Though Haymitch is quick to assure me, the probability of likeliness is still quite low. I'd say hovering around 6% survival rate if that, and given operable conditions. Statistical probability of the Hunger Games generally puts females in the low category, therefore defaulting this fetus into the lowest category of odds.
I've always been good with my hands, quick on my feet and able to turn anything into any tool. It's one of my strengths, the reason I won my Games. But since then I've only been forced deeper into the Capitol's net, forced to cook up ideas that go against every instinct I have when it comes to technological advances. There's an ethical issue that I can't seem to block out - one that clearly extends to putting this girl back in the Arena in her state.
I feel my fingers twitch on the keyboard, each stroke recording my thoughts faster than the last. They're quick and nimble across the keys; pulling forth the final intentions for what remains of my family should I not survive this bout of the Arena.
I know there's a plan in place, one meant to get us all out safely and into a war of epic proportions, but it still remains logical that I sort out the assignment of my finances and possessions to those who will survive if the rebellion fails.
At least, should it fail, they'll have enough funds to survive for a few years. And a house to live in that is free of the intricately designed Capitol spying tools.
Oh, I do miss my bed. I crack my aging knuckles and listen to the bits of my hands twist together.
When I've finally assigned the final remaining catalogued items of my household I close the lid of the computer, tucking it into its carrying case and storing it away beside my bed. Never do I go anywhere without this machine close by. At least until tomorrow.
I've never seen an Arena like this before. I'm standing on my plate, the water licking my feet as I look out across the depths and see Wiress panicking. I don't know where my alliance is but they best get to her soon or they'll be out of luck. All she needs is to get to shore – we'll handle the rest.
Without waiting a minute more I submerse myself in the water, learning to use the floating device at my hips to buoy my body as I head towards the Cornucopia. I get there slower than the rest, but fast enough to see the glint of the wire spool that I know has been put here for me.
Struggling my weak frame onto the platform, I roll and crawl into the mouth of the beast and grab it, heading back out towards Wiress' plate. I won't much be able to help her, but I can calm her until someone comes.
Alas, before I get there Johanna has arrived and is pulling her off the metal ring and towards shore. I try to pick up speed, my hand heavy with the spool.
"Where's everyone else?" I call out to Johanna, pulling my body onto the safety of the sand and crawling up towards a silent Wiress. She's gone again, deep into one of her states that reappears every so often since her Games.
She and I, both Victor's from District 3, have represented the meager probability of win for far too long. Though I have my moments, she is surely worse for wear whenever we're called back to the Capitol and it does not seem to surprise her reaction at having actually been put back in the Games.
Neither of us had really wanted to go, but we'd had no choice.
Johanna reappears from her desertion in the trees, her thin frame reminding me of the frailty and vulnerability of our exposed position. We need to find the others. I repeat my earlier question, probing her for more than just silence.
I'm answered by the ramblings of Wiress who seems to be lost in her own mind.
"I don't see them. We'll have to track them." Johanna replies but I'm too busy to hear it, my hands brushing Wiress' hair from her face.
"Worry not, we'll find them and she'll be alright," I soothe. I wish I could bring her back but I was never a whisperer of the mind. My words were saved for code and connections.
Without warning, Johanna head's out into the trees. I struggle to get Wiress moving and follow her through the thick underbrush. I know that this is the plan – that it's all playing out right so far – but I can't help but grow weary of this woman's incapability to care.
I don't bother to voice it. I've known Johanna long enough to know that any words condemning her behaviour are wasted on stubbornness. Instead we press forward, my body supporting and pulling my partner along beside me.
The walk only utilizes a portion of my brain as the other part quickly grows distracted with options for use in the Arena. While I know that there is a component that I'm missing, that the other Gamemakers have added without notice, I also need to prepare a plan for how to escape.
Looking around, I begin to take notice of my surroundings. Dense trees, thick air, hills on all sides. None of this Arena has anything easy about it. I try not to think it, but the probability of a fetus surviving the stress of this atmosphere, especially in an unaccustomed body, is lowering significantly.
I shouldn't think that way. I can't help it. That's how I'm wired.
We push forward for hours, for days, the upward slope of our ascent burning my aged muscles and causing exhaustion to set in at a faster pace.
It's just about time for me to collapse when I hear it, the roaring wave of liquid red that seems to be cascading down from the sky above us.
My heart stops and I grip Wiress' hand tighter as Johanna turns and bolts towards us. She grabs Wiress' free hand and pulls us away from the descending liquid, down through the trees and back to the beach. We're not fast enough and it falls thickly over us, coating our skin.
When we reach the beach, I try not to look up. We run until the rain stops and we're free of it like a closed curtain. Looking between us, my heart skips at the sight.
We're absolutely covered.
Wiress is screaming.
Everything is haywire.
It takes a little prodding, but Johanna has us off again, this time down the beach. The earlier wave of liquid seems to be nothing more than something to impact our minds and get to us on the inside. Almost like they knew that it would throw some of us over the edge.
And it has. With each step, Wiress' voice grows more panicked and edgy, her words coming out in quick bursts that I can only half decipher. I can see the tension growing in Johanna's shoulders and soon she'll snap. I only hope that it's not with violence, though surely it will be.
I hope she remembers her role here, in this Arena.
Connecting with the rest of the group levels out the tension. Johanna has noticeably calmed now that we've located Finnick which I'm thankful for, but it's the sight of Katniss and her pallor skin that has me worrying the inside of my cheek.
The odds are too low. I don't say anything.
When she comes over to help care for Wiress I'm surprised at the tolerance and respect that she maintains. Never once does she refer to her as 'Nuts', her loathed nickname, or treat her as anything less than human.
I wish I could tell her. Save her from the signs that she's probably experiencing. But I don't. I know better. Maybe we'll finish faster.
Able to break away from Wiress for a moment's peace, I focus more intently on the wire. It's a phenomenal conductor, one developed in 3 itself. Sometime over the past few hours I remember seeing a strike of lightning pulse down on the Arena.
"Volts..." It all begins to click into place as I think my plan through. If I know which tree it will hit, I can capture the electricity, route it through the water, and blow the Cornucopia. That should trigger the pods of the plates which may be enough to crack the walls.
If not, at least it will kill a fair enough portion of us, maybe even that sick woman Enobaria, that it'll be easier to do this all the old fashion way.
I'm glad I wrote my final assignments.
I hadn't even noticed that Katniss had disappeared. I'd been too involved in my plan and the struggle to stay afloat while I tried to block out Wiress' death. Her open throat, her bloody smile.
It made my blood run cold.
I hear the group shouting around me, heading off in all different directions. It's a bad idea – lowers our chances. I don't say anything though. I know they'll find her soon enough – she probably hasn't gone far. She couldn't, not by the way she was looking when she left to attempt to hunt.
I settle back down to the mock scenario that I have running in my head. By my calculations the clock system will work – should we implement it in time. I look up and see Finnick and Peeta circulating in the water. Good.
I'm startled out of my watching by Johanna who has returned from her search on the other side of the beach. If it's all like I believe it is the next few moments are going to be horrible enough for Katniss, without the added cruelty of unnecessary words.
"Johanna, perhaps it's best if you think before you speak for the next few moments." I receive a glare for my thought.
When Peeta comes running up for water, he's soon gone again before Johanna has time to ask any questions. I remain seated, watching them approach. The girl is pale. Zero percent.
I don't want to be here anymore. Not that I ever did. But now even more so I want to escape the confines of this Arena and the endless tortures that they've submitted us to. This girl didn't deserve this. None of it. She deserved to live and prosper like they promised.
I get to my feet then as they lay her on the ground, Finnick diligently placing palm leaves over her torso. It's smart, but it's only a delay. Peeta will realize soon enough.
He didn't deserve this either.
I step forward towards the trees, ignoring the initial shout of Johanna and the returning yell of Finnick. Their voices continue to grow louder and more forceful until I hear it come to blows. I can't take it anymore. We're turning on each other.
"Will all of you just calm down?" I see Finnick and Johanna halt in their steps towards each other. They've known me for years, yet they've never seen me like this. My eyes look over to where Peeta is laying on the ground with Katniss.
He'll know so soon.
I turn back to the two Victor's before me and whisper urgently, "I have a plan."
It's in the middle of the details when we hear the tentative peace break, the low sound of agony finding us across the beach. Finnick offers to help but it's no good. None of us can help them now.
Instead we wait it out; laying the details into the structure I've created to trap the Arena itself. After a while, Finnick has prepared dinner and is calling us all back together to eat. We see the sorrow but we push it away, ignore it like Victor's learn so well to do.
The probability of failure was always high, no matter how much the others had wished for success. I hadn't quite subscribed to that hope.
Sometimes I can't help but hate being able to calculate the odds. They're rarely ever in your favour and when they are... Well it's usually not enough.