.

I stepped into a mirrored world that mirrored all our crimes.

Juno Verdet, District Four

"So Soren and Carisa are dead."

Brux steps away from the window, the shadows of the dark house quickly falling over his face. "Right," he says softly. "I guess I expected one of them… just not them as a couple, you know?"

"I don't know." I shrug. "Carisa was a big ol' rage machine when it came to him. She wouldn't hesitate to do anything drastic."

"Let's not talk about them…" Brux pauses, frowns, before shudders slightly. "Out of sight, out of mind, out of the arena."

I frown coldly, feeling like my insides are tightening. "Aren't you the wise one," I say bluntly, turning away.

Brux touches my arm, his fingers cold on my hot skin. The contrast makes me flinch. "Juno… what's wrong?"

"Nothing," I spit out, feeling rather contrary and upset. "I'm fine."

Nothing is fine, though. I'm regretting every second of this – volunteering for these Games, making an alliance with such people, and growing attached a little bit, even. I didn't know Soren so well, but I knew Carisa. And I knew Wraith better than her, and Merritt most of all. And now they're dead, and I'm alive, and I don't see the point in carrying on without somebody.

At least I have Brux.

Swiveling back to face him, I heave a small sigh. I want to say something along the lines of an apology, but… it's hard. Life is weird.

"I'm fine."

A repeated phrase. It makes Brux's face visibly fall for a split second before he turns to rage. His face clouds over with sudden anger, like how one second the sky is a pale blue, clear as, well, day, and the next moment, there's clouds crowding the sky, black and ready to attack.

"Fine, then." A scowl.

"Yeah." I glare right back. Two can play at this game.

Silence falls over us like a drape over an unwanted, cruddy painting. Brux moves his hand over his crossbow suggestively, never once sparing me a glance. I stare out the window, watching the glossy ocean waves tremble as they collapse on the sugar shore over and over again.

But I don't look back at Brux. I won't make the first move.

I will stay here. And think to myself.

I will be like a hermit.

Leaning back and knocking my head against the wooden wall, my eyelids flutter shut. What if I had stayed at home? Decided that this year was not my year, and lie in bed all the time. Like usual.

Well, I mean, people from Four volunteer for all different reasons – Merritt, I'm not sure why, but for Brux, he's told me, it was to represent and bring attention to his cult. He had said he didn't care about victory. He just wanted the effects of the Games, in any way that they had come. If it was through death, then his cult would get attention anyways. So be it.

He had said that he would have been lying if he hadn't felt a little suicidal on the morning of the Reaping.

And back when he had told me, I accepted this. His backstory didn't matter to me – it's not where you have been that matters, but where you are now.

Standing up and stretching my arms, I turn to my ally, admittedly feeling a bit sorry for him all of a sudden. I don't even know why.

"I'm gonna go to the roof," I say to Brux.

He looks up at me with his soul in his eyes. I'm not one for sappiness – I hate it, actually – but I can legitimately see the struggle and pain drifting across his face as he says "Okay."

Turning away from him, feeling like I'm doing a lot more than simply moving to the roof, I stride away, up the rickety old stairs.

There's a shifty breeze outside, one that blows around my hair and makes me blink. I fold my hands over my shoulders to hug myself and stare out at the gingerbread town, watching the silhouettes move in the distance. Dolls or tributes? I don't even know anymore. And I don't think I care.

I've lost my ability to care. And I hate it.

Even my ginger hair, once so fiery, voluptuous, and full of life, is limp and swirls around my chin like a curtain.

I rest my chin in my hands and exhale shakily.

They say that the arena breaks people, or shakes their beliefs, morals, and values. It's done none of that to me – it's made me lose myself. And I can't stand it.

Maya Verone, District Five

I shakily bow my head, letting the hair fall forward in waves, before I tie it up. It's monotonous, what I've been doing for the past couple hours. But even if it is tiring and redundant, it's something to do. And that's better than anything.

Maysa is dead. Maybe I deserve something bland like this. For her. To remind me that not everything is fun and games, no matter how whimsical I make it seem.

I pull the hairband out of my hair, and retie it.

I'm alone.

Isolated.

I have never dealt well with being alone. I've always had friends giggling and swarming me, whispering and breathing down my neck in close quarters. I never minded it – who would? Friends are forever… at least that's what I thought.

None of them knew about my addiction. And that's just the way I liked it.

District Five was a good life. Maybe not for everybody, but for me. There was always something to do, something to run at and scale, something to nab. It was a good, high life, and I was more than happy there.

Somebody made me volunteer, though.

Well, somebody volunteered for me.

It could have been anyone. Somebody I've stole from that was still bitter over the loss of their possessions, one of my parkour groupies trying to make a sick, twisted joke, or even somebody simply suspecting that I was a thief.

The possibilities are endless.

I never wanted to leave.

But I guess I was prepared for it.

More than most, anyways.

Parkour has taught me well; and I guess my kleptomania has, too.

But that doesn't justify me for being here. Do I want revenge on whomever volunteered me to the stage? A little bit, yes. But I would never wish something like this to fall upon them. This? This is torture, pain, more than I've ever felt. I may have lost a friend, but not quite literally, as through death.

I grew close to Maysa. And she's dead now. I could have stopped her killer, but I didn't. I watched and gawked like an idiot as Merritt speared her.

Never one to take action, unless it was for her own benefit.

My friends and I talked about each other often, always good-natured with hints of truth. They admitted that even though I was great to be around, in the end, it came down to myself, and I could be a little selfish.

And that's exactly the situation with Maysa and I.

While she died, I ran.

The only thing I'm good at besides stealing from others, apparently.

I bury my face in my trembling hands, trying to contain myself and remain composed. No. I need to go on. Victory is so close. Wouldn't it be great to win? To prove to my group that, even though I might be selfish and flippant at most times, that I can be strong and worthy… to prove myself, almost.

Or, the tables could turn. I could die – anyone from the composed boy from Seven to the young, fiery girl from Twelve. Everybody has proved their worth as a threat – including me, I suppose.

I've killed. There is blood on my hands.

But I don't feel remorse. I just feel numb.

Maybe I was made to be here, actually.

Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps it's my destiny.

I'm not counting any of the options out, on any rate.

I'm doing this for myself – whatever it is that I do.

Ellika "Ell" Mayes, District Three

His pale face stares down at me.

I stare up to Griff, his mouth wavering in an unsteady smile, his hair quiffed to the side neatly. He's been keeping me company since yesterday when he came back, eyes brightened like always and hands outstretched to give me a hug. Oh, I knew he wasn't real. I'm not an idiot.

But I can't figure out how to get rid of him.

I mean, let's be honest here. In my situation, I've grown attached to this stupid, childish little guy – the only real reminder of home. He died, and I cried for him, for his soul. And now he's back in the blink of an eye – rather, a reincarnation of him. And for the life of me, I haven't the heart to swing my fist into his neck.

Nobody could have done much better, right?

I shouldn't blame myself. I mean, blaming yourself turns you against yourself – and it's not a happy day when you betray your own self, is it? It makes you crazy. I know that; I've been isolated for a large portion of my life.

Nobody wanted to mess with the girl with weird red hair and the knack for tying wires together, the one whose temper flared at the most menial of things. They thought I was weird. They left me alone. I was always picked last for groups. I was never invited anywhere.

I was the strange, secluded girl that you seem to see everywhere. The one sitting in the corner, fiddling with her bracelet, not really making eye contact with anyone.

And here, I've amounted to the same thing.

Nothing matters anymore.

I'm done.

"Did you need something, Griff?"

He beams down at me with that same sunny smile, eyes glittering with joy. "Nothing, I'm perfectly fine!" he says happily. "It's all about you, Ell!" His hand dips down and touches my cheek. Instead of being soft, warm flesh, it's ice cold. But I do not flinch.

I stare him in the eye, not even breaking to glance at his sparkling, shimmering skin.

"Ell, are you alright?" He frowns briefly, the smile quickly bouncing back. "You seem sad."

Why have I not just hauled off and killed him yet? I ask myself silently.

The answer pops into my head before I can even try to think. You're soft, Ell, and you can't get rid of him. That would be like killing him the first time. You are weak, Ell.

I am weak. But I'm not trying to flaunt it.

I just… don't want to lose a companion so soon. Does this make me a worse person for keeping him around, even if I know he'll bring nothing but bad?

Even if I explode on him, it's not the real Griff to experience it, anyways…

"I'm not sad," I reply, forcing a little smile to come to my face. "I'm just thinking."

"Well, then can I think with you, then?"

"Of course," I say, scooting over a little so he has enough room on the ground next to me. He plops down, skin shimmering with every movement he makes, and leers at me creepily. "Griff, could you stop looking at me like that, please?"

"But why?" he giggles. "You're so… fetching."

I try my hardest not to cringe – really, I do. "Thanks… but I'd prefer us to have a safe distance between us."

"Again I ask, why?" Griff edges closer and closer to me, and I flinch, but he loops his arm around my neck. Maybe it's meant as a kind gesture, but it's really just creeping me out. "I want to be friends, Ell."

His hands wrap gently around my throat and I shudder, his spidery touch creeping along my skin. "G-Griff…?" My tongue is heavy and sticky, as if it's slathered with glue or molasses.

"Yes, Ell?" he hums, his fingers slowly flexing themselves across my throat.

They're growing tighter and tighter, and my vision starts to blur. Ringing in my ears makes it harder for me to hear his soft voice. "C-Can you not do that, Griff…?"

"I'm only making you feel better," he coos, his eyes flashing.

My hands weakly claw upwards towards his own. I find it more difficult to breathe, and the ringing has grown to an alarming volume. "Griff," I hack out, scraping at his shiny skin with my nails.

Unrelenting, he is.

Somehow, I'm not surprised when my eyelids slip shut and I can't open them.

But I am surprised when he lets go, and I still can't breathe.

And then, darkness. Oblivion. Freedom. I'm free of pain, tolerance, isolation, and… everything else.

Boom.

Kinton Machek, District Twelve

"Do you hear something?"

Haven's ears perk up and she frowns, eyebrows knitting in worry. "Kinton, calm down. There is nothing out there."

Scowling at her casualness, I plod forward, the pack on my back bouncing lightly. The blade I hold digs into my hand, maybe even rubs up against the cut I'm harboring, but I ignore it. I smell a threat.

Haven rushes after me as I jog forward, wheezing to catch her breath. "Kin, why are you running? Come back. We don't need to run, honestly… there's nobody out there."

"Yes, there is."

"Don't you think I would be running to protect my own self if I thought there was somebody lurking?" Haven growls out at me, grabbing my wrist to try and stop me. I don't listen to her – I know what there is. Other tributes. They came dressed to kill, and we certainly are not. It would be better if we had an advantage.

Unless, of course, we're being stalked.

"Shush," I calm her, slowing to a spirited walk, handing her a blade for her own defense. I fish another out of the backpack. "If you don't want to run, then at least take this."

She accepts the weapon. She's not stupid.

The very air, thick with a sugary scent and the constant "Daddy, Daddy" keeps my legs working to move forward. Haven traipses behind me, her breath heavy and irregular. But it doesn't matter, we –

"AAAGH!"

Out of nowhere, Haven lets loose a shriek and flies to the ground, eyes widened with fear and impulse. A small object whistles through thin air, hurtling just over Haven's declining ponytail and sticking firmly into a lollipop stick behind us.

I whip around, sucking in some saccharine air as another arrowhead glides towards me, this one barely missing my arm. I clench my fingers around my blade, alert and on task as I see our attackers…

Tethys and Shael.

I guess our truce is over.

Shael fumbles for another arrowhead from the small box she holds, sweat beading at her brow and lips quivering. Tethys stands next to her with a spear, glaring at me as though I might try and jump him. Like he's in some sort of kef right now, not the one who could potentially spear me through the gut.

Haven claws at my legs as she scrambles up, the blade cutting through the skin in her hand. Hissing with pain and running a finger along the cut to wipe up the blood, she's distracted.

She doesn't see the next arrowhead that Shael throws, cleanly imbedding itself in her shoulder.

Squealing with pain, Haven's arms windmill around me, even smacking me upside the face once, and she struggles to regain her composure. Gasping, I wrap my hand around her injured one, pulling her to a good stance.

"Kinton, it hurts," she whimpers, clutching at her shoulder.

"It'll be alright," I whisper hopelessly, my eyes flickering out to see Tethys, his face set and the spear clutched tightly in front of him as he surges forward. My arms wrap around Haven's skeletal form and I whirl her out of the way in time, and Tethys's charge goes in vain.

But he doesn't stop there. Swiftly swiveling around on his heel, using the soft ground to his advantage, he lets the spear loose, and it slings through the air…

And into Haven's side.

She collapses quickly, crumpling in my very arms. I gasp, trying hard to keep her upright. But the spear weighs her down, bending low with its tip still imbedded in her stomach.

I let her fall to the ground, her eyes stained with tears and her lips parted gently. She doesn't look peaceful, or serene, or whatever they say death looks like. She looks furious, angry, spiteful. Haven spits out a couple cuss words, not even restraining herself, and wraps her hands around the shaft of the spear for a second, as if she might try to pull it out. But it's too late.

I grab onto her hand, teeth chattering, as I watch the life slip oh-so-quickly out of her eyes. The tears are frozen as she stares at me, the pain evident and her grip fading.

And then…

Her gaze freezes. The earth stops. Not even Tethys or Shael moves behind me.

Haven dies. There's no other way to say it.

A cannon's noise resonates across the arena, and I don't feel anything – sorrow, remorse, anger, vengeance, shock. I just feel… numb.

"You killed her," I say blandly.

Tethys watches me as Haven's body slides through the clouds, the spear hitting some sort of barrier and impaling itself in the ground as my ally fades away for good. "I had to, Kinton… I… I'm really sorry. It must hurt."

I don't say a word. I reach down and grab the spear from the ground, turning it over and over in my hands. The end is stained with blackish blood, wet and shimmering in the sun.

"You didn't have to, you know," I mutter. "Could have waited for the finale or something… she could have m-made it… she was a survivor."

"We all are," Shael pipes up from the background, her voice catching on the last word.

I ignore her, instead swinging the spear towards Tethys. It catches him off-guard. His eyes widen as he sees the weapon come near him – it whistles cleanly through the air, and…

It hits.

Not the arrowhead, though. I swung it like a club, so even though it smacked against his ribs, it's not fatal. He makes a weird sound, like a low growl, and storms back to Shael, plucking a dagger out of her frozen hands.

"You know what," he breathes, coming back to me. "I killed your ally. You deserve a fair fight. Me versus you, and you can have the weapon that you want."

He's probably competent with both. I narrow my eyes, reaching for the dagger. At least it's not tainted with Haven's blood.

Words don't seem right for this moment. It's not drawn out. It's not long. It doesn't even last ten seconds. More like a lion quickly catching its prey with one giant chomp.

As we back away to gain more distance, a hand darts forward, the weapon careering through air.

And it hits its mark, square in the chest.

A/N: Scab and Plaster by Marina and the Diamonds.

10th – Ellika "Ell" Mayes, District Three. Killed by reincarnation.

9th – Haven Faye, District Twelve. Killed by Tethys Acosta.

Magikmajic, can we not. I adored Ell. So, so, so much. I think everybody could relate to feeling like her sometimes, volatile like a bomb ready to explode, and then with the isolation and fear. In my original plans, she was a just-after bloodbath, but I decided to let her stick around a bit more… just because she was that great.

Glory, Haven. Ughhhhhh, once again, Haven was one of my favorites. I loved her way of thinking. Her backstory. Everything about her, honestly. She was angry at the world, but not enough so that it clouded her judgment. She was a survivor, truly, and a loyal patriot to District Twelve, just like you said. Thanks for submitting!

Once again, another arena chapter, another two down. Final Eight, and things are really heating up. Teen Idle…? I don't know when I'll update Teen Idle, really? I've slightly lost motivation, but rest assured, I am writing. The lack of reviews makes me cringe though ;_; just a lil reminder, hey, reviews are fun, keeps me motivated, aye!

And to those of you who do review (and I'm not blaming people, nah, I just think fanfiction's dead at the moment xD)… I love youuuu.

Love all my readers, really, reviewers or not. :') you guys make my day.

So, yeah, questions? I kinda left you on a cliffhanger :P

Questions:

Thoughts on each POV?

Thoughts on each death?

Who do you think will die?

Who do you want to die?