Titanium.

I'm bulletproof, nothing to lose, fire away, fire away.


Lancel Deimos, District One Male.


Thorn's image is the one thing I can count on still being there. The second is the throbbing behind my eyes, the only thing I can will it away with being the small pills that Aphrodite sent me earlier. The third, well, that's the guilt. Before, it was just a thought, a fleeting moment where I imagined both Thorn and Rotem dying, so I could win, so I could see Harley one more time. I promised her I wouldn't be reckless. Who am I kidding? I promised her a lot of things I just can't keep to.

But I imagined winning, at the cost of their lives. Was I selfish? My parents would call me realistic. They'd also call me a waste of time and space, but that's besides the point.

"Who's Harley?"

I blink a few times, Rotem's face soon in my view. The name leaves a bitter taste on my tongue. "What?"

"You said Harley," she shrugs. "Who is he?"

"She," I hiss, instantly regretting my icy words. "I'm sorry... but she's a she. A girl. My girl."

Rotem nods. I don't think she truly understands, well, because that's her. She seemed detached from Thorn's death, to even being off with me now. I pushed her away. I basically slapped her in the face, blamed the death on both of us. But it was our fault. Doesn't she see that? We ran, wild, and led Thorn to his death. I laugh bitterly; he always tried to be better than me. He would've fought, as long as it meant that I didn't have an upper hand over him.

Rotem stands. "We shouldn't stay here," she says quietly. "I think we should keep moving."

"Do you miss him?"

She pauses in her movements, blinking a few times. Sometimes, I want to just shake her, remind her that reality needs her to focus and not be so... so awkward all the damn time. "Yes," she admits quietly once more. "He was our ally."

"Do you blame me?" I ask. A part of me, deep down, wants her to. If she blames me, then it might be easier to... to leave her.

"Yes," Rotem openly admits, and I let out a deep sigh. Emotions bubble at my throat, and I have to swallow them down thickly. "But I blame a lot of people for a lot of things. I don't know hate," she carries on. "I just know that Thorn looked up to you, and he died, because you wanted to find the Careers so desperately."

Each word is a like cinderblock, weighing me down. "You're right. I led him to his death. And Cres, well, he took the actual swing that killed him," I lower my head. "I guess none of us helped him. Except you, Rotem," I look up again. "You didn't do anything. I was wrong to put all the blame on you."

Rotem shrugs. "It's fine." she mumbles.

But it's not. When I look at her directly, she looks away. She can't even bear the sight of me. Right now, I repulse her. I even repulse myself for the things I've done, and how I've pushed this alliance. I didn't want to be a Career, and so desperately to run away from it, I ran straight into it. I became the one thing I promised Harley I wouldn't be. "I don't... I think you should go." I whisper.

"No," she answers quickly. I look up, surprised. Rotem wears a small smile, but it's conflicted and torn. She probably doesn't realise what she's saying. "I don't just walk away... I... I made promises to. To myself. To my family," she softens, face crumbling for a moment. "I'm not leaving you. We only have each other now."

I stand, the room spinning for a brief moment. I fumble the small white pill from my pocket, popping it into my mouth. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"We're allies," she states. "I don't just abandon people."

If I was her, I would. If she treated me the way I did her, then I would've left her miles back, before the dangers arose. Now the Mutt in on the loose, and the Careers are probably still hunting down the rest of us. If fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they were after revenge. Austal did die because of Rotem, after all.

Still, I don't know how I feel with her around, knowing how she feels about me. She blames me. She's uncomfortable around me. Can people still be allies because of that?

"Only if you're sure," I swallow. "Things... things won't be the same. Ever again."

She smiles softly, eyes puzzled. "I knew that from the beginning. I'm not completely stupid, you know. I know the Hunger Games only have one winner."

"And you know that Gloria, Andora and even Cres are probably after us? More so Cres," I say, the words uneasy. Cres is a huge worry. Gloria could strike from around the corner, but Cres' bulk and possible anger make a dangerous combination. A combination that, when it comes down to it, me and Rotem can't win. He almost beat me black and blue last time. The bruises still linger on my back. "And... and I don't know what to do," I admit. "I don't even know who I am."

"You're a Career," Rotem replies, the words stinging as much as the pain does. "But you're not."

"I can't be both." I sigh. Rotem doesn't explain, but it's the best I got.

I'm a Career. Through and through, I've trained hard, pushed myself to the limits.

I'm a Career. I might not be bloodthirsty or out for fame, but I still volunteered, I still willingly killed to be the only one.

I'm a Career. But I'm not. But I am.

I don't know who I am. Who I've tried to be, and who I've accidentally became. If it leads me to my goal, though, I guess I'll have to take it in whatever forms it comes in.


Andora Seville, District Two Female.


One step closer.

I scramble one of the backpacks into my hand, desperately searching for food. The pain in my stomach makes me feel sick, stirring up emotions I've tried so hard to contain. I've never felt so helpless before... well, apart from that one moment, but that's it. I feel like nothing more than a lowly child, digging for food through garbage. I feel dirty, disgusting even.

Ripping it open, a few stray crackers fall to the floor. I quickly grab and stuff them in my mouth, no longer caring about what the cameras notice.

It's not only the hunger that's making me move fast. Oh no. It's Lennox's words, the Mutt, the Gamemakers using their tricks on me, Gloria and Cres soon realising that I've been playing out my wound longer than it was necessary. They'd be sore that I tricked them for so long. And, considering Austal's death and Cres' abnormal attachment, it's safe to say that he might target me specifically. I'm sure Cres could be spiteful. With Gloria, I don't doubt it.

If I find them first, I could... I could maybe do something... maybe if I could be nice enough, I could make Cres help me. He's always had a soft spot for me. Even when Lennox wanted to know if I wanted to backstab him, he seemed hurt to find out that I wouldn't answer. He's like a lost puppy.

The crackers only quench the hunger inside of me for a moment. Then, it returns, even more solid. I swipe away the crumbs around my lips, looking at the Cornucopia.

I was pressed up against it when I was stabbed. That boy, Joshua, he's still alive. His allies have all but perished - though one lingers, if I remember - and I've seen the mirrors... he's lost it. You can't hide that feral look that only animals possess. They've broke him. I won't be broken so easily...

But the fear is solid in my heart now. I can't shake it away anymore.

I step over the fallen backpack, entering the horn. I have my dadao, but I wonder what else they have? We were never able to claim it, due to Lakyn's nature. Even when she died, we never bother to came back, mainly because he got lost and I was "seriously injured", though I was simply pulling on their heartstrings.

I'm surprised I even made it back myself. It was touch and go for a moment, slivers of the Mutt's face reflecting into the mirrors. The fear gripped my heart, even just through glimpses. I don't want to meet it in reality. Something tells me that it'll take a true warrior to defeat it.

I shake my head. I can't even focus anymore... everything is so ruined... I'd cry, if I knew I could conjure the tears. I'm surprised I even feel anything at all except for terror.

Grasping the nearest pack of knives, just in case, my thoughts are disrupted by a noise. My heart leaps to my throat, thumping hard.

It's like... nails on a chalkboard. My eyes widen as the shadows, in the corners of the horn, begin to move. I stumble backwards, my eyes glued on the transformation. The creature forms within seconds and steps forward. My eyes land on the face, without expression. A lithe hand leans out towards me, fingers curling into the palm.

"Come with me," the creature whispers, though no lips move. "I will help you find them."

Find who? I swallow thickly. I had no plans to find anyone, except maybe... but no, how would they know? I only thought of it a few seconds ago!

"I can take you to them," it continues. "I'm sure Gloria would need you right now," as it steps forward, I step back, clipping my foot on the backpack. I stagger to my feet, unable to move my eyes. It's like, if I look away, I'm scared it might attack. It's passive for now. "Cres too. They're in pretty bad shape."

The thought seems quite pleasing. If they're in bad shape, I could strike now, cutting down my competition. That boy from District Seven would be the only problem, and if things work out, he might be killed by someone else. But how do I know it's telling the truth? The Gamemakers made me see faux tributes, I'm sure they could twist their little creature into spilling falsities.

I edge back further. "Y-You're okay thanks," I answer. "I'm avoiding them, actually." I don't know why I'm talking back; it makes me feel even more insane than I already do...

I only have a few seconds. I look over my shoulder briefly, the hallway looking a better option. I'd rather face the shadows than this... thing. I pull the dadao up, swaying it back and forth. With a toss of my wrist, I launch it at the creature.

It lands directly in the elongated stomach, but I don't wait for the reaction. I spin and run as fast as I can, beads of sweat rolling down my nose. I clutch the knives harder, relying on a weapon that isn't even my speciality. I have no choice now. It was a risky movement, but I think it's worked.

The mirrors blur as I continue to run. When I look at them for a brief moment, they show the white face, just staring at me, expressionless. My heart pounds as I fly around the corner, barely missing the sharp point of the mirror's edge. I don't think, I just run. I run and run, pumping my arms and legs. My eyes train the mirrors, waiting for the face, unable to look forward.

I can't bear to look forward.

And that's why I don't notice the two tributes in front of me, just standing around. Not exactly idle, but rather looking around. I skid to a halt, my chest twisting into knots. Our eyes meet. It's the allies, the boy I feared would be a problem, and his ditzy partner. I slow down my breathing, gripping onto the knives harder. The boy's lips peel into a snarl as he shoves his ally behind him.

The one thing I feared. I swallow down the emotions and fear, pulling forth a steady knife. The boy flashes his tomahawk, and I know, I just know that the battle will end with death. The mirrors blur into shadows, before simple words appear in white.

Let's play the game right, people.


Arietta Fenton, District Six Female.


I can feel it. Something in the air has changed. At first, it was humid, clothes clinging to my skin desperately. And then it changed. It became colder, like another presence was in the room.

That's when I saw it. Just staring at me, expressionless. I knew what was going to happen. Deep down, in the pits of my stomach, I knew that we were being forced into a fight. It made sense; me and Jericho have been far too boring now. I just didn't expect it to be Andora from District Two.

"Jericho," I mutter, keeping my eyes on the girl. He gently pulls me behind him, shielding me from her face and her knives, glinting to evilly. "We need to go," I mutter again. "Please, Jericho."

I don't feel safe with him. But I feel lost without him. He's... he's all I've ever known.

A grinding noise echoes throughout the air. My heart leaps to my throat, and I look around. From the mirrored ceiling above, something drops. It lands with a thump, pulling a scream from my throat. Another one falls from behind Andora. The reality hits us... we've been caged in. Me, Jericho and Andora, and we're not getting out until someone dies. Or maybe even two of us. The lump forms uncomfortably, and I dig my fingers into Jericho's elbow.

"You're not surviving this," Jericho hisses. I flinch, wanting to step back; he becomes a different person when it comes to death. He raises the tomahawk, aiming it at her face. "Leave."

"I can't," she replies, out of breath. "Look behind you. We're trapped."

We are... there's no escape... I fumble in my pocket, desperate for a knife or something. I have to be prepared. I have to be prepared!

Andora lunges, a cry breaking from her throat. I barely have time to react before Jericho is carelessly shoving me away, heading to block Andora's cutting knife.

I land against the mirror, unable to move as their weapons clash. Metal screeches through the air, piercing my ears. I fumble for the knife once more, but I'm frozen, captivated as they battle. Everything inside of me wants to fight alongside Jericho, just because I know that I could help... but could I? Jericho turns into someone else when it comes to fighting. He actually scares me, because it isn't the same boy who gently painted with me in the Capitol.

Andora slashes with her knife. Jericho doesn't avoid the cut, ripping down his arm. He screams and I have to clamp my hands over my ears, just to focus.

Inside, conflict arises. Do I fight? Do I let him deal with it? Each side tugs and pulls, ripping apart the knots in my chest, sickness broiling in my throat. I want to scream and cry. I want to just run away and go home, into the comforting hug that my mother would give to me, when father would come home injured, reeking of blood and dotted with bruises.

I don't... I don't like violence...

I hear the sound of something sliding, and crane my head around. The mirror... it's, it's vanished! I spin around, Jericho's name on the tip of my tongue, but I bite down on the words. Betrayal sweeps through my veins as I realise what I'm even thinking about. He's... I know nothing without him. He is all I've ever known, from the Capitol to now. He's a comfort blanket that turns cold when someone threatens our warm field.

I don't think. I clear myself of emotions and thoughts, crawling through the gap into the clean hallway on the other side. I take a few moments to breathe, hearing their weapons still fighting against each other. Andora screams. Jericho howls. I clamp my ears once more, bracing myself against the wall.

He's... he's Jericho, my protector, my friend, my saviour.

I turn and scream. "Jericho!"

I fly for the gap, only to find it closed. My heart freezes as I bang on the mirror, desperate for it to open. No... no! Jericho!

Thumping the mirrors over and over again, I soon realise what I've been tricked into. They've tugged him away from me. Andora or Jericho, someone will die. He might be the only thing I know - and I might be scared of him - but it's still the boy who cautiously had to ask for an alliance, because he was confused and timid around me. He might've changed, but he's still the same deep down. Tears spring at my eyes and slide down, emotions filling my throat.

He doesn't even know I've gone. That, for a split moment, I was selfish and abandoned him.

The mirrors begin to cloud and shape, becoming translucent. Andora's blonde hair followed by Jericho's chiselled looks. They're... they're letting me see. I feel disgusted, my stomach churning and somersaulting. As a reminder for abandoning him, I get to watch as someone dies. Whether his blood is spilt, or whether the beast inside of him controls his actions. I place my hands on the mirror, desperate to feel his touch once more.

Andora lunges with the knife, sinking it into his thigh. Jericho slams the tomahawk down, but Andora swiftly glides out the way, missing the sharp instrument. Jericho swings wildly, plucking the knife of his blood. The blood squirts from his wound, soaking his pants. Each little action pulls at my heart... he still doesn't know, doesn't know that I'm no longer behind him.

And then, he turns. His face pitches into white as realisation hits him.

But as quick as it becomes white, it becomes red. When Andora goes to stab him again, he reacts. He catches her hand easily, snapping back her wrist. The sound drifts through the mirror, followed by Andora's wail of pain. He plucks the knife from her limp hand, spins it around, and plunges it into her neck without a single care.

Andora falls. She gasps and gags, blood filling her throat and tongue. It pools around her body, suffocating the white pebbles.

Fear grips my heart. Jericho... Jericho... I pull my hand to my chest, openly crying. Each bitter tear stings, another swing or punch to my gut. I buckle to the ground, unable to take anymore.

Andora's cannon sounds, but I barely acknowledge it, because I know, I just know that Jericho will come and find me... and I don't know whether I'm happy or scared about that.


Rafe Corinthos, District Six Male.


It's like I see him from every angle. When I turn a corner, I crane my head first, just to make sure that Joshua isn't down there.

I never knew I could be this terrified over the boy. He was once my ally, and my friend. We played music together. We became an alliance, bringing a jovial Bryony and a sweet, soft Asya. And then it crumbled. Bryony was killed. Asya was murdered. Joshua is now out for my blood, because the arena stole away his essence, his purity. They corrupted him into their little puppet, to pull on the strings and make him even more destructive.

And that's why I can't hate him. I can't hate him because I know it isn't Joshua. Deep down, he's still the same. He's still poetic and gentle.

They've made him into this. It's not his fault, it never has been. He killed Asya and I want to hate him. I want every fibre in my body to yearn and burn with fury, just so I could kill him, just so I could not fill any remorse as I take away his life eventually. But when the time comes, I don't know... I don't know whether I could do it. He's my friend, and killing a friend isn't easy, whether they attack you or not.

But I won't give up. I might try to reason with him - help him find the light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak - to pull him out of the darkness. I might have to resort to running, if it's that certain that he will kill. But I won't make the first move, I won't kill unless completely necessary because... because I don't hate him, and I can't kill if I don't hate him.

I shake my head, carrying on walking.

It's been quiet. Too quiet. No Gamemakers, no Mutt, no Joshua... they've left me in peace.

And then I feel sick, because deep down, I'm praying the cannon earlier was indeed Joshua, just so the nightmare is over. Am I evil? For wishing my best friend dead, just so he's at peace and I'm not looking over my shoulder constantly? I feel evil. I feel like I'm a monster, just because Joshua being dead is the easier option for me.

The mirrors begin to darken. I stop, crossing my fingers. Even that action feels dirty, but I don't stop, because the rational part of me wants to hold onto that wish so very much.

Instead, the shadows play out a sinister scene, with Arietta involved. My heart lurches at the sight of her. I forgot... I forgot she was alive. She's still going through the motions, like me. Sweet, angelic Arietta, who never would hurt a fly... will they corrupt her, too?

The scene shows the Career from District Two, Andora. And then Arietta's ally, Jericho appears, a malicious grin on his face. Arietta is crying, scared, and my heart thumps with each passing second. I wanted to protect her, and be her ally. But I left her alone because Constance suggested it's easier to split up, enhancing District Six's chances of a Victor. It leaves a bitter taste on my tongue.

Jericho attacks Andora. They fight, and Arietta is a witness, curled in the corner. But then she just... she just vanishes into thin air.

My eyebrows furrow, and I stare harder, watching the fight become more vicious. Jericho cruelly stabs Andora in the neck, and the blonde dies with a sweet smile on her face, almost like she's at peace. Usually the Gamemakers would make a joke about it, but clearly the real emotions are even more disturbing.

That means... that means Arietta is alone, right? I shake my head; I don't know why I'm answering my own question. It's a simple guess, but it's all I have.

I don't think, I just run, running with pumping limbs and an aching heart. Something inside of me ignites at the thought of being with Arietta. Will it make amends for stabbing Joshua, and letting Asya just... die? I let them both down. I let myself down. Maybe... maybe being with Arietta will cleanse me of the guilt? Man, I hope so.

As I run around the corner, I near a noise that freezes me in my tracks. My heart leaps to my throat, and the first thought is Joshua, lurking in the shadows and waiting to strike, the Gamemakers second Mutt, apparently. No, no, he wouldn't have chased me. He couldn't even find me. I mean, we're in a maze, right? It'd take more than an hour to find someone. We may never even cross paths again, and I can only hope that's true.

But as I gently turn the corner, I realise that it's not Joshua. It's... screaming? Very muted screaming, though.

Arietta is the first thing I see, curled up on the floor. She's crying, weeping into her hands. The screaming isn't her? I see a shadow on the mirror, but it's no ordinary shadow. It's Jericho, apparently on the other side.

A lump forms in my throat as I gingerly tred forward, scared to upset Arietta further.

"Ari... Arietta?" I choke.

Wildly, Arietta flies upwards, eyes accusing and burning. "You're... you're not real..."

"I am," I smile shyly. "I'm perfect real. Not an illusion," I look through the mirror she's leaning against, Jericho on the other side. You can see him... and he doesn't look happy. "What..."

Her pale face continues to stare at me. Behind her, Jericho angrily thumps the mirrors, blood smeared on the material. He's screaming and howling, face contorted into fury. He doesn't stop. I don't even know what he's saying, but I can make out Arietta's name. Something unnerving settles inside of me, the scene becoming real. Jericho has, too, lost the plot.

"I guess our allies have gone crazy," I meekly smile. "Joshua is out to kill me, I think." I smile awkwardly, as if treating the situation like it's not real. Of course Joshua isn't out to kill me... he's out to destroy me, for something I had nothing to do with. The Gamemakers have screwed his brain up.

"J-Jericho is a murderer. And he's demanding that I return," she chokes, tears slipping into her mouth. "H-He's... he's obsessive... I-I-I think he's going to h-hurt me, Rafe."

I gently extend my hand. Arietta eyes it for a moment, hesitant. I don't blame her. Clearly her alliance hasn't run smoothly either. But, soon enough, she grasps it, and I haul her up from the floor. I don't know what to say - I mean, what can make it better?

In the background, Jericho continues to thump. He looks like a maniac, howling her name.

"I'm here for you," I soothe. "I'm here for you."


Titanium by David Guetta.


The blog for this story is lost hunger games . blogspot - all deaths will be notified here!

Andora Seville, District Two.

All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.

Teddy, what can I say... Andora was different, but on her own, she was incapable of doing anything.


I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!

And who would you like to see at the final five?

Any things you specifically see happening (i.e, plots)?

And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!


Ugh. Only one day late. Be proud of me?

This wasn't so hard to write, and no bitching with Chaos (woo!). They are all great signs, if you ask me. It means I might actually finish this story before Fight For Your Life. I have things planned out properly, so I have better direction and control now.

Not much to say, really. I hope you're enjoying it even if I'm not!