Five, Winch, was storming after her mentor. Crimson was soon cornered on the balcony by her tribute, a look of sheer unease adorning her face. Winch stood by the doorway back inside, her arms crossed.

"Ok, tell me," Winch demanded. "What is going on here?"

Crimson remained silent, trying to think of what she should even say.

"Don't play dumb. Porter is the mute, not you. You always had amazing grades back when you were a student, we all know it," Winch took a step closer to her mentor. "Don't lie to me Crimson, you know that something is going on here."

"I, um…" Crimson was starting to shake.

"Tell me right now. I'm not moving until you do," Winch balled her fists, red in the face. "Why do so many men want to sponsor me? Even before I started training the escort said I had sixty men who were interested in me. I saw them at the interviews… they were old, fat and gross. Now tell me… what's going on here?!"

Crimson looked like she was about to throw up. Indeed, that's exactly what she ended up doing right over the side of the balcony. Alas, Winch wasn't backing down for a moment. Crimson shakily sat down in a chair and looked at Winch.

Her face was one of purest pain and defeat.

"…Ok, I'll tell you. Shortly after my own victory… well, do you know who Bronze Marley is?" Crimson asked, sick to her stomach.

"That arrogant bastard from One? Yeah, sadly. Why, what's he got to do with this?" Winch asked.

"He took a fancy to me when I was in the arena… he came up with an idea that Snow took on," Crimson hesitated for a moment. "If you win and you're really pretty… you get sold to Capitol citizens."

"…Sold?" Winch repeated, a growing unease in her voice.

"You body, that is. He forces you to have sex with the highest bidder… a-a-and if you don't… your family…" Crimson was soon sobbing too much to speak properly, only able to draw a line across her throat. "My family don't even know… they think I've became a slut. I love them so much, but if I told them… Snow would have them killed!"

Crimson sobbed harder and harder. Winch looked green in the gills, sheer horror written into her eyes.

"So if I win… oh shit…" Winch soon repeated Crimson's earlier action of throwing up over the side of the balcony. "Oh fuck. Shit, shit, shit…"

It wasn't long before Crimson left to head back inside, sobbing in misery. She needed rest before her third 'appointment' of the day. Winch was alone on the balcony for quite some time, wondering just what the hell she was going to do to get through this horrible nightmare.

When Porter came to take her to bed at midnight she felt that she had her answer.

---

Winch Macowi decided she'd rather die than become a sex object for nasty Capitol men for the rest of her life. She deliberately stepped off of her pedestal one second too early.

Khloe Teethling fought side by side with her husband to gather supplies and make it out of the bloodbath alive. They ended up dying side by side thanks to the boys from One and two nasty spears.

Watts Hickory outlived his wife by a few precious seconds. Seconds in which he made sure to land a nasty cut across Ramesses' arm before the reaper claimed him.

Marvin Groke was wholly unprepared thanks to Neon's useless mentoring and made sure to call him out for his entire time in the Games… two minutes and three seconds before Treasure slit his throat.

---

It was a lucky thing that the tribute building's floors were completely soundproof. Especially so for the District Six floor. Per the general norm it was an incredibly noisy sort of place, but this year was the loudest it had ever been. After all, not only was Chassis a particularly loud person to begin with but all four of his tributes were loudmouths and fairly wild as well.

They were also using various musical instruments Chassis had rented out to put on a rather insane rock performance to enjoy the final night before the Games would begin. Between the electric guitars, the drum set, the electric clarinet and Chassis' off-key singing it was one massive din that would leave one's ears ringing for a long time.

It made it rather impossible for Abe, now particularly elderly, to enjoy his evening tea.

"Guys, quieten down a bit!" Abe exclaimed. "I'm gonna be dead in a few months, the least you can do is let me finish my tea in peace!"

Even with all the noise going on Chassis heard his former mentor and current best friend's words loud and clear. He signalled to his tributes to quieten down.

"What's up Abe?" Chassis asked, stuffing the microphone into his back pocket.

"What's up is that there is a bloodbath tomorrow and I haven't finished my tea yet. Can't get any sleep without it," Abe paused to sip his warm drink. "Also, what do you think you're doing with this rock band Chassis? I mean, really?"

"But… it's fun," Chassis said, awkward. "Right guys?"

"Totally!" one of the girls, Nikkina, exclaimed. "Like for reals, this is awesome-sauce!"

"I have no idea what any of that even meant, but I agree," the other girl, Auto, added. "I wanna take the electric guitar into the arena with me. Call it my token or something."

The boys looked down at their instruments, an electric guitar and an electric clarinet, and both clearly thought the exact same.

"Come on Abe, don't make us stop," the first of the boys, Subaru, said. "If this is our final night… let's rock out. Make it fun."

"I've never felt so alive!" the second boy, Ford, was quick to agree. "Come on, let us continue!"

"See Abe? The gang are having an awesome time," Chassis grinned widely. "I had a master plan too. We let the victor become a member of the Hazardous Hooligans. That'll motivate them, right?"

Abe finished off his tea. He looked at Chassis and the four tributes with an uncharacteristically firm glare.

"You misunderstand me entirely," Abe said, firm and forceful.

Abe dropped the act and smirked widely.

"I keep telling you the same thing Chassis… no wild rocking out without me!" Abe exclaimed with a laugh. "Come on, pass me the microphone!"

"Aw yeah! You got it Abe!" Chassis cheered as he tossed the microphone to Abe and, seemingly from thin air, took out an electric guitar. "Tributes, rock out!"

The Six team began to rock all over again, the music becoming one massive bedlam of rock and roll that would surely keep the escort up all night. None of them cared at all, of course. How could they when the tributes' final guaranteed night alive was turning out to be so much incredible fun?

Six was rarely triumphant, but they sure had awesome music. Everybody cheered, rocking out in glee.

"Yeah! Good stuff guys!" Chassis bellowed as he headbanged up and down, rocking out hard. "Awesome singing Abe!"

Abe laughed, winking at the man he had mentored to victory years ago. With nothing but the music pounding in his ears and life flooding through him Abe resumed his death metal solo.

It was glorious.

---

Nikkina Marrolto had gotten no sleep for the past two days. She fell asleep on her launch pedestal and only woke moments before Treasure slaughtered her.

Auto Hendrix was an acrobatic as they came and easily dodged all of Treasure's attempts to axe her to death. Too bad she ended up backflipping into a rack of spears beside the cornucopia and impaled herself, living long enough for Comengetorix to finish her off.

Subaru Denkins was slowed to a crawl by a poisonous dart in the final days of the quell. The last thing he saw before passing out was the second boy from Twelve approaching him, knife in hand.

Ford Pascal thought he would be able to take down the fat boy from Eight to impress sponsors. He was so very, very wrong as proved by the mace that smashed him upside the head.

---

It wasn't a peaceful night for District Seven by any means. Not only was the looming deathmatch a terrible thing to think about for all of them per the norm, but this year something else had happened that generally remained a rarity.

One of the tributes of Seven had been accepted into the career pack. Bartel hadn't merely been recruited, but had gone out of his way to join in with bullying other tributes and showing no mercy in training to prove himself worthy. His might and his survival knowledge made him an obvious candidate to join the career alliance.

It was something that Jill and Leaf were both disgusted by, the pair having lost friends and family over the years to the Games and being sickened that somebody would sink so low as to aspire for a place amongst the 'sadistic shitbeasts' from One, Two and sometimes Four.

"It's my life, I can do what I want with it!" Bartel roared, slamming his fist upon the table, making the plates and glasses clatter. "Don't get all high and mighty just because I took initiative to survive!"

"You turned your back on everything that makes you a Seven!" Jill shouted, seething and looking as red in the face as her hair.

"Oh, like you have any right to judge! I've seen how you've kept bullying the younger tributes and younger people back home. You're such a fucking hypocrite!" Bartel spat.

"I was just preparing myself for the arena!" Jill shouted.

"Get fucked, you just did it because you thought it was fun! I'm only with those sickos because then they won't kill me!" Bartel picked up a glass, waving it around threateningly. "Don't make me throw it, I will!"

"Ok, on the one hand Bartel is right that you don't really have any room to judge him Jill, even if careers are awful people," the second boy, Leaf, stated. "He's free to do as he wants."

"Traitor!" Jill spat.

"I don't know, he's making sense to me," Bartel said with a sneer.

"That said, I was just a harmless average joe back home so I do have a right to judge him," Leaf continued. "You're siding with teens that murder Sevens almost every year and treat the Games like a glorious pageant or some kind of human hunting party! You're a disgrace!"

"Oh fuck off Leaf! If you're gonna get high and mighty you should hate our mentors too because, oh yeah, they actually killed people!" Bartel set the glass down, only to overturn the table. "Fucking hell, Jack outright cheated the Games and Pliny isn't on our side anymore! She went to Twelve!"

The vicious argument continued on and on with absolutely no end in sight. Off to the side were Jack and Snag, the men observing the verbal beatdown with a sense of resignation in their eyes.

"You know what mate? I do not think we're gonna be winning this year," Jack remarked, shaking his head. "Why can't they be like the Threes and, you know, swallow their pride and work as a team?"

"Because that's what people are often like. When somebody thinks they're right they just won't back down," Snag replied, sighing to himself. "Honestly, what can we even do?"

"…Bribe them with cash to get them to behave? Other than that I have no idea," Jack replied, shrugging. "I figured you'd be better at settling this kind of thing. I don't know how kids work these days. You're the father."

"Yeah, of little girls. Not teenagers," Snag said, a hand over his tired eyes.

In the years that followed his own victory Snag and his sweetheart Paisley had gotten married. It had only been a matter of time before they were blessed with triplet daughters and then a further daughter only recently. Snag loved his girls Acre, Sunset, Petals and little Bloom ever so much… and that was exactly the thing he knew would ruin him one day.

He was always worried that one of them, or even more, would enter the arena in the future. It would not be the first time relatives of victors had entered the Games after all.

"Mate, you ok?" Jack asked quietly. "…Is it the leg thing or the family thing bothering you?"

"The family thing," Snag adjusted his stance in his wheelchair. "The leg thing is fine. I'm sure they'll work out how to fully cure it one day and not just give me a month of walking each year. Really, who cares about me when my daughters will one day be old enough for… well, this?"

Snag gestured around the room and towards the ongoing argument. He sighed in resignation.

"I just have an awful feeling," Snag said, blankly. "I should be focused on these guys. But I can't stop thinking about it, and…"

Jack laid a hand on Snag's shoulder. The petty crook gave him a gentle smile.

"Mate, I promise you this, if one of your kids gets reaped I will literally rob the Capitol's biggest banks to get the sponsor funds they need to make it home. No questions asked, nothing owed," Jack winked, smirking. "I'm a master thief. I can practically walk through a bank's walls if I really want to."

"…Thanks Jack," Snag said, weakly.

Meanwhile at the far side of the room from the argument were Fir and her own tribute, a tiny girl by the name of Sparrow. Being aged twelve years old and ten days nobody thought that Sparrow had a chance to survive in the arena.

None but her ever optimistic and slightly dim mentor with a heart of gold.

"I just don't want it to hurt," Sparrow whispered, shaking like a leaf as she lay huddled up in Fir's arms.

"It won't hurt. Because you're going to win," Fir insisted, her smile somewhat painful to keep plastered onto her face. "You're going to win and make it home safe and sound. You'll be happy and I'll be there to give you a hug. Then we can get ice cream and I'll help you settle into the village. Just you watch, it's gonna be alright. I promise!"

"Really?" Sparrow asked with a sniffle.

"I've never told a lie," Fir whispered sincerely. "Come on, let's get you off to bed."

Fir gently carried her sniffling tribute away, a grim pit starting to form in her stomach as she kept a careful hold on the girl. It was true, Fir had never told a lie and meant what she had said to Sparrow.

The thing was, she had been wrong a lot of times in her life. Fir prayed that this was one of the few times where she would actually be right about something.

---

Sparrow Zune lasted longer than anybody expected a twelve year old to be able to. Too afraid to risk eating or drinking any of the fruit or water in the arena led to her body shutting down and dehydration claiming her in sixth place.

Jill Ndesu was loud, crass and known for bullying people much younger than her as an excuse to 'prepare for the Games'. Many saw it as poetic justice when the tiniest, youngest girl killed her with one strong stab to the gut.

Bartel Avery was a very rich boy and was wealthy in Caps, power and sense. But none of it saved him when the volcano erupted.

Leaf Yellow climbed onto the horn of plenty and tried to jump down and tackle Treasure. He completely missed and broke his leg, leaving himself as easy prey for Rake.

---

The District Eight floor was particularly quiet, all things considered. The tributes had split off into two pairs on opposite sides of the floor, both having formed opposite duo alliances.

The girls this year were cousins and, after scoring well in training and acing the interviews, had decided that there was really only one proper way to spend the final night before the Hunger Games began once more.

Try to get Woof to obey a command like he had done to bizarre and horrifying levels back in his own Games many years prior.

"Do a cartwheel!" Needle exclaimed.

"Do twenty five jumping jacks!" Thread added.

"No, wait, sing the national anthem but in Pig Latin!" Needle shouted.

"Eat a pickle covered in mustard and strawberry jam!" Thread added with a sly giggle.

"Run around in nothing but your underpants!" Needle whooped.

"No, better idea, kill President Snow!" Thread pleaded.

Woof could only look at the cousins with a sort of confused helplessness in his eyes. He slowly backed away, rather spooked by the way the pair were looking at him as though he were some kind of a lab animal rather than a victor.

"I'm past that," Woof muttered, wincing. "I stopped because Duke told me to stop."

Woof was quick to leave after that and lock himself within his bedroom. The cousins were left to sigh in disappointment and find some other way to curb their boredom. In the end they decided to just watch TV and snark at whatever it was they ended up watching.

The boys, Boot and Patric, were not remotely focused on any of the mentors or the girls. They were instead playing a Capitol trading card game together, having run out of any other activities to take part in.

"I use my Dark Magician to take out your District Savage!" the first boy, Boot, declared. "You must then take two hundred life points of damage!"

"Oh, you'd like that wouldn't you?" the second, and larger, boy replied. Patric flipped over one of his own cards. "I'm playing the Zombie Career trap card. You just lost two turns and your District Savage now works for me!"

"Dammit!" Boot cursed, passing the card over. "You're good at this. Too good."

"Well, I stink at just about every other sport. Be a shame if I didn't have at least one I can claim to not be shit at," Patric said, looking over the cards in his hand.

"Are card games a sport?" Boot asked, doubtful.

"They are now," Patric replied. "So… we know what we're doing tomorrow, right?"

"Of course. We grab the nearest backpack and knife to our pedestals and run past the tail of the cornucopia. If that's impossible we head west," Boot recited.

"Exactly. Oh, and leave that bitch from Four for me. He's all mine," Patric said, narrowing his eyes.

"Think you can handle him?" Boot asked. "I mean, he's really tough and-."

"He'll need every bit of his toughness to take me out. I'm playing my own trap card on him… it's called the 'fancy neck breaker'," Patric said, smirking as he took a card from his hand. "Ok, my turn. I'll play my President Weevil in defence mode."

Out on the balcony were Spool and Paige, the pair watching the starry night sky as they mentally prepared themselves for the looming Games the next day. Mentoring was never easy for the textiles district.

"Think this will be our year Tag?" Paige asked. "I tried not getting attached, but like always I failed. I just can't help but care about them. Love them almost like family… is that crazy?"

"Not at all. They're innocent kids, what's not to like?" Spool asked, gazing up at the stars and the abyss beyond. "I think we have a shot. Hardly the worst of all the districts."

"I guess we just have to hope, even if hope feels pointless on my bad days," Paige glanced through the window behind her at the tributes inside the building. "What we do if they all die Tag? I know we've lost most Hunger Games in history, but we've never lost four at once."

"I… I guess we do our best to keep on living," Spool said, gently patting Paige on her shoulder. "I mean, if we really wanted to be productive in the case of defeat… we could support District Ten. I mean, better them than One or Two, so…?"

Paige couldn't help but softly laugh, even in spite of her gloom.

"You know, you're really not subtle. Neither you nor Lammy," Paige remarked. "It's so obvious how painfully in love you two are."

"Painfully?" Spool shook off the feeling of surprise. "Oh come on Paige. Sure, we've always had a 'thing' for each other and, yes, that tabloid kind of caught us in the picture booth, but I'd hardly call us 'not subtle'. I mean-."

"You guys have a yearly 'roll in the fabric'," Paige stated, crisp and calm. "I think even Teff heard it last year."

Spool, for once in his life, had absolutely no comeback whatsoever. His mouth opened and closed uselessly for several long moments.

"I'm just playing around," Paige said after a moment. "Just trying to distract myself from… well, everything really?"

"By all means, keep going then. The privacy of my love life is a truly small price to pay for your sake of mind," Spool chuckled at the look of Paige's face. "Just kidding. It's fine Paige, really."

"Heh, thanks. You know, you guys did always seem to fall in love quickly… like you have your own very special bond," Paige mulled it over for a moment. "Know what I mean?"

"I like redheads and she likes dyed hair," Spool said with a helpless sort of shrug. "It is what it is."

"Heh… knew it. You couldn't keep a secret to save your life Tag," Paige said, starting to faintly smile again. "Want me to get us some drinks?"

"Sure, but only a small one. I'll have to run soon," Spool said, stretching out. "Lammy and I are heading out to a club."

"Well, I hope you both have a good time," Paige got up and headed inside. "I'm happy for you Tag, you know that right?"

"I sure do," Spool assured his mentor with a confident smile.

Once Paige was gone Spool let out a breath he'd seemingly not realised he was holding.

"Can't keep a secret, huh?" Spool couldn't help but chuckle at the irony of it all. "I think we'll have to agree to disagree on that one, Paige."

---

Needle Rasetti went bonkers from the guilt of abandoning her cousin. Her insanity led to her making plenty of loud noise… enough to ensure Apple found her and turned ten tributes into nine.

Thread Rasetti saved her cousin from being attacked midway to the cornucopia by Ramesses and briefly drove him off. Needle failed to repay this act of kindness when Rod came at her with a rapier.

Boot Gaston lost all of his fingers and a few toes as the Games went by. The eruption killed him before he could ask Patric to do it for him.

Patric Yarn left the audience stunned as he kept on surviving day after day until he took down his rival in short order. However, tough as he was… the hundred carnivorous squirrels were still tougher and left him in third place.

---

It was a very tense night all around for District Nine. Normally the tributes of the grain district would at least be civil with each other, but this year was quite a diversion away from the norm. The four tributes were all from a different infamous gang that were known for making the streets of Nine dangerous and often broken.

Eveline was from the Baseball Furies. Leah was from the Downtown Scrappies. Kriss was from the Ugly Failures. Jori was from the West End Warriors.

Each gang had a vicious hatred for the other and the tributes all wanted each ither dead out of sheer gang loyalty and mentality. With pre-Games fighting against their self-interests, however, they had been willing to wait until the gong rang to attempt anything at all, assuming they were launched close to each other.

Until then the four bitter, vicious teens simply sat on the sofa exchanging nasty glares. That and reluctantly watched the show being performed in front of them. Tabbock had set up a tiny sort of stage and was putting on a magic show for the tributes. He was clearly having a wonderful time being able to show off.

Teff, meanwhile, looked incredibly annoyed in her role as Tabbock's silent 'lovely assistant'. She let out a huff, not liking the assistant outfit she'd been made to wear for the show.

"For my next trick I will require a volunteer for the audience!" Tabbock exclaimed, showy and flashy as always. "How about you, my good sir?"

"Fuck off," Jori spat.

"My oh my, such language in the audience today folks!" Tabbock remarked. "Maybe you, young lady?"

"I'd rather have all my ribs torn out fuck face," Eveline grunted. "Stay the hell away from me."

"Whoa. Ouch, that actually hurt to be honest? Like, I actually feel upset. My self-esteem feels very low right now," Tabbock mimed wiping away a tear. "Oh well, I guess we'll just have to settle for my lovely assistant helping me. Give it up for Teff everybody!"

Nobody made a sound. The ruffian tributes only glared in a stone cold silence. Tabbock was not to deterred and quickly went on with his planned trick. He made Teff stand in front of a specific part of the wall… and took out over two dozen knifes from his jacket.

"Presenting an old favourite of mine, knife throwing!" Tabbock declared, aiming the first knife.

Teff could only grumble. She really didn't like Tabbock very much at all. He was nothing compared to the other boy from Nine who left the arena alive.

Then again, in her opinion no victor was better than her beloved uncle.

Her uncle wasn't in the main room of the District Nine floor. Indeed, he was instead hiding out in one of the bedrooms. An odd sight for many to see without context, the aging first victor was under the bed with Gwenith while Laurel kept an ear out by the door. Strange as it all looked this was the only way to have any guaranteed privacy and what Mizar wanted to talk about couldn't be overheard by anybody.

"Thirteen's stockpiling all their supplies and ammunition. Apparently they're growing stronger by the day and they're starting to build more hovercrafts," Mizar whispered. "Maybe they'll be strong enough to start fighting by the time the next quell comes around."

"Are you sure?" Gwenith asked, ever so anxious. "What if they aren't? What if we rebel and… fail a second time?"

"I'm not sure. I'm trying so hard not to imagine what would happen," Mizar took a moment to calm himself. "The next rebellion is not for right now anyway. We're just laying out the groundwork for it to make sure it's even possible."

"Think we'll live to see it?" Gwenith asked. "A day when the Capitol has fallen?"

"I'm honestly not sure," Mizar let out a troubled sigh. "Part of me doubts I will be. All I can do is live my life helping people and doing whatever I can for the next generation to have a chance to take these people down."

Gwenith gave her lifelong best friend a gentle hug.

"I'll live to see it, no matter what it takes," Gwenith promised. "Count on it. And… you never know, maybe all of us will live to see it. You said it yourself, Thirteen are getting stronger."

"Weapon-wise, yes. They have so many guns and bombs by now," Mizar confirmed. "People however… well, they sometimes get refugees who dare to seek them out. But there was this smallpox outbreak not long ago and, well… you know that contact I told you about? Coin? Well, her family died so she's feeling pretty hopeless. She's not the same anymore."

"Oh no," Gwenith whispered, a heartbroken look on her face. "That poor women…"

"Yeah. Poor her and poor everybody else. It took out at least twenty percent of their population, so that sets us back maybe five years," Mizar shook his head, trying to force a smile. "I may be able to get some medical aid smuggled their way, but… it'll take time."

"Seems like time is what we've got right now," Gwenith said, drawing up her knees. "…So, we'll do our best to make this year Nine's year, right?"

"As always," Mizar said, nodding. "And next year, and the one after and… well, however many it takes until the Games end and us mentors don't need to save kids every year."

The pair soon got out from under the bed. Laurel gave them a nod, assuring them that the coast was clear and nothing had been leaked whatsoever.

"Had a good talk with the dust bunnies?" Laurel asked.

"I'd say we did," Mizar replied. "Ready to get back to the magic show?"

"Not even slightly," Laurel sighed, her palm placed over her face. "But we may as well be ready to step in, just in case Teff tries to strangle Tabbock again."

"She gets that fiery spirit from her mother," Mizar said with an awkward, uneasy laugh. He soon dropped his voice to a near silent whisper. "The others in our group have picked out ten tributes who would be good candidates to join us. Let's do our best to nudge things towards one of them winning."

The two women nodded their agreement and, with reluctance to match Mizar's own, followed him back to where the dismal magic show was still ongoing.

Sure enough Teff was strangling Tabbock as per the norm.

---

Eveline Oscar tried to take a drink from a gently flowing river. Her mistake burnt away her entire throat. Haymitch, having witnessed this from a distance, was saved from making the same mistake.

Leah Pinch walked with a limp due to a past gang war. This was her entire undoing as it was what made it possible for Chickadee to throw her to the ground and stomp upon her neck until it broke.

Kriss Greener broke his glasses fifteen seconds into the Games. His spine was broken by Camakazi thirty seven seconds later.

Jori Fryer had always longed to give mountain climbing a try and made a beeline for the massive mountain. He got himself down the mountain just as fast when the eruption happened and would've lived if not for a spear being thrown into his back.

---

District Ten was having another awkward final night before the Games, a thing that generally tended to happen every year. This year certainly put things to a whole different level with the extra two tributes that filled the apartment.

One of the girls, Chickadee, had been recruited to join the career pack. Her odds may have been bettered but her reputation certainly hadn't risen in quite the same way. Her general coldness, the way she had a scent of blood always following her around and how she tended to view the other tributes as literal meat had not helped matters. And yet, she wasn't the main problem of the night. She was content to simply sit and stare at the television.

"Will you all knock it off?" she eventually asked her district partners. "I'm trying to watch this. The victim is bleeding. It's interesting."

The main issue for the Tens was the second of their male tributes, Edmire. Tall for a thirteen year old and with some early muscle on him, the kid had proven himself to be a horrible little boy ever since the reaping. Thanks to, in no small part, being raised by a very rich settler family known for their fancy ranch, successful meat and horse rearing and flagrant racism Edmire had turned out to be quite a nasty piece of work.

He'd zeroed in on the other boy and girl, Buller and Dellilah respectively, done his absolute best to break them down at any chance he got. He was unable to threaten the other tributes after training ended for the day, but his fellow Tens had no such escape.

Chickadee never reacted to him, but with Buller and Dellilah both being twelve and what Edmire's folks would call 'work monkeys' it was all too easy for him to break them down over and over again.

"Run monkeys! Run fuckers!" Edmire screeched, waving around a carving knife. "Bet you can't! Don't forget, it's the Hunger Games! It's all real come tomorrow!"

"Leave us alone!" Dellilah wailed, running off to her room sobbing all the way.

"What did we ever do to you?" Buller sniffled, unable to keep still due to all the mad shaking and trembling he was unable to stop himself from doing.

"Existed, that's what you filthy monkey!" Edmire screamed, taking a mock-swipe towards Buller.

The knife came nowhere close to actually hitting Buller, but nonetheless it still had him racing off for his own room. Chickadee watched the whole vicious exchange with a bored look in her eyes.

"I said quiet. They're starting the skinning and I want to hear every moment," she muttered, ever so barely irritated.

That was the moment when Stallion and Lammy raced out of the elevator, having briefly left to speak with an interested sponsor. In an instant Stallion had stampeded over to Edmire to grab his knife while Lammy stood in front of the bully, her hands upon her hips and a serious look of fire in her eyes.

"What was that all about?" Lammy asked, her tone cold as ice. "You… they… how could you?!"

"Shove off pig!" Edmire snapped. "You can't tell me what to do! Like hell I'm gonna listen to a murderer!"

Lammy quietened down after that remark, temporarily stumped. Stallion towered over Edmire, a cold look in his eyes.

"She took no pleasure in any of that. Kid, the arena is an entirely different world," Stallion spoke with severe seriousness. "Don't talk so spitefully about things you don't fully understand. You won't go far acting like this and-."

"Shut up germy bitch!" Edmire shouted. "Like hell I'm gonna listen to a wimp!"

Edmire stormed away to his own room, letting out more awful language with every step. Lammy and Stallion watched him go with particularly uneasy looks on their faces.

"What if he… no! How can I even say that…?" Lammy trailed off, trying to hold back more than a few tears.

"What's wrong?" Stallion asked, moving to stand beside his fellow victor.

"It's just… for a moment there I was worried that he might win. Worried that a little boy might live! What kind of mentor am I?" Lammy asked as she collapsed into a chair. "I just… I can't right now. I just can't Stallion."

"You're overstressed and overworked. You care so much for the tributes that it exhausts you each and every year," Stallion patted Lammy on her shoulder. "You're only human Lammy."

"I know, but even 'only humans' should… I don't even know where I was going with any of this," Lammy rested her head in her hands. "Mentoring is hard. Sometimes it feels harder than being a tribute ever was."

"Well, you did manage to win the Games without every directly confronting or even seeing anybody outside the first few minutes," Stallion said, a gentlemanly chuckle escaping his lips.

Lammy couldn't help but weakly smile in response to this. Her smile was soon gone when she glanced in the direction the three young tributes had left, her heart aching from how obvious it was none were likely to survive long in the arena.

"He's right, being a tribute is harder," Chickadee added, slightly annoyed. "People keep talking too loud when you try and watch TV."

Stallion and Lammy walked away from Chickadee, mainly to get away from the gruesome contents of the movie she was watching on the TV. Stallion passes Lammy her coat, giving her a friendly smile.

"Go enjoy the club with Tag," Stallion said. "I'll keep an eye on things here for tonight. I can handle these four by myself for at least five hours."

Lammy gave Stallion a hug.

"Thanks Stallion," Lammy said, managing to smile in spite of it all.

---

Chickadee Quint outran the lava to the base of the mountain. However, by that point she was completely on fire and swiftly ended up burnt to a crisp like char broiled bacon.

Dellilah June ran from the bloodbath and didn't stop running until she'd gotten seven miles away. She stopped for a drink from one of the pools… a drink that was truly to die for.

Buller Ingerman was unfortunate enough to be launched between Comengetorix and Dreamer. He was as good as dead before the gong rang.

Edmire Loom was among the most aggressive thirteen year olds to enter the Games. However, as powerful of a bully as he was on the schoolyard, he was powerless against Smolg's knife and Treasure's axe.

---

Chaff poured out two large glasses of powerful beer, one for himself and the other for his tribute of the year – a rather lanky boy by the name of Rake. The pair clinked glasses and chugged down the alcoholic drinks as though they hadn't drunk anything in days.

"That hit the spot," Chaff said, already pouring himself another drink. "I don't know about you Rake, but there's no better way to relax after a bad week of broken rules and dreams than some strong beer."

"You said it," Rake said, setting down his glass and lightly hiccing. "Sure makes me feel better about probably dying."

Rake poured himself a second drink a moment later and quickly knocked it back. A third drink followed the second and soon enough both tribute and mentor were starting to get particularly wasted as they babbled and slurred about their troubles.

"My dad always… always said he hated my… worthless hide…" Rake slurred. "Wonder if he'll give a shit when my guts get… torn out…"

"That's harsh luck my friend," Chaff said, letting out a drunken belch. "He… he probably won't… soz…"

"It's fiiiiiine, I always knew he ffffucking hated me," Rake said, pouring out another drink. "My ma's dead, my friends hate me, my girlfriend ran off with a donkey, my life sssssucks… but at least beer w-w-w-won't judge me…"

"Beer will alwayssssss be there for you…" Chaff drunkenly stated, hiccing a few times. "It was there for me when my parents died of heatstoke and my s-s-s-school threw me out ffffffor being a 'murderer'. Beer won't ever jjjjjudge you for it, it's a… a friend…"

"I'll drink to that!" Rake exclaimed.

The pair poured more drinks, clinked glasses and chugged down the strong beverages. In moments they were swaying so much that it was a true wonder that they hadn't fallen to the floor yet.

Not far from the two drunkards was Bear. Having been the most experience mentor he'd stepped up to mentor two tributes at once, a girl by the name of Apple and a boy called Till. The three sat on the sofa as Bear went over tactics with them for the brutal deathmatch ahead of them.

"It's all about getting others on the ground and not giving them a chance to struggle. Kick all weapons out of their arms' reach, don't let them even grab any rocks and… basically, just hit them where it'll tire them out faster. A punch to the neck, a knee to the crotch," Bear took a moment to sigh. "…A knife to the eyes."

"Makes sense to me. Disgusting, but sensible," Apple said as she wrote down notes in her notebook. "So, it's impossible to win without killing… right?"

"In theory it can be done, but it's certainly not something you should count on. It'd require such a specific series of events nobody could possibly know in advance," Bear replied, dismayed. "So, expect to take at least one life."

Apple and Till exchanged a brief glance with each other, neither wanting to be the one to say it. Eventually Till gave in and nodded wearily.

"Kills make the sponsors happy, right?" Till began.

"Sadly, yes," Bear confirmed. "Why?"

"Well, we'll probably need sponsors to survive. The cornucopia's too dangerous to linger by for long, so… any targets you'd recommend going for?" Till asked, swelling down a little bit of bile.

Bear recoiled, both horrified and tragically understanding of how his tributes felt. He sighed, weakly nodding to them.

"I'd say those of the least risk like the little ones or maybe those from Twelve. For several rich sponsors a kill is a kill no matter who it is or how it happens. Only thing that matters is having it be attached to your name," Bear paused to unscrew the cap on his bottle of water. "If you get the chance to kill a career and pull it off then the audience will certainly be on your side. But it all comes back to one thing… would you risk it?"

Apple shook her head, clearly not interested in challenging the career pack. Till on the other hand seemed less sure about abandoning such an idea.

In one of the bedrooms Seeder was putting the second female tribute to bed. At fourteen years old and being rather underweight it seemed very likely that Plum was going to die the next morning. The headaches she'd been getting after a bad reaction to some sort of Capitol food she'd eaten over the week did not help.

What made it all the worse was that Plum was Seeder's niece.

"It hurts," Plum mumbled, a hand to her sore head. "I just want it to stop."

"It'll be over soon," Seeder whispered, gently holding her niece. "It'll all be over. Now, can I get you anything else… anything at all?"

"I'd like some water," Plum whispered, squirming under the sheets in discomfort. "Please…"

"Of course dear," Seeder whispered.

Seeder managed to keep on a loving and calm expression until she left the room and lightly closed the door behind her. With Plum no longer able to see her Seeder freely let the tears start to flow down her face as she went to fetch the water.

She couldn't lie to herself, her niece was going to get killed. Of all people it was her. With only four slips in the reaping bowl and others having dozens, some even more than ninety, it was still her.

Seeder knew riggage when she saw it.

She also knew a hopeless situation when she saw it.

---

Apple Fieldworth made herself as forgettable as possible. Even the careers seemed to forget she'd ever existed as the days went by. Too bad the pink birds remembered she existed.

Plum Howell didn't make it ten steps before the careers launched either side of her closed in and broke over forty bones in her body.

Rake Finster went into the arena completely hungover and barely aware of anything. Despite this he still took down another tribute and wandered the forest in a stupor for days, dying by Treasure's axe only two hours before the eruption happened.

Till Wilkins tried to take on one of the careers to impress sponsors. He managed to get Fantastic on the ground and stab his shoulder, but didn't hear Gorn coming to the rescue until a spear was stabbed through his back and out the front of his chest.

---

District Twelve's floor was always a hopeless sort of place on the night before the Games began. It was hard for them not to be due to how their tributes almost always died early and their one victor had won so very long ago, before careers had really taken proper form.

With their one victor now dead as well it seemed like Twelve's odds of ever having a victor were the absolute lowest they had ever been in history.

Maysilee was not one to give up quite so easily. She'd been able to rope two of her three district partner into a loyal, secure alliance and already the trio had a solid plan of action for the next day.

"It'll be simple, or at least as simple as he can be," Maysilee told her allies, a miner girl by the name of Ember and a small boy known to all as Russet. "A bigger tribute count means a bigger clearing by the cornucopia. The careers probably will make a run for the Cornucopia to grab weapons before they try to kill us. That'll be our que to grab whatever we can and run out of there."

"I'm grabbing a backpack, right?" Russet asked.

"Indeed you are. The closest one to your own pedestal, but no going more than halfway to the horn," Maysilee warned. "It wouldn't end well."

"Don't worry, I'm staying well away from it," Russet gulped, knowing that even among allies his odds of winning were very slim.

"Ember, you'll be going three quarters in and grabbing some kind of a pack, alongside a weapon. Doesn't matter what kind of weapon, just something that's sharp," Maysilee continued.

"You can count on me. I'll be too quick for them to do anything to," Ember said, trying to fake a bit of confidence. "…I hope."

"Just keep moving and you'll be alright," Maysilee assured her. "As for me… I'm making the run. Two packs and two weapons. That should be enough to last us for a few days. We all remember our survival skills, right?"

"Right," Russet and Ember said at once.

"Then it seems we're prepared. This will be Twelve's year guys," Maysilee took a deep breath, closing her eyes. "It just has to be."

One tribute was all alone out on the balcony, having decided to brood in silence away from everybody else. Haymitch watched the stars and the distant street parties going on through the Capitol.

He narrowed his eyes in upmost hatred.

"Lazy rich freaks," Haymitch muttered, disgusted. "Who the hell do these people think they are? I'll show them, I'll show them all."

Haymitch remained like this for a while, simply muttering about the predicament he had gotten himself into through no fault of his own. So bitter was he that he did not go inside to join his fellow tributes, not even for cake. He didn't wish to distract himself from his goal or get attached to people who would surely end up dead.

Then again, in his darkest moments he'd admit to himself that he was likely to end up as just another dead tribute from Twelve. It was, after all, the way it always ended up going.

Eventually midnight arrived and somebody came out from inside to join Haymitch. He didn't look up as his district's new mentor walked beside him. He was content to just sit in stony silence.

Pliny, however, wanted to talk.

"I think you could win," Pliny said, carefully sitting down next to Haymitch.

"…Seriously?" Haymitch asked, lost. "I've been a feisty bastard since I got here, you know it as well as I do. How can I possibly win? Duke barely won against twenty three. How can I win against forty seven?"

"Well… feisty bastards can win the Games Haymitch," Pliny said, letting out a sleepy yawn. "You have something about you, y'know? You're tough, but not exactly cold or mean. You could kill if you had to, but you're not a sadist. You're just really… driven."

"Yeah, it's called not wanting to end up dead," Haymitch replied, shrugging. "It's nothing special."

"I don't know, it seems special to me. The sheer determination when people say you can't, the desire to prove people wrong… the fact you've been nice to me whenever we've spoken," Pliny paused, wiping away a single tear. "You remind of Duke."

"Do I? I never thought I was anything like him," Haymitch said, lost as he gazed up at the night sky. For all he knew it could have been the last time he did.

"You are in the ways that really matter," Pliny smiled weakly. "I knew him best. I was there with him at the very end. You're as determined as he is, whether to survive or do what really matters. I can feel it in my bones."

"You can, hm? Well… hopefully you're right. I don't want to feel a spear in my bones," Haymitch said, a morbid grimace adorning his face as he stood up. "Guess we'll see how it goes in the arena. Probably horribly, let's be honest."

"Try and believe, Haymitch," Pliny stood on her tiptoes to lay a hand on her tribute's shoulder. "You must believe."

"Believe?" Haymitch shook his head. "I'm too old for fantasy. Still… thanks for mentoring us. It was really nice of you, not that it's gonna do me much good in the end."

Pliny watched as Haymitch left to go bed and, potentially, take his final night of rest.

"You must believe," Pliny repeated, her words coming out as a soft whisper.

---

Maysilee Donnor fought hard alongside Haymitch, even making it to the final five. Alas, the final four remained out of reach thanks to a flock of nasty bright pink bird mutts with terribly sharp beaks…

Ember L'Bronx only wanted to stop and admire the butterflies. She didn't realise just how poisonous and evil they were until they'd already begun to bite her.

Russet Cobbler was born scared and alone in a care home, his family vanishing as quick as they arrived. He died scared and alone by the blade of Treasure's axe in the darkness of the arena on the first night, having lost track of his allies mere hours ago.

---

Haymitch sat at the table in one of the train carriages, lost in his haunted thoughts. Memories of the terrible poisoned paradise he'd been the sole survivor of danced around his mind in one hell of a trauma tango.

The mutts. The poison rivers. The way he'd had to hold his own intestines inside of himself. The murders he'd committed without having to think twice of it.

He was just glad it was finally over.

"How can I help?" Pliny asked as she sat down beside Haymitch, passing him a mug of hot chocolate. "Here, drink it. It's good."

Haymitch downed the mug in one gulp, setting it down firmly.

"I don't know how to feel," Haymitch admitted. "I won. I'm going home. Things are gonna be back to normal now, but… no, I already know they won't be. It'll never be the same."

"It won't be," Pliny agreed. "But, you know what the important thing is, right?"

"…To keep living," Haymitch said, nodding. "To keep moving forward. To keep them from truly winning."

"That's the spirit," Pliny said, a sleepy smile on her face. "Live for the dead, for your district and for Duke."

"And for you. You were the one who mentored me," Haymitch smiled, even in spite of the fresh trauma. "Thank you."

Only a brief hug was exchanged, but Pliny looked genuinely honoured as the pair parted.

"It was my pleasure Haymitch," Pliny assured him. "I just had a promise to keep. Speaking of promises, here's another… if you ever need me for anything, no matter what it is, you know how to reach me. I'll do whatever I can to help you out."

"Thanks. Hopefully I won't need anymore help now that I'm a victor, but if I need mentoring tips I'll keep you in mind," Haymitch stood, watching District Twelve getting nearer outside of the train's windows. "But before all that, I've got some loved ones to see."

Pliny faintly winced. She'd seen the stunt with the forcefield and she'd seen Snow venting to some of his trusted men and Bronze just how furious he was over such a thing. As always the sleepyhead merely needed to pretend to nod off in a hallway to be able to hear everything.

She had a nasty feeling that she knew what was going to happen and hoped so badly she was wrong.

"I hope you enjoy your time with them," Pliny said, moving to stand beside Haymitch. "By the way, if ever you're feeling down in the dumps and like you don't know where to go… here."

Pliny passed Haymitch an envelope that was both sealed and featureless.

"A gift from me to you. Don't open it unless you're alone," Pliny whispered. "Leave it for a bit, but… trust me. You may need it."

Haymitch didn't look like he knew what Pliny was talking about but, regardless, accepted the envelope and stuffed it into his pocket.

"Thanks Pliny," Haymitch said as the train pulled into District Twelve, the cheering crowd filling up every square inch around the train station. "Take care of yourself."

"And you too, Haymitch," Pliny said, smiling. "Until we meet again."

With a final handshake Haymitch left the train to greet the cheering crowd. The train pulled away with Pliny on it, beelining towards distant District Seven. Pliny grimaced as she looked out the window at the poverty stricken district behind her.

The sight of Haymitch embracing his mother while his little brother and girlfriend stood beside them had her stomach feeling like it was having a noose tightened around it.

"Be strong Haymitch," Pliny whispered.

Pliny stretched out and relaxed on the sofa, ready to settle down for a good sleep. Despite the tragedy she knew all too well was soon to transpire she did, at least, have one thing she could smile over. One thing the Capitol could not take away.

"I did it for you Duke. I kept my promise," Pliny whispered. "I hope you're happy, wherever you are."

Some say the wind suddenly picked up immensely, almost like Pliny was being given a positive answer.

Many more said that the wind was much worse two weeks later when Haymitch's family and girlfriend were mercilessly executed to get back at Haymitch for his stunt. It was drawn out and cruel with Haymitch helpless to do a thing about it.

In the midst of his drunken descent into depression Haymitch managed to recall the envelope that Pliny had given him. He opened it up as soon as he was sober, confused by what he saw within.

A sheet of paper with a large number thirteen and a phone number on the back.

The mess of a victor called the number, having no idea whatsoever to expect.

"Hello Haymitch," the voice on the other end said, confident and proud. "My name is Plutarch Heavensbee. It's good to hear from you. How would you feel about leaving the Capitol crushed and gasping for air?"

---

Haymitch Abernathy emerged victorious in spite of extremely severe injuries, particularly to his guts. No matter how much he would drink over the years, before and after the Mockingjay Rebellion, he can't forget the name of a single one of the forty seven children who died absolutely horrible deaths in that beautiful poisonous arena…

---

"I know I had my issues with Haymitch, moments where I thought I hated him… but in the end I'm glad he's alive and making some kind of recovery," Katniss said in all sincerity. "I really am."

"Say what you will, but the man's a genius and a really good mentor when he gets serious," Peeta agreed. "…Think he's going to get drunk at the party?"

"No chance," Katniss replied. She then smirked slightly. "He'll be totally wasted."

The pair walked further down the street together. It was only ten steps later when they came to the next face on the Walk of Victors. A fairly scruffy and boyish looking young women had her face imprinted into the ground. She appeared almost pug like to some degree and had her hair cut short and slightly rough.

"Lyme," Katniss noted. "You know, I didn't expect a victor from Two to be a commander in the rebellion. How do you think that started off?"

"I have no idea," Peeta said, shrugging. "Best I can guess is she might not have been a career by choice… as for how that'd even work, I don't know."

---

There we go, the second quell! Haymitch's Games are well known in canon as is Haymitch himself, so I thought that doing something a bit different here would be a lot of fun. It was certainly enjoyable to write and ideally you guys enjoyed reading it as well. Hope you liked seeing plenty of the victors again and all the tributes who died so that Haymitch could make it home in almost one piece. With the second Quell down we've just got around a third of the story to go. In a sense it's almost like the final stretch, so… stay tuned for more and I'll see you all in the next chapter, sooner than later! :D

---

Stats

District 1: Peridot Gaudy (8th Games), Crystal McCree (14th Games), Bronze Marley (19th Games), Crown Martins (24th Games), Dollar Dettwieller (32nd Games), Mascara Court (41st Games), Platinum Twist (44th Games)

District 2: Baron Overwhill (4th Games), Runa Peace (7th Games), Olga Machete (10th Games), Rook Valiant (17th Games), Boulder Atherston (20th Games), Vercingetorix Carnby (25th Games), Dragon Batofel (27th Games), Rhyder Overwhill (39th Games), Mercy Gregor (46th Games), Brutus Gunn (49th Games)

District 3: Honorius Perthshire (5th Games), Pi Orbit (22nd Games), Beetee Latier (37th Games), Wiress Plummer (47th Games)

District 4: Museida Selkirk (3rd Games), Mags Flanagan (11th Games), Tide Luther (23rd Games), Librae Ogilvy (35th Games)

District 5: Shunt Gaspar (12th Games), Isobel Sparks (18th Games), Crimson Flanders (29th Games), Porter Tripp (38th Games), Neon Erg (48th Games)

District 6: Chassis Macalister (31st Games)

District 7: Pliny Aransio (2nd Games), Fir Buzz (9th Games), Jack Tylos (21st Games), Snag Nakamura (34th Games)

District 8: Woof Casino (16th Games), Paige Murphy (30th Games), Spool Nylon (42nd Games)

District 9: Mizar Aldjoy (1st Games), Gwenith Rosebud (13th Games), Teff Withers (28th Games), Laurel Flamsteel (36th Games), Tabbock Summers (43rd Games)

District 10: Stallion March (26th Games), Lammy Phyronix (40th Games)

District 11: Bear Redfoot (15th Games), Seeder Howell (33rd Games), Chaff Mitchell (45th Games)

District 12: Duke Saint-Rose (6th Games), Haymitch Abernathy (50th Games)