It rains all of the following day. I only emerge once to use the bathroom. I spend the rest of the day listening to the sound of the raindrops pelting the limestone and the surface of the pond. It tears up the ground like machine gun fire, scattering the mud with each hit. Thunder occasionally rumbles overhead, along with a few bolts of white lightening.

All of this is lost me on me, though. For the Hunger Games, my den is a paradise; safe, warm and secluded. My backpack from the feast keeps me completely with food and, with the rain, water is no problem.

I spend most of the day thinking, about my family, about Katniss, about the Hunger Games. No cannons sound and no projections appear. I suppose it's no surprise. The five of us that're still hanging in there have outlasted nineteen other tributes for nothing. There's something about every one of us that makes us deadly and nobody got here by accident…except maybe Peeta.

Peeta, with his stupid declarations of love and harebrained idea of joining the careers to protect Katniss. I don't doubt that he cares. I do doubt his competence and suspect he'll be nothing but a burden to Katniss. Hell, she already almost died retrieving their pack from the feast singlehandedly. Without her protecting him, there's no way he would've lasted this long.

I don't exactly want to kill Peeta, but I don't like him. It's more like I resent his existence. I certainly wouldn't be crying if he succumbed to his wounds. If he weren't around, Katniss and I could've stayed allies and won this thing. We both could've gone back to our families and who knows what might have happened between us.

Those dreams are all deader than Glimmer now and all I can do is look out for myself. The only bright side is that everyone besides Katniss and Peeta is in the same boat as I am: We've all got to look out for ourselves. Me and the girl from Five do at least. I'm really not sure if the Cato-mutt is still capable of conscious thought.

I wake up fairly late the following day, dulled rays of late-morning sifting into my den through the windows in the brush. It might be a bit cloudy, but I notice a distinct lack of the sound of rain outside. If it stopped raining, that means that the break is over and the gamemakers are ready for the action to continue. I can't imagine watching everyone rest for the past day and a half has been too interesting for the asshole audience back in the Capitol.

Time to get moving. I yawn and stretch as much as the small confines will allow. I grab Thresh's machete before squirming through the small opening, eager to see what's going on.

It's only when I stumble into the waist-deep water outside that I realize what's going on.

It's time for the finale. And for that finale, they're flooding the arena.

All around me, the forest that I knew is gone, replaced by an endless lake with countless trees rising out of it. The pond has been completely swallowed, hidden beneath the muddied waters. Countless pine needles and leaves litter the surface of the water, pushed aside only by the trunks of the immovable trees and me.

I look around, trying to gauge a direction. Down the incline, in the direction of the river, the water looks deeper, darker and somehow ominous.

The river. The mutts.

The thought makes me shudder and I grip my machete tighter. It's not bad, but I'd feel a lot less vulnerable with a spear in my hands. The water hasn't climbed over the limestone rise yet and my den is still dry, but I suspect it won't stay that way for long.

Thunder booms overhead, making me jump, and thick raindrops begin falling again, slapping the water incessantly with their impact.

The message from the gamemakers is clear.

Get moving.

There's only one way to go, up the incline, back towards the Cornucopia. I scurry back into my den to retrieve my pack of food. It may be the finale, but you never know what you might need. I hoist the bag and the machete above the water as I slosh my way forward, the muddy bottom sucking at my boots with each step. Raindrops stream down my face, soaking my bangs and running into my eyes. I blink to keep them clear and push forward. It's a good thing my jacket is water-proof because otherwise I'd be completely soaked. I suspect my bottoms won't be dry for a while thanks this little lake the gamemakers were so gracious to provide me with.

I trudge forward, working against the mud and gravity. It's a good thing I'm not short or this would be even harder. Slowly but surely, I trudge out of the water and onto slightly drier ground. Rain continues to fall through the canopy, but the branches still offer a little cover. I lean against a tree to catch my breath and eat a chocolate bar from my bag.

I groan in satisfaction as the sweet, smooth piece of chocolate dissolves on my tongue. It's one of the few genuine satisfactions I've enjoyed in here. As I stand there munching, I begin to wonder how the others are doing. Did Katniss and Peeta get moving earlier and avoid all this water or are they trudging through it right now? Would Peete even be able to do that with his injured leg?

I can't help but chuckle at the thought of Katniss trying to carry the much-larger boy. And what about the girl from Five? I realize that I don't know much about her other than that she's smart. I don't have the slightest idea where she's been during the Games. Probably hiding. But where? Is she caught in the water? Somehow I doubt it. She doesn't seem like the type to be taken by surprise by something like the weather.

The Cato-mutt could literally be anywhere. Wherever it is, I highly doubt there was any logic put into the decision. It's most likely wandering around aimlessly in search of something to destroy. The one good thing is that Cato was never subtle and he certainly won't be able to sneak up on me now that he's a gigantic monster.

My thoughts are scattered when a bolt of lightning strikes the tree I'm leaning against. I let out the most unmanly scream of my life as I dive away, hair standing on end. Lying in the mud, I look up towards the top of the tree, which is blackened and smoking even in the rain.

Once again, another message by the gamemakers: No stalling. Move towards the action.

"I'm going. I'm going," I say to nobody, annoyance clear in my voice.

I push myself up from the mud and trudge onward, my machete never leaving my hand.

It's a couple of hours before I'm getting close to the Cornucopia. The whole time, it never stops raining and the edge of the growing lake follows me as I continue heading towards higher ground. On the way, I pass a familiar sight: the tracker jacker tree. I can't help but wince when I see it. It's completely vacant now, with no sign of the horrors that occurred here earlier. Even the remnants of the nest and the career campfire are completely gone now.

I find myself wondering if they went away naturally or if the gamemakers actually had them removed after the action was gone. I wouldn't put it past them, especially since this is just a reality TV show to them. I crack of lightning nearby pulls me from my thoughts and gets me moving again. I guess the gamemakers are pretty antsy to get this over with.

When I reach the clearing around the Cornucopia, I'm stunned at the sight. The lake has risen and swelled beyond its boundaries. The clearing is now submerged in water thanks the slight rise around it. It's trapped the water a bit like a bowl, but with the rain it's only going to keep flooding. It's already pouring into the mouth of the Cornucopia, the walls of the golden horn only visible above the water line.

Clearly I need to keep heading towards higher ground, but I hesitate. Going straight across would leave me completely exposed. On the other hand, it probably only gets deeper the closer I get to the original lake or Thresh's now sunken wheat-field, so straight across may be the safest option…especially if there's mutts involved.

I stand there for a moment, thinking, when a distinctive roar snaps me out of my thoughts.

Oh shit.

It came from behind me, somewhere further back in the forest. The creature formerly known as Cato is nearby. And he probably won't be too happy to see me again.

Steeling myself, I step forward and instantly sink up to my thighs in the water. I begin slogging my way across the clearing, backpack hitched up, machete drawn and underwear clinging uncomfortably to my junk. Another roar off in the forest only makes me move faster. For once, my lanky legs are helping me out instead of getting in the way.

About halfway across, I notice a log gradually getting closer. I hardly look at it, until I see it move its tail. I freeze, standing completely still, a gangly statue in the middle of a lake. I watch it out of the corner of my eye as it closes in.

Yep. It's one of the lizard-mutts from the river. I recognize the scaly, armored skin and pointed, snapping jaws just beneath the surface. I try to stay calm, keeping my breathing even. I can't freak out. Just like last time, I'm going to need to time this right.

The creature slithers closer, cutting through the water silently towards me. It's almost graceful and the only real disturbance comes from the occasional rain drops. I tighten my grip on my machete, muscles corded and ready to lash out on the mutt.

I almost miss it, but my time in here has heightened my senses. I hear movement, ever so quiet, behind me and I know what it means. There's another mutt trying to take me by surprise. If not for the wolf-mutts, I don't know if I'd expect it. But I do. Apparently, different mutts use similar tactics. The only difference is this time I know it's coming.

I don't have to look. I listen. I feel the movement of the water behind me, the subtle changes in flow beneath the barrage of raindrops. I imagine the creature coiling behind me, its muscles tightening beneath its scaly hide, preparing to launch itself out of the water and take me down. I only grip my machete tighter and wait for it.

I feel the creature launch itself behind me and I spin flawlessly, the blade of my machete cutting the mutt down in mid-air. Blood flies out of the wound in its snout as it crashes back into the muddy water. I turn back towards the other mutt, which has made its move. I jump back from the creature's snapping jaws and start hacking away with the machete.

I get a few good hits in, enough to draw blood and drive the mutt back. Without another thought, I turn and run, using my long legs to high-step out of the dangerous waters. I don't stop until I completely clear the water. I catch my breath and turn back. The two mutts I wounded are still roiling around in the water where I left them. I'm about to get moving again when I notice movement on the other side of the clearing, across the water. I duck behind one of the pine trees near the edge of the water and peer across, hoping to god that it's not the Cato-mutt that's nearby.

It's not that at all. It's actually the farthest thing from it. I spot a distinctive mane of red hair and a small, lithe body pushing the foliage aside.

The girl from District Five.

I guess she didn't get as early a start as I thought. I'm almost proud of the fact that I beat her across, especially with the cunning that seems as much a part of her as her fox-like features. She looks left and right, obviously assessing the risks of crossing. It's completely exposed, full of mutts and dangerous as hell. But the water is rising and, based on the sounds, the Cato-mutt is on her side of the clearing. As if on cue, a distinctive roar rings out across the water. It's closer than before and that seems to make the girl's decision for her.

She steps in and instantly sinks up to her armpits. It's funny. I used to think my gangly, awkward limbs were a curse, but after seeing what a short tribute is dealing with in this situation, I'm starting to rethink that.

As far as I can tell, the girl from Five is unarmed and incredibly nervous, casting panicked glances all around with every step she takes, almost like she expects the water itself to attack her. I'm sure the fact that she's almost swimming isn't helping. I suppose it is more frightening when you don't have a good view of what's around you. I was lucky. My goofy legs allowed me to tower over the water like a flamingo and see my surroundings. The girl from Five doesn't have that luxury.

I'm about to take off when I spot the distinctive scaled bodies of the lizard-mutts cutting through the water like boats, charting a course directly towards the girl from Five. She keeps moving, struggling through the water and unable to see the impending danger. I take a step forward, ready to call out and warn the girl, but instead I freeze. I watch the mutts swimming closer. I know what's going to happen, but I do nothing.

This is the Hunger Games. I can't save everyone. Not if I'm going to see my family again.

By the time the girl from Five senses the danger, it's far too late. Her shrill, panicked screams ring out despite the rain and I can't help but wince. When the jaws of the first creature seize her, I look away. Her screams pick up, rising in pitch and getting more desperate, like the screams during the tracker jacker attack. Screams, snarling and the sounds of churning water and crunching bone fill the air and I can't take it anymore. I turn and run.

I head deeper into the uncharted forest, running frantically towards the mountain, anything to get away from the gruesome scene. Awful images of Lewis and Clove torturing the boy from Ten flash through my mind, mixed with what I just saw. Broken bits of bone, snapping jaws, blood-stained knives, slashed stomachs.

I collapse against a tree and put my head between my knees. I squeeze them together desperately, anything to get the images to stop. They don't. More come instead. I see the snarling wolf-mutts, Brooke's sting-ridden body, Rue getting speared, Cato's transformation.

I desperately try to think of something good, something to make the images stop. I think of Striker and the days I'd take him to the park. I think of my father's laugh and my mother's hugs. I think of the time I first hit a bullseye with my spear. Surprisingly, I also think of Katniss. Quite a bit actually. I think of the conversations we had on the rooftop, of the times we traded jabs, of the time she saved my life, of the time we kissed.

It's stupid, but I don't care. Gradually, the images fade, leaving only a pleasant warmth in their place. My breathing settles and I look up. The rain has slowed to a drizzle and there's no more screams. Just the tranquil sounds of the forest.

Wearily, I get up and draw my machete again. As I'm inspecting the blade, a cannon fires. The girl from Five is gone and it's down to four. I've gotta keep it together. Once I win the games, I can have all the mental breakdowns I want. For now, there's still work to do.

It's a longer hike to the mountain than I thought. The rain picks up again and turns into a downpour. I swear water is seeping up out of the ground itself because it rises freakishly fast. I've been moving all day, heading uphill and yet the waterline is always within sight, almost keeping pace with me.

I'm not surprised the gamemakers want it to end here. A pair of lovers, a gigantic monster and…me all fighting to the death on top of a mountain while a thunderstorm rages in the background. It's sure to be entertaining television, whatever the result.

I'm forced to stuff my machete into my belt as I reach the first heaps of granite that make up the mountain. The water makes them slick and I have to be careful. It'd be quite the anticlimax for me to lose the Hunger Games because I fell to my death on the way to the final showdown. Fortunately, there isn't too much vertical climbing. It's more like walking up a really rocky hill…a gigantic rocky hill that goes on forever.

My legs burn and my fingers ache as I climb over another cropping of granite. I flop down on top of it and wipe my bangs away from my face. Despite the storm, there's a pretty good view. Or at least it would be good if most of the arena wasn't underwater. All that's visible now are the pine trees, still stretching defiantly above the rising water.

I'd kill for some gum right now. I pull a granola bar out of my food pack to eat instead. The last vestiges of sunlight are disappearing, although there wasn't much to begin with thanks to the storm. As the darkness increases, I look up. It looks like there's a small plateau just above the next rise of granite, then the top of the mountain itself. It seems like I'm the first one here with nothing to do now but wait for my adversaries to show up.

I keep my hand on my machete as I watch my surroundings. Then far beneath me, I feel a rumble. I look down and watch a large section of granite crumble away from the mountain. Water immediately starts pouring out through the gap like a dam had burst. This is it. The gamemakers want to end this now.

As if on cue, the slab of granite I'm standing on begins to rumble. I only have my second to drop my granola bar and begin climbing before it crumbles. Just like the other one, water begins shooting out of the hole. It's rising continuously. I'm weak, exhausted and soaked to the bone, but I keep climbing. I can't even imagine what the gamemakers have swimming around in that water.

Mercifully, my hands grip the edge of the plateau and I haul myself up. The large unbroken slab of granite sticks out from the mountain like a balcony, giving a surprisingly large amount of space for the top of the mountain. I hunch over, trying to catch my breath as the storm rages around me. I'm really feeling it now, the fatigue of the Games. I wish I could just lie here and sleep. I'd give anything for that, to not have to fight anymore. I'm so tired, so tired of fighting, so tired of everything.

For some reason, my mind drifts back to the Academy, to my training. Instead of the usual montage of destroying dummies, sparring and studying film, this moment is specific. It's specific and it's specific because it's fucked up, even by Academy standards.

It happened when I was fourteen. It was the year they culled us, sending the trainees that they didn't think had progressed enough to be decent tributes home for good. I still remember seeing those kids walking around later with bruises all over their faces. Their parents didn't even try to hide it. It was their brand of failure, for failing to bring honor to their family and their district…or so everybody else said. Those that remained, including me, were graduating. From then on, they told us, the training would only get tougher, more realistic. Whatever it took to get us ready for the Games. District Two had been kicking our teeth in lately and we needed to get stronger, tougher.

Tougher

The head trainer, a big guy named Odin with a jagged scar running down the side of his face and onto his neck, called us all into the film room one day that Spring. It was just the fourteen-year-olds in there, about twenty of us. Glimmer was there too and even back then there were rumors that the only reason she hadn't been cut was because of her looks. Hell, maybe the rumors were too. Thanks to that scar, I don't think Odin got a lot of female attention. At least not the kind you didn't pay for.

Aside from his scar, the most prominent thing about him was his eyes. They were dark as midnight, so dark you couldn't see his pupils. Some people speculated that he didn't even have them since not having pupils was an indication of not having a soul. To be fair, I don't think Odin did.

That day he told us we were all being tested. Alone. I remember one of the other kids raised his hand and asked where all the older trainees were. Odin just smiled this creepy, knowing smile and told us he had given them the day off to test us. And that shut everybody up. Odin was a former peacekeeper. He trained us hard and certainly never gave anyone the luxury of a day off. That was a red flag that something was up.

One by one, we were all called out. Thinking back, it was actually a lot like our private sessions with the gamemakers. One tribute would be called and the others would just wait for their turn. My turn came near the middle. I remember getting up and one of the other trainers ushering me out of the film room and into the main training area. The lights were all off except for one. Odin stood in the small circle of light with a spear in his hand.

"Come here, boy," he said as I approached. His voice was low and raspy, like he was speaking with gravel in his throat.

I forced myself to meet his gaze. It was even darker then and just had a way of making you shake. I couldn't show weakness then though. Not when I was being tested.

"Y'know boy, you've shown some promise, especially with these," said Odin, gesturing to the spear in his hands.

"Thank you, sir," I answered, standing rigidly like a good little soldier, like Odin had taught us to be. I couldn't have been more nervous, though. Odin would never call me over just to compliment me. He always had something up his sleeve.

"The thing is," Odin continued, stepping away from me and staring at some unknown point in the darkness, "Despite the fact that you've shown potential with weapons, I just don't know if you have the necessary edge to be a tribute. You might just be too nice a kid."

I'm sure I paled. I had to make tribute. I needed to make tribute. Everything hinged on that. That was my family's chance at the life they deserved. If I couldn't make it, I'd fail them.

"Sir, y-you have to believe me. I will do anything to make tribute and there's nothing I can't handle," I said with as much conviction as a nervous fourteen-year-old could muster.

"Is that so?" he said with a smug expression I desperately wanted smack off.

"Yes," I hissed, my growing anger making it easier and easier to face him.

"Do you have that edge, boy?" he chuckled.

"Yes," I answered again, anger boiling over.

Odin smirked. "I guess you'd be willing to prove it then."

Something about the way he said it seemed off. Before I could ask what exactly he meant, he disappeared into the darkness. I fidgeted, curious but afraid to leave to small circle of light. I knew Odin wanted me to wait, but I wasn't sure how long that would be. I was so caught up in my thoughts that I almost didn't see the spear that came hurtling out of the darkness towards my feet, which I barely pulled out of the way in time.

"What the fuck!" I yelled, observing a smirking Odin emerging from the shadows with a dummy in tow. Except this one looked a little different from the usual dummies we used.

"You're gonna want that spear," he said as he began setting up the dummy. It didn't look like the padded gray ones we used for target practice. This one was sleek, black and metallic and it had a sword fused into its hand.

"What is that?" I asked hesitantly.

"I would've thought you'd recognize a dummy when you saw one," said Odin as he began messing around with something on the dummy's back.

I rolled my eyes. "I mean…it's different. It's not like the dummies we use here."

"Correctamundo. It's a…special one. I managed to borrow a bunch of them from the peacekeepers for our tests today," Odin said, unable to keep that creepy smile off his face.

"What does it do?" I asked, forcing the words out.

Odin turned his face towards me and gave me a feral grin that made my skin crawl. "It challenges you."

I heard a switch flipped. The dummy came alive and suddenly I was frozen, like I'd been shot full of electricity. It took a warrior's stance, raising its sword and ready to do battle. I barely noticed it, though. My focus was on the dummy's head, where Striker's face was projected.

The dummy took a step forward but I couldn't move. It's like my legs were welded to the ground. All I could focus on was my little brother's face. It was his school ID photo and he had the same goofy grin he always did, stretching widely across his small face.

It's only when I saw the sword moving towards me that my mind came back. I reflexively dodged the blow, but couldn't strike back. I couldn't stop looking at the face. The face of the person I loved most in the world was suddenly trying to kill me. I dodged another swing. It left itself open for a counter-attack but again I hesitated.

I started dancing, trying to stay in the ring of light and dodge the dummy's swings. I'm sure it had night-vision and I knew I wouldn't stand a chance out in the darkness.

"Quit fucking around! Just kill the damn thing!" I heard Odin's voice call out from somewhere in the depths of the shadows.

I rolled under another swing, but fatigue was getting to me. I was getting slower. It was apparent when the dummy's blade nicked my shoulder.

"Goddamn it, boy! Do you want to die? Pick up the goddamn spear and kill it!" bellowed Odin.

Kill it? I couldn't, not with Striker's friendly face fixed on me. The dummy took another swing that missed my throat my a few inches.

"Are you going to fucking die on me, boy?! Well are you!? Then do it now and quit wasting my fucking time!" Odin raged.

The dummy's next swing caught my shirt near my ribs, barely missing my skin.

"I thought you would do whatever it took to make tribute! Are you really being held back by fucking emotion!?" screamed the furious head trainer.

I was. Odin was right about that.

"Shut that shit down right fucking now! Pick up that spear and kill the bastard!"

The next swing nicked my leg and I could feel the first trickles of blood coming down from my shoulder.

"Shut it down! If you want even the slightest chance of surviving the Games, you'll do as I say!"

I went numb. But I didn't stop moving. I moved robotically, without any thought. I dove under the dummy's next blow and retrieved the spear. As it turned, I drove the spear into its chest. The dummy crumbled to the ground and the projection of Striker's face vanished.

I was aware of my heaving and my fatigue. But other than that, I felt nothing and stared blankly at the dead pile of metal and plastic at my feet. All I could think of was how the dummy had seemed so alive a moment ago. A moment ago, it had been my brother.

It wasn't until Odin clapped me on the back that I came out of my trance. I looked up at him, wide-eyed and shaking but with the spear still buried in the dummy's chest. He had the most satisfied smirk I've ever seen on another human being's face as he appraised me.

"I think you'll do just fine, Marvel," he said with a deep, raspy chuckle.

That whole scene keeps replaying itself in my mind as I sit on top of the granite balcony. Was it really that easy? To just shut down all feeling and do what's necessary to survive? I did it then…but that was still just a dummy, even if it did have Striker's face on it. Can I do it for real? Can I shut everything down and kill someone I care about if my own survival is on the line?

The sound of someone stumbling over rocks behind me grabs my attention. Only one idiot would be stumbling around right now, making his presence so obvious he might as well have shot off a flare. I grab my machete and turn to see a very unwelcome sight: Peeta Mellark clambering gracelessly up onto the granite balcony.

He's soaked to the bone and obviously doesn't see me at first. He glances behind him and calls out, "Up here, Katniss. I think we-

The remaining words refuse to leave his mouth when he spots me across the balcony. His wide blue gaze is completely shocked. Mine is cold and, as I stare at him, I feel all emotion leaving my body. I already didn't like Peeta and now…well now I don't feel any hesitation.

My grip flexes around my machete as the gamemakers reach into their bag of clichés with a lightning strike behind us. I'm about to bull rush Peeta and slash his throat when a distinctive brunette appears at the edge of the balcony.

"Thanks for waiting, Peeta," Katniss says with such sarcasm that it almost makes me smile, "I thought we plan-

Katniss spots me, too. There's a moment of hesitation when her sharp silver gaze meets my green one. I'm aware of some faint desire, but I quickly squelch it. There's no room for that stuff anymore.

When I see her drawing a silver arrow from her quiver, I make my move. I rush Peeta. The District Twelve boy barely has time to draw his weapon before I'm on him. He frantically calls out for Katniss to shoot as I take a swipe at him with the machete. He actually manages to dodge the first swing. I guess machetes never were my best weapon. If I had my spear, he'd already be dead.

Then he does something that takes me by surprise. He launches himself forward and tackles me, knocking the machete out of my hands. It's a similar tactic to what Thresh did, except Peeta, while stocky, is nowhere near as heavy as the District Eleven boy. As he draws his knife, I manage to throw him off. Over Peeta's shoulder, I spot Katniss with an arrow loaded. I quickly roll behind Peeta and draw my trusty fire-starter knife out of my boot. I know her. She'll never take the shot if she can't be sure it won't hit Peeta.

We crash into each other like a pair of oncoming cars. Each of us blocks the other's stab attempt and we're locked, wrestling for control. Peeta's a lot stronger than I ever would've expected, especially after a few weeks in the Games.

"Peeta move!" I hear Katniss screech. Through the scuffle, I can see her with an arrow drawn, looking desperately for an opening.

We continue struggling, getting dangerously close to the edge as we do. Somewhere behind us, I can hear Katniss' voice. I don't know what she's saying, but I suspect it's something about Peeta getting out of the way. I manage to get a kick in, which he returns, something I'm surprised he could pull off with that leg of his.

His leg.

It suddenly clicks and, in the chaos, I notice Peeta's leg, still healing and wrapped tightly in a clean white bandage. I know what to do. This time, I take Peeta by surprise, yanking his own knife forward into the meaty part of my shoulder. It burns as it enters but Peeta's surprised enough to loosen his grip on the hand holding my knife. Quick as the lightning around us, I yank it free and drive my blade into Peeta's injured leg.

"Peeta!" I hear Katniss call frantically.

The District Twelve boy yelps in pain as blood begins pouring down his leg. I yank my knife out and drive it into his stomach as well. That wound makes him gasp and I can feel him growing limp in my arms. As he begins to slide to the ground, I remember Katniss with her loaded arrow.

I frantically catch the bleeding boy, making sure to keep his body between Katniss and I. I haul his weary body in front of mine and bring my knife to his throat.

It's then that I meet Katniss' gaze again. It's sharp as ever and unflinching, but I detect a little bit of uncertainty behind it and her arrow wavers ever so slightly.

"Let him go," she says firmly.

I feel Peeta wheezing in my grasp as blood runs down both us, pooling beneath our feet with the rainwater. I didn't even have time to pull Peeta's knife out of my shoulder and it hurts like hell.

"I don't think I will. He's the only thing keeping me from catching an arrow right now," I manage to say as I maneuver us away from the edge. The last thing I need is to lose my balance and fall off.

Peeta's down for the count. He's not dead, but his strength is long gone. It's like trying to hold a mannequin up in front of me as I move. A really fucking heavy mannequin. Katniss doesn't say anything and neither do I. But I can see the gears turning in her head. She's trying to think of a way to end this. I can't afford to give her that time.

"I'm sorry it had to come to this," I say, trying to keep Peeta's soggy, bleeding body upright as I inch closer.

Katniss doesn't answer but keeps her gaze on mine…and that's her mistake. Before she realizes it, I shove Peeta's limp body into her. She fires her arrow aimlessly before I knock the bow out of her hands. Surprisingly, she doesn't worry about dodging my blade and instead punches me in the face. Her swing splits my lip open and, before I've realized what happened, she's pulled Peeta's knife out of my shoulder.

I barely get out of the way in time. Her slash catches my bicep, but just barely. She's also over-extended herself. I yank her outstretched arm forward and knee her in the gut. I hear the wind leave her as I knock her legs out from under her. Before she can get up, I jump on top of her and pin her arms to the rocky surface.

As I bring my knife to her throat, Katniss looks back at me, defiant as ever. That silver gaze that was once softened towards me is now harder than steel. Why am I not surprised? I'd expect nothing less from her.

She stares at me silently, huffing in anger and trying to escape my iron grasp. My blade is pressed tightly into her throat. All it would take is one flick of my wrist. One quick movement. That's all it would take.

Shut it down. Do it.

I hear Odin's words playing in my head as I pause. Katniss looks increasingly confused as we both sit there in the rain. I will myself to go numb, to feel nothing. To just shut down everything and do what needs to be done for me to go home.

I tighten my grip around my knife as if that was all I needed to do. The muscles in my arms contract, ready for the slashing motion, but I can't do it. Instead of going numb, I feel everything. I feel every emotion and remember everything. Everything I've ever said and felt and done with Katniss comes back. I feel all the admiration and humor and respect and comradery and attraction of the past few weeks crash into me like a powerful tidal wave. It's overwhelming.

"What're you waiting for?" Katniss spits at me bitterly.

Instead of answering, I bring my knife away from her throat and get off her. I take a few steps back and stand there, catching my breath as the rain continues to drench us both.

"Why?" Katniss asks, looking up at me from her spot on the ground.

"Y'know most people wouldn't be so upset about not being killed," I tease, throwing her own words back at her.

"Yeah, but that doesn't explain anything," she says, her annoyance obvious.

I shrug. "Because I don't want to."

Katniss shakes her head. "You think I want to kill you? It doesn't matter what we want. We have to."

"No…we don't," I say.

It's a funny time to come to an epiphany but I do. This whole time, ever since I left home, I've felt powerless. I've felt like I was completely at the mercy of the Capitol. In a way, I was. But I realize now that I've got more power than I ever realized, especially now that I'm one of the last tributes. They want their victor sure…but we have to kill each other to do that. What if we just say no? What do they do then?

I slip my knife back into my boot and walk over to Katniss, extending my hand to help her up. She looks up at me incredulously and shakes her head in disbelief.

"And you say I fucked with your head," she mutters.

With a sigh of resignation, she takes my hand and I haul her to her feet. I can't help but smile, even with everything up in the air. Somehow, I know I've done the right thing.

"What do we do now?" Katniss asks.

Before I can answer, a distinctive roar booms out above the sound of the storm.

Oh shit. I forgot about the Cato-mutt.

We both turn our gazes towards the opposite side of the balcony, where the hideous, hulking creature is climbing up. Somehow, it's even uglier than before, torn and scarred from what I suspect is several fights with other mutts. I reach into my boot and draw my knife again, trying to keep myself from trembling.

What used to be Cato hauls itself up and stands there, drenched and growling. Its razor-sharp claws and teeth look ready to tear flesh. Its muscles look strong enough to snap me like a twig. And its neon-green eyes are completely feral.

It steps closer, seemingly sizing us up. It inadvertently moves closer to where Peeta's sprawled out, most likely unconscious. Katniss instinctively steps forward, ready to protect her district-partner. I pull her back.

"Let me go!" she hisses while trying to keep her voice down.

"It hasn't noticed him yet. If you want to protect him, don't draw its attention over there," I snap.

The monster keeps heaving, almost like it's waiting for us to make the first move.

"I need my bow," Katniss whispers.

I spot it near the edge of the balcony, fortunately not in the water.

"Go," I answer, "I'll distract it."

"Are you insane?" she questions, "That thing will kill you."

I just shrug. "I've lived with the threat of death for a while now. I'm not afraid anymore."

Katniss opens her mouth to retort but is once again suppressed by a ferocious roar. The creature has had enough of waiting.

"Go!" I shout, shoving Katniss towards her bow as the creature charges.

I time it right, just like I did with Thresh, and dodge the charging behemoth. Except this behemoth is faster and takes quick swipes with its claws. I dodge all but one, which catches my right thigh. I wince as blood seeps out of the tears in my pants. It's not lethal, but it stings and slows me down.

It lurches forward, attempting to bite me, and I manage to slash it across the face. What used to be Cato bellows in pain and looks back. Its gaze is no longer emotionless. Its furious.

It attacks with renewed energy. My leg slows me down and, as I dodge another swing, I can feel the blood running down into my boot. I catch the Cato-mutt's claws with my blade a few times, but it doesn't do much. His entire body is marred with slashes from what I assume is many vanquished animals. If they failed, what am I going to do?

I duck below another slash, but the creature has clearly learned something already. It pivots quickly and smashes its immense, bony elbows into my chest. I can feel it break skin as I fall onto the rocky surface of the balcony. I scramble to pick up my knife as the creature advances on me, ready to tear me apart like I'm sure Cato always wanted to. He'd probably appreciate it if he was still capable of appreciating things. Or y'know…thinking.

Then another surprise. As the creature moves forward a sharp silver arrow dives into its neck. Blood spurts out but, unlike Lewis, the Cato-mutt doesn't go down. It turns defiantly on Katniss, standing beside Peeta's prone body and frantically loading another arrow.

It lurches towards her as she fires an arrow deep into its chest. It's about as effective as throwing pebbles at an oncoming train. As I haul myself to my feet, I spot something: my machete. It's balanced right on the edge of the balcony across from me, waiting like some wonderful present. I sprint over and grab it. The Cato-mutt doesn't even notice, way too focused on Katniss and her bothersome arrows.

I don't know what I'm thinking. I suppose I'm not. Maybe that's why I'm doing this. With the machete in hand, I jump onto the creature's back and drive the machete into its throat. The blade's sharp edge slices through tight cords of tendons and arteries as more blood pours out of the creature's throat, making its once ferocious roars a gurgled mess.

My moment of triumph is short-lived. The creature still has enough fight left to reach behind it and drive its claws deep into my side. The pain steals my breath. Every injury I've ever had before, from spraining my ankle when I was twelve to the wolf-mutts tearing into me, was nothing compared to this. It's completely numbing and I feel my innards shuffle as the creature rips its claws out. An unstoppable flow of blood follows the claws out as the creature drops me on the rocky surface of the balcony.

I'm sprawled out on the ground. The impact with the ground and my injury has left me dazed. Robotically, I bring my hands to my side. They come back crimson and I can feel liquid warmer than the rainwater pooling beneath my weakened body. Through the haze, I can still make out the creature. I watch numbly as it charges Katniss. With a desperate swing, it manages to catch her shoulder, but it's not her good one and the Cato-mutt is rapidly losing strength and blood.

Katniss pivots and begins shooting again, arrow after arrow burying itself in the creature's body. Not even the constant rainfall can wash away the blood pouring out of the Cato-mutt's injuries. Katniss fires with clinical precision, driving the creature closer and closer to the edge of the balcony. She buries a final arrow between the creature's eyes and it freezes, teetering like a chopped tree, before finally falling over the edge.

I hear the impact of its body hitting the water and a cannon shot only a few seconds later. My head collapses on the ground. She did it. She fucking did it. The last mutt is gone.

As if on cue, the storm stops and the clouds slowly drift away, leaving the moon and the starry sky visible for the first time in days. My breathing slows and I feel some sense of serenity as I stare up into the beauty. It's only the sound of another wheezing gasp that brings me back.

I manage to prop myself up despite my immense blood-loss. Katniss is kneeling over Peeta, who's unnaturally pale. His blue eyes pop like a pair of gemstones against his paper white skin. The only spots that aren't white are those covered in red blood. But somehow he's still alive.

Katniss looks over at me and it clicks. I'm the last obstacle between her and Peeta going home and to save him, I must die. She stands up and I try desperately to do the same, only I can't. My legs crumble beneath me and my arms barely have enough strength to prop my body up. I try to use my machete to push myself up without success, flopping back down into the pools of blood and water around me.

"Not bad, Twelve," I say, trying my best to smirk as she stands over me. If I'm going to die, I'm going face it with whatever dignity I've got left. I'm certainly not going to grovel.

Katniss stands over me silently, staring at me like I'm some bizarre creature she's never seen before, something you're not sure if you should destroy or preserve.

"Katniss…" Peeta rasps, picking his head up off the rock.

"Peeta," Katniss says, turning her attention back to her wounded partner.

He looks up at her weakly and then towards me. "Y-you have to…you have to do it," he says.

Fucking weasel. I shoot Peeta the dirtiest look I can muster. Even now, he's completely useless, making Katniss do everything. All he's ever been good for is getting hurt while he was supposed to be helping her.

"Manly as always, Peeta," I taunt with a bitter laugh that sends fresh waves of pain across my body.

Katniss doesn't say anything to Peeta. She picks the other knife up and walks towards me. With each step, I feel my failure crushing me. This is it. I'm going to die at the hands of my closest ally who I didn't have the nerve to finish off. I failed my family. I lied to Striker. I promised him I'd win.

I can feel my body growing weaker each second, but I manage to hold my head up and look Katniss in the eye. I won't look away. It was impossible for me. I won't make this easier for her. Once again she stares at me, the knife in her hand and conflict on her face. I just stare back into those familiar silver orbs as the winds blow across the water below us.

"You may want to hurry before your boyfriend bleeds out," I say dryly, directing my sharpest glare towards the bloated bag of human excrement that is Peeta.

"No…" Katniss says quietly, almost to herself.

"What?" Peeta and I both manage at the same time.

"I said no," Katniss says, looking all around as if she were surrounded by throngs of Capitol citizens. She looks back towards me. "I'm not going to kill you."

"You have to…" Peeta says weakly, "It's the only way we get out."

"Do they deserve it?" Katniss scoffs, motioning to the air around her before turning back to me again, "Is it worth your life?"

"Was it worth anyone's life?" I ask rhetorically, memories of Brooke and Rue coming back with all the other tributes, even the Careers. All the death is just sad at this point, so unnecessary. As I think of them, I realize how much potential was lost, what everyone could've been if the Capitol hadn't stepped in with the Hunger Games.

Katniss nods in understanding. She doesn't say it, but I swear I can read her thoughts. It wasn't comes across as clearly as if it were spoken. Peeta just looks confused, though. It makes sense. The only tributes he had any contact with, other than Katniss, were the Careers. He didn't get to know anyone else better, not like I did with Rue or Brooke.

"It isn't gonna matter, though," I say, fighting through fresh waves of pain, "Me and Loverboy there don't have long at the rate we're bleeding at. Looks like you're going home with or without company, girl on fire."

"Marvel, I-

"Save it," I say, cutting Katniss off, "It's inevitable now. Someone's gonna win and someone's gonna lose. They gotta have their victor." My dreams of defiance have been dashed by Cato's claws. With this wound bleeding the way it is, I'm simply out of time.

"No," Katniss says, shaking her head and digging into her jacket pocket, "Why should they?"

Katniss holds her hand out, showing a small pile of darkly colored berries. My mind drifts back to training and the edible plants station. There's a phrase gnawing at the back of my mind, just trying to find its way back through the fog. It finally comes through.

Nightlock.

My gaze goes back to Katniss. Once again, there's non-verbal communication. Is she asking what I think she's asking with these poison berries? She gives an almost imperceptible nod and I'm floored. She's thought of it. The ultimate fuck you to the Capitol. Destroy ourselves and leave them without a victor to shower gifts on to convince themselves they're not heartless savages.

Katniss drops a couple into the palm of my shaking hand and goes to Peeta. He protests but she calms him with a simple trust me. As I look at the berries in my hand, I'm shocked. It makes sense for me, really. I can't even stand, much less defeat Katniss (if I actually had the nerve to kill her). At this point, if I'm not killed by her, I'll bleed out in a few minutes. At least this way I can go out on my own terms. Peeta's in a similar situation, but what about her? She's able-bodied. She could easily win, go home and see her sister again just like she's always wanted. And yet she's chosen defiance instead. She's chosen not to play Snow's game any longer. One final act to show them they don't own us and that even though they can lock us in here and make us fight each other, they can't completely warp us into what they want. We can still hold onto who we were back home.

My admiration for her swells and I can feel it transforming into something even more powerful. I'm not sure I've ever held this much respect for anyone. Then again, I've never known anyone as extraordinary as Katniss Everdeen.

We all look at each other. Peeta and both exchange glares, or at least as much of a glare as Peeta can manage, before looking towards Katniss. She stands near us, berries in her good hand as blood runs down her other arm from the wound in her shoulder. As the Games have gone on I've noticed her thinning. Her cheekbones getting sharper, her arms getting skinnier, her ribs visible through her t-shirt. She's malnourished, pale, tired…but her eyes haven't changed. They're sharp and determined as ever.

"On the count of three," she says with unwavering determination.

"One."

I look at the berries and think of my family.

"Two."

Please forgive me.

"Three.

I'm fading, but still have enough left to hoist the poisonous berries to my mouth. They're just passing my lips when I hear something, some indiscernible frantic voice, which I vaguely remember belonging to Claudius, booming out over the arena. It sounds something like Stop, but I'm not too sure. I manage to spit the berries out, although their insidiously tart flavor is still on my tongue. Completely dazed and exhausted, I slump over, collapsing into the warm puddle of bloody rainwater surrounding me.

I can't tell what's happening. All I know is that I'm feeling better, the pain slowly fading away as everything gets quieter and quieter. My eyelids are getting heavy and darkness is creeping in, but I can still make out Katniss, still standing. She looks frantic, her face contorted in a pained expression as she yells something I can't hear. Her gaze keeps swinging between me and Peeta, who I've noticed is slumped over as well, eyes closed and unmoving. Did he swallow the berries? I didn't see. I can't tell if I got them out in time, either. Or maybe I've just bled too much.

I'm so tired. I'm so tired of fighting. I can feel my muscles relaxing as I slowly fade, like a fire deprived of wood. I'm vaguely aware of Katniss shaking me, but I'm somewhere far away. Somewhere peaceful. My gaze moves up to the stars again. The last thing I see before the darkness closes in is a hovercraft, circling overhead like a vulture.

A/N: I hope that was worth the wait