Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine.

Note: New poll on my profile. You know the drill: Read the chapter first.

Districts Four and Nine were the winners of the last poll. As a reward, the mentors from those districts get a POV this chapter. (So does Ella, the only remaining tribute from either district, but she was going to get one, anyway.)

Day Four
The Time Before Your End

Mags Pharos
District Four Mentor

"So much for Nerond's theory."

It took Mags a moment to realize that Vester must be talking to her, since everyone else had gone to bed. "Theory about what?"

Vester shrugged. "About the victors. He figured that the Capitol would want a victor from each district as quickly as possible, and would arrange for each of the districts to win one of the first twelve Games. Up til this year, it looked like he might be right. But Pike was the last of the tributes from the victor-less districts."

Mags blinked. "You really think they would do that? Just pick who the victor is beforehand and arrange everything so that they win?"

Vester laughed wryly. "Oh, so you think your victory was coincidence, do you? Or simply due to your own hard work? Your skill? Your intelligence?"

"I…" Mags hesitated. That was, in fact, exactly what she had thought. The Gamemakers hadn't done her any favors. But, on the other hand, they hadn't seemed particularly interested in killing her, either.

Vester shook his head. "Wake up, Mags. Nobody wins the Games by accident. Look at us – the victors. I was a soldier for the Capitol. Ivy was the first volunteer. Hazel was up against the son of a rebel. Jade trained specifically for the Games."

"Glenn—"

"Was a mistake. Mark my words, nothing like that will happen again. Each victory sets a precedent, Mags, and they want to make sure it's the right one."

"But Tania and Lander and I—"

"Are even better examples of what they want to see in a victor, Mags. Think of who you were at the beginning of the Games. Scared, timid, reluctant to kill – all three of you. But, in the arena, in front of the eyes of everyone in Panem, you grew from children into killers. In their eyes, that's even better than seeing an already-made killer take the Games. I was already everything they wanted me to be. You became the victor they were looking for."

"So you're saying it's all … pointless? Everything we try to do to save our tributes – it's a waste of time, because it's all been decided already?"

Vester shook his head. "Not completely. I'd be willing to bet you weren't the only tribute they would have been satisfied to see as a victor. But there are certain tributes they would never allow to leave the arena, no matter what you do, Mags. Tributes who are determined not to kill – and stick to it. Tributes who openly speak against the Capitol. Tributes unstable enough to kill their mentors – or attack them onstage during the interviews."

Aldo. Mags stared for a moment, and Vester nodded, knowing his words had sunk in. The skeletons in the marsh – it had been no coincidence that they'd killed Aldo, while everyone else to encounter them had escaped unharmed. "Why are you telling me this?"

Vester shrugged. "Because everyone else has already heard it. Some of them think I'm paranoid. Some of them know I'm right. And maybe because it's helpful to realize sometimes that it's not really your fault … when they don't come home."

Mags looked away. Vester had been a mentor longer than any of the other victors, and he had lost every tribute under his care. She had only lost Mars, and it still hurt to think of him. She tried to imagine going through that, year after year after year, hoping for the tribute who would be able to break the pattern. No wonder he was clinging to anything that would relieve him of some of that guilt.

No wonder his words already sounded comforting to her.

Nicoline Peters, 13
District Eight Female

It was raining outside.

At least, Nicoline was pretty sure it was, since the thunder that came with it seemed to be shaking the mountains themselves. They were shaking almost as much as she was. Shaking with fear and grief.

Wulfric held her close as the two of them huddled together in the dark, his arms wrapped tightly around her, clinging to her as if her life – or maybe his – depended on it. They had run for hours, but now both lay, exhausted, against the wall of a tunnel, hoping that the Gamemakers would decide there had been enough action for one day.

"They're gone," Nicoline whispered, her face buried in Wulfric's shirt. She had tried her best, while they were running, not to think of the others – of Libby and Pike. But now that they had stopped, her tears came freely, even if she couldn't find the right words for her sorrow. Her disbelief. Her horror that both of them could be snatched from her so easily.

"There was nothing we could have done," Wulfric said gently, but Nicoline had the feeling he was trying to convince himself more than her. He had been the one, after all, who had been about to try to cross the chasm to save Pike. She had stood there and done nothing, while Wulfric had been willing to risk his life to save their friend. He had at least tried to be a hero.

But Pike had been the real hero, in the end. Telling her to leave him and run. Cutting the rope so Wulfric couldn't come after him. Facing that terrible monster alone so that no one else would have to die with him. He had been a hero. He had been brave.

She was just scared. A scared little girl obeying her friend's last command: run. But why? Why should they run, when something even worse was probably waiting for them when they reached the other side?

"We could have died with him," Nicoline said at last. And part of her wished that she had. That would have been easier. Quicker. Yes, Pike's death had been terrible. Yes, he had been screaming as the fiery creature had enveloped him in its flames. But it was over now. It was done. He didn't have to run any more. He didn't have to fight. He didn't have to be afraid.

And she almost envied him.

Wulfric's arms wrapped her tighter. "He wouldn't have wanted that. He didn't want us to die with him."

"He didn't want anyone to die," Nicoline pointed out. "But he did. And Libby did. And we probably will, too – or, at the very least, one of us. Maybe it would have been better if we'd just died together. Maybe—"

Wulfric shook his head. "None of that. You start thinking like that, you won't be able to stop. You're not going to die. You're not."

But he didn't mean it. He couldn't. Because in order for that to be true, he would have to die. And surely he didn't mean to die protecting her.

Or maybe he did. He had been ready to die trying to save Pike. At the start of the Games, he had put himself in danger to save Libby. He had risked his life to protect all of them from the eagles. Maybe he did really mean to save her, no matter what. Maybe.

But Nicoline wasn't sure she wanted him to.

Ella Halliwell, 17
District Four Female

It rained during the night.

That was good news to Ella, of course. When she and the forest had moved east, the river had stayed where it was. But now she had all the water she needed. Birds' nests had proven to be a good source of food, and she had even managed to catch a few squirrels that had wandered into her makeshift home. She had everything she could want – no reason to go anywhere else.

Which was why she was beginning to feel restless.

In the back of her mind, she knew this was too easy. The Gamemakers shouldn't be letting her stay here, unchallenged, so far away from the others. The fact that she had killed three tributes might satisfy them for a while, but not forever. Eventually, they would have to do something.

But what could they do? The forest was hers to control. If they drove the other tributes to her, all the better. What could they hope to do against an entire forest? She could kill them all easily. And then she could go home.

Home. That was the thought that kept her from taking her forest, marching on the Cornucopia, and slaughtering the tributes where they lay. If the Games ended – if she killed them all – she would have to go home.

And Ella wasn't sure that she wanted to.

It was a strange feeling – not wanting to go home. Ever since getting on the train, she had wanted to be back in District Four, to see her family again. But now that she was in the arena, the last place she had expected to feel safe, part of her couldn't bear the thought of leaving. Not yet.

Not that she wanted to die, of course – and that was the only other option. If only there was a third choice. If only they could let her stay here once she won.

And why not? What was to stop her? If she refused to leave – and if the forest rallied to defend her – how could they force her to go?

Yes. Yes, that was the answer. She would simply stay here. Safe. Forever.

Ella smiled, climbing up through the branches of her tree and into the early morning light, drinking the rainwater from the leaves as she climbed. Everything was so perfect here. So peaceful. So right.

Then she saw something in the distance, off to the northwest. Something dark and creeping, moving slowly but steadily towards her. For a moment, she simply stared, confused, trying to make out the shape of what was coming. Not any of the other tributes, surely. Something larger, or more numerous. But what?

Ella watched the shape curiously for a moment, but then shrugged. It didn't matter. Not really. Whatever it was, it would soon be dealt with. She pointed at several of the trees, then at the shape in the distance. Creaking, five of the trees uprooted themselves once more and lumbered off into the distance.

Ella smiled a little and ducked back into her home in the tree branches. It didn't matter what was coming. The forest would protect her. She was in control here. She was in command of an entire forest.

She was safe.

Harakuise Swallot, 14
District Five Male

Harakuise had never felt more clear-headed.

"Let me get this straight," Equinox was staring at him as if he had lost his mind. "You want to go attack the alliance at the Cornucopia. All four of them. Just the two of us."

"Yes."

Equinox shook his head. "Look, Harakuise, if you want to commit suicide, that's not my concern, but you can count me out."

Harakuise smiled a little. Equinox thought he had a death wish. But this wasn't suicide. It was a mission. And they wouldn't be going alone. "We'll have help," Harakuise replied confidently. "We just have to choose the right moment."

"The right moment," Equinox repeated skeptically.

Harakuise nodded. "It's going to start very soon – I can feel it."

Equinox eyed the younger boy doubtfully. "What happened to you out there on the marsh? What did you see?"

For a moment, Harakuise hesitated. It was none of Equinox's business, really. But he wouldn't just be telling Equinox. He would be telling the audience.

And he could use that.

Harakuise leaned back against the base of the mountain and said quietly, "I saw my father."

His tone had its desired effect on Equinox, whose expression softened a little; his father was dead, as well. "Your father?"

Harakuise nodded. "He was a great man. A hero. After the rebellion, he took it upon himself to hunt down the last remnants of the rebel army in our district. Honor, duty, loyalty – they came first for him, even above his own family, and he paid a terrible price for it. He lost my younger brother and sister – taken as leverage against him and killed by a small rebel faction. My mother left him, and no one's seen her since. But he kept me by his side until his death – and now the burden, the responsibility, the duty, is mine. I have to finish what he started."

"Is that what he told you? That you have to win so that you can go home and finish off the last of the rebels?"

Harakuise shook his head. That was what he had thought from the start. He had been so focused on winning the Games so that he could go home and finish the job he had been given that he hadn't seen what was right in front of him. His vision had been so narrow; now everything was clear. "No. No, I still have a job to do in here. Someone in the arena – maybe more than one someone – is a rebel. And I have to stop them."

"Your dad specifically told you that?"

"Yes," Harakuise lied. That wasn't exactly what his father had said. He'd said, "We have work to do." But that was close enough; Harakuise could fill in the rest. He had a job to finish in the arena. And he wouldn't be doing it alone.

"Did he happen to say how we were supposed to take on four older, stronger, better-armed tributes with only a few knives and rocks?"

Harakuise shook his head. "No, but I have a pretty good idea." He glanced at the marsh. "I'm not the only one who has some unfinished business with the rebels."

Abstract Calls, 18
District One Female

Someone had saved her life.

The more Abstract thought about it, the less sense it made. Her rescuer – whoever he or she was – could have easily slit her throat while she was unconscious, or simply left her to be killed by the spider. This was the Hunger Games. The whole point was to take lives – not save them.

And yet someone had done the unthinkable.

It wouldn't have been so unimaginable if she'd had allies. Or if she was someone that people might take pity on. That was how Hazel had survived her Games, after all – and how Mosaic had died. But she was eighteen. Strong. Trained. Clearly one of the biggest threats in the Games. Someone who wouldn't hesitate to kill any tribute she came across, who would never think about saving or even sparing any of the others.

And someone had saved her, anyway.

Carefully, still a bit wobbly from the spider's venom, which seemed slow to wear off, Abstract got to her feet and made her way out of the caves. There was daylight now. Morning, probably. She vaguely recalled hearing the Capitol anthem playing before drifting off to sleep in the caves. Which made this the fourth day.

Four days into the Games, and everything seemed upside-down. Why? Why would anyone save her life? What did they hope to gain by it? Clearly, they weren't looking for allies, or they would have stayed with her, hoping to gain her trust. Did they hope that by saving her now, she might come to their aid later? Didn't they realize that she would have to die eventually in order for them to live?

No. No, she wouldn't die. They would. Whoever they were, they would die – maybe even by her hand. Because there was nothing in between. Black or white. Her or them. One of them had to die.

And it wasn't going to be her.

Abstract quickly took stock of her supplies. Nothing seemed to be missing except a few of the knives she'd had with her when the spider had attacked. But she had more, and plenty of food and water.

Suddenly, she heard a noise coming from one of the caves. Voices. Two voices – a girl and a boy. Footsteps. Abstract snatched up several of her knives and took cover behind a large rock, ready for anything or anyone that could come out of the tunnel.

More footsteps. Running. Abstract could see a shape in the dark of the cave. Quickly, she aimed, and the knife went flying. There was a scream – shrill and sudden – that echoed off the walls of the cave. Then another voice. "Nicoline!"

A cannon. Abstract gripped another knife in her hand. One down. Nicoline. In some corner of her mind, the name sounded familiar. One of the younger tributes – the girl from Eight, maybe? Impressive that she'd lasted this long.

But not impressive enough.

Then the boy appeared at the entrance of the cave. She recognized him immediately – Wulfric, the boy from Ten. Abstract threw her knife, but he was ready for it. He dodged the first one, and the second lodged itself in the backpack he carried, which he was now using as a shield.

"You!" he cried, an almost animal-like snarl. "I should have left you to that spider! I should have killed you then!"

Abstract stared. "It was you?" He had been the one who had saved her? She was so startled that she almost forgot he was still charging right at her. In one swift motion, he drew the knife she had thrown from his pack and lunged at Abstract. She had just enough time to dodge, but, in the back of her mind, she was vaguely aware that she wasn't as fast as she should be. The spider's poison still hadn't worn off completely. Her senses were dulled, her reflexes slower. If she were in better condition…

No. No excuses. There wasn't time for that. Wulfric lunged again, an odd, fierce light in his eyes. In an instant, he was on top of her, but, in that moment, she had drawn another knife. As he wrestled her to the ground, she struck, the blade slicing into his arm even as he took hold of her wrist.

The injury didn't seem to slow him down at all. For a moment, they tumbled a little further down the side of the mountain together, rolling over one another, but, when they came to a halt, Wulfric was on top, blood dripping from his arm and into her face. She could feel his weight on her chest, his arms pinning hers. "I saved you," Wulfric spat, but the betrayal in his eyes quickly turned to pure hatred. "I saved you, and you killed her. Why?"

Abstract struggled to catch her breath. "Because that's … what I had to do. It's what you do in the Games. You kill." But he hadn't. He'd had the chance, and he hadn't killed her. Maybe he wouldn't, even now. Maybe. Maybe if she played her cards right. "But you're better. You're better than me. You would never have killed her – I can see that. You were protecting her. That's what you are – a protector, not a killer. You wouldn't have killed her." And maybe you won't kill me.

Wulfric's face hardened. "You're wrong. I was protecting her. All of them. Her, and Pike, and Libby. But everyone I was protecting is dead." He raised a knife. Her knife. "There's no one left for me to save."

And he brought the knife down into her chest.

Wulfric Harding, 18
District Ten Male

Blood.

There was blood everywhere, and he didn't care. It felt so normal. So natural. As if that were the one thing in his life that had always been certain: he would always be surrounded by blood.

Abstract's cannon sounded, but he didn't care. The damage was already done. Nicoline was dead, and it was his fault. He had saved Abstract from the spider. He had let her go. The blood on his hands wasn't just Abstract's. It was Nicoline's – dead because he had shown Abstract mercy.

Shouting, Wulfric lifted Abstract's corpse and hurled it against the side of the mountain, part of him wishing she were still alive to feel it. To feel every broken bone, every rock slicing into her flesh, every drop of blood spattering onto the stones. Sinking to his hands and knees, Wulfric cried out again – louder, stronger, his voice echoing off the rocks, not caring who heard. Let them come. Let them all come. Let them kill him, too.

Let them try.

Kneeling there, his own blood dripping slowly onto the stones below, he lifted rock after rock and heaved them at the face of the mountain, crying out in grief and anger and regret. Regret that he'd been too weak to finish off Abstract when he had the chance. Too weak. Too soft. Too merciful.

At last, Wulfric staggered to his feet. He wouldn't make that mistake again. No more pity. No more mercy. No more weakness.

No more.

Then he heard the soft pinging of a parachute, and a package landed by his feet. Snarling, Wulfric grabbed it and hurled it away. He didn't want anything from them! They were responsible for Nicoline's death, just as much as Abstract was. And Pike's. And Libby's. All of his friends, dead because the Capitol wanted a good show.

A good show.

Well, he would give them one.

Still scowling, he retrieved the package from where he had thrown it and tore it open. Inside was a weapon – but not a knife or a sword or a bow that other tributes might have wished for. It was a meat cleaver, heavy and solid in his hands. Deadly. Familiar.

Wulfric nodded. Glenn's message couldn't be clearer. If he wanted to leave this arena, he needed to stop being a hero. He needed to stop trying to save his friends and spare his enemies. He needed to go back to what he knew – what he had been doing his entire life.

He needed to be a butcher.

Brie Fallyn, 17
District Five Female

Brie wasn't sure whether the cries were from a human or animal, but they were getting closer.

The sound was coming from the mountains – that much, she was sure of. The screams echoed off the rocks and across the desert. "What do we do?" she asked, gripping Sterling's hand as they and their allies stood side by side, their backs to the Cornucopia, staring in the direction of the sound.

"We stay here," Zione answered without hesitation. "It's defensible, it's familiar, and there's nowhere else to go. Everyone knows where we are, but they also know there are four of us. Those two cannons mean there are only four other tributes left. None of them are a match for all of us together. They know that."

Sterling nodded. "Maybe they do. But, from the sound of it, they may not care."

Kiona nodded. "Maybe you're right. But if they're reckless enough to attack us here, we wouldn't be safer anywhere else. We stay."

Brie had to admit she didn't have a better option. Open desert lay to the east, a moving forest to the south, and a swamp filled with dead bodies to the north. And as she glanced towards the north once more, it seemed oddly foggy. But it wasn't a normal fog. It seemed much thicker, shrouding the entire area that had once been the swamp, and it was an odd, almost glowing green.

And it almost seemed to be drifting closer.

Sterling apparently noticed it, too, because he pointed in the direction of the fog. "That doesn't look good."

"It's not," Zione agreed, but that seemed to be the end of the matter. One more reason why they should stay put. Brie wished there was another option. Wished that they could just take off and run. But run where? And for how long before the fog and the strange cries caught up to them, anyway?

"Okay," Sterling said quietly, squeezing her hand. "It's okay. We'll be fine. Just like that spider – we'll get through this, too."

"Of course we will," Zione nodded. "Keep your weapons ready. Stay together. Whatever comes, we stand our ground, and we'll be fine."

Brie swallowed hard, hoping he was right. But from the way Zione was standing protectively next to Kiona, clutching her hand as if both their lives depended on it, he didn't believe a word of what he was saying, either.

Brie's gaze returned to the mountains in the distance. How long did they have before the creature or tribute that kept crying out showed itself? How long before the fog and whatever it kept concealed in its mist reached them? How long before the four of them faced a battle they simply couldn't win?

How long did they have before the end?

Nerond Pel
District Nine Mentor

Eight.

In front of him sat eight young men and women. Most of them were in their twenties, but a few were older. Eight candidates, hand-picked over the last few days. Eight hopeful young things, each of them eager and ready to take his place. Each of them hoping that he would pick them.

But he wasn't going to choose. The Games were.

Looking out at the eight of them, he made his announcement. "As you know, there are eight of you. And now there are eight tributes left. In a few minutes, I will call on each of you and ask you to select one of the remaining tributes. You will not be allowed to select a tribute that someone else has chosen. At the end of the Games, if you were clever enough – and maybe lucky enough – to have chosen this year's victor, I will spend the next year training you to take my place.

In an instant, the room erupted into chaos, with the prospective mentors eagerly shouting out their guesses.

"It'll have to be someone from the larger alliance. They're such a great team."

"That won't help them when they have to kill each other. It'll be Ella – she's already killed three tributes."

"Yeah, but the first two, she was just scared."

"So what? They're all scared."

"Not Harakuise. Did you see him in that swamp?"

"He's only fourteen – the youngest one left. It'll be one of the older ones for sure. Probably Zione – he's clearly in charge of the larger alliance."

"Which'll make him their first target when they start killing each other. No one'll want to kill Sterling; he's got a kid."

"And Brie's got a little brother who'll die if she doesn't win. I bet she'll be the first to realize they have to start killing each other."

"No, it'll be Kiona. The others are too soft to actually kill each other."

"Yeah, but she won't kill Zione. Have you seen them together?"

"What about Wulfric? He's already killed two of the older tributes. And he's got good sponsors."

"Zione's group hasn't needed their sponsors yet; they've got all the supplies."

"Supplies aren't everything. All they've really killed is a giant spider. All of the other tributes have at least one kill. Even Equinox killed that boy from Three at the start of the Games."

"They'll have to start killing soon. Everyone's headed their way."

"Everyone except Ella. I bet they all kill each other off while she sits safely in her forest."

"She's not safe! Have you seen those spiders? The other alliance barely managed to kill one."

"They didn't have an army of trees on their side."

"Neither will she, once the Gamemakers decide to stop helping her."

"Quiet!" Nerond called, and, immediately, there was silence. "All right. One of you at a time, in the order I ask you." He pointed at his first candidate.

"Kiona."

"Ella."

"Harakuise."

"Zione."

"Sterling."

"Wulfric."

"Brie."

"Equinox."

Nerond nodded. It was out of his hands now. The Games would decide which of these hopeful young candidates would have the misfortune of taking his place. Because one thing was certain.

He would not be doing this again next year.

"You have only a choice of evils; and prudence would counsel you to strengthen such strong places as you have, and there await the onset; for so shall the time before your end be made a little longer."

Note: I generally refrain from putting notes at the end like this, but before you start to over-analyze the order in which the tributes were chosen in the last POV, I should probably mention that I took that order directly from the results of the "Who do you think will make it to the final four?" poll. (And, in the event of a tie, I used the results from the "Who do you want to see in the final four?" poll.) So ... yeah. The order means nothing, really – just a way of acknowledging your predictions.

Of course, feel free to over-analyze your own predictions.