District 2: Jaehaera Blackfyre (17) Pov-

Nero wakes me up at the crack of dawn. Just like yesterday. He doesn't know today will be his last day on the planet. I know it's not the nicest thing in the world, but I think there's something so satisfying about looking at him, knowing he thinks it's just another day, while I know it's anything but ordinary for him.

Nero prepares breakfast while I start away for a wash, again just like yesterday. The bottle of poison feels warm in my pants pocket. I trust about half the vial will be enough to kill him. Then I'll have some left over to use if I encounter another tribute.

I head home after a few minutes and see that Nero's left a note on the table, saying. Tired of waiting. Left to use the bathroom. Back soon.

I don't loiter. With an immense amount of force I crack the plastic seal and open the jar of orange poison. The liquid lets out a triumphant hiss, as if sensing it's about to be freed. Quickly, I pour about half of the poison into Nero's tomato soup, then conceal the vial back in my pocket.

My ally arrives less than a minute later, and I refuse to take my eyes off of the soup bowls. If I forget to be careful and he swaps the bowls without my noticing, I could be as dead as a door-nail in no time. But he doesn't swap the bowls.

We sit down together and I set the example by taking the first bite. As Nero moves the spoon closer and closer to his mouth, fleeting doubts race through my mind. What if the soup tastes funny? What if he spits it out? Will he throw the bowl at me? My body armor would probably shield me from the poison but I don't want to take any chances.

Suddenly Nero falls out of his chair. I get out of my seat and walk around the table to see the 2 boy sprawled out on the ground, limbs stiff as boards splaying in all directions, gasping and shaking and moaning.

A cannon shot rolls over the forest and Nero Ryker moves no more.

As soon as his eyes roll back into his head I hear a loud beeping sound from my left. Another sponsor parachute. The carriage is shaped like a large silver bowl. It contains two packages. The first package contains a loaf of District 2 bread. The second package contains a jar of red liquid. I read the label. It's a revolutionary new chemical that can seal wounds in record time.

I'm about to discard the parachute when I spot a single note hidden in the bottom:

Jaehaera,

Pixel knows about poison. Hunt her down. Be careful. She has a crossbow. You're doing great.

~L

I leave to hunt immediately after I finish my soup. Right before I leave I decide to pour out the other bowl, so I don't eat it accidentally. I'm taking with me my sword and two knives. A package is tied around my right elbow containing a bountiful supply of medicine, including the jar of red wound sealer I was just sponsored. I carry a thermos of water in my left hand.

I'm feeling a little iffy about leaving the cornucopia exposed but I know it has to be done. Ideally I'd like someone to sponsor me some kind of explosive that I could use to blow up the horn. That way the supplies couldn't fall into the hands of the outliers. I know explosives are ridiculously expensive, but these people are made of money.

There's a spring in my step as I disappear into the woods, hoping a stray outlier or two will cross my path today.

District 5: Adelaide Hampton (16) Pov-

My eyes dart open. Judging by the light coming in through the entrance it must be about noon. I hear footsteps coming from above me. Chunks of dirt are raining down from the roof like hailstones. I duck under my only blanket to shield myself from the falling rocks. Then suddenly the footsteps stop.

"What's this?" a boy's voice murmurs. I recognize that voice. It belongs to one of the other tributes. I remember hearing it loads of times in the training center.

Then there's a loud thud as the boy drops into the tunnel. I can see his feet poking into the underground space and a bolt of panic runs through me. I grab my poison darts and hold my dart-gun in the ready position, ready to fire.

The boy drops down into the dark underground space. Before I can stop myself I've flicked on my flashlight beam and shined it at him. It's Jaro from 11.

Jaro lets out a scream and races back toward the entrance. It goes against every moral principle I've ever been taught, but I fire darts at him as he runs. My first one misses him by inches as he forces his body back into the tunnel. My second one misses by a breadth of several feet. And my third dart lands perfectly into his leg.

I hear Jaro let out a curse, and he stumbles as he grabs hold of his ankle. Then he starts running. In no time at all his footsteps have faded away to silence.

Will that single dart be enough to kill him? I feel evil hoping he's dead. But then again he's one of the most popular tributes left. In my heart of hearts I might be glad all of my darts didn't miss. Because if he dies that substantially increases my chances of going home.

I instantly hate myself for thinking that way. I'm a good person. I don't kill.

I'm a good person. I know I'll have to kill these last few tributes, and the poison will hopefully give them a quick death. A mercifully quick one.

I'm a good person. Killing is wrong and evil.

Crap.

District 11: Jaro Veldt (15) Pov-

I've never been this terrified in my life. Ever. No two ways about it.

When people have described panic attacks to me they've always said some enormous hand has grabbed them by the middle, muddling their thoughts and keeping them from moving or breathing or thinking about anything but the pain. And honestly I've always thought they were being a little dramatic.

Uh-uh. My blood pounds in my ears like a beating drum. My heart thumps in my chest. My feet and hands are so sweaty and tingly they might fall right off. I'm spinning through space. Thoughts rush through my mind. I can't focus on anything.

Until finally I can. I don't know how long it's been when I finally force my way to my feet. I glance back at the cave. The girl inside didn't follow me out.

It's a surprisingly long time before I spot one of her darts in my foot. In that moment I feel my insides crinkle up inside of me.

I bend down and tug the dart out of my skin. A thin purple line is spreading out from the wound.

I went to the poison station in training! I know for I fact I did! And one of the trainers taught me how to tell how much time you've got left until it's curtains. I figure I have thirty or forty before I'll be dead from the poison. Not a lot at all.

Priority number one: get far away. At first I have the energy to run but that energy drains from me in moments and I can't do anything more than hobble along through the darkening forest.

I have two hopes. Either I'll find something here in the forest that'll cure the poison or I'll be sponsored some kind of medication. Neither one seems terribly likely and honestly there isn't much hope here.

I try to ignore the pulsing feeling in my ankle as I wander through the woods with my supplies, praying for a miracle.

District 6: Lincoln Blitz (16) Pov-

Today I'll be building a shelter. I know it's nothing huge that'll end up hogging all the screen time, but I also know it'll work to keep me at least partly relevant. This late in the games the worst thing a tribute can do is lose relevance, and I intend to avoid that at all costs.

I'm going with the standard design. The one they taught us in the training center. Stacking rows of branches on top of each other in alternating directions and then coating the roof with foliage.

Foliage. I love that word. Hmmph.

I've managed to cough most of the water out of my lungs, but every once and a while I'll break out into a coughing fit. Fleeting shivers still run over my body from my brief plunge in the icy-cold floodwaters. But I do my best not to pay them any attention. Don't pay them attention and they'll go away. That's what I hope, at least.

When night falls I crawl into my newly-fashioned shelter. It's just as cold inside as it is outside. I guess my body will naturally warm it up as the night progresses.

I make a quick check to make sure everything's here. The little wire I still have left after building my (now lost) snares. My knife. My tin of bandages. Me half-eaten bag of dried fruit. And, of course, my sleeping bag. Phew.

District 3: Pixel Watt (12) Pov-

Snow crunches under my feet as I tread lightly over the frost. Delicate as I may be I still make a fair bit of sound as I travel, which is not exactly ideal but oh well. My other big concern is that I'm leaving obvious footsteps that might not be covered for a long time. If Jaehaera came up here she could corner me like a rat, no problem.

That's why I'm taking the most indirect route up the mountainside. So that it'll be difficult for anybody to follow me.

Around noon a sponsor gift lands on my shoulder with a thud. I grab it off and find the carriage filled with a bundle of additional arrows for my crossbow. I count up the arrows. There's thirteen of them.

When night falls I stumble across the yawning entrance of a cave in the mountainside. It's not exactly a five-star hotel, but it's the best I've got. I turn around to make sure nobody's following, and, quickly, shuffle inside.

The inside of the cave is moist and hot. The floor slants upwards for a few feet, and then I reach a wide, open chamber with a ceiling lost in mist.

Suddenly a loud noise almost knocks me off of my feet. It sounds like the loudest foghorn ever created. Like a symphony of lions roaring in unison. I see a large white mass stirring in the corner.

Nice seeing you, Mr. Yeti, look at the time, I should go.

I must be about an eighth of a mile away from the cave when the yeti bursts into the moonlight. Its hair is matted and logged with filth. And its teeth are as shark as steak knives.

I pull out my crossbow and sprint into the shadows. The thing is hideously ugly. It stretches to full height and I speculate it's slightly taller than grown man. Things aren't looking good for me.

Suddenly my blood turns to ice.

It's staring at me.

My feet are running ten seconds before my brain can catch up, and before I know it I'm barreling over the frosty mountainside, struggling to place more distance between myself and the yeti. After about a minute I risk a peek over my shoulder. The yeti is a fast mover, but it's also clumsy, constantly getting tangled in the pine trees and having to break its way out.

Then I hear a sound that makes my heart stop. It makes my stomach contract with terror. It's the sound of rushing water.

I've come to a rushing river too wide to wade across. I stick my foot in and immediately pull it out, cursing under my breath. That water is so cold it feels like fire. To make matters worse, the beast is charging straight toward me.

There's a part of my mind that wants me to just give up and let it eat me, but I don't let it win out. Survivors always think outside the box. Now is the time to be resourceful.

On second thoughts, the charging yeti is twenty seconds away.

There are times in our lives when we carefully draw a plan of action in our minds before making a crucial decision, knowing our detailed planning will pay off in the future. Then there are times when we just let our instincts take over and we do whatever the heck we feel like, repetitively screaming "what the hell am I doing, what the hell am I doing" over and over in our heads.

Now is one of those times. It's not until I've landed in the river that I realize what I've done—I've grabbed a fallen log to use as a raft. It's already falling apart and I'm not even a tenth of the way over the river.

The yeti reaches the riverside and I have no choice but to use my hands as paddles and get away. My feet and pretty much half of my torso, which are under the water level, are engulfed in a burning sensation so agonizing it's indistinguishable from death by fire.

At long, long last, I reach the other side of the river. I jump off of my little raft and turn around. But I don't stay to have a chat over tea. All I catch is one glimpse of the huge mutt roaring with fury before I tighten my grip on my sopping-wet bag of supplies and melt away into the night.

District 10: Orford Shaw (18)

The wind is cold tonight.

So that's it. Another day of hunting down. And I haven't found any prey. But that doesn't discourage me. I'm going to hunt until I kill every last tribute in these games. Slowly and painfully. I'll tear out their hearts and munch on their intestines until I can't stuff down any more.

The wind is cold tonight.

I haven't had a permanent shelter in days. I'll stalk through the forest all day and curl up in the leaves to sleep at night. Shelter is for people who are afraid. Weak. I'm not afraid of anything. And soon everyone will know that.

Sure, I might be alive. I have a brain and a heart and a set of lungs and they're all working. But I'm a killing machine. I don't need any of the things normal humans need.

The wind is cold tonight. It rustles around my clothes and whips at my hair and kisses me on the cheeks. The wind is alive. But nobody is feeding it. Nobody is giving it shelter. The wind and the night and I are good pals. And I know they'll stay that way forever and ever and ever, even after my heart stops beating and I crumple to dust for all eternity.

Deaths this Chapter:

7th: Nero Ryker, District 2 Male – Poisoned, by Jaehaera

I will admit it. I was really lazy with writing this guy. I had so much potential to explore his transition from killing machine to kind-hearted and back again, and I do regret making those transitions quick and lacking description. But hey. At least his death was… not exactly painless, but certainly quick. And he didn't know it was coming, which is a bonus. With Nero's death only six tributes—a quarter of the original total—are left.

Remaining Tributes:

District 2: Jaehaera Blackfyre (17)

District 3: Pixel Watt (12)

District 5: Adelaide Hampton (16)

District 6: Lincoln Blitz (16)

District 10: Orford Shaw (18)

District 11: Jaro Veldt (15)

A/N: And another tribute falls! With one more death the final five will be determined and sponsoring will stop. So, once more, if you want to sponsor a tribute do that RIGHT NOW! :D Not much else to say about this one. It's a longer chapter so I'll let you all go now. Hope your lives are all going swell.

P.S. From this point on Orford's Povs will become increasingly… strange. None of the crazy stuff he starts seeing/hearing will be real. Rest assured they are only delusions of his insanity and are not threats to the other tributes.

Question: What, if anything, are you most disappointed was left out of the movie adaptations?