AN: In honor of the return of season 3. . .an early update! Hurrah! Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to the reviewers. Seeing a review is just the best motivation to keep writing. I would never stop a story due to lack of reviews, but sometimes they're a good kick in the pants. ENJOY!

They finally leave Puck alone at around midnight. The freaky prep teams retreats back to their cave of homosexuality, Beiste wanders off to snore herself to sleep, and even Santana has bid goodnight. So now he's stuck, wide-awake due to the coffee he'd had at dinner, staring around his room.

It's nice, he thinks. The sheets are soft (and there's more than one, which is a total plus) and there are more sheets covering the window, and weird little machines that do weirdass things when he touches them. There's one that lets out a sweet drink, and another that heats up puffed pastries. Water comes out of faucets, sometimes hot and sometimes cold, depending on which button he pushes. It's all kind of freaky, actually.

He feels like a lamb being led to the slaughter, and he hates it. Why the hell are they treating him so nicely, when they're just going to throw him in the arena to die? He starts pacing around the room, and then does some push-ups to make sure his guns are in top shape. He turns on the box that streams pictures and washes his face, and does some sit-ups.

IT's been about ten minutes and he's fucking bored.

The door is locked, of course. The Capitol wouldn't want any of its precious tributes wandering around at night where they could get hurt or maimed or killed. But it's not like a pathetic lock has ever stopped Puckasaurus before, and it only takes a couple seconds jiggling it before it falls open and he steps out into the hallway.

The minute his feet touch the carpet lights appear, illuminating the hallway. Another creepy thing. He considers getting in the elevator and making a run for it, until he remembers what happens to runaways. They get their tongues cut out and then are forced to play servant to pampered Capitol assholes. He'd rather die. Besides, he can't just leave Santana. She's his best friend, and a pretty good lay, besides.

He's on the top floor, and he knows that the elevator doesn't go up any higher. He thinks that he remembers a pair of stairs at the end of the hallway, however, so he makes his way over there.

The stairs go down, obviously, but they seem to go up as well. Puck considers for a moment. It's hard to believe that the roof of the building isn't being monitored by Capitol dicks. But at least he'll be able to get outside and get some fresh air for the first time in days.

When he arrives upstairs, the cool, night air hits him like a punch to the face. He closes his eyes and breathes it in, because it feels awesome. He hops up.

There's a small garden on the roof, which is surprising, and wind chimes making irritating little blipping noises in the wind. Puck relaxes, for the first time in weeks.

"You're not supposed to be up here, you know."

The voice, when it comes, is soft and surprisingly girly. Puck tenses for a minute, trying to decide whether to sock the official in the face or throw her over the edge of the roof. But when he turns around, he realizes that it isn't some guard at all. It's the District One tribute.

He remembers her, of course. She's breathtakingly hot, with a tight little body that he'd love to rut against. Plus, she'd been all dolled up at the Opening Ceremonies in jewels and stuff that cost more than everything he'd ever earn in the mines back home. He bets that he could sell her hair for a few bucks, too.

"Doesn't that go for you, too, sweetcheeks?" he asks, shooting her his most charming smile. He knows it's the most charming, because it got him the most girls willing to sleep wit him. His other smiles have a slightly lower success rate.

"That's true," she admits, sticking her nose in the air and crossing her arms. "But I was here first, so I think you should leave."

Puck stares at her for a moment, considering. She's super hot, but he can already tell that she's a frigid bitch. Though in other circumstances he'd love to warm her up and see what she has under that sinfully short skirt, he thinks he's better off keeping his hands away. After all, he's going to have to kill her in a week, and he might feel bad about that if he's fucked her.

"Don't tell me what to do," Puck finally says, after too long a pause. Quinn sniffs but doesn't respond, just staring out at the lights. After a moment he goes to join her.

"I'm really going to enjoy killing you," she says when he's standing beside her.

"You better have some pretty vivid dreams then," Puck says. She turns to look at him, and he winks. "Of course, I can think of better things to dream about."

"You're repulsive," she says. "And stupid. You know that you don't have a chance of winning this, right?"

"I know," Puck says, because it's the truth. People think that he's stupid, because he thinks with his muscles and his cock most of the time, but he's not. He knows that the Games are rigged. There's a reason that there are more victors from the first two districts than the rest combined. There's a reason that District Twelve hasn't had a victor in decades. The whole point of the Games is to keep the districts in their proper places, and his is at the bottom.

"Most of you have no idea what an honor it is to be chosen," Quinn says. Puck just snorts.

"You don't know that it's a suicide mission."

"No," Quinn says. "It's proof of your value. We spend our whole lives training and preparing for this. Dave and I are the best. This is our moment."

Puck considers a moment. "What happens to your second best?" he asks. Quinn frowns, and glances at him.

"They usually get a job in the mayor's office," she says slowly. "Why?"

Puck just shrugs. "I figure it's a good deal," he says. "I've got a one in a hundred chance of winning, making mad money, and living like a king the rest of my life. Or I die. Better than at home. There I'd just be thrown in the mines to die anyway."

Quinn doesn't say anything. Puck doesn't look at her.

"You though. . .you're just stupid. You'd have an awesome life if you weren't picked. You could get down and dirty with the mayor's son, and eat bon bons and get your hair all gussied up all the time. You're a fucking retard for wanting to be in the Games."

The slap is sudden and hard, and it stings. Puck has to actually blink back tears, which is embarrassing since he's been hit by a girl. Still, it fucking hurt.

"Don't you dare assume that you know anything about me," Quinn hisses. "And don't tell me that the Games are rigged. It's survival of the fittest, and your District never is."

Puck shrugs. "I'm just saying. The jabberjays and the tracker jackers and the mutts never go after the Careers. They attack all the people wandering in the forest. The people who aren't trained and don't get to the weapons quick enough. That sounds like it's rigged to me."

Quinn snorts, but there's a look on her face like she's thinking. "You think you're so tough," she says. Puck grins.

"I know I'm tough," he says. "I think that I'm hot. And you do, too."

Quinn ignores him. Puck's beginning to think that's her default setting. Kind of like a robot.

"Prove it," she says, and at first Puck thinks that she's asking him to sleep with her. Which, even though he'd been uncertain before, he's beginning to think is a great idea, because she's super foxy and a bitch, so he'll still be down with chopping her head off later. He moves closer, and leans down so that his breath comes out hot and wet over her earlobe. She shudders a little and moves away.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Proving how sexy I am," he says. He moves a hand down between her legs. "Come on. You know you want it."

He gets slapped again. Or maybe punched, he's not really sure, he just knows that he's seeing stars and his nose is burning. "Bitch!" he gasps, grabbing at his nose.

"Prove that it's rigged," Quinn says, just standing there with her hands on her hips. "You're big, even if you are slow and dumb, and the other tribute looks like she could take someone. You two join us. Join the Careers. Prove what you're saying."

Puck glances up at her. His fingers, which had been holding his nose, feel warm and wet and he's pretty sure that his nose is bleeding. He's going to freakin' rip this girl's limbs apart and feed them to Santana. He's pretty sure that his bloodthirsty best friend will appreciate the gesture.

"Okay," he says instead. "Let's seal it the way we do in my District."

"How's that?" Quinn asks. She probably thinks that they do something gross and barbaric, like spit in their hands and shake (which is actually the practice – even Puck thinks it's kind of weird.) But he doesn't have any moral code to speak of, and rght now there's only one thing that he wants.

"We deal in kisses, baby mama," he says smoothly. "Lay one on me and you've got yourself a badass deal."

She looks at him for a long moment, and Puck thinks that she's not going to do it. She's going to play goody-two shoes and stick with the District Two hobbits, and he and Santana are going to have to fend for themselves in the woods. Which is fine, it's what he'd expected the moment he volunteered. He doesn't expect either of them to make it out alive.

"Okay," Quinn says, and before Puck gets a chance to digest that, she's pressed her hot, pretty, District One lips against his own.

He sees fireworks.

Fuck, he thinks when they pull apart. She's grinning at him, lips a little swollen, and one eyebrow cocked. Her eyes are green, he realizes, and swears again. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Not bad for a coal miner," she says. "Better get some sleep. Training starts tomorrow, and I don't want my allies to fall behind."

She walks to the stairs with an extra swish in her step, and Puck watches he hungrily as she descends.

He kind of hopes that she trips and dies on her way back to her room, because he's pretty sure that when they enter the arena, he's going to have a little bit of difficulty stabbing her to death or throwing a boulder on her head, or whatever.

He never should have left his room.

AN: What? Quick? Where did that come From? Don't get me wrong, I loved Pizes, but we all knew it was too shallow to last. . .

COMING SOON: Rachel is determined to prove that her star shines the brightest during training, while Blaine has a run-in with a familiar face and Finn poisons himself.