A/N: Thanks to mangesboy01, richards25, Deedledum, RealFiction, krikanalo, Oxenstierna D. Yuki-Rin, NewbornCrown15 and District4girl for reviewing the last chapter!

I hope you enjoy today's chapter :)


"Many times I've lied - Many times I've listened

Many times I've wondered how much there is to know."

- Robert Plant, 1973.


The 68th Annual Hunger Games

Johan Hurst (17), District 1 Male

Led Zeppelin - Over the Hills and Far Away (1973)


The pedestal stops rising, but the darkness remains.

I swing my arms around me, and I realise that I'm out in the open somewhere, where the air feels cool but not cold. I'm dressed in clothes that seem distinctly normal, so I'm not expecting extreme climates. I can hear the rustlings of other tributes moving around nervously on their pedestals, so I know that I'm not alone. Looking down, I can't even see my hands, so I've no idea what this arena looks like.

I'm just about adjusting to the minimal light when something flickers above, dazzling me. Then the arena is filled with a yellowing light from above as the gong sounds.

I panic, holding my hands to my eyes as I stagger blindly towards where I believe the cornucopia to be. The sudden bright light has kept all of us in the dark, as none of us dare expose our eyes to our illuminated surroundings. As I begin to peek through the gaps between my fingers, I can see that we're currently inside what appears to be a very large sports hall. I can't see the four walls (they extend that far), but I can see the polished wooden floor criss-crossed with every colour of lines and the high roof, with metallic lighting arrangements hanging from them, that I still have to squint to get a proper look at.

The cornucopia doesn't exist in its usual form, either. There is no structure, just a golden circle on the floor, ten yards wide and stacked sky-high with supplies. Looking around me, very few tributes have moved from their starting pedestals, still struggling to overcome the bright light. Even some of the Careers appear to be completely incapacitated by it.

I'm one of the first two tributes to arrive at the makeshift cornucopia, the other being the boy from District 3. He's three years my younger, and I throw him to the floor as he launches himself at me, unarmed. I don't know why he made such a rash decision, but I can't really pursue him much further without leaving the supplies open for others to steal. Turning back to the supplies, I pick a large green backpack and sling it onto my back. Climbing up the pyramid of supplies, I look for a decent weapon.

I quickly make up my mind.

My eyes find a sliver reflex bow sticking out of the mound, which I clamber towards, pulling it free from other supplies. To me, it seems to be the perfect weapon.

My brother always said that archery was an art. For him, it certainly seemed to be. I remember back to my childhood years when he'd often be up at dawn to train. Back in those early years, archery was just a hobby to him; something that he'd do to break the monotony and struggle of district life. I'm not sure if archery training was illegal, but if it was, the Peacekeepers turned a blind eye to it, thankfully.

He might never have admitted it, but Robin was always unbelievably talented. There was always a grace to him when he trained. I wasn't the only one to notice, though; everyone who saw his archery skills connecting with the aura of greatness that seemed to radiate from him. Most of District 1 could see it; he was destined for greatness.

As he entered his teenage years, archery turned from a hobby into a sport. I remember him competing in the archery competitions at school and in our district's Training Centre. He wasn't a trainee Career - he was never a violent child (he was an artist at heart) - so he only went to the Training Centres for the competition. Still, he was nearly always victorious. I remember him going up to the Training Centre when he was thirteen for a competition. He was against some real heavyweights; trainees who'd had hundreds of hours of preparation, including future Career tributes such as the Adlington twins and Gabriel Samson, as well as others around his age, such as a pair of girls called Lustre and Emerald, who did excellently for their age.

But I watched my brother Robin beat them all.

The Training Centre was after him ever since that day. They wanted to make a Career of him, but he wasn't interested. He was never a killer. But over time, his archery became a method of self defence as much it was a sport, until a sixteen-year-old Robin Hurst found himself reaped for the 66th Annual Hunger Games.

That year, we were all extremely confident, until we saw the District 2 reaping. Quintus Licinius Cato, the son of Brutus and my brother's eventual murderer, was reaped.

It horrified me to watch my peaceful brother turn into a killer in the arena, but he was surviving, and that was the most important thing.

He placed fifth, in the end. Killed when his own weapon turned against him, shot unsuspectingly by Quintus Cato.

The whole district mourned the loss of a childhood prodigy, but Panem moved on, and Robin was forgotten. He became another of the faces whose story would never fully be told.

And I feel disgraced by it.

As I hold the sliver bow in my hands atop the pyramid of supplies at the cornucopia, I realise the full implications of what I am doing. I haven't even touched a bow since Robin's death, out of respect for my fallen sibling. I was never as talented as he was before, and I doubt my skills will have miraculously improved since then. But as I pull a quiver of ten arrows from the supply pyramid, I know that there is no weapon more perfect than this one.

Maybe my use of a bow will bring back memories of my lost brother within the Capitol audience. Maybe they will remember the brilliant young man he was. I'm not using this bow for my own good.

I'm making a personal tribute to my fallen brother. I'm no killer, just as he wasn't, but I will do what's necessary. If this is what it takes to remind the world of what a great person he was, then so be it.

I can almost feel the tears as I pull the first arrow from my quiver, shaking with emotion. I stand atop the pyramid of supplies, selecting my first target.

This is for you, Robin.

Then I start shooting and I watch the Careers fall, one by one.


Fourteen tributes died at the cornucopia on that first day, including five Careers, with Johan Hurst getting nine kills with his bow before disappearing into the arena.

The Games then quietened down for a while as most tributes left alive were tributes that had run away from the cornucopia as soon as the gong had sounded on the first day. Of the ten tributes left alive in an infinitely large sports hall, only three had cornucopia supplies. These three tributes (Johan and the girls from Districts 6 and 9) wiped out the remaining tributes within four days, as none of them could put up any defence, and were easily spotted in an empty arena.

On the fifth day, the Gamemakers caused the roof to collapse in places, drawing the final three tributes together. Being the only tribute with a ranged weapon, Johan managed an easy victory, defeating the girl from District 9 in the final confrontation of the 68th Annual Hunger Games.

During these Games, Johan racked up thirteen kills, the second highest total in Hunger Games history, two below the record fifteen kills set by Brutus Severus Cato twenty-four years earlier.


A/N: Hopefully those of you who have read 'Second Time Unlucky' will appreciate the effort it took to write this one. If you enjoyed it, please review! As ever, constructive criticism is welcomed :)