Upon entering the launch room, I am met by Cyren. He gestures for me to shower. Twenty minutes later I'm dressed in my arena outfit; a V-necked shirt, bulky black trousers. Soft leather boots with buckles and rubber soles. He tells me they're good for running in. A heavy black belt put over the shirt. He brushes out my red hair and ties it in two braided buns.

"Fox ears." He says, pinning back a few stray pieces of hair. "I've heard people talking. They call you the fox."

The fox; I kind of like that. Seems rather fitting, even though I'm named after a bird.

He pats my shoulder to let me know he's finished.

"Everything fit?" He asks.

I run a few laps and jump up and down. I swing my arms about above my head. Nothing comes out of place.

"Yeah." I reply.

I sit around for another twenty minutes, staring into the capsule against the wall. People keep coming in, asking if I want something to eat or drink, but I refuse them all. I just need to be alone and think for a while.

It doesn't last long.

"Sixty seconds until launch." a computerised female voice rings into the silent room.

Already? My chin trembles and I wring my hands nervously. Cyren re-enters the room, sporting a fresh coat of gold lipstick. He's wearing some kind of lotion that makes his skin shimmer. He's carrying my jacket; a weightless brown thing, which inside is lined with red stripes. It's thin, but well insulated.

He draws a small item from his pocket and gestures for me to raise my arm. He ties my bracelet around my wrist. He twists it so the '5' is facing up.

"Fifty seconds." He drops his hands back onto my shoulders.

I exhale shakily. Stupid bracelet. I thought I'd gotten rid of it.

"Forty seconds."

"You can out-smart them, Finch. They have nothing on you." Cyren says evenly, sliding my jacket onto my shoulders. "Analyse the situation and consider your options. Do what you need to do and lie low. Be elusive. Make them forget you're a threat."

"But I'm not a thr—" He cuts my sentence off.

"They don't know that."

He walks away from me. It's probably hard to do this every year, see a kid to their death.

"Thirty seconds."

I want to scream. To run and hide where nobody can find me. I can't, though. In the arena, you can't hide. I settle for running. I can do that. I'll run until I die.

"Twenty seconds."

Cyren gives me one last smile. Best not to get too attached.

He tells me to get onto the plate.

"Ten seconds."

I step into the tube. After both of my feet are secured onto the plate, a glass tube slides around me. My hands immediately fly up to press against the glass that has sealed my fate. The plate begins to rise and my stomach lurches. I feel like throwing up again. I am engulfed by complete darkness and my hands drop limply to my sides.

I close my eyes and when I reopen them it is because of the scent of pine drifting into my nostrils. The air is clear and reminds me of the meadow in District Five. It's probably the only grassy area in the district. There, I can escape the dullness of factories and buildings clotting the landscape. District Five. My home; an illusion. I clutch my stomach and feel as if everything I ate in the Capitol is about to make a reappearance.

Wind blows through my hair, untucking a piece of my hair. Oh well. I tuck it back. All the freedom I feel is all an illusion. Just an illusion. I am a piece in their games. I am going to die. I am encased in an invisible force-field surrounded by twenty-three people who want my blood. My thoughts are interrupted by a deep man's voice counting down from sixty seconds. I size up my opponents. Some show wild terror, others smirking.

"Fifty-three… Fifty-two… Fifty-one…"

I remain expressionless, as I seem to do so expertly these days. Smile off, mask on.

"Forty-seven… Forty-six… Forty-five…"

Okay, so on my left is the Girl on Fire. She's looking into the cornucopia. Stupid girl. On my other side is a boy I don't remember much about. District Three? I have no idea. I try and analyse everything, as Cyren told me to do. Under our feet is a long stretch of hard-packed dirt, stretching on and on until you reach the line of the woods. Thin coverage.

"Thirty-one… Twenty… Twenty-nine…"

To the left of that is a large lake; deep and probably fresh. Wind whips at the surface of the water, rocking the translucent grey liquid. From there, the terrain tilts upwards in a very gradual lean, and over the peak I see nothing, but further in the distance are patches of grain. It could be useful if only I came from a district like Eleven. But I don't. I come from District Five. I glance to my feet. If I stepped off now I would be blown to bits. Hang on, I need to focus.

"Nineteen… Eighteen… Seventeen…"

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.

This is real. I am in the Hunger Games. I am going to die.

"Three… Two… One…"

The gong rings loudly in my ears. Here I go. Readily, I sprint behind me into the woods, which seem like the best cover but I now suppose this is where everybody will go. What am I even thinking? I focus on regulating my breathing instead of on the strangled cries behind me.

This is it, there is no turning back.


Sorry if this was small — this and chapter 9 were originally a really long chapter morphed together. I thought breaking it up would work well.