AN: I'm still looking for submitters for my partial SYOT, Luetis! Available tributes are the girls from One, Three, Eleven, and Twelve, and the boy from Eleven. Tributes don't have to be bloodbaths, although at this point I am mainly looking for either very weak tributes or stronger tributes who would be interested in joining the Careers or the Anti-Careers. Submission form is on my profile!

Chapter 3: VICTOR

The Training Center has never seemed so large.

They shut the door behind me, loud as I've ever heard it. The noise seems to reverberate for a lifetime in the artificially lit chamber before I finally hear the heavy lock slide into its place. The silence that follows wraps around me like a blanket.

There will be no countdown. No, we'll be picking up right where we left off, before I climbed that tree. Before I missed that throw. The Center is bright and cool as I remember it, but eerily vacant. Somewhere inside of this desolate place, Emerald is waiting for me.

I can't see her from where I stand. I can, however, see the gamemaker platform, where purple-robed spectators once looked down on us as we trained. Today, the balcony is occupied by our teams. Cardea gives me a small wave, which I don't return. Some part of my mind realizes that District One lacks a previous victor as well.

Tearing my gaze from our audience, I shuffle forward a few steps, away from the door. Still no sign of my competition. I wonder if I'll even identify her as the tribute I once knew. With my network of skin grafts, my hollow cheeks, my patchy hair, I no longer recognize myself in the mirror. Did the arena do to her what it did to me? Does she feel the same when she catches sight of her reflection?

I take a few more steps forward, braver, thinking maybe she's hidden herself away. But I should know better, by now. Careers will always show themselves.

I see her at last when she emerges from the shadows, and even from across the room, I know she's changed. Her long hair is gone, her hairline grafts a slightly darker shade of blonde than she used to be. Her skin is of the same patchwork quality as my own, except her seams are red with irritation; from exercise or fidgeting or who knows what she's been doing.

My heart begins to race as she takes her first steps toward me. She walks stiffly and with a pronounced limp, but she's not moving slowly. It looks like she hurt her back in the fall, which would be good news for me, if I were in much better shape. I single out the spears station and hustle with all of my strength. I'm weak on my feet and my breath comes in shallow puffs; I feel about as strong and durable as a piece of straw. I can only hope she's worse off.

I get to my weapon before she gets to me, but as soon as I take it from the rack, I know it's useless in my shaking hands. Just weeks ago, I could hurl a spear with enough strength and accuracy to hit my mark from fifteen meters away. Now I can barely lift one from its shelf, much less throw it at Emerald. The one thing I had going for me in the arena is gone.

I try to make it to the knife station, or better yet, find a decent place to hide. Out of nowhere, Emerald's fist connects with my face, and I crumple against a rubber target.

The girl from One is still bigger than I am; the arena didn't eat away at her, hollow her out like it did for me. Despite my allies' efforts to steal from the Careers, they never truly lacked provisions. Emerald pins me down easily, stunning me long enough to lock her hands around my throat.

But she doesn't squeeze.

"You tried to catch me," she says, her voice hoarse. I gulp in deep breaths, afraid each one I take will be my last. But she continues to talk; I continue to think about how her fingers are ready to crush my windpipe.

"I was going to die, and you tried to pull me back up." She brings her face closer to mine; her icy blue eyes seem to be the only part of her left unchanged. "Why?"

I say nothing, trembling. She expects this.

"Don't have an answer for me, huh?" Her grip tightens, and I try desperately to free my forearms from beneath the soles of her boots. She screams in frustration. "I-I killed your district partner! Why didn't you let me fall?!"

I realize, slowly, that she doesn't mean to kill me just yet. I feel no relief for it. I know that any effort to escape her will be pointless, so I rest my body. Resigned to my fate. Confusion flashes across her face when I go limp beneath her. Her fingers relax.

"I thought about you, when it was just the two of us." Her eyes bore into mine; I look away, afraid I'll dissolve under her stare. "You were so quiet... I always wondered if you'd scream when I killed you, or if you'd just stay mute."

I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling tears on my cheeks. Somehow, this makes her angrier.

"Look at me! I'll never understand why it's not Julius lying here." The pressure returns and my head smacks against the floor. "Or Celestina. Or…or stupid Prime."

She's shaking now. I'm wheezing.

"God, he was a piece of work. But he would've kicked me down into that fire, Twelve. He would have loved to do that." She squeezes harder. "How did you outlive him? How did you outlive them all?"

Panicking now, I struggle to get up. But Emerald doesn't move, doesn't speak again. Her grip grows tighter, tighter. I start to write apologies in my head. To my parents, my friends. To Cedar. Laurel. Betony. Graham. Linden. Rowan. To Violet, if I ever see her again; do killers go to the same place as their selfless, guiltless district partners? I would love to see her again.

Stay alive, okay? she told me once. As if my survival didn't mean her certain death.

I am ready to apologize to her.

Without warning, Emerald releases her hold on me. I wheeze, my lungs expanding, the world coming back into focus. When I can see again, my competitor is standing above me, with her hand extended.

I am afraid to look at her.

"Here are the conditions," she says. I can feel her eyes on me. "I'll give you a minute to get yourself a knife, and I'll take up one of my hatchets. Then we fight each other in the center of the room. No hiding, no sneak attacks, no extra weaponry. Just fighting."

I don't overlook the fact that this arrangement gives her the advantage. But far be it from me to pass up a chance to escape her long enough to get my hands on a means of protecting myself.

I accept her offer by taking her hand. She pulls me up too hard, not expecting me to be so light. I yank my arm away before she can run her hand along my scars. Her eyes narrow.

"You'll be easier to beat this time," she tells me flatly. "Without trees to climb, without the fire. I'll kill you quickly and we can both be done with this forever."

She turns her back on me, not expecting a response. I do not give her one, instead making my way to the knife station. Now that I'm free, I risk another glance up at our teams. Unable to hear us down here, they're looking at us curiously. They have no idea what was said.

I arm myself with a flat, triangular knife with an oblong handle. I've never held a blade like this before in my life, but having a projectile as my former weapon of choice, it's somewhat comforting to call a throwing knife my own. It fits almost naturally in my hand; I send a quick prayer to whoever's listening, in the hopes that I'll be quick to adjust.

"Are you ready?" asks Emerald as I reach the round center platform, where the Head Trainer made his opening remarks. My hand is shaking so violently I can barely hold onto my weapon.

Emerald grimaces. "You have to be, Twelve. You have to be ready."

I widen my stance, preparing to stand my ground. She only takes one step toward me, raising her hatchet, before I panic, flames dancing before my eyes. I hurl my knife at her with all the strength I can muster.

I almost miss again. I don't know if it's by skill or by luck that my knife lodges in her upper arm; Seven inches to the left, and it would have hit its mark. Emerald shouts and drops her hatchet, yanking out my blade with a grimace. Now I've done it. Just like in the finale, I am without a weapon.

"Is this what being fair is like?" Emerald nudges away her hatchet with her foot, slipping my knife into her belt. "It's very inconvenient."

Then, she lunges at me. I never reached proficiency in hand-to-hand combat during my time in the Training Center, but I know enough to duck, and I know enough to shove my elbow into her stomach. Winded, she sways and stumbles before righting herself, but I still don't have enough time to grab her discarded hatchet. She pounces while I'm bent over, tackling me to the floor.

"That wasn't fair, Twelve," she spits at me, her forearm pressing against my throat.

She reaches for my knife, but I catch her arm, digging my thumb into her wound. Emerald screams, shaking me off, but the blade is already in her hand. She shifts her weight on top of me as I struggle, situating herself in a way that stops me from moving; her boot crushing my wrist, her forearm leveling my shoulder, her weight pressing down on my stomach. She positions her weapon. With her attention otherwise occupied, I rip my arm free and grab the knife by the blade.

She makes a noise of surprise, of anger. I grit my teeth as my hand slides down the knife to the grip, closing around Emerald's fist, slick with blood. It isn't long before her alarm fades into amusement; she knows my grip will falter first. She leans on our hands, rolling onto my ribs, bringing the knife closer to my throat. She's crushing me.

I can no longer breathe, but her shift in weight gives me the time I need to turn the blade. It nicks my chin on its way up, resting between our faces. One lapse in strength, and it'll end up in someone's neck.

"Say something, damn you," says Emerald, baring her teeth in an awful smile. "Say something to me before one of us dies."

"Wh-what do you want me to say?" I choke out, struggling to stay conscious. "That I should have let you fall?"

"Yes!" she explodes, and the blade shifts up by a centimeter. With a horrible sound, the knife goes in and the world fades out, One's last breath hissing from her lungs.

"Yes."

There is no cannon, nor any announcement. They simply open the doors.

Fun fact: Alder was the one who died in this story until about ten minutes ago. I just couldn't do it to him. Thanks for reading. Drop me a review if you can, I appreciate every word.

What I want to know: Do you prefer this ending, or the original?