A/N: Just curious, who do you think will win the Trial Games? Also, who's your favourite, and why if you can tell me. I've been seeing that quite a few like Crux, which is quite amusing!
Heads up, he's back this chapter. Things are about to get deadly.

The Trial Games.

The day in which I had been changed was almost over, and those grey clouds and red sky had begun to thunder down on the arena- causing darkness to fall faster than the night before. Which was very convenient for me, as that was crucial to my new plan.

There was no reason to go back to the appointed block to meet with Cisqua, especially when the odds were that she was dead at this point. Instead, I had spent the remainder of the day hiding inside the gardener's shed, ignoring the stabbing pains of hunger and my parched throat while working on a plan to break into the Canteen.

I need nourishment, and the only place in the arena stocked with food is the Canteen. As much as I don't feel like risking my life against the traitorous Tilly, Lola and their protector Hendrix- it was a risk I have to take, otherwise I will waste away by the piles of mulch in the gardener's shed.

'I best start moving soon,' the voice inside my head has become my own. 'It's dark enough... now's as good as any time to start moving.'

The plan was to draw the attention of those in the Canteen outside, so I can successfully manoeuvre my way inside before night fell. If I succeed, I'd be able to procure supplies and allow myself to be enveloped in the night before the three even noticed the broken window.

I'd set the ride on mower on by placing something heavy on the accelerator and sending it in the direction of the canteen. It was basically a straight line from the shed to the canteen block, so it seemed plausible. I had already chosen a particularly weighty bag of mulch to lie on the pedal, and I was all ready to begin the plan once night drew nigh.

It's going to be tricky though, now that the ground is muddy and the field has patches of water that seem more like lakes than puddles. But there's no other option. I need to send the mower forward so I can get a head-start and wait behind the canteen for the gargantuan mower to distract them to the front.

My legs no longer ache from their strenuous runs, but they shiver in the cold as I step outside. I pull the gear stick into drive and manage to let the mulch bag sink onto the correct pedal before I jump backwards from the loud roar the mower emits. Then, to my joy- it trundles on its way towards the Canteen- and I begin to run the slow curve towards the back.

'To think-' I smile to myself as the rain patters down upon me. 'I thought the ride on would be worthless!'

My cleaver feels cold in my hand as it cuts through the air with every stride. I can't stop myself from swinging it; my arms just naturally stick out awkwardly as I run. I'm thankful that it doesn't clatter about like my lunchbox had.
I'm becoming stealthier and more tactful by the day. Yesterday, I had been crawling about, trying to find an open door. Now, I was taking initiative. I was going to break in through a window.

I reach the back of the canteen long before the ride on makes it half-way across the field. My hearing, though impaired through the gentle shimmer of the rain- can still hear the low drone of the beast rumbling along its way. Thank god it hadn't gotten stuck in the mud. I'm sick of plans not going... according to plan.
I frown a little to find the windows are a touch on the small side. I won't be able to dive in and out as quickly as I had hoped- but I'd be able to make it in and out.

Suddenly the alarm rings, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I should know by now not to worry, but with that ring- there's only eleven tributes left in the arena. That's less than half that entered. I made it into the bottom half? How is that possible?

I hope Holden's still alive. Cisqua had said he was in the Performance Hall, with his sister probably. Adelaide. How lucky she was to be with her loving brother. A sigh escapes me as I lean against the brick wall, just out of sight of my chosen window.

What I wouldn't give to be with him now. Perhaps I wouldn't have seen anyone die had I been with him, and my mind wouldn't be haunted with images of Kringle foaming at the mouth, or sleeping by Kendra's suffocated corpse.
...and perhaps... perhaps I would have been enveloped in his arms, and he might have stroked my hair and told me it would all be alright... I wouldn't need a cleaver there...

The slow, buckling crunch of wood being struck brings my mind from its captivating daydreams- and I suddenly feel melancholy. I'd rather be in my dreams then do what I'm about to do. Steal food from two girls and their older brother, who might be starving as much as I am right now.
Not even in District Thirteen did I ever steal food. That was the lowest of low. Anyone who stooped to that point in life was lower than dirt, and deserved nothing.

I can hear a voice, Lola's voice. They're outside, inspecting the still groaning ride on- and now I know it's time for me to break the window. Creeping sideways, I grab the handle of my new cleaver and, taking a moment to prepare myself for the shards- swing it into the glass. It shatters almost musically, and I could dance for joy when I hear that the ride-on has chosen to die with a loud rumbling groan just at the same moment.

I cut my hand a little a pulling stray glass shard from the window. I don't want to shred my stomach on the way in, and it's going to be a tight fit. Finally, when the window appears suitable, I begin to ease myself inside- and end up belly first on the floor before standing up and observing my unlit surroundings.

The first thing I smell is plastic, which is a common smell back home with the processing factories. What I can hear excites me, as it's the sound of a dribbling tap. I'm tempted to turn on a light, but again, I know that'd be a mistake.

There's no sound outside the room, but I can still hear Lola talking, fast and sternly in the distance. They're still outside by the sounds of it. Perhaps I could risk turning on a light... just for a few minutes, just until I've found enough food and water to survive the next few days.

I fumble my way across the wall, my fingers meeting the odd plastic poster here and there- before finding the doorframe and the light switch. I breathe deeply before I flick the switch, as if the switch were a gun trigger and I was about to take a plunge.

It's not the food storage, like I had hoped. It's not even remotely canteen related. I want to scream because of the sheer, unwanted irony.

It was the infirmary.

The room is artificial, plastic and sickly white from every corner. There's a large whiteboard pinned up on one side of the room, untouched by the markers that were assembled below it, alongside posters explaining the process of CPR, and how to combat food poisoning.
I had wanted aid, and I had received it. Just not want I had wanted in the least.

There's no time to gripe, so I turn on the tap and begin to drink the water as fast as my throat can manage. I gulp it down, the cool, clean water that tastes so much more delicious than I ever remember it being. My parched throat aches and I have to squint my eyes because of the water splashing all over my face.

Oh god. Nausea is beginning to rise from the pits of my gut drinking so much on an empty stomach. I allow myself to sit on the floor for a few minutes as the sickness passes, using my time to survey the room in case there is any source of food available. There's nothing in sight, and as the sickness subsides I grudgingly pull myself up and flick the light switch off once more.

If only those three weren't still in the canteen. Then I'd be able to search for supplies, and maybe I could put this hunger away for another day or so. Tilly had been the one to eat half of my sandwich and steal my juice- so isn't it fair to at least let me take what I needed from the canteen supplies?

Then, the board sends out a burst of light and I fling my hands over my eyes for a second before pinning them back to my sides as I recognise what it is happening.

Roll call.

The screen's static flickers as Matra, a girl in my own year; known for her extroverted nature and tendency to "cry wolf"- chokes as Valera pulls the wire tight around her throat, the keys jingling in her skirt pocket.

My heart stops as I recognise a horrified Holden alongside a boy named Boxen. I fear the worst and prepare to scream, but he's screaming someone's name as the camera focuses on young Ruby- who had just turned twelve- steps onto the stage of the performance hall- just as a large sandbag falls from the catwalk and kills her on impact.
My heart aches as Adelaide, half her face burned and charred- her hair missing in great patches- buries her face in her brother's chest, crying as the bell tolls for her friend.

I scramble forwards to catch a proper glimpse of Holden, but the screen changes- and I'm surprised to see that it's not Cisqua's death being shown on screen.

Lock falls backwards as, much to my alarm, a silver stake pierces his chest. The camera catches a rather inhuman shot of Crux leaping upon his body and ripping the stake out as Lock still twitches and flails as the life is sapped away.

Next is Xander, the boy I couldn't identify by his voice. Xander lunges at Crux as he's focused on Lock- and is knocked backwards as Crux fires the crossbow over his shoulder, hitting Xander dead centre in the face. I have to look away as blood spurts from his cheek and Crux turns to yank the stake out of Xander's face before his body even falls.

Then Battler. Battler, terrified at the fate of his comrades- turns and runs for his life back to the quadrangle. But he's too slow. Crux, almost leisurely- fires again- and hits him in the back of the neck. The boy crumples to the floor and Crux walks over, swiftly pulling the stake from his body before turning back to investigate the block.

Then there's a strange shot of Valera, staring the camera dead in the face as the rain patters against the windows. Then her knees buckle, and she falls to the floor, revealing Crux- still pointing that crossbow where she had stood, with a twisted smirk that seems to brag his newest win. The camera leaves me with the terrifying shot of Crux swirling the keys around his finger, not before giving the camera a terrific grin.

As the words "Good Night Students" flutters across the screen before it all turns black, I begin to piece together what this means.

Holden's alive, and he's with Boxen and his sister who was injured from the mine blast at the beginning. Three of the pack of killer boys is dead, meaning only Sin and Recklo are left. Cisqua, who I had so easily thought was dead, is alive. And Valera, the one who had the keys, is dead.

-Finally, Crux- had added four more to his tally of kills. He hadn't lost a single stake- and now held the keys to the entire arena. Before I can even let that thought chill my mind, I begin to put together what I could understand from his moves.

He had dashed to the sound of the clanging and clattering.

'-because it was my lunchbox making the noise. He thought it was me.'

He had killed all the boys involved when he couldn't find me.

'-because he... doesn't want me dead... yet?'

...but why had he targeted Valera? It would take a lot of effort to scale the block walls or smash a window in- and would play a huge risk unless he knew that Valera had held those keys himself.

But the risk had paid off. Crux now held the keys, and nowhere was safe anymore. My cleaver that had evoked such great confidence within me now felt heavy and useless as I pictured my sadistic friend pointing his silver crossbow filled with stakes towards me.

'No where is safe anymore,' my eyes dart to the window. 'Do I leave? Do I stay? What do I do? What do I do?!'

Then there's a scream. And the alarm sounds. As my eyes dart towards the door, I can hear the sounds of Lola shrieking, Hendrix roaring- but it's what comes next that will make my internal organs simultaneously shrink and my hands quake in terror.

Terrible, psychotic laughter in the dark, as something whistles through the air and Lola and Hendrix's cries both fall silent – and the alarm blasts out twice more. The male hyena's scream of laughter is inhuman and I begin to heave and rock backwards and forwards on the floor in fear.

'Crux.'