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

Note: You know what's fun about the Hunger Games? Well, maybe not 'fun', but still interesting? All the Games Katniss recalls in canon that have come and gone, like the one with the reptiles eating the careers' supplies (Gloss' Games here) or the one with the flood that washes away supplies (in my opinion this has to be Annie's). but, do we know for certain that these are all separate Games each time one is bought up? What if some were all from the same Games? To that end I give you Spud, the 'boy who won and only scored a 3'. What other mentioned Games are being explored in this blend of canon facts? Read on and find out!

"Everybody knows about these Games because of Titus. But, what do we really know about Spud?" Peeta asked. "I remember when he came to Twelve on his tour, but he didn't really say much."

"Best I can say is that he was really shy and scared of a lot of things. Honestly, who could blame him?" Katniss gazed down at Spud's imprinted face. "It's a wonder he wasn't more messed up from those Games."

"In fairness, he didn't really have to do a lot in order to win. He only had to run for his life," Peeta noted. "But really, he still faced the arena. Why should that count against him?"

"Why indeed," Katniss agreed. "I wonder if he managed to survive…"

The pair held a silence for Spud.

66th Annual Hunger Games

Name: Spud Munroe

Gender: Male

District: 11

Age: 14

Kills: 1

I sit bolt upright with a scream from the moment the cannon fires. This is the end! It's all over for me!

It's a minute before I realise the cannon was not meant for me. Somehow, against all the odds and what ought to be simple logic… I'm still alive.

Nobody thought that I'd be able to make it past the first day, but now here I am on the nineteenth day in this tundra. I shiver, holding my coat tightly around myself. Even with all the layers of my tribute outfit it's still freezing. My breath comes out almost like a thick sort of fog right in front of me.

I just want to go home. Thoughts of home like my sisters sitting with me by the fire, Grandma in her rocking chair, Ma and Pa playing their banjos for us… it's enough to make me feel tears leaking down my face. As usual they become frozen solid halfway down my face.

I only spent the night in a thick bush because I had no other choice. I force myself to keep moving through the tundra, one step at a time. The very real possibility that each one could be my last has me shivering far worse than what the cold is able to do to me.

Surely I'm about to die…

I've always been a shrimp. Everybody back home knows it, they all say it enough. Last picked for any game, assuming I'm invited to play. The guy who can barely carry half his own weight in the orchids. The guy that can't stop crying.

I scored a three, mainly for running kinda fast and knowing a few edible plants. Seeder said it could have been worse, that I could have scored a one or a two and that, even then, Snag scored a one and Gwenith scored a two.

Too bad every other tribute managed at least a five, while three of the careers scored elevens. It was a miracle that I even made it out of the bloodbath. I remember being launched between the boys from One and Two.

I remember how they'd been leering at me, no doubt ready to tackle me from the moment the gong rang.

The only thing that saved me was when my district partner, Tomato, had dropped her token right before the gong rang. Some sort of wooden ball that used to belong to her Grandpa. The explosion took the careers off guard long enough for me to run for my life.

Since then I've been aimlessly wandering through the tundra… and crying. Mostly crying, really. But can you blame me? This is hell on Earth.

The only action I've been in was when the boy from Seven tried to kill me. He almost did too… I just got lucky that I tripped over, grabbed his jacket as I fell and accidentally threw him over the cliffside.

He was never the biggest problem for me to deal with. I can't help vomiting a little as I start my descent down the massive slope leading to where one of the frozen lakes might be.

There were six of us left by the time I fell asleep last night. Myself, the career boys from One and Four, the girl from Seven, the girl from Ten… and Titus, the boy from Six.

I let out the most pathetic of whines, glancing around for any sign of Titus. As big and scary as the careers are they're still nothing when compared to Titus. He entered the Games as a giant – eight feet and two inches to my four feet and seven inches – and won over the audience with his incredible power and amazing interview.

If only he'd stayed like that.

I have no idea what happened to him. Maybe it was the pressure of the Games, maybe it was a murder he witnessed, maybe the guilt of being a killer… I don't know what it was that turned him into what he is now.

I saw him four days ago, killing the small girl from Three. That was bad enough… but then he started gnawing on her fingers. Then her legs… then her guts. I got out of there before he could see me. Not that he would of. He seemed content to start munching on what might have been her kidneys.

So now we're all dealing with a cannibal of immense power… oh, and he's wearing armour that got sponsored to him back when he was sane.

I'm gonna die. I could never beat him in a fight, fair or not. I don't think I could beat any of the tributes in a fight. I don't even think the boy from Seven counts.

I clutch my stomach, the feelings of hunger almost overpowering. A desperate glance to the sky is about all I can muster.

"Please, somebody send some food," I wipe nose on my sleeve. "Please…"

Nothing comes. Not like I'm shocked. I haven't had a single sponsor all Games. I've had to live off of weeds and snow. I guess tributes, like beggars, can't be choosers…

Part of me wonders if I should have tried to grab something from the cornucopia. I've avoided it since day one and I've got no idea if it's still filled with anything, but back at the start it was filled to the brim. I remember the containers of food stacked up high, the barrels filled with water bottles, the plentiful blankets and medical supplies…

…The spiked maces.

Come to think of it, maybe it's better I didn't go for it. Even if I had grabbed something I'd be an easy target for anybody strong enough to pick up those weapons. One look at the massive maces and I knew I'd be unable to use them at all.

I think even the girl from One had issues picking them up. I guess that's why she died on the third day.

Bear, my mentor, told me that my game wasn't to go into the cornucopia bloodbath and grab supplies. He claimed mine was just to run away and get some distance between myself than others. I've kept that distance up for weeks, but he never told me what I was meant to do next!

I think he believed I was much less likely to return home than Tomato. He wasn't wrong, up to when her wooden ball changed things around.

I wipe my tears away again. "Somebody help me…"

Only a vicious gust of wind answers me. Maybe the gamemakers are getting sick of my crying and begging. Is it my fault the arena is so scary?

The day is like most of the others since I've been here. Uneventful. I don't see any of the other four tributes at any time, only a few stains of blood on the snow that suggest one of them crossed this way a while ago.

It's lucky that I end up finding a cave. Luckier still that there's no mutts inside or any tributes. A perfect place to hide. Maybe if I tuck myself into the small crevice at the top of the cave wall nobody will see my crying. I'm probably gonna be sobbing well into the night.

I just wanna go home…

The sound of voices wake me up. I bite my hand to stop myself screaming, hard enough to draw a little blood. I muffle my whimper on my other hand, peering down at the ground of the cave.

It's the careers! No, no, no, no, no! Not them, not now!

They sit side by side, their backs towards my hiding place as they gaze at the blizzard outside. It looks like it's almost sunrise, not that it feels any warmer than nightfall. They seem to have a few bloodstains on their outfits, but otherwise they're just as strong as ever. Both have a spiked mace in hand, with a further three strapped to their belts. Their backpacks are bulging, surely filled with food and water.

I try not to sob, knowing I have no way to beat them. It's a year for the strong, not the underdogs.

"Alright, so who are we hunting down first? Boy from Six or girl from Ten?" the boy from One casually takes a bite out of a slice of toast. "Maybe they'll put up more of a fight than the girl from Seven did?"

"I didn't even realise heads had that much blood inside," the boy from Four says, not breaking his gaze from the snow. "Between them… I'd prefer the girl from Ten. But, aren't you forgetting the boy from Eleven?"

"Nope. He's barely even a tribute. He's the weakest person here and he's probably laying half-dead somewhere right now anyway," the boy from One probably rolls his eyes, not that I can tell. "He's pathetic. He's useless. He's the worst tribute of the year."

I can't really say he's wrong. All the same, the hurtful words have tears filling my eyes all over again.

"Fair point. Shall we be off then?" the boy from Four stands up. "With that freak from Six walking around it's probably better that we stick together."

"Got that right. We can battle it out once he's dead," the boy from One rises as well. "C'mon, let's get hunting."

The careers leave the cave and march out into the snow. They didn't even realise I was in the cave with them. Am I really that weak and forgettable?

Maybe being so weak isn't the worst of things? If I'm not worth killing then it might grant me a few more days before the inevitable.

I didn't sleep at all last night. How could I when I failed to find any shelter at all? It's nothing but an endless tundra no matter where I go.

Part of me is too scared to go into a cave even if I did find one. What if the careers were inside? I might not be worth their time, but they'd still kill me if they saw me. Only one's getting out, no matter what way you slice it.

I make my way up a snowy slope, keeping low to the ground. I try not to think about the careers smashing my head into a pulp as I make my way up.

I fail miserably. It's not long before I'm weeping again, thoughts of the iron spikes impacting my skull swirling in my head. Get out! Get out!

"AAAAARRRRGGGGHHHHHH!"

The screaming has me ducking and cowering into a ball. A cannon fires. Repulsive stretching and crunching sounds fill my ears. No, no, no…. please…

I'm not dead. Nothing's happening. But still the sound persists. I stand up, just to take a look around.

I wish I hadn't. It's hard to see over the thick blizzard, but there's no mistaking the large form of Titus at the bottom of a massive snow bank. He's covered in blood, his head right down on the bloodied chest of the tribute below him. The grey tribute outfit removes any doubt who it is – the girl from Ten.

I can't breathe. I'm shaking madly as I back away from Titus, hoping beyond hope he won't see me… or smell me. What if he can smell blood, or fear? I've heard of creatures that can do that. Who's to say that Titus, in his current state, cannot do that too?

Titus lets out a beastly howl as he spasms, sparks flickering off of him for a moment. He collapses on his back, still twitching, as the hovercraft comes down for the body.

I don't question this oddity. I run for my life!

I run until my legs feel like they're on fire. Only when I collapse at the base of a small mountain do I finally let myself rest.

It's the perfect time to start crying all over again. It's just me, Titus and the careers. Any remote hope of me going home died with the girl from Ten. Those three would easily kill me in a fight!

"I wanna go home… please…" of course, I know that nobody will listen.

There's no hope in Panem. The whole place is just one cruel cursed hell.

Day twenty one. Three weeks. Somehow… I'm still alive.

I don't understand how I've managed to last this long. How much longer will my luck hold out before I'm forced into a fight? Sooner or later one of the others will find me. Whether it's a career or Titus, the end result is going to hurt…

Is it really luck when I'm going to die either way? No way are they going to let this last much longer, I'll surely be dead within three days. I awoke to the sounds of a massive avalanche, so surely the gamemakers are starting to interfere. No cannons means they're only going to keep it going.

Who will be their most likely target to pick on first? Probably the most useless tribute in the Games! I could plead for hours, insisting it's not my fault I came into the world early, that I've always been small, but to my knowledge pleading never helped any of the dead tributes. How many have there been now? Over a thousand five hundred at least.

Aimless wandering ends up leading me to a rocky peak above a massive acre of snow and scattered frozen trees. It's about as far from looking like District Eleven as is possible.

Just three more to go and I'll be home… or I would be in a fairer world.

Growling has my screaming and on my knees faster than I would have thought possible. Please no, please no! Mercy! Save me! Somebody help me!

I dare to peak open when nothing happens. Some foolish part of my further dares to glance down at the acre below me. I can't hold back my vomit, though it's mainly just water. I don't think I've eaten more than a single weed in thirty hours.

Titus looms over the boy from Four, his tomato red tribute outfit now soaked in blood both fresh and dry. His face and hair are all caked in the stuff. The fisher boy is being crushed under the weight of his much bigger opponent, scrambling to reach for his fallen weapons.

He spots me when Titus' teeth are a mere inch from his throat.

"Eleven! Help me!" in that moment the mighty dock hand sounds about as weak and helpless as I do.

Alas, helping him is beyond my power. I have no power, period. I'd only get myself killed if I went down there.

Titus sinks his teeth in and tears out a massive strand of flesh and muscle from the once mighty career. I don't see anything else after that.

By then I'm already racing off through the snowfall, screaming until my throat burns. The cannon fires and jolts me into running and screaming even more.

Just two left, and it just had to be the strongest career and the boy that lost his mind.

I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead…

I sit on a large snowy boulder, clutching at my empty stomach. Whether it's a spiked mace or starvation I'm certain to meet my end soon. It's just a matter of time.

I count down my final minutes, gazing at the snowfall and the stars beyond it. When you let yourself pretend it's real and that you're not in what is basically an artificial prison… this place is actually beautiful. Too cold for my liking, but other than that it's not so bad. What a lovely view.

A view that will likely be the final thing I see other than a massive tribute bringing either a mace or their teeth down onto me.

I think I can see how this is going to go. I might be weak, cowardly, pitiful, mopey, pathetic… I'm not sure where I was going with this…

I watch the Games every year… I know the trends of what they like to make happen or at least nudge things towards. They'll get me out of the way, set up the boy from One as some kind of a dashing hero… then they'll make sure he cuts down Titus like an animal. Titus is already a monster, they don't need to edit anything.

It's just a matter of time now.

"Just get it over with…" I sniffle, wiping away thick salty tears. "I just want to go home… I just want it to end…"

Ten minutes pass as I take in all of the sights. The blizzard, the moonlight glinting off of the snow, the thousands of stars… I pause, peering into the darkness. What is that…?

I yelp, dazed from the light that dazzles my eyes. By the time I blink away the aching the boy from One is only fifteen steps away from me, a bloodstained spiked mace clutched in his right hand and a flashlight in his left.

"Hello Eleven," his grin stretches across his face. "End of the line. Honestly, I'm amazed you even lasted this long, you really-HEY! Get back here!"

I don't stick around to listen to his killing monologue. I turn and run for my life down the steep snowy hill, screaming shrilly. With every step my screaming and sobbing get louder and the pain of my throat only gets more and more unbearable.

This is it, I'm dead. All he has to do is narrow the gap and hit me once. I can't fight him, I can't use these weapons. I'm dead, I'm dead! It's the end!

"Ma! Pa! Pumpkin! Crow!" I sob out the name of each member of my family. "Don't look!"

I hear the boy from One yelling in alarm. He slips over, tumbling down to the base of the hill. He briefly overtakes me, landing in a painful heap. He gets back up mere seconds after I whizz past him, still screaming and flailing my arms behind me.

"Get back here! Nowhere to run now shrimp!"

He ditches his flashlight, choosing to hold a mace in both hands. Fuck, now he's gonna torture me! Why did I run? Why didn't I just accept the inevitable? A few extra minutes isn't worth torture!

I almost slip over the ice under my feet. A frozen lake? Just what I needed, now I won't even be able to run away. My one ability, if it even counts as one, is gone. No, no, no!

I'm sent slipping, sliding and skidding across the lake. It's almost impossible to stand on the ice, let alone run on it. The boy from One is moving slower now, but he's keeping his balance better than me. He smirks at me as he begins to narrow the gap.

"Get a cannon ready!" he says to the sky, laughing.

I fall to the ground, sliding a few feet until I come to a stop. This is it, this is the end. I cover my face, bawling like a baby as the boy from One stomps his way over with his maces raised overhead.

He's about three meters away when he vanishes. It takes me a moment to work out what just happened. How could he possibly disappear?

He didn't. He fell through the ice. He screams and shouts, fighting for his life in the icy water. He eyes me in equal parts hatred and terror. He tries to strike me, but his maces have sunk under the water and I'm safely out of range.

"You bastard! You bastard!" he struggles to keep himself afloat. "You rat!"

"What… what…" I can barely speak.

"You little shrimp… fucking trap… you tricked… me…!" his struggling is getting more desperate and he's starting to sink. His skin is horribly pale.

"…Tricked you?" I start to scoot backwards from the dying career. "I didn't know… I mean…"

I gulp, shrinking back under his look of pure hatred, disbelief… and, is that humiliation there as well?

"You didn't do this on purpose?!" he screams, roaring for the last time. "Useless! Fucking… useless.. can't even… believe this… lucky… asshole…"

I don't stick around to listen to him any longer. I scamper off into the darkness, the sounds of struggling behind me getting quieter and quiet until… it's only silence.

The cannon has me flinching and soon I'm sniffling all over again. I should be happy to still be alive to hear it. It means all of the careers are finally dead.

It means just one more tribute stands between me and going home.

Too bad that tribute is Titus. In what reality could I possible beat him? He's huge and a savage, I'm tiny and a coward. It's no contest. He's got this in the bag.

I wonder what death is like. I wonder what Titus' victory tour will be like.

I end up losing the will to keep running. I simply curl up at the base of a large tree and cry myself to sleep, except sleep isn't coming.

I'm too scared to sleep. He'll be hunting me down any time now.

He'll smell my blood from miles away!

He'll kill me!

He'll eat me…

The sun rises on the twenty second day. I've lost all hope and any motivation to keep moving at this point. I remain where I am, staring up at the sunrise beyond the thick snow clouds.

It's not the worst final morning I could have lived to see. Better this than gloomy grey clouds or an outright storm. It's almost peaceful.

No sign of Titus yet, but it's surely just a matter of time now. Every little bit of movement has me darting my eyes over to what I always assume to be my cannibal adversary… but no, it's always just snow or occasionally a harmless white rabbit.

I sit up when a massive rumble echoes through the valley. …Nothing special. Just an avalanche roughly a mile to my right. Maybe they're herding Titus this way. Maybe they're just adding some atmosphere to the quiet day.

Maybe they're trying to scare me. Joke's on them… I don't think I can be any more scared than I already am. It's hard to scare those that have finally had the good sense to give up and just lay down to await death.

I shake my head, laying back down. Can't be more than a few minutes now.

A boom echoes across the tundra. I barely dare to breath or even blink, slowly sitting up. I'm starting to shake all over.

"What…"

The boom – a cannon – echoes away into silence. The snowfall stops and the sky begins to clear up. All that remains is a beautiful dawn sky, the golden rays of morning sunshine finally peaking through the once thick clouds.

I sit, basked in the glow of golden light. How comically shocked must I look? This has to be a mistake… it can't be possible… no way is this real… did I just…

…win?

The trumpets begin to play across the arena. There's no mistaking them for anything other than what they are – the traditional sound that plays as soon as the victor of the Hunger Games has been confirmed.

I'm shaking so much that I find it hard to stand on my own two feet. What… how… this can't be happening… is it?

It is! The hovercraft is descending down from the sky, the ladder lowering to collect me from my horrifying prison.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present the victor of the Sixty Sixth Hunger Games! Spud Munroe from District Eleven!"

…It's time to go home.

When I was first taken out of the arena back when I won the Hunger Games as a young boy, I'd always thought I just got incredibly lucky. I mean, it was a pure fluke I'd managed to get out of the bloodbath, let alone avoid the other tributes for so long – and the one tribute I had to fight, the boy from Seven, only failed to kill me by his own bad luck and my own good luck. Add in the careers failing to notice me in that cave, being separated by an avalanche and then meeting their ends soon afterwards and it gets crazy amounts of lucky. Conclude it with Titus being killed by an avalanche and you have a story that involves so much luck you'd be unable to believe it. Too good to be true and all that.

It was and it wasn't.

Some of it truly was luck. Everything up to the careers being separated was just me getting lucky as hell. After that, well, the waters begin to get a little murky.

I found out from Bear that the gamemakers had tried to trip me on that snowy slope with a rock they spawned into the arena. Something to let the boy from One kill me quickly as the Games were starting to get a bit too drawn out. The only thing that saved me was that the gamemaker told to do that pressed the wrong button. He corrected his mistake, but by then I was past it and he tripped over the career boy.

One mistake and a single second was all it took to change everything.

They had wanted the boy from One to be the victor, just as I had theorised around that time. Under any normal circumstances the mistake would have been meaningless and he'd have killed me anyway. They could have just laughed it off over a drink or something.

Of all places in the arena I could have ran, I ended up accidentally running towards the frozen lake and… well, everybody knows the story from there. The boy they wanted to win was dead and it was down to useless me and Titus.

Titus could not be allowed to win. He was insane, a lunatic, mad beyond any hope of recovery.

I was deemed the less objectional winner by default and so, because according to fight simulations I lost one hundred percent of the time against him, they rigged an avalanche to get rid of Titus and ensure the winner was at least sane.

I won because they let me. Because it was rigged. I didn't do anything to really earn or deserve it.

That brings me to where I am now. Seated beside Bear as the Quell's bloodbath comes to an end. Once again, I got lucky. It could have easily been me that got reaped instead of Chaff.

I guess they just want people to forget about me. Having me in the spotlight, even if I died, might have been too much to be worth it. Nobody likes talking about my Games after all.

It's been a terrible morning. Forced to watch several of my friends end up dead – Bentley got his throat slashed by Cashmere's scimitar, Cecelia was stabbed in the back with a short sword by Enobaria and Laurel was stabbed by Brutus deadly word – and, as per every time I've had to mentor, I had to see my tribute die.

Poor Seeder. She died from the moment that bastard Gloss smashed a spiked mace over her head. I wonder if they put that weapon there to taunt me in some way.

'This was meant to be your fate. You only avoided it because Titus was somehow worse.'

I haven't had a second to properly grieve over the death of my friends. Not when Anchor's already starting on me. He was always one of the ones who hated me the most, somehow even more than Olga and Enobaria ever did.

They hate me for being rigged into winning. Apparently it goes against the integrity of the Games. My victory was a mistake, a fluke, I should be dead and Anchor makes this clear every year.

I won't apologise for being alive.

"You should've been in that quell. Should've had the good sense to volunteer and be a man for once in your damn life," he pauses to knock back a mouthful of beer. "You were always a mistake. A fluke."

"I won the Games, same as anybody else did. The goal is not to get the most kills, just be the last one. I did that," I try to leer, but I've never been able to look at Anchor and not feel afraid. He killed his own district partner, a girl he'd manipulated for years. He's a shark all the way. "I think I did a bit more than Pliny, may she rest in peace, and you never harassed her."

"She wasn't rigged into winning. They say she technically overcame rigging. You won because some other boy lost his mind," he scoffs, pouring himself another drink. "Useless tribute, useless victor, useless mentor if Seeder's broken head is anything to go by."

"Shut up!" I ball my small fists, trying to snarl at Anchor. He looks amused, nothing more. "At least I have a heart, integrity… I didn't kill my own district partner. I didn't cross the lines you did."

"That's my point. I played the Games like a real victor, you failed and cried every step of the way," he glances over to where the victors from Two sit. "Back me up here Dragon, he did didn't he?"

"Can't disagree," Dragon says, one eye leering at me and the other focused on the screen that shows Arendellian running through the jungle. "Boy's weak."

"Enough!" Bear rises up to his feet, glaring at the careers. His glare, a leftover thing from what he claims to have been his brutal youth, is a lot more effective. "I can handle this Spud. Go take a breather, get some fresh air. Maybe gather up some sponsors."

I know a blatant way to get me out of the line of fire when I hear it. "Sure thing Bear. Anything you think Chaff might need?"

"Something he can put over his stump. Let's say a prosthetic hand," he gestures to the door. "Don't worry, I can handle this alone for now. I've done it for decades, I can do it one more time."

"I'll help him too," Gwenith says, sitting down beside Bear.

They were never as obvious as Spool and Lammy were but it's clear to all that Bear and Gwenith have had a thing for each other for many years now. I wonder if they'll live long enough to act on it. Spool and Lammy did, so why not them?

Not like we have anything beside mentoring to look forward to…

"No need to hurry back," Bear adds as I reach the door. "You'll only need to be quick when things get explosive. Watch the screens."

"I always do. See you later Bear."

Another day, another lack of much sponsor interest.

It's good to see that Chaff is still alive by the time of the third day. Just seven more to go and he'll be back home with us, the victor of victors.

After that, it'll be the same old same old. I got lucky to win my own Games, but this is hardly living. It's just… not dying. I've come to see it's not the same thing.

Almost every sponsor I've spoken to has ignored me and those that did speak to me have just claimed Chaff is 'a bottom twenty victor'. They only have eyes for Finnick, Brutus, Enobaria and the pair from Twelve. Chaff's just some extra guy they've forgotten about.

I'm not sure how. He's not taken a scratch yet, even after braving the insect time sector and the one with the monkey mutts. All this and the careers haven't found him yet. Nobody has.

"Look, look!" some Capitol women points to one of the massive screens. "Death! Death! Death! Look!"

I don't know why I looked. You'd think common sense would rule that I'd look the other way – literally any other way – but no, I look just in time to see Brutus stab Chaff in the chest with a serrated dagger. He follows up with two more stabs and a kick, my friend left crumpled on the floor.

I drop to my knees, starting to sob without restraint. All around me the Capitol citizens cheer, coo, clink glasses and sometimes sob. The only sobs come from those who tear up their now worthless betting slips.

Savages, the lot of them. It's like I'm surrounded by mutts or even a few dozen clones of Titus. They're all mad!

The screen continues to show the action playing out. I can't take any pleasure when Brutus gets his neck broken by Peeta, not when the grief over my lost friend is all too much to bare. From there it's a frenzy. Johanna and Enobaria duel, Beetee lays helpless after taking a knife to his back, Peeta run through the jungle screaming for Katniss…

And Katniss, she looks ready to send an arrow into Finnick's heart. The crowd screams, either egging her on or cheering for Finnick to kill her first.

"Remember who the real enemy is," Finnick says.

A few moments pass as Katniss stares Finnick down. She's torn between him and the sky. What's she doing?

"Katniss, get away from that tree!"

She doesn't. I'm left stumped alongside the crowd around me as Katniss grabs the wire around the lightning tree. She ties it to her arrow and pulls back the bowstring as far as it can go.

Finnick runs towards her, about as frantic as I was in my own Games. "Katniss! Get away from that tree!"

The arrow is sent flying a moment before the lighting tree blasts Katniss into the air and off into the overgrowth. Finnick is knocked back as well.

I watch, amazed, as the arrow hits the forcefield with a trail of lightning travelling up the wire.

What the hell?! What… how… what did she just do!?

The screen shows the forcefield breaking down and the arena starting to fall apart for all of three seconds. After that the screen dies out, only the Capitol insignia and the word 'technical difficulties' displayed below it.

The crowd began to howl, whine and throw a collective tantrum. They shout for the Games to come back on, seemingly unable to comprehend that something has gone wrong.

A massive, droning siren begins to wail across the city only a moment later. It reminds me of old air raid sirens… shit, this must be serious.

"Attention citizens! Please return to your homes by order of President Snow! This is a mandatory order! Thank you for your cooperation!"

The order begins to repeat in an endless cycle, citizens running to and fro around me. Some whine over the Games being ruined, some are screaming in panic, many are just confused.

I'm one of the ones panicking. Suddenly it's like I'm back in the arena all over again, one that's as large as the Capitol. Danger is everywhere. Something big and bad just went down…

…Bear knew this was coming.

Is he alive? Did anybody else know what was going on?

For years now victors, tributes and normal district citizens alike have been hoping for change and a second chance at overthrowing the Capitol. Is this what they've been hoping for… is this finally happening?

I resolve to work all that out another day. For now, I'm getting the hell out of here! I waste no time running away into the night, searching for a place to hide.

…There's one place I think might work.

Surely they would never think to check there… right?

Only one way to find out.

Katniss and Peeta concluded their silence for the luckiest victor in recent memory and continued their walk down the street. By now they could see their destination, The Golden Goose, not overly far ahead of them.

They quickly came to the imprinted face of the Sixty Seventh figure, that of a spoiled and smug looking young man. His eyes seemed to hold a mixture of superiority and contempt and his mouth curled into some mixture of an aloof smile and a cocky sneer. His hair was trimmed short, styled to perfection.

"The cavalier career himself," Katniss muttered. "Augustus Braun."

"Maybe he's like Cashmere and Gloss," Peeta said, optimistically. "Maybe there was more to him than we ever saw back in Twelve?"

Katniss hoped Peeta was right.

There we have it, Spud's Games were four in one – Titus, spiked maces, the girl who dropped her token and, of course, the boy who scored a 3. Putting all of those things together makes it seem like Spud would have little way to win (well, all of them besides the dropped ball that is) but it occurs to me that the gamemakers can rig things at will. Why not rig him into the victory… and for good measure, not because he is good but because the other person is even worse! Haha! It is never at any point stated in canon what Titus' rank was when the canon avalanche killed him (but we can assume he ranked highly due to making several kills and how it'd take time for somebody to go insane in most cases)… so, why not have him place 2nd and Spud therefore be rigged into victory, even when the gamemakers do not want that either? Gotta love a lose/lose situation befalling those on the side of evil, haha. Stay tuned for more!

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), Gloss Lord (63rd Games), Cashmere Lord (64th 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), Lyme Rabe (51st Games), Enobaria Golding (62nd Games)

District 3: Honorius Perthshire (5th Games), Pi Orbit (22nd Games), Beetee Latier (37th Games), Wiress Plummer (47th Games), Yohan Fairbane (58th Games)

District 4: Museida Selkirk (3rd Games), Mags Flanagan (11th Games), Tide Luther (23rd Games), Librae Ogilvy (35th Games), Anchor Paddock (52nd Games), Finnick Odair (65th Games)

District 5: Shunt Gaspar (12th Games), Isobel Sparks (18th Games), Crimson Flanders (29th Games), Porter Tripp (38th Games), Neon Erg (48th Games), Wattzon Holmes (55th Games), Arendellian Spinner III (57th Games)

District 6: Chassis Macalister (31st Games), Bentley Corduroy (54th Games), Porsche London (56th Games)

District 7: Pliny Aransio (2nd Games), Fir Buzz (9th Games), Jack Tylos (21st Games), Snag Nakamura (34th Games), Blight Jordan (53rd Games), Logger Barlow (61st Games)

District 8: Woof Casino (16th Games), Paige Murphy (30th Games), Spool Nylon (42nd Games), Cecelia Mog (60th Games)

District 9: Mizar Aldjoy (1st Games), Gwenith Rosebud (13th Games), Teff Withers (28th Games), Laurel Flamsteel (36th Games), Tabbock Summers (43rd Games), Trevy Vex (Escaped 55th Games)

District 10: Stallion March (26th Games), Lammy Phyronix (40th Games), Pasture Gallows (59th Games)

District 11: Bear Redfoot (15th Games), Seeder Howell (33rd Games), Chaff Mitchell (45th Games), Spud Munroe (66th Games)

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