Chapter Twenty-Two.
Day Four.

Tyson Moretta; 18 years old.
District Twelve Male.

It was all his fault.

It was only day four, and yet, two of his allies were dead and gone. Niamh and Hex, two people that never deserved to die, were gone. And all he had done, for both times, was stand there and watch as his allies, as his friends' lifes slipped away. All along, he had been right, and no one else but him had realized it.

He was no leader. He was just a boy, trying his best, but failing everytime. If people ever decided to look up to him, or even have him as a role-model, Tyson could bet that they were finally regretting that decision. He was just trying to survive. Making the most of every hour that he got, but if it wasn't for his family waiting back home, he would have given up.

He didn't deserve to live, not really. Not when Niamh and Hex, two decent people, had already met their end, and Tyson couldn't even avenge them. But still, there was a part of him, self-preservation finally making its work, that begged him to live. To live, and to fight, even if his end came somewhere in the middle.

But first, before he decided to live or die, there was something he needed to do. Or rather, someone that he needed to avenge. After four days, Tyson had finally found his purpose in the Hunger Games. Not to live, or to die, but to fight. After they died, he had finally realized what he needed to do. The Capitol rewarded the tributes that played the Games, those that did exactly what they were to do, and Tyson wanted it. If he wanted a reward - if he wanted their help in his revenge - then he would finally have to play the Games.

But to play the Game, it didn't mean that he could play by his own rules.

"When can we stop?" Behind him, Amy had been sighing to herself for a few hours now. He didn't hate her, not really. She was his district partner, and if it came down to it, she was the one that he needed to protect. Because in her, there was a piece of District Twelve. A piece of home, and the opportunity to give his family a year with food, if he wasn't able to make it.

Someway, somehow, Tyson knew that it would never be enough. They wanted him back, whole and alive, not food. He knows his family, starting with his father and ending with his older sister, and he knew that they would fall apart if he died. But right there, in the middle of darkness, all that Tyson could do was hope.

Hope that everything would turn out just like he wanted.

"When we find what we are looking for, I suppose we can get some rest." But of course, that was Amaryllis Carmellia, and no wasn't an answer for her. "I'm tired, Tyson. We've been walking for hours and in the dark... I can only remember what happened." Before he could do anything else, she started to sob.

Guilt started to take over Tyson's mind. He blamed himself so much, but in the end, he was forgetting about Amaryllis. She had to kill Hex, the boy that both of them had cared so much about, and there he was. Thinking about him, and ignoring those that needed his help, like always.

You're nothing but a selfish coward, Tyson. Nothing. You're absolutely nothing.

He knelt down next to her, choosing the words very carefully. One of Tyson's biggest strenghts was that exactly; the fact that he knew exactly what to say. But in there, however, the words didn't seem to reach his mind. What could could he tell her, a teenage girl who had just killed an innocent boy?

Nothing. He could do nothing but be there for her, even when the time came. What he couldn't do for Hex and Niamh, he would for Amaryllis. He might have given up on himself long ago, but that didn't mean that he had to give on the last piece of home that he had left.

"It's okay," In the dark, he couldn't quite see her or she could see him, but he tried his best to smile. "You did what you had to do to survive, Amy. Don't forget that. In here, it's the best thing to do. You can't blame yourself for it."

He could hear the sadness in her voice. "Stay with me? Please? If we stick together, Tyson, we might just give District Twelve another Victor. I need you." She grabbed his hand, interlocking his fingers with hers, and Tyson didn't have the strenght to pull away.

"Imagine that, huh? One of us, living next to Haymitch, and mentoring kids with him for the rest of our lifes." He laughed, and she followed.

"Promise, though? I believe I'll be able to sleep a little better, knowing that I have you with me." Pulling her into his arms, Tyson sighed. "I do. If we stay by each other's side, I think we'll be able to make it out of here."

"Thank you." She sighed into his arms, and for a second, Tyson was able to relax. Amaryllis was the only good thing in that entire place, the only thing linking him to District Twelve. To light, to District Twelve, and to his family.

But like all good things, it had to come to an end.

It started slowly, at first. Tyson was used to the strange noises, from time to time, but that one was different. Footsteps coming towards them, but this time, it wasn't only one.

Move.

He grabbed Amy, pulled her to her feet, and urged her to move foward. "What is it?"

"Listen," he said, putting a finger to his mouth, urging her to stay silent. "There's someone coming." Taking out his own knife, and motioning for Amy to do the same thing, they waited. They weren't about to leave. He had been ready to fight and now, it looked like the Capitol had granted him his wish. Fight or die. Just like you wanted.

The girl was suprised to see them. It was the one from Eleven, Tyson noticed. Her clothes were rags, and the messy hair was covering half of her face. For a moment, their eyes met, and Tyson wanted to talk it out. Tell her to leave, so each of them could go their separate ways, without giving the Capitol the fight they wanted. The Tyson Moretta that had left District Twelve would have done that, without a second thought.

In here, if he ever wanted a chance to avenge both Hex and Niamh, this girl had to die. Without thinking, the girl threw herself at Amaryllis, without even glacing at him. Tyson didn't have time to react. In fact, he was too shocked to react. First, the girl came out of nowhere, and decided that acting Amaryllis would be her best move.

He could just leave. Grab his own knife, and leave Amaryllis to her own fate. Maybe they would end up killing each other, and that would be two more tributes out of his way home. If he left, no one in the Capitol or even back home coud blame him. It was every man for himself, after all.

Amy and the girl rolled left and right on the floor, each of them struggling to get control. But in a way, the girl was much bigger than Amaryllis and whenever Amy hesitated, the girl was there to punch back. Leave. Turn around and never come back.

No, he couldn't leave. Not again. If he left Amaryllis, like he had left Niamh and Hex, then what would happen? Tyson wouldn't be able to live with himself if that ever happened. He might have been many things; a coward, an hostile, burdened boy, but he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't even try to save Amaryllis' life.

One last time, he decided. And then, it would be every man for himself.

"Tyson! Tyson, help me!" Amaryllis' knife was nowhere to be found, courtesy of the girl from Eleven, and she was powerless. When the girl got a hold on her, hands wrapped tight around Amaryllis' throat, Tyson moved.

His mind decided for him, and he moved straight for the girl from Eleven, knife in hand. He was sure that the girl didn't even notice him, because her hands remained wrapped around Amy's throat, and she continued to squeeze with every inch of strenght that she had left. It was all it took. With his heart falling into an even darker path, Tyson sank his knife deep into the girl's back, only letting go when the girl's hands left Amaryllis' throat.

The girl fell backwards, hands trying to remove the knife, until she realized that it was too late. That all she could do now was accept it, and maybe even be glad that she didn't have to play that twisted Game anymore. It couldn't be easy, though, Tyson realized it. Accepting that she would never see her family again, or even her loved ones, must have been hard to do.

"T-thank you." She said. Tyson realized what he had done, seconds before the girl's eyes closed, one last time. And if he had hated himself before, then there were no words to describe how Tyson felt about himself, once that cannon sounded.

He could only do one thing. Removing his knife from the girl's corpse, tears blinding his vision, he ran. He ran until he couldn't breath anymore, ignoring Amaryllis calling his name, ignoring everything around him.

If a mutt or even a tribute came out of the dark right now, knife in hand to kill him, then he would be as good as dead. He had killed, and now he had to pay the price. Nobody told them how it would be like, after they had won or even killed. But Tyson knew.

He knew that the girl's face would haunt him for the rest of his life, even if he had only one or two days left. But right now, there was no turning back. He had killed, and he had left the only alliance that he had ever know. The girl he had killed to protect was now on her own, without anyone to have her back.

He couldn't regret it. If he hadn't done it, then there would come a time when he would have to kill her himself, and Tyson wasn't sure if he could ever handle that. Every man for himself. That's how it had to be, if he ever wanted to see District Twelve ahead of himself.

It hadn't been a choice between the right and wrong thing, Tyson realized it. And not even a choice between that girl's life or Amaryllis'. It had been a choice between who he truly was and who he was supposed, and in the end, Tyson had proved everyone wrong and choosed himself.

He was no hero. Just a boy, just a soldier. Just a killer.

It was time to accept who he truly was.

Preston Hewitt; 17 years old.
District Six Male.

Preston was getting worried. Not entirely worried, but a mix of exhausted and nervous. If they didn't move, the mutts would come after them again and this time, they weren't prepared to fight. He wanted to move, but all it took was one look at Ryella's body to send him back to his seat, bow in hand.

He cared about her. Behind all the arguing and insults, Ryella had become someone important to him. In Preston's life, there had been a few people that manage to get past his walls, and earn a spot in his heart. Some way, somehow, Ryella had been one of them. The thought of losing her, of losing what they had, was something that he couldn't bear to think of.

She meant too much to him. And yet, where was he when she was attacked? Fighting, with his own back to her, to the ally and to the friend that he had sworn to protect. If Ryella didn't woke up, it would be his entire fault.

He couldn't handle all of this. Somewhere between the bloodbath and the beggining of that awful day, all of it had turned into a choice between can or have to for Preston. All of this, it was new to him.

Back in District Six, all he had to do was to pretend that he didn't care, and it would all go way. He could be Preston, the guy that people either hated or admired, and he didn't have to deal with any of that. But in here, it was hard to pretend. Pretend that he didn't care about Ryella, or Leila, and that he could simply walk away and leave all of this behind him. He couldn't do it. But standing there, seeing Ryella in that state and not doing a thing about it, was making Preston very angry.

His mother would have told him to pray; pray that Ryella would wake up soon, and that he wouldn't have to live with the guilt that she died because of him, because he didn't move a muscle to help her or Leila. But Preston, ever since he was a small child, knew better. It was all bullshit. It there was any God, he didn't give a shit about any of them. God wouldn't take Ryella away from him, not like that.

Leila, however, didn't seem to be in a very good state either. She hadn't slept, not really, ever since they had been attacked. In a way, Preston knew that the two of them were feeling the exact same way. Guilt taking over both of them. All because they weren't fast enough to be there for Ryella, and now, there was no telling if she was ever going to wake up.

"I can take watch now, if you want." Preston said, trying his best to smile. "Get some sleep, Leila. If she..." He wasn't sure if the words that he was looking far was either wakes up or dies. "...wakes up, I'll call you too."

Leila sighed. "No, it's okay. It's not like I'll be able to sleep, anyway. I want to be here when she wakes up." If this had happened anywhere else, Preston would have gotten up and left, a long time ago. If there was anything he wanted, it was this. People close to death, and their loved ones gathered around them, hoping for the best but always expecting the worst. Not Preston, though.

While other people relied on their emotions to move them foward, Preston always thought with his head, instead of his heart. While others held on into the hope that everything would be okay, Preston knew how to recognize the cold and harsh reality. But for the first time in his life, he found himself holding on into hope.

Preston ran a hand through his hair, trying to pick the right words. In a way, he cared about Leila. Just like Ryella, she was his friend. But deep down, he didn't want her to get hurt. He didn't want it to come to time where he would have to choose between her and Ryella, knowing very well what would be his choice. "You can leave, you know. No one would blame you." With that cannon earlier, they were only eleven of them left. Who could blame her if she decided to leave?

"Leave my friends? Sedna is dead because I wasn't there for her, Preston. If I had been there for her, she could still be here with us, alive and well. But she's not, because I left her. We all did. If I did the same to you and Ryella, I wouldn't be able to live with myself." She looked older, Preston realized. The girl that had laughed and flirted with him in a friendly way back in training was gone, leaving only the shell of the girl that she once was behind.

Preston would be lying if he said he didn't feel the same way. "I know what you mean." He sighed. If there weren't cameras around there, Preston would be happy to tell her everything about how he felt about the Games. But if they ever wanted to wake up Ryella, they needed sponsors. And to get sponsors, they needed to make the Capitol like them.

Several ideas popped up in his mind, but all of them lead the same way. All of them involved killing, and all of them involved leaving the cave that had kept them way from every tribute so far. "Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't be better if we just... We don't even know if she's in pain."

Ryella looked peaceful, even more than when she was only asleep. He could agree with what Leila was saying. But there was a part of him that begged him to wait, to hope that she woke up. In a way, he wanted his district partner back more than anything. "We wait. If it comes down to it, we'll do whatever needs to be done."

Leila nodded, moving back into her seat, besides Ryella's body. And by then, everything turned to silence. It only made Preston more impatient; all the silence. He didn't need the silence, he needed the chaos. The silence related to death so much, while the chaos could still remind him that he was still alive. That he was still there, with a heart beating on his chest, and a way of changing the future.

He couldn't stand being quiet, not when one of his closest friends was right there, about to die at any moment. As if someone had found it ironic to answer his thoughts, a pinging sound filled the cave, and something landed by the door of the cave. Preston was on his feet before his mind could even begin to process what had happened, running for the door, for what would save Ryella's life.

Preston bent down to retrieve the package, finding only a small box with a green "6" at the front. When he opened it, letting the box fall to the floor, his happiness was suddenly replaced with disappointement. And then anger.

A note. Ryella layed there, maybe even closer to death than they thought, and all their mentors could send was a bloody note?! He was about to tear the paper to pieces, to prove to the Capitol how much he hated them, when it was snatched from his hands. "Wait." Leila said.

He watched her as she read it, trying to remain calm. When she handed him the note for him to read, however, Preston realized that he had found a new purpose.

Follow the map if you want her to wake up.

- R

The map, the map, what map? Preston searched the package, until the small map came into his hands. In there, a clear path was marked in deep red, from the place that they were in to an unknown destination. For all he knew, that map could lead them to the Careers. To a pack of mutts, programmed to kill them in the moment they arrived.

But that was also why he had to go. He didn't mind fighting, not really. In fact, back in Six, he had even enjoyed it. It was what made his life the best, and if he had a chance to do it, he would. He never had a real purpose, but now, he did. If it meant that Ryella would be back; her smile, her laugh, and even their fights, then he had to do it.

"I'm going," He said, picking up his bow and quiver, and a small backpack. He would go, but Leila needed to stay here, in case Ryella woke up. It's no like they could drag her with them, anyway. "You stay here, okay?"

"Preston, what are you doing?" She stopped, right in front of him, blocking his way out of the cave. "Have you even stopped to think for a second? What if that map leads you to the Careers?"

He shrugged. "It has to lead somewhere. My best bet is that it leads to something to wake Ryella up, and if that's the only chance we have, I won't risk it. Now let me go, Leila. Please."

"What if you die? What am I supposed to do?" The truth is, Preston didn't see the old Leila in there anymore. The one that would flirt her way around everything, and even the one that could get a little bit annoying, because she talked about literally everything. This Leila, prefered the silence above everything, because she had already lost too much. All of them had.

"Stay with her. And when she wakes up, tell her why I did it. If I don't make it back." Leila nodded, bitting her lip, and trying to fight back tears. Preston already knew her well enough to know that whenever she did that, she was holding back something that she wanted to say.

"Be careful. Please." And before he could do anything else, Leila's arms wrapped around him in a bear hug. He had never been one for things like that, but this was his friend, and this might be the last time that he would see her. "Take care of her." He whispered, breaking the hug, and leaving the cave.

He couldn't look back. He had a purpose, and until he did it or died, he couldn't come back.

If he looked back, he was lost.

Oliver Craddocks; 16 years old.
District Nine Male.

Alone.

Everywhere he turned, Oliver was reminded that he was alone. In that entire arena, he could only count on himself for support, and no one else. All because he failed to see the true before it was too late. Coulter's death had affected him, more than he could ever admit. He had been so prepared to use the boy as a simple meat-shield, just a weapon that he needed to use in order to win, that he wasn't prepared for what happened when Coulter died. His ally, sacrificing himself for Oliver, was gone in a matter of a seconds.

The ghost of what could have been had been haunting for the past few days, and he was just starting to realize that he couldn't escape it. Even if he won, it would haunt him for the rest of his days. Coulter and the way that he treated a boy that only wanted a friend, would be with him until the end of his days. But it was only then that Oliver realized what he had lost. A friend, a real friend, even more than those that he had back in District Nine. Coulter gave his life for Oliver's, and if he didn't do anything about it, he wouldn't be Oliver Craddocks.

A side of him told him that it was all he deserved, since his intentions were never good in the first place. Someone that was doing his best to win, without caring who he was going to sacrifice, didn't deserve a friend. Not a real one, anyway. The fake ones were easy to get, and all that Oliver had to do was snap his friends and he would have someone to call friend. The real ones, however, were hard to find. And when he did found one, he let him go.

Maybe he deserved it. Maybe, this had come to show him the truth.

That he had been wrong, from his entire life, and that he was nothing special. He was just a boy, not the best of the best or anything like that, that did his best to survive. Someone that knew the right moves to keep playing the Games, even if it meant that he didn't know how to save the people he cared about.

He never had to do that. All of his life, people came to Oliver and stayed by his side because he knew what made them thick, and how to use it. His mothers were the only people that ever really cared about him, and the only ones that mattered. But then Coulter came, and turned it all around. He had never planned to see the boy as more than a weapon, something to throw in front of him when things got rough, because that was what it took to survive. But someway, somehow, Coulter had crept up on him and become a friend.

There was a reason that Coulter was long gone, on his way home, and Oliver was still there. Fighting, on his feet, ready for the battle to come. Well, maybe not so much for the last part, but now he knew what he needed to do. Kill, just like he had killed Niamh and that girl, and hope that it was enough to make it back home. Hope that he still had some of his old fire left, and that it would be enough to get him home.

Right now, all that Oliver had was hope and if he didn't hold on to it, everything would be lost.

Keep moving. Keep moving. Keep moving and don't look back.

Kicking a stone, Oliver couldn't help it but sigh. He had been stumbling across the tunnels for hours, hoping that if he didn't manage to find any tributes, the Gamemakers would lead him to them.

In a way, he only wanted for it to be over. Waiting meant that he had more time to think and currently, thinking could lead him to very dangerous places. It could bring back all the thoughts that he would rather forget, and if there was anything that Oliver had learned when he was a little boy, it was that dark thoughts lead to dark things.

And currently, he wasn't sure if he had the strenght to face anything that the Gamemakers wanted to throw at them.

"You know, I'm not going to acomplish anything by stumbling across those tunnels..." He whispered, just loud enough for the cameras to hear. Of course, there must have been at least one in the place that he was currently standing in and currently, they were Oliver's target. "A lead. That's all I need."

For a while, he waited. Sitting around, making sure that his sword was ready to use when the time came, and drinking sips of water. But deep down, the excitement to see if his plan worked was killing him inside. Sure, he could find them on his own, or the Gamemakers would choose to lead him to them if things got more boring than usual. But it was what they would use to lead him to them that was actually scaring Oliver.

Of course, he could never admit it, but he would rather face the tributes over the mutts any day. The ones like the spider that he and Coulter had ran away from, in what seemed like a life time ago. If he had to kill to get a free-pass from those mutts, then so be it.

As if it were an answer to his thoughts, a pinging sound filled the cave, and a parachute landed in the entrance of his cave. Oliver got on his feet in matter of seconds, knelt down next to the parachute, and ripped it open with his own hands. Inside, there were only two small things. A compass, currently pointing north and a small map, folded in half.

And then, of course, there was the note.

Follow this map and you will be rewarded.

- R

Rewarded. A small grin appeared on Oliver's lips, and soon, he was smiling. He had asked them for a lead, and they had given him this. A compass and a map, poiting to the place where his rewards waited for him. Weapons, perhaps. He could use a new sword and maybe a few knifes, for the future. He couldn't think like that compass pointed to his future victims, even if it did, or it would all be lost.

They had given him a chance, and Oliver knew by personal experience, that disappointing the Capitol meant death. And if there was one thing that Oliver was sure about, was that he did not want to follow Coulter into the grave. Or any of the others, for that matter.

They were giving him the chance to choose, Oliver realized. No mutts, no traps, only free will. Whatever he choosed, he would have to live with that, for the good and for the bad. With that, he would need to prove them if he was the worthy Victor. The Capitol didn't want a Victor that didn't do what needed to be done, they needed someone that was willing to sacrifice anything in order to leave.

Beautiful. Deadly. Cunning.

Besides Coulter, he didn't have anything else left to lose. He only had himself in there, and if he was ever going to go down, he would go down fighting. But for now, he would focus on following that map and doing whatever needed to be done.

Because that's who he was. Oliver Craddocks, the boy with nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Amina Conlan, District Eleven Female.

Clockwork, my opinions on Amina changed over the story. First, I had a bit of trouble with writing but when we reached the Capitol, I started to connect with her. She had been used to playing by the rules her own life, and if she wanted to live, she would have to change that. Her friendship and alliance with Bastian, her reaction after his death, I loved exploring it all. But sadly, Amina had to go in here. I didn't have anything else for Amina, but I'll miss her. Thanks for sending her in.

A/N: So... This is late. Very late, I have no idea about what happened, I'm so sorry. School caught up with me and since then, I didn't have free time to write at all. But hey, I managed to do this and while it might not be the best chapter (boring, yes, I know), it was necessary. It sets up the plots for the next few chapters and yeah, we're in the final 11. ;) Congrats to all the remaining tributes. And their submitters, of course.

So, that's it, basically. No idea of when the next chapter will be out, but probably soon. Probably.

Some Questions?

Favorite POV? Least Favorite?

Predictions for the next few chapters? (Just a little clue: Oliver and Preston weren't the only ones that got the map...)

Next deaths?

Any Victor predictions? (This might be a bit too early, but I'm curious.)