Hey everyone! I hope you enjoy the final chapter of Born to die. It's sequel Ultraviolence will be started next week. Bonus points to anyone who can guess where I'm getting the titles from (not really, but I'm curious if anyone knows xD).
This means that the tribute applications for the sequel are open! Everyone can submit up to three tributes this time (but you don't have to lol) so PM me to reserve any slots you would like. I'll be accepting three application per tribute slot this time as well, then choosing which tribute I'll use. This means you don't have to be the first person to submit/reserve the slot, just one of the first three. I'll try to use at least one tribute from everyone who submits, but submitting more tributes will give a higher chance of being chosen. And make sure to read all the guidelines before submitting as well. Thanks!
I also changed everyone's points for the sequel. Basically if you had 50-99 points I kept 15, and if you had over 100 I kept 30. If you had less but PMed me, I kept 15.
Spool Nylon (12)- Victor of the 77th Hunger Games
"This year was a bigger success than I ever could have imagined." The Head Gamemaker's smile seems genuine, but full of venom and ice. I can tell she would make a formidable opponent in the arena. But I guess she was my ultimate opponent after all.
"We've already started planning for next year, and let me tell you, Caesar, I've never been more excited," she continues, her jet black curls bouncing. "The problem with Gamemaking is that you are your own competition. But I can promise that next year will be even bigger and better than this year!"
The screen turns black with a click from the remote. My mentor sighs as he stands, considering her glass of whiskey. "We'll be there soon," he says absently. His mood has soured since we boarded the train to District Eight, and I can't quite figure out why. Perhaps he's realizing that he'll likely not be returning to the Capitol next year, now that I'm here to take his place. I thought he would be glad, but it seems he doesn't want to go home.
"How soon?" I ask. Soon could mean anything from fifteen minutes to five hours on these bullet trains. We've already been traveling for a day, but I remember the voyage here being much longer.
"An hour or so," he says, waving the question away and leaving for the kitchen. I can tell that he isn't drunk, just not wanting to talk. I sigh as I look around the train car. The chandeliers are just as glittery as before, and the couches just as soft and velvety. And yet something is missing. Several things, actually, Sock being the first and foremost. But also gone is my status as a mere tribute, I realize. My escort treats me differently now. When before I was a little boy that needed looking after but had some potential, now I was a victor of the Hunger Games, one of the most famous people in Panem at the moment. All in two weeks.
Cecelia was the only person aside from me that was excited to return home. She had her own family that was waiting for her back in Eight, and so did I. I've imagined my homecoming for so long that it almost doesn't seem real.
I only have to wait forty minutes until the escort excitedly bursts into my room to tell me we've almost arrived. I rush out alongside her, for once not minding her shrill laughter as we hurry to the exit. I watch out the window as the trees fly past, slowly turning into the desolate wasteland that surrounds District Eight. Soon, buildings are flashing by, gloomy grays and browns that are as familiar as the night sky to me. The four of us stand in a line as the train slows to a halt, right in front of a huge crowd of people that has come to welcome us. Cecelia reaches for my hand lifts it into the air, triggering such a large cacophony that I'm afraid my ears will start ringing. I can't help but giggle like a child as my district welcomes me home.
I can see cameras capturing my reaction, but for once I don't care. I jump down from the train into the crowd, making the escort squeal, but the crowd doesn't hurt me, just surrounds me and cheers my name; my twin's name; some trying to hug me and others giving me flowers and other rare things.
"Tag!"
My head turns to the familiar voice. It's my brother, shouting out his own name through the crowd. I hurry toward it, the crowd parting to let me through. He runs to me before I even see him, wrapping me in a hug.
"We're glad you're back," is all he says, and my lips curl in a smile. The simple greeting the Sock Knights give to each other after we almost get into trouble of some kind, or finish a difficult and likely illegal task.
"Thanks," I murmur back, letting him go. Behind him are our parents, smiling as they embrace me together.
"We love you so much, Tag," my mother says. I wonder if it has been difficult to call Tag by my name all this time. A name is just a name, but our parents are probably the only people in the world that can tell us apart.
"I love you too."
The Peacekeepers eventually usher the crowd away from the train station so that we can return home. Except our old house isn't home anymore- all of our things have already been moved into Victor's Village. Our-my- mansion is too big for a family of four, but waste has never bothered the Capitol. The cameras make sure to get a good shot of us entering the house- a start to my new fabulous life as a victor. My father closes the door and I silently follow them through the hallways until we enter the kitchen. The oven is on, with dinner apparently cooking. The table is even set.
But the stillness alarms me. Where are the Sock Knights? Why isn't anyone saying anything. My mother silently checks the food, then stands with a sigh. "It needs a little more time." Her eyes fall on me, soft as always. "Spool…"
"Don't call me that!" I hiss quickly, eyes darting around as if the Peacekeepers will burst in and arrest us.
"Don't be afraid," my father says, guiding me with a hand on my shoulder to sit at the elaborate wood table. "It's only us."
"We'll have to get used to it anyway," I object. "A name is just a name, and I've gotten used to going by Tag anyway-"
"You're right, Tag," the real Tag says, eying our parents. "We have to be careful."
"I just thought you might like to be called your own name one last time," our mother says with a frown. "I won't do it again."
"Good." I let out an exhale and lean back in my chair. Everyone continues to stare at me. I raise my eyebrows in question. "And? Is there something else?"
"Did they tell you?" Tag- Spool- asks abruptly.
A beat of silence. "Did who tell me what?"
He sighs and buries his face in his hands. "It's… they…"
"What?" I ask sharply.
"It's Hessian," my father finishes firmly.
"What about him?" Hessian is one of the Sock Knights, a good friend Tag- Spool!- and I have had since we started school.
"They killed him," Tag says finally, tearfully. "Last night. The Peacekeepers broke into his house and took him away, saying that he was selling unauthorized fabric."
Despite the shock that initially hits me, I can see the maneuvering here. In a district that makes textiles, selling them with consent from the creators at the factories, through unauthorized channels is technically a crime. You can find people selling fabrics on the street wherever you go, even engaging in trade with Peacekeepers, but it's still a crime… and technically a true one. The Sock Knights have manufactured and sold many different kinds of textiles before.
"That doesn't mean that they killed him," I hear myself say. "He could be in prison."
My brother shook his head sadly. "They sent his parents a notice of his death this morning."
I can't believe it. I stare down at my lap, unable to process something like this. Senseless death has followed me even from the arena.
"It's a warning, isn't it?" I ask softly.
"We don't know what they'll do next," my mother whimpers, and I can tell without looking at her that she's crying. "They might come for one of us."
"No, they won't," I say matter-of-factly. "This is just a message. The Capitol knows that I have a twin, and knows about he Sock Knights. They can't just get rid of everyone." I look up into Spool's face. "If we do something like this again, then someone else will go missing."
"I know," he says gravely.
Celia Winterbourne (19)- Victor of the 76th Hunger Games
Call me stupid, but I like the Victory Tour. It's a nice reminder of what's to come when the season rolls around again, and of course a good dose of inter-district conflict that fuels the Games themselves. I like seeing the reactions of the tribute's families as they watch the victor parade around in their home, the child for whom their own child's life was traded. Some call me cruel, but I harbor no ill will against the other districts. Was it really so cruel to want to talk to the families of the District Seven tributes on my own tour, whose chests I bashed in with my axe?
… Well, maybe a little.
Tag Nylon seems different, though. He isn't arrogant, but he's sure of himself. He stands with a proud back as he waves to District Twelve. Always unlucky Twelve, who have only scored two victors in seventy-seven years and counting. I pity them, the miner's faces covered in coal as they look on Nylon, their dirty clothes and gaunt faces. Maybe if some of the children among them tried to train for the Games and really put some effort into something, they'd be able to win some glory and riches for their district. But the outer districts hate the Games, a fact that I should be grateful for- less competition for my own tributes.
Still, I can see some genuine admiration in their eyes. Maybe being in the presence of the youngest Hunger Games victor in history, a mere twelve year old, gives them hope for their own children. Maybe you could train some kids so that there will always be a volunteer, and not have to worry about it! I want to scream at the television. But there's no use in talking sense into them. I tried on my own Tour.
District Eleven isn't much better. I wrinkle my nose as I remember my own experience there- an overcrowded field with far too many children and tesserae applications. The place had smelled like sweat and rotten fruit. I never wished to return there again.
Nylon didn't interact with any of the tributes from Eleven either, same as Twelve. He reads the speech prepared for him and commends the tribute's bravery and kindness. The screen flashes to District Ten now, and I can feel Cato shifting beside me. I elbow him and he moves away. Maybe he doesn't like spending his nights watching the recap of the Victory Tour thus far, but I like to be prepared for our own visit that's happening tomorrow. Not to mention how entertaining it is. Maybe not so far, but I have a feeling Ten won't take so lightly to Nylon killing their most promising tribute in years, Filly. I even remember her name. Partly because I was impressed with her, and partly because she was insane.
Not that I can't relate. We're all plagued by demons in the arena.
The crowd is dead silent as Nylon reads his speech. Filly's family, all males, stand on a platform close to the stage. One of them, probably her father, has tears in his eyes. The other two, most likely a grandfather and brother, watch on in stoic silence. Still, Nylon doesn't go off script. He's a good boy, apparently.
District Nine is as boring as Twelve and Eleven. The only district to lose its chances of winning in the bloodbath, which was too bad. I like seeing some of them wielding sickles in the arena like a tiny grim reaper. The large family that stands for the girl- Grizelda Weaver- has a small baby with them. The man I'm guessing is the father is holding her, staring at the stage with a blank expression. He should be glad. Pregnant girls have gone into the arena before, and none of the babies have ever returned. I guess this was a year for firsts.
District Eight is skipped, the last stop on the tour that will surely be huge celebration. I imagine it will be a spectacular day for Eight, as they probably don't get a lot of reasons to celebrate. However, Nylon still gets an almost-homecoming in Seven. Everyone greets him with cheers and chants of his name as he steps to the platform to speak.
"Seb was my closest ally in the Games," he says with conviction. "But he was more than that. He was a friend, someone I'd even call family. He might not have had his real family with him when he died, but he had me."
The crowd is touched, the cameras sure to catch tears falling from the girlfriend's eyes, her little brother crying openly as well.
"I'll do my best to make sure his memory lives on in the hearts of the nation," Nylon says, nodding toward Sebastian's family, and then looks to the other tribute's. The only person standing for Willow is a girl about her age, proud and without tears, though I can see the determination in her eyes as she stares right into the camera. "And Willow's as well," Nylon finishes. He must remember when she tried to kill Sebastian during the bloodbath and stabbed him in the arm, but he doesn't mention it.
District Six goes smoothly. The people don't seem to care at all about Spool, but Jason's family snubs him a little by not regarding his obituary for their fallen family member. Perhaps they were rooting for Nicolette after Jason's death. They can't be happy with him stealing the victory from her.
District Five would be even more boring, but the tension between the two families now that they know the truth about the fallen tributes' father is palpable in the air. I snigger as I watch the mother of Amelia do her best not to look at her once-lover, who stands stoically beside his new family. I remember them from a few years ago, when Caleb's sister was reaped and killed in the bloodbath. This guy has had three children die in the arena… so unlucky. Or maybe the universe was trying to give them chances, and they just keep failing.
District Four is as sour as I'd expect it to be, and I laugh openly as the family of Nikki watches him with piercing glares. Another family who just can't win. Two times in second place… what could be worse than that? They look as disappointed as they should. Drew's family, on the other hand, seems uncharacteristically distraught for a Career family. They must have had a lot of faith in him, not expecting him to lose his sight and become easy prey.
District Three was just yesterday, and I've already seen the footage, so I click off the TV with a yawn. There's no use in watching the usual Three nonsense, their tributes fallen early as usual.
Nylon will arrive around three o'clock. The families are already prepared for the speech, the crowd pumped to see the youngest victor in history, even if he killed one of our tributes, Hadrian. He had been such a disappointment. I frown as I recall the blind faith Cato and I had put in him, so sure that like us, both 10 scorers, he would be another victor in the District Two dynasty. But he had let us down from the start, although much of what he encountered was bad luck. Maybe we didn't bless him with enough "may the odds be ever in your favor"s.
I step outside of my mansion in Victor's Village, watching as all the other victors bustle about in preparation. As our number grows, the space for us on the stage gets smaller, and so does our opportunities to stay relevant with the Capitol. I go by Enobaria with her sharpened teeth tipped in gold, her makeup dark to accentuate her white fangs. Another victor is wearing a bright purple suit, his eyebrows dyed purple and blowing in the wind. I sigh as I wrap my light blue coat closer around me. I don't look forward to the day that I will be like one of them, desperate for any way to stand out. As the latest Two victor, I can be sure to receive some up-close camera time no matter what.
I'm among the first to arrive to the square. God knows where Cato is. Peacekeepers are setting up tables with signature Two bread and other dishes, hanging up banners welcoming Nylon to our humble district. It's laughable watching the white suits do such menial Avox work when they usually are figures of fear, at least in the other districts that I've been in. Here they might be the nice man that lives down the street or even your old childhood friend, but they still are usually given more respectable tasks than this.
As I ascend the stage where the victors will watch the ceremony, I glance at Rufina's family, who is being instructed by a Peacekeeper on how they should act. Her parents nod blankly, while her sister and brother both have frowns on their faces. I wonder if Drusa regrets not volunteering herself. She had a better chance of winning; that's why the other victors and I chose her as our tribute for this year. But instead she and her sister had to ruin it all when Drusa decided last minute she didn't want to play the Games. Now she's too old; that was her last chance. I watch her grimacing face as she listens to the Peacekeeper with some twisted pleasure. She robbed Two of a possible victory, and so the Games robbed her of a sister. A fair trade if you ask me.
I wait patiently for the rest of the district to arrive, aware that everyone's eyes are on my perfect posture and steady gray eyes. The light blue dress that hangs over my shoulders is probably too light for the weather, but I don't shiver at all. I don't really mind the things that my stylists dress me in anymore: my reputation as the "Ice Queen" in the Capitol due to lack of many facial expressions and emotions led to them dressing me like I was made of ice, as if to hammer the point home. I didn't understand at first, but now I like the curious looks I get, as people wonder if I really am immune to the cold.
As usual, many of the victors are almost late to the ceremony, rushing in at last minute. Cato is one of them, quickly taking his place beside me as the next-to-last victor, buttoning up his suit jacket. I don't bother to ask where he's been.
The doors of the Justice Building open a second later, and the crowd cheers to welcome the newest victor to the lineup. Nylon beams as he steps out, waving to the victors on our stage as he grabs the mic with the other hand. Cato waves back and I roll my eyes.
The noise dies down as Nylon begins to speak. "I didn't know either Hadrian or Rufina personally, but they were fine tributes with a drive to win. They may have fallen, but they will not be forgotten."
As he carries on in a similar manner, I watch Cassius onstage with the rest of Hadrian's family, his spot in our ranks on the victor's stage sorely empty. I haven't spoken to him since I returned to the district, but he seems like he's taking it well. He knows Hadrian was simply hit with a bout of bad luck We'll do better next year, I promise myself.
The speech is over in a matter of time, and the Panem anthem plays as Nylon disappears back into the Justice Building. I hear Cato sigh in relief as he rolls his shoulders. "Time to eat!" he yells loud enough for the other victors to hear.
Sometimes I wish he hadn't won so I didn't have to put up with his drivel.
Rowan Loukios (28)- Gamemaker
With the Victory Tour going extremely well, it seems there's no need to fuss. Still, I've been tossing and turning every night in my bed, hoping that the entire situation will all be forgotten. Bellona hasn't been speaking to me since the incident, but what was I supposed to do? It started as collecting bets on the final three tributes, a task that has to be completed impossibly quickly in case another death happens. The odds seemed to be almost all skewed toward Tag Nylon, the twelve-year old that had stolen the hearts of the Capitol. The other two had their supporters who wished they would win, but it seemed common among the gamblers to realize that Nylon had the temperament to and support to win.
After collecting all the bets, I went back to compare them to the bets made throughout the Games, as per usual. The odds of Nylon's victory had increased as time in the arena dragged on, which is typical. But what confused me was why his odds had gone up so drastically after his first appearance in the Capitol, and especially after his interview. He had received such a low number of bets after his reaction at the Reaping, then apparently had a complete personality makeover by the time of the Tribute Parade. Tributes are trained for their interviews, but the Parade usually doesn't show any more sides of the tribute than what they revealed at the Reaping. And yet… he was different.
I couldn't put my finger on it, but something was wrong. After his victory, I tried to stop looking into it, but I couldn't. I eventually found footage from the security cameras at District Eight's Justice Building, which showed one Nylon entering his waiting room with his hair dyed purple, and another Nylon leaving with his hair dyed a more shocking shade, as if it had been dyed earlier. The Nylon that remained in Eight had the lighter shade, which he eventually dyed again a few days after his brother was taken to the Capitol.
I had tried to keep it from the higher-ups. I tried to tell Bellona and only Bellona, but someone was alerted that I had been snooping around Eight's cameras for days on end. I had no choice but to tell them what I had discovered. My own life was would be on the line otherwise.
I sigh as I roll over yet again, finally sitting up and turning on the light on my nightstand. I ran a hand over my face as I reached for my tablet. I turned it on and checked my messages, but Bellona still hadn't replied to any of them. I quickly typed out another for her and checked the time. It was almost time to get up anyway.
I eat my breakfast alone in my large kitchen. The Avox will arrive soon to clean the mansion, but she's not exactly good company. Even if she could talk, the Avoxes are too conditioned not to even look at their masters. I wonder when Bellona and the rest of the Gamemakers will arrive at the training center, if at all. Today, the Nylon boy arrives at District One, and tomorrow he'll be here in the Capitol. I can't help but feel excitement for the event, but it's not the kind of excitement that I used to feel for the Games. I'm just excited to be out of the house again. President Snow blamed Bellona for the blunder with Nylon, but she blamed me for letting it out before coming to her. She gave me an involuntary break from my job, and I'm sure I'll be demoted from my position as Head Statistician and she'll give it to whoever has been covering me for the past few months.
But she can't stop me from coming tomorrow. I'm still a Gamemaker and have to attend the ball at the President's mansion, whether she wants me to or not, unless she'd like to fire me. And that hasn't happened yet, if it will. Perhaps she's still considering it.
I lounge around in the living room as the Avox cleans the kitchen and my bedroom, wondering if I should try to talk to Bellona at the ball. She'll certainly be busy, but this Victory Tour is as much of a celebration for her as it is for the victor. She won't be working, simply overcome with fans and admirers. On the TV, District One prepares hurriedly for Tag Nylon to arrive. If he wasn't Tag before, he certainly is now. Banners fly throughout the square with his name written in bright letters, the reporters saying as many times as possible along with his age as if to let it sink in just how historic this victory is. We can only hope that it will stay historic for his age, not for anything else that might come to light. Bellona and Snow had been quick to come up with a plan to prevent that from happening.
As noon approaches, so does the ceremony in One. I watch as Nylon steps to the microphone, smiling despite the quiet smattering of applause. I can tell by the disgruntled looks on everyone's faces that they aren't pleased with him stealing a victory from Tiffany Silk. She certainly would have made a fine victor. Better than all this trouble. As Nylon begins his speech about Tiger and Tiffany's bravery and sacrifice, Tiffany's parents glares at him with the brightness of a thousand diamonds in the sun. Her sister seems distraught, tears filling her eyes as she watches on. She clearly thought Tiffany would win with no problem.
Tiger's family is similar, all of them standing despondent. I know that his parents are some of the finest trainers in ONe, so I can only hope that this loss won't affect their teaching. We need powerful Careers to make the next Games a memorable one, especially after the Career pack this year.
I snort at myself. Still thinking like a Gamemaker when tomorrow will probably be your last day on the job.
Nylon gives an uncomfortable wave, but he holds it together nicely. For his age, he's smart, and he knows how to act. Even in front of an entire square of people that hate your guts.
There's a sudden knock at the door. I squint over at it, my pulse suddenly racing. I should have known better than to think Bellona was going to leave me alone and let me attend the ball. What horrors could she have planned for me?
I shoo the Avox away into the other room and quickly stand, taking a deep breath. I'll go out strong if this is the last time I'll see my home.
The person knocks again, more insistent this time. I slowly walk to the door and peer through the peephole. I'm flooded with relief when I see who it is, then again with suspicion. Still, I open the door. "What are you doing here?" I ask.
"Well, let me in," Marcelle Agelasta snaps. "It's not polite to let your guests stand out in the cold."
"I didn't invite you," I say pointedly, glancing around the doorstep before closing the door.
"Relax, I came alone. I'm here to talk to you."
Her heels click on the marble floor of the kitchen, then soften as she enters the sitting room. She clucks as she watches the coverage of the Victory Tour on the television. "That poor boy. One and Four will always go after his tributes, after what he did to them."
"I suppose…"
She's wearing a bright pink fuzzy dress today that looks like it was made of real flamingo feathers. Her blonde hair is straightened and falls down her back in waves, pink highlights faded now.
"You look terrible," she comments, and I realize she was taking me in the same way I was her.
"Thanks," I say with a deep sigh, falling onto the couch. "You haven't told me why you're here."
"Well, no one knows why you're here, either," she says with a sniff. "Something about faking bets… embezzling… it doesn't make any sense. Everyone knows you wouldn't do something like that."
I stay silent. Denying it could bring Bellona's full wrath upon me.
"The other statisticians are lost without you. Honestly, Bellona is too." Marcelle sits next to me, looking into the distance. "We were once a team, the three of us. Do you remember that? When we were in Gamemaker training?"
"Yes, of course I remember."
"Everything changed when she was promoted to Head Gamemaker," Marcelle says with a nasty edge in her voice.
"It was always her dream. And to be head statistician was mine-"
"And mine was to be an arena designer, and I was. Until she put me on sponsor duty." She turns to me suddenly, a bright glint in her eye. "Don't you see what's going on? She's afraid of us. She realizes that we're competition, and she's trying to get rid of us."
"That's not exactly-"
"Then what is it? Why would she get rid of her best statistician for no reason? And you know I was never the best at designs but I held that arena team together. I was their ringleader, and Head Gamemaker Presque shoved me aside." She says her name and title like it's poison in her mouth.
"Marcelle…"
She looks to me expectantly, as if daring me to provide another explanation. And even if she might be wrong about my break, I know she's partly right. Bellona has always had a vicious jealous side, and a need to be the best in any room she steps in.
"She'll be shoved aside herself in a few years anyway," I say. "Head Gamemakers last for four years at best."
"Then we need to make sure we're still here after she's gone," Marcelle says gravely. "She'd rather kill us than have us take over for her after she's retired."
Tag Nylon (13)- Victor of the 77th Hunger Games
My life in Eight has changed so much over the past months that I expected the Capitol to change in some way as well, but it looks the exact same as the last time I was here. The glittering lights, the fast cars and disorienting hordes of people dressed in outlandish colors. The only difference is the light snowfall that covers the ground. But according to my escort, snow here is a rare occurrence. She acts like I should be grateful to see it when I've grown up in large snowfalls every winter in Eight.
As my stylists dress me for the Presidential ball, all I can think about is going home. The Tour has been tiring, even if I've been doing my best not to let it show on camera. These two weeks have somehow felt longer than the nearly six months I spent at home after the Games. Seeing the faces of the tributes that I trained with those months ago lit up behind their grieving families as I was forced to speak to them- a horror within itself. I wish I could just leave it all behind, but I can't. I'll have to return six months later for the next Games, where I'll be mentoring a pair of unlucky kids like me and Sock. I'll never be able to go back to being just Tag. Just Spool.
The night is a whirlwind of activity as the escort and I hurry to the President's mansion. Tonight I'm dressed in yet another purple tux, but this one is lighter in color, more of a lavender, with lights accents of other pastel colors throughout. It really isn't the most hideous thing I've worn on the tour, but I'm tiring of purple. They had even made me dye my fringe back to its iconic color even though it had faded during my time at home.
"Just remember to have fun!" my escort waves her arms dramatically as we approach the mansion. "And remember to go along with whatever topic your conversation partner wants to talk about. No talking about fallen tributes unless they bring it up first. But enjoy yourself!"
I roll my eyes at her bipolar instructions. You'd think I'd get used to her presence after all this time together, but it really just makes me hate her more.
The President's mansion is just as grand as I expected, with chandeliers hanging from every inch of the ceiling, velvet cushions lining the couches and even the floor. Tables upon tables are lined with food, some that I've tried and some that seem so strange I don't want to get near them. The place is packed with people, of course, who all want to shake my hand and congratulate me. My escort introduces them all to me, their names and faces passing through my brain and leaving immediately. Actors, singers, investors, politicians, TV personalities… they all meld together like a Capitol soup. All sweltering underneath the heat of the crystal chandeliers, the steam from the food, the body heat that presses together until I just can't take it anymore.
I manage to escape an hour or so after arriving, finding a balcony that I slip onto. I breathe in the cool night air and watch the trees that surround the President's estate. A few people are laughing on the ground below me, their clipped Capitol accents making my blood boil. I find a wicker chair to sit in and melt into it, wishing I could disappear from this place and never return.
"Mr. Nylon?"
I try not to sigh in exasperation as I sit up, expecting to see another brightly colored humanoid with a garish smile. Instead I see a fairly normal looking woman, her black hair tied in a bun, her green eyes watching me sharply. She's dressed in a full crocodile skin, the head framing her own and tail dragging on the ground behind her like a morbid dress train.
I give her a tight smile and stand, reaching out to shake her hand. When she touches me, her fingers are ice cold.
"You don't know who I am, do you?" she asks with a twinkle in her eye.
"Let me guess," I say wearily. "Fashion designer?"
She laughs, but not in a mean way. "Perhaps one day. But I'm currently working my dream job as Head Gamemaker."
Ah. So this was the mastermind behind everything in the arena. She might have even had a hand in killing Hessian. But surprisingly, I don't feel angry, or even afraid. I just smile tiredly. "Congratulations."
Her eyes narrow. "That's it?"
I'm too exhausted to react, but I don't know what to say. "I'm sorry?"
"Don't you want to know what the black figure was that you saw? Or how my venomous feline mutts found you in that cave? Or even what the next arena will be like for your own tributes?"
I look her steadily in the eyes. "Not really."
She huffs, but her gaze is still determined. "Well, I have some questions for you."
"About?" I ask, starting to feel a little hesitant. What if she asks about my brother?
She apparently senses my misgivings and rolls her eyes. "Don't worry. I have no interest in your identity. I want to know what it is like to kill someone. How does it feel to shoot a crossbow into someone's heart? Into their throat, knowing that your own life in on the line?"
She steps closer to me, as if in a trance, her eyes a little unfocused.
I back away, disgusted. "Lady, we're all born to die, not just us tributes. Maybe you'll find that out soon for yourself."
Then I brush past her and back into the party. I haven't tried any of the food yet, and my escort swore that the chocolate strawberries were the best I'd ever taste.
And so it ends! I hope everyone enjoyed the final chapter.
The Capitol appearance is supposed to start with yet another interview with Caesar Flickerman, but I figured we'd had enough of those.
I'm excited to read everyone's tributes! You can reserve or send them in as soon as you like. Just check to make sure the slot you want has an opening. May the odds be ever in your favor!