Day Six, Morning

Jericho Aylin, District 2, 18

That was a weird experience.

I don't know what made me so shaken. I didn't kill the girl, and that should have been a good thing, it was paving the way to my victory without me having to do it. Plus the girl committed suicide in a way that was dignified: quick, painless and on her own terms. So why was I upset? As much as I skirted around the idea, I know why she killed herself: because if she didn't I would have been the one to shoot her. And I knew I would have shot her. And I knew I would have made the death extra brutal. There was something about such a thought that cut me to the core.

I'd killed twice in my life. The first time was compulsory; I had to execute someone who was convicted for killing his wife. It was something most Careers in District Two did at least once. He deserved it, so slitting his throat wasn't a difficult decision for me to make and I lost no sleep over it. The training centre was extremely good at desensitising you over many years. The deaths you see on a TV show and the deaths of real people in front of you had kind of blurred, one into the other. When someone died, it was mildly sad, but it wasn't something you lost sleep over... Almost like fiction. And if that person ceased to be a person and was just a gender and District, or just a criminal, you were further indoctrinated into the Capitol's need for indifference. Most Careers weren't bloodthirsty, contrary to stereotype. We just didn't care.

But for me – maybe for others – that stopped when I made my first killed. When I hacked Aurochs in half. I knew he was a boy who hadn't killed his wife. I knew he had a family at home and the way he cried I knew he had feeling. The guilt I carried on my back was bearable. When the Nine girl turned that gun on herself and willingly ended her own life, that was when things went wrong. That girl would have rather died than face me. That had to say something about the person I was, right...?

I liked to think I was decent. Empathetic even. But now I wasn't so sure. How could I do this and sleep at night?

"You look upset," Pullox remarked. Once again, we were hunting together, with Lorelei and Honora elsewhere. "Something the matter?"

"No," I said as we reached the bottom of a stairway, reaching the lower floor so that we were in a cramped doorway. A cupboard under the stairs was the first room I checked, and bar old cleaning materials and cobwebs there wasn't anything there. Pullox watched me eagerly as I searched around for a small tribute hiding in the dark.

"I've known you for over a week now, Jericho," Pullox said to me. "Doesn't sound like much, really. But we've spent so many hours together. I know when something is up. We're friends, right?" I stopped searching and nodded lightly, though I wasn't enthusiastic. "Come on, tell me what's wrong."

"I just... That girl," I paused. "She died."

"You'll get over it. You got over Aurochs. I got over killing Brandy and Giovanni," got over? I doubt he had anything to get over. He didn't care about lives.

"She just killed herself," I said, turning to him and trying to keep the horror of my face. "One second she was alive and the next she just turned the gun on herself and..."

"Hush," Pullox's finger pressed against my lips. "No need for the self pity." His finger withdrew, resting on his belt. He sighed. "And Jericho, as sad as it is we can't go pretending she killed herself. We know you killed her."

"What?" I said, affronted. What he said had resonated with my thoughts and left me upset and shaken. I wanted to justify myself, though. "Maybe you're not seeing things correctly... She turned that gun on herself. I would have shot her but she did..."

"Maybe that is what happened," Pullox shrugged. "But that's not what Honora is going to hear. You get me?"

"Why?" I asked tentatively.

"Because Honora's trust has worn thin thanks to your imbecile of a District partner," Pullox rolled his eyes, irritated. "She realised that we're capable of keeping secrets behind her back and now she's wizened up. She used to trust me, now she even gives me suspicious looks sometimes. You realise that's drastic, right?" So how would keeping more secrets behind Honora's back help? "But if we prove to her we're actually Careers, not District scum sympathisers, if we make her believe that we – that you – are killers, maybe she'll forget Lorelei's stupid mistake and will drop her guard. Honora is stronger than me," Pullox shrugged. "And she's smarter than you," I tried to protest but he had a talent for holding my tongue with a glance. "We wouldn't want her to be angry and alert now, would we? Do you want to suffer for the mistakes of your whore District partner? That could end badly."

"Lorelei isn't a whore!"

"I don't need to hear your defence for her," Pullox shrugged. "She was stupid enough to get pregnant and stupid enough to keep secrets. We all hide secrets, hell, I let a little girl survive back there-"

A tense silence hit the air like the aftermath of a cannon as his words sunk into my mind and Pullox froze. I feel as if he immediately regretted telling me. I tried not to look surprised and aghast as he tried to hold in the shock of blowing himself up. A cold swept over me and Pullox eventually relaxed, running his hands through his hair and calculating something.

"That's one more competitor in the way," I hissed. "One more danger, one more secret behind Honora's back!"

"She was a kid, barely a threat! I did what I had to."

"And what advantage would sparing a girl give us?"

"That's none of your business."

"But everything is a secret with you, isn't it Pullox?" I growled, clenching my knuckles. "Everything behind closed doors is dark and bloody with you, even if you try and pretend you're some kind of respectable gentleman. And I fell for it this whole time..."

Before I could act I felt the tip of a knife perch itself under my strong chin. Pullox was a lot shorter than me, so to have him so quick to remove the knife and put me in a compromising position... It was kind of awkward. I felt the sharpness of the knife embrace the bone, but no blood leaked out. I glared at Pullox, not daring to move as he smiled, walking forward and forcing me to step back until I was pressed against the wall of the cupboard. Once we were in the dark, Pullox seemed more in his element and grew even more intimidating.

"You just never understand," Pullox sighed sadly. "You think that because you're bigger and stronger than I am, that means I can't kill you. We all know what David did to Goliath, Jericho."

"Get that knife away from me," I snapped. Pullox's expression didn't change, but I decided diplomacy was better than threats. "It doesn't have to end this way."

"No, and it won't, but you have to be good," Pullox said. "We're friends, Jericho. That means Honora doesn't hear about the Eleven girl or about the Nine girl. It's our little secret. If you keep it, I let you live." I went to talk but Pullox flicked the knife away. I sighed with relief, but then he aimed a gun point blank into my face. It was the pistol. My pistol. I had it only a second ago and it was as if he simply summoned it into his hand. "Or you can die. I think the decision is easy."

"Honora doesn't hear a word."

"And neither does Lorelei?"

"Neither does Lorelei."

"Aw, good," Pullox patted me friendlily, slipping the gun back into my belt. "It would be unfortunate if you told Lorelei. She could tell Honora. And Honora knows Lorelei has a penchant for not being completely honest. So who will Honora side with, Lorelei or me?"

"Lorelei, if she has a brain cell."

"Sadly, brain cells are useless if they don't have knowledge to guide them. So who will she side with, with such little enlightenment?"

I swallowed. "You."

"You're getting good at this game, Jericho," was all Pullox said, turning around and walking back into the light. I remained still and weary. "You're lucky I don't need you to die in order for my plan to commence. Very lucky indeed."

And then he walked away and I could breathe. For some reason, I felt lucky to be alive. Maybe if I did the wrong thing or said the wrong with Pullox would have stabbed or shot me. I had no idea. But it had all come to light: I thought I was bad, but I realised there were people out there who were a lot worse. All this time Honora was the villain. And that was because – despite her many flaws – she was honest. She threw her evil around her like confetti, celebrating it and worshipping the Capitol gods. Pullox was worse: it wasn't to do with the Capitol or pride for him. This was all one sick game and he wore evil like a suave suit. He let Honora do all the work, and he only showed his true colours to me because I was now his only threat.

Lorelei was right about him, and I'd been stupid this whole time. But Pullox was right, I couldn't tell her. I'd just endanger her. I knew that Pullox already had a plan just in case I did tell Honora or Lorelei. He'd made one thing very clear: he was one step ahead and he had everything planned out to a t. Was the Eleven girl part of said plan? Was Lorelei? Was Honora? I had no idea, but I knew that something was wrong and I couldn't do anything about it. To Pullox I wasn't part of this grand scheme; I was some disposable extra that would be thrown out if I got my one line wrong.

I wanted to redeem myself. Maybe I could, but I'd put myself in a lot of danger in the process. I've kept silent about brutality my whole life for convenience. The painful question was... Do I continue?

I didn't know. I just wondered what Lorelei and Honora were doing. I wondered if they were okay.

Honora Cashmere Flloyd, District 4, 18

"Hey, what the hell?" Lorelei mumbled as we turned a corridor.

There were so many of those clockwork droid freaks: all wearing wigs, dresses and having the mechanics underneath shrouded by a creepy renaissance mask. They were incredibly slow, though. They edged towards us, shouting strange sayings angrily. Thankfully, Lorelei was more than adept at handling them. I raised my axe expectantly while she launched each and every one of her daggers, hitting all of them with little effort.

They slumped to the floor one by one like mere targets. None of them had even reached me, which made me sad because I really wanted to take my frustration out on something. Once they all lay still, sometimes twitching, Lorelei walked over to them, tearing out her knives and reclaiming them. Say what you want about a pregnant woman's ability in the Hunger Games, but pregnancy doesn't impede on aim, and aim was Lorelei's greatest weapon. That was both a good thing and a bad thing for me.

"Good job," I commended as Lorelei slid the knives back into her belt.

"We have been doing a good job, haven't we?" Lorelei smiled, resting her hands instinctively on her stomach. "Every single tribute we've bumped into has died... We've done a better job than all the Career packs in the past five years. And none of us have died. Well, there was Ross, but you killed him."

"He was a prick," I shrugged, noting the robots and pausing. "Hey..."

I noticed something was off about the robots. I approached them when I realise they all had blood stained on them. I didn't remember previous ones having any blood on them, but when I rolled it over I saw blood had been drawn across the mutts' back. It was a jagged 'M' – it was like how sheep were coloured sometimes so that farmers knew which sheep was theirs. Almost like the thing had been claimed. I had a dark sense of humour, but that was pretty fucked up. Whose blood was that for starters, and who did this?

Lorelei's eyes scanned the blood across the mutts.

"What does this mean?" She said.

"Well, Princess," I frowned. "It means that either the Gamemakers or a tribute in here has a fucked up sense of humour." Somehow, the thought of a tribute out-crazying the Careers disconcerted me.

"What does M mean?"

"You want my bet?" I said. "It was one of the tributes whose name begins with M. Magnus or Mirane."

"Who are you betting on?"

"Don't know," I shrugged, kicking the robot just because. "Magnus was a prisoner, right? He could be anything, a thief, a child rapist, someone insane enough to control the robots and put someone else's blood on them as a marker. Mirane always seemed like a lone wolf. Always the quiet ones, eh?"

"Definitely. I think we should keep our eyes out for people in the alliance who are a bit more... Silent," Lorelei said. I didn't know what she was inferring, and, to be honest, I didn't give a shit anyway. Who was she to talk about weasels?

Still, I was growing to like Lorelei. I still thought she was a weasel and – even worse – I thought it was tasteless of her to go into the Games and take her baby with her for the ride out of vanity or greed or something. But I was beginning to realise that she wasn't malicious, just naïve – which was dangerous in its own right. She was the perfect mix of being competent enough to pull her weight but not dangerous enough to make me blink twice at night. If she ceased to have an aim, she ceased to be a massive danger.

And she was right; the Careers did work well together. There were tensions and petty disputes now and then, but Careers are always strong and sometimes even deranged, so what could you expect? Pullox's mind, Jericho's strength, Lorelei's aim and my perfection in all those areas meant we worked well. We found tributes, we killed tributes. What else would the Gamemakers really want? In that regard, it was best to keep the alliance close, Lorelei included. I'd kill them all when I could – I'd even have fun killing them all, but for now I could consider them colleagues, maybe even not-so-close friends.

We started walking away from the multiple corpses, searching for more tributes. We passed through an empty ballroom that was surrounded by glass panes, revealing the morning sun as it seeped into the palace. Sometimes I forgot to keep track of the time. If it were nearly afternoon, I guess communicating with Jericho and Pullox via walkie talkie and rebanding would be necessary soon.

I took a swig of water as we entered a new corridor, made completely of marble.

"We need a change of pace," I said. "I think I should go with Jericho and you should go with Pullox this afternoon. How about that for a fair deal?"

"I hate Pullox," Lorelei sighed. "I know you can be antagonising, but I'd rather be with you than Pullox. I don't know Honora, something isn't right about him..."

"Look, Lorelei," I said, purposely towering over her to exert my authority. "I'm the leader of the Careers, right?"

Lorelei didn't seem to enjoy her response: "Yeah, I guess."

"And I know it's annoying when the most confrontational girl tells you this... But... Well, shut the fuck up," I sighed. Lorelei looked angry, but I explained. "This has actually been working once we put our differences aside. I even forgave you, I fucking don't want to, but I did. I know you don't like Pullox, but I like him, and you're just dividing us and making life harder for yourself, do you not understand that? Things are working. Don't be petty and ruin the fun because of your sensibilities."

"I just... I don't know," Lorelei frowned. "I guess you're right."

"Of course I am," I smirked, gripping my axe tight and patting my belt to make sure it was stacked with other weapons. Accompanying my arsenal, there was also a pretty rifle strapped to my back. I was in good hands. "Now, I don't know about you but I really want to smash someone's skull open. What do you say?"

Trojan Reid, District 3, 15

Sebastian was unusually strong. As light as I was, I was impressed when somebody could pick me up with one arm and display such little effort. And when I say little effort, Sebastian showed no strain; it was as if he were lifting a feather. With the rest of our supplies bundled up in one arm, he sped out of the room in a snap second, the speed enough to knock sickness into me and increase the pain around my ribs, where I think my bones were broken.

Sebastian appeared to be looking around the jail cells for something - eventually he found it. I winced as he kicked a steel door of its hinges effortlessly. He moved over to an old rotten bed, lowering me down onto it. It was uncomfortable, but the liberty to lie back and relax relieved me of a lot of pain. Still drowsy, I tried to lean up. Owch. That hurt too much. Okay, I'll just lay back.

"Ready for your medicine?" Sebastian said, moving the vial over to my lips. I hungrily moved my lips to it and Sebastian withdrew it immediately, displeased. "You only need a few drops," he said.

"A few drops? I think my ribs are broken - and my legs are burnt," I said raspily. It hurt to talk.

"Yeah? Try having your windpipe crushed. Breaking your ribs is like a scraped knee compared to what I had," Seb said. I opened my mouth hungrily as he let two or three drops of the contents land onto my tongue, absorbing into my saliva. It felt like nothing, but I still tried to swallow what I could. "It was crushed..." Sebastian paused. "And it was the worst feeling I've ever had. I didn't go black; I just felt the air be cut off me. It was agony," I lay back, exhaling and trying to get comfortable as he rambled on. "But I didn't fade into blackness. I felt my windpipe suddenly... It was like it clicked into place, like it healed itself in seconds."

"That shouldn't happen, you should be dead!" The bruises Seb had when I last saw him were totally gone. He looked uninjured.

"But I'm not..." Sebastian paused. "And you think that's weird? Remember when the Four girl shot me in the Bloodbath?"

"No."

"Oh..." Seb paused. "I forgot we weren't allies then. Feels like we've been together from the beginning," Seb tore away a bandage from his shoulder, showing me something. Although there wasn't anything to show: it was just a patch of totally unblemished skin. "She shot me there. This should be a scab, or a scar at least assuming my immune system is miraculous. But there's nothing there. Every single injury I've collected over the past few days is gone."

I tried speaking, but suddenly a pain shot through me. I writhed, crying out in agony, unable to repress the pain as it shot through my bones. The skin around my legs burned. My whole ribcage clicked and cracked. Seb looked worried as I shook and screamed, almost lifting myself off the bed as tears forced themselves out of my eyes. It was the worst pain I'd ever experienced.

And in the split second it had gone. I was left shaking, saliva and bile coming out of my mouth in small strings. I didn't remember falling, but I was facing the stone floor on my hands and knees. But there was no pain. My breaths were still ragged and heavy like one who did recover from torture, the relief felt strong. And I think everything was fixed. I stood up, running my hand across my ribcage in front of a shocked Sebastian. I could stand up without pain and when I felt my ribs they felt... fine. There was no pain and they felt in place and normal.

"It really works," Sebastian said as if he couldn't believe it. "I-I thought I was some kind of medical miracle but you..."

I lifted the sleeve of my trousers to see all the burns I'd received from the explosion were gone. My skin was new and smooth, almost like a baby's. When I lifted my sleeve I saw to my disbelief that the scratches Carlie had given me were fixing themselves, like there was a painless and invisible stitch running them across and making my arm a clean slate again. I pressed my fingers into my back and observed that there was no pain there, meaning that the bruises I'd been burdened with were suddenly gone... All my injuries gone in that one split second.

And I felt different. I felt reborn, almost. I lacked hunger, thirst and tiredness. This felt new and good and exciting. A rush had almost gone through my veins. I knew I was strong, fast, uninjured, powerful and on top of the world. Perfect, even.

"Did you feel this way?" I asked Sebastian.

"Feel what?" He asked, confused.

"This... Rush."

Sebastian paused, as if he didn't want to admit it. "Yes, I did. But I didn't have time to dwell on it. I was too busy trying to save your life," he sat down on the bed, thinking. "Truth be told, I still feel a rush. Not as strong, but it's like a feeling deep inside. I just feel... I don't know," he paused, trying to find the right word to express his thoughts. "I feel invincible."

"Same," I said, standing up and glancing at the broken steel door. "People just don't kick steel doors off their hinges, not even Careers," I pondered for a second. "How long does this Victory Vial last?"

"I don't know, but we still have most of it."

"It's our key," I smiled. "Our key to winning the Games."

Just to show an example of my strength, I tried to lift up the bed with one arm. And I could. I was so skinny and weak, but all of a sudden I had a bed that was probably twice my weight balanced on a single palm. I almost dropped it with the shock and Sebastian watched with amazement too. And, just because I felt like it, I threw it towards the stone wall. Once again, the results were similarly shocking: it smashed through the wall, obliterating anything in its wake and leaving a gaping hole.

"Wow," Sebastian commented as I peered into the hole. It seemed to lead into a drop right into the sewers again. Now that was certainly fun.

I took a risk, just because I felt like it and I knew I'd be okay. It was a large drop, but I sprung down it. When I reached the bottom my balance was perfect and I felt no pain even though the floor beneath me cracked and shook. Eventually, as I expected, Seb dropped beside me and was equally unharmed. Looked like that Victory Vial did really promise Victory. Even the Careers couldn't fight us now. Better watch out, everyone else.

Magnus Carmine, District 5, 17

I sat on the edge of the balcony alone, my legs dangling carefree into the air. There was still residue of broken glass from that eventful night which felt so long ago, back when I was weak, back when I thought Leda was alive. I saw dry blood across the pieces of glass and just thinking of the mutt made the patched up wounds on my back tingle with a nostalgic pain. To think I could change so much in such a short time. But now, despite my vow to make people suffer the way I suffered, I did admittedly feel lonely. It seemed that no matter how insane I was I had feelings... feelings that made me weak.

But deep inside I was destined to be evil. Who killed their own mother? Who killed their ally? Who hung an innocent boy with his own innards? Although, to be honest, I didn't think Hadley was innocent when I killed him. But who cared about morality anyway? I was so over that shit.

... Maybe hanging him from his innards was overkill... And cutting the grin onto his lips, too. That was unnecessarily cruel for anyone, regardless.

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. You're weak.

"Holy Panem, you are insane," Leda said from next to me, turning to me and giving me an unsetting smile as she sat on the end of the balcony with me. I regretted loneliness, but with such annoying company I was beginning to realise you had to be careful what you wished for.

"You're dead," I hissed. "You're a hallucination plastered onto a robot."

"True," I turned to see Hadley standing over me, his voice colder. Something about him was different... Bitter, evil even. Maybe that was because he wasn't real. He sat down next to me on my other side. "But does that make us any less real to you?"

"You're supposed to go out and kill tributes! You're mine now!"

"But annoying you is so much more fun, isn't it Hadley?"

"Considering you literally hollowed me out I won't pretend you don't deserve my haunting."

"Don't make you kill you. I'm stronger than you both," I glared at each one in turn. "It's becoming increasingly tempting to just shove you off the balcony and kill you both again."

"Hey, I'm stronger now," Leda showed me her hand - or lack thereof. A blade protruded from her wrist, sharp and threatening. The perfect kind to kill tributes with. "I have a knife for a hand, baby!"

"You're irritating," I rolled my eyes.

"He is right," Hadley told Leda.

"Screw you, go and hang yourself from a tree," Leda then chuckled darkly. "Oh wait..."

"Why are you here?" I snapped before either of them could reply. They gave each other a rather awkward look. My eyes demanded an answer from them again. Knowing they'd be nothing but pieces of cog and mechanics, they decided to tell me what brought them here:

"We found dead robots."

"Lots of dead robots."

"Hm?" I stood up. I needed some action. I needed to kill. "If someone could kill many dead robots that makes them a threat. Being a threat makes them fun," I grinned. "There are only thirteen tributes left. Two of them were unfortunate enough to be locked inside a room which they won't break out of, meaning they'll dry up like prunes and die," I chuckled darkly as I stormed out of the room, followed by my two friends who were just as eager to kill as I was. "That leaves us with eleven to play with. Sadly, a tribute died yesterday. I can't let another tribute miss out on the fun."

"Oh, it'll be fun," Hadley smirked.

When we reached the end of the corridor I paused. My first reaction was anger and I screamed in rage, grabbing Leda and throwing her onto the floor. She smashed into the floor, though the force wasn't harsh enough to kill her. Then as I stormed around, picking up vases and mirrors and smashing them, I inhaled deep breaths and my rage descended into curiosity. I walked over to the six or so bodies, all of them part of my little army, and turned them around.

They weren't torn to pieces; there were no bits of cogs or machinery sprawled across the floor like innards, but knives had neatly pierced their circuitry, killing them immediately. I could see from the piercings in the weak metal sheaves that it had been a thin knife and either a series of quick stabs or throws from a very, very talented knife thrower. Whatever the option was, they were a threat.

"They killed my little minions," I frowned. "We know what happened the last time I thought someone hurt my ally..." I smiled. I couldn't wait to cover myself in blood and innards once again.

"How do you know they're yours?" Hadley asked.

"I marked them all... With your blood."

"Oh."

Suddenly I heard loud footsteps - they weren't close enough to be clear, but they were footsteps belonging to a very heavy woman, kicking a door down so harshly it was impossible to not hear even though she was a couple of corridors away. Hadley and Leda seemed to pick up on the loud noise too. I smirked, touching the metallic hand of one of the still robots. Interestingly it was warm, as if the electricity was only flowing through it moments ago. That was very, very fun. It meant that whoever was close was probably the person who had eliminated my friends.

I was so excited to kill again. Every time I killed it was only a blur because I was so blinded by rage, grief or madness. Now I knew exactly what I was doing, exactly who I was. This meant I would do it nice and slow and remember every minute. Not just that, but unlike weaklings such as Hadley and Leda, they were going to be a challenge. The rush would make it all the more fun.

"The Capitol wants to be brought into the Final Twelve with a bang," I told the two, tearing off the spiked arm of my little robot so that I could use it as a weapon alongside my knife. "And if my gut instinct tells me anything, it tells me that there are some very interesting competitors around the corner who are simply begging for a fight. And they are going to get one." I turned to them, smiling. "I hope you're as ready for a fight as I am."

Leda and Hadley nodded eagerly, talking in sync: "Yes, of course."

"Great. Lets add another two to my collection," I said, following the direction of the loud bang.

Luisa McMaher, Romantian Diplomat

The Peacekeeper thrust me against the wall, furiously searching through my pockets. I'm pretty sure he also sexually assaulted me, because I felt his hands roam across my ass, patting it a few times for good measure. I cringed, but kept silent through the ordeal just to make them happy. I'm shocked that I managed to make it into the Capitol without radio contact, so just being alive told me that Panem's leaders were being particularly generous today.

"I'm pretty sure this violates my fucking rights," I grumbled, once they were done. They laughed as they pocketed my gun and put me in handcuffs. I guess this was the Capitol's twisted version of security.

"Rights?" One of them laughed.

"There's no rights here, especially when the President is involved."

"Gee, I heard your new President was a liberal. I know liberals can be pretty annoying, but you set the bar low here."

I could tell they were glaring at me beneath their visors, and, to taunt them, I smirked too. My telepod had landed in the Palace gardens, and I was escorted into some kind of waiting room within the large Presidential palace. I've seen luxury before, being a diplomat and all, but this blew my other experiences out of the park. Everything was diamond encrusted and large, well-painted portraits of the President's father dominated the walls; there was a warm glow from the lit fire. I was forced into one of the comfortable chairs and I noted even that was diamond encrusted.

Eventually a man - the man who'd take me to the President - came along. He was a Peacekeeper, but I could tell he was special because of his red cape and a lack of a visor. His stern eyes swept over me, his prominent chin clenching as he went over my face.

"Foreign scum, eh?" He said to the others. "This is... new."

"She is requesting to see the President, Mr. Titherington. Was demanding to have her rights respected, or some bullshit."

"Yes, and the President is quite excited to see her," the Titherington dude said, smiling a little. "Come on then, foreigner."

Ah, nice to see this culture was so accommodating.

Without further word I stood up. I wanted to kick all these guys in the balls, and I knew they wouldn't stand a chance against me in a fight, but whatever, diplomacy, it's cool. I followed him down corridors that were basically tunnels of marble with a lifetime supply of gems scattered around for decor. Mr. Titherington didn't say a word, and I was pretty happy to keep it that way. It seemed like ten or twenty minutes before we reached the President's office, so I was pretty worn out and bored by the time we got there.

"Good luck," Mr. Titherington said before I entered, patting my handcuffs a little to make sure they were secure.

I stepped through the oak door, which was actually quite modest compared to the rest of the mansion. The room had four glass walls that had lava dancing around fluidly behind them, sending a warm glow through the rest of the room. The warmth and the decor in general made me freeze in my tracks. Bar that there was only a modest desk with a television behind it. I think some reality show was on - a guy and a girl were huddled around some kind of library, talking about the competition in the reality TV show and their lives back at home. Seemed as if Capitolian culture wasn't that different from ours.

Facing the TV, still sitting, the President spoke:

"It's a stereotype amongst Capitolians that Romantians are tall," he turned to face me, his eyes glinting in the light. I was kind of expecting him to be stroking a cat, but his hands were vague and relaxed at his side. "You disappoint me."

"Calling me short, big guy?" I faked offence, sitting down without invitation. I knew I was short, so what?

"And your English... Wonderful," he complimented with a smile. "I know they speak Latin in your homeland."

"That's the de facto language," I told him. "I'm from Sector Twenty - once known as London. We cling onto English culture as best as we can, our language, our Parliament, our history and even Shakespeare."

He ignored me. "Cigar, Luisa?"

"Don't smoke," I said.

"Well, if you're not here for my famous cigars, what brings you across the Atlantic?"

I paused, thinking of my words carefully. I had always been a fiery person, but I remembered why I was here: diplomacy. I had to be diplomatic and expect compromises. "Romantia's newly elected President, Mira Langdon, has changed her foreign policy. I know all four of the new nations made a vow to not contact each other after the end times," the President nodded, lighting his cigar. "But we made history ten years when we all opened our borders for trading. Mira thinks isolationism isn't helping Romantia - or anywhere else - to expand. We need to talk, and there's something in particular we need to talk about."

"Your President needs to consider whether other nations think her plan is fine and dandy," the President exhaled a ring of smoke, grinning wickedly. "I don't do diplomacy rubbish. Embassies… treaties… conventions. All signs of weakness."

"That's awkward," I smirked. "I was assigned to be Romantia's representative here in Panem. I don't want to lose my job, Marx."

"President. I am the leader here, thank you."

"Sorry, President," I grinned. I could tell this guy was very rarely challenged, but my attitude seemed to intrigue him.

"Well, this diplomacy act is entertaining. Do tell me why you were selected for the job, Miss McMaher."

"I speak English like it's my mother tongue and I'm pretty smart, that's all they needed."

"Ah. Smart enough to not radio us that you were entering Panemian territories - and specifically my Palace? I hope your education system isn't too poor over there in Romantia, Ms. McMaher."

"You wouldn't kill me, I know you've had conflict related problems in your own country, you wouldn't want to anger our President and trigger a war," I said. I sucked in a breath, getting to the point. "And speaking of war..."

He almost seemed to know what I was getting at. "Yes?"

"The citizens of Romantia are getting pretty fucking concerned about the goings on here," I said. "I know your people have hardly been compliant with your regime," he looked at me sourly. "But two-hundred years ago I know you obliterated a whole county - city - whatever you call them here - with a nuclear bomb and they created a new community from scratch. We excused it as necessary. And then our detectors picked up more nuclear weapons twenty or so years ago and another four years ago."

"That was not war," the President sighed. "That was Jynx fucking Blackthorne."

He spoke of the name like it should be familiar to me. I shrugged. "May be an accident, but it worried us. Now we're getting radio messages from people who are claiming to be from a place called District Zero, the old District Thirteen. They say they're a new nation now, a nation that is gaining as much power as the Capitol," the President smirked at that notion. "And they tell us of war, of abuse, of more nuclear weapons. We know nuclear weapons helped bring the end days, set humanity back by leaps and bounds, eradicated billions in Asia. Do you not get why we're scared here? Why people are calling you a tyrant?"

"And tyrant is a dirty word?"

"In Romantia, where we enjoy democracy-"

"And where you suffered from a lacklustre economy until very recently," the President laughed. On the television, a funny looking guy with multi coloured dreadlocks was talking about recapping the events of yesterday's Games. What Games were these? I used one eye to watch the television and another to keep on the President. I saw my olive skin and short dark hair reflected in his eyes as my scorned expression turn to face him.

"But when we suffer, we don't throw it on the backs of the poorest. We make sure everyone has something. We don't hoard where our money flows, usually."

The President was insulted, though his expression barely wavered.

"You will go back to Romantia, back to your President," he said, throwing his cigar into a tin where rubbish was kept. "And tell her that you are not a diplomat at heart, and tell her that diplomacy is not my strength either. You will ignore District Thirteen and leave us to do what is to be done. The world was destroyed when countries meddled in other countries' business, it wasn't just nuclear weapons that ended it all," the President smirked, pressing a button in front of him. I paused when I saw a young girl on the television struggling to fight a burly guy who was half a foot taller than her.

I barely paid attention to the President when she turned the gun on herself and pulled the trigger. This... was reality TV? Surely it was a movie? The President noted my shock and grinned a little as the door opened.

"Now if you don't mind I have a Games to catch up on," he told me as the door opened and Mr. Titherington stormed into the room, manhandling me and forcing me to my feet. I glared at the President. "Do as I say like a good diplomat, Ms. McMaher. Our conversation was certainly interesting."

As I was dragged away, I was happy to be out of this hellhole. When I saw whole skyscrapers in the Capitol made of emerald I thought the Capitol was the place of dreams like we assumed; a place of high art, science and culture. But there were places in Panem beyond the Capitol - places where many suffered in favour of the few. And the more I thought about it, the more I disliked this place. No rights? Children being killed on television for entertainment? It was like the stuff novelists would warn us about hundreds of years ago; a society I thought wouldn't exist.

A society I had to help destroy.

Darius Cortez, District 8, 16

I was always an eager student. The kind of student the Capitol liked, really. I was willing to absorb the information they gave to me and I enjoyed learning, though I had yet to question the information - that was what the Capitol wanted. Once you were smart enough to do what was required but not intelligent enough to question the system you were the perfect specimen for them. But what was the point of questioning them? I learned the consequences of that.

It was history. Not my favourite lesson, but a good one nonetheless. The teacher, Mrs. Sewell, was a tall, young teacher with rouged lips. Her dark hair was always curled into a bun. She was alright as far as teachers went. I was at the back of the class, quiet as usual. I only had one close friend and she was in Capitolian Culture class, which meant that I was alone to dwell in the dull task of analysing production increases over the years or something. I found the Dark Days interesting, but lessons on said days were always so vague and quick.

"Now, as we can see every year since the beginning of the Hunger Games we have had an increase in production and profit," Mrs. Sewell told us, running her finger along a blackboard. "In B.H.G 5, when the Dark Days were at their most bloody, coal production was only at fifteen million tonnes. When it was 4 A.H.G this dashed to one-hundred million. Despite resources dwindling, Panemian production has raised to a whopping five-hundred million tonnes. Not only does this show the supreme might of the Capitol and the futility of District autonomy, but it clearly reveals that the Hunger Games is a necesity in modern society, providing morale and inspiration for those working in industry, thus increasing profit."

"That doesn't necessarily make sense," a girl in front of me said.

The teacher sighed. She was rarely challenged, but she knew when she did it was going to be difficult. "Vina, please tell me why this doesn't make sense so I can explain it to you."

"Just because coal productions raised-"

"And agricultural wield, oil production, cattle, fisheries, gold, gems, GDP-"

"Yeah, and all that," Vina said dismissively, disinterested. "It doesn't mean that the Hunger Games necessarily makes things better, does it?" Well, I certainly didn't see how the Hunger Games gave anybody morale. Morale for what, the possibility of their child's death? Seems off to me.

"What evidence do you have to back up your claim? What's the first thing we learn about claims in history class?"

"Claims must be backed up with Capitolian approved evidence," I spoke in sync with the rest of the class.

Vina paused. "Okay, I don't have much I just don't think..."

"Then do be quiet, Vina," Sewell said, scratching the essay title for homework into the board: "Essay for next week will be: "Why is District autonomy futile?", I expect it written in black ink, two-thousand words and it is expected next Friday. Failure to hand in your homework will result in a lowered grade and, of course, detention."

"Miss Sewell?" I suddenly raised my hand. I guess I couldn't keep my qualms to myself. She turned to me, smiling expectantly. I think she liked me, mostly because I was good in class.

"Yes Darius?"

"It says in this textbook," I slipped it onto the desk. "That recently we've began reaching out to other countries, whatever they are, and reducing our isolationist policies. Surely this would mean money and materials would increase for us?" Miss Sewell looked shocked. "Not just that, but our technology has improved drastically..." I paused. "Thanks to the Capitol, of course," I obviously excluded the fact District Five and Three were responsible for many technological advancements we'd experienced. "And using a statistic of coal production during the dark days is kind of futile, isn't it? Production isn't going to be high when there's war, right?"

"I... I suppose you make valid points," Mrs. Sewell smiled uncomfortably. "So will this be included in your essay Darius, or are you trying to make a point?"

"Well what if it's other factors that mean coal production increases, and not just the Hunger Games?"

Mrs. Sewell looked uncomfortable. "Well, perhaps..." She paused. "I'm only supposed to teach the curriculum, Darius. I think you're best to go with the facts."

"But claims must be backed up with Capitolian approved-"

"Shush now, class has ended everybody, lets go."

"But he's right," Vina said rebelliously.

I glanced at the coal production chart in my textbook. "And are your statistics correct, Mrs. Sewell?"

Everybody gasped. To dispute common fact was bad enough, but to dispute statistics outright.

"Of course Darius, they're the Capitol approved-"

"My textbook says that 5 B.H.G's coal production was three million tonnes."

"Yes, Darius. Estimates always differ, like the estimates for the Dark Day casualties range between three to nine million-"

"But it's a Capitolian statistic, and it is supposed to be cold, hard facts - not an estimate, so why do these facts contradict each other?"

"Darius, it's the end of class," nobody had left yet - they were too entertained of shocked. People expected the outspoken kids like Vina to do this, not quiet, obedient people like me. "I'm sure your parents are expecting you to be going home, not to be talking nonsense..."

"What if the Capitol is lying?"

Gasps again. Mrs. Sewell became considerably pale. The weird thing was she was arguing against me, even though I could tell from her expression that she knew I had a point - she maybe even agreed with me.

"That's a very preposterous claim, and one that would be greeted with extreme punishment if a Peacekeeper were in this classroom," she said shakily, taking a gulp of water that rested on her desk. "We won't hear those words in the classroom again, Mr. Cortez."

"But they are."

"They were just inaccurate."

"If they can't produce consistent figures, how can we expect them to run this District?" I retorted, almost immediately. "And that's not all, is it? Most people can barely afford to live. Most people in the District go hungry. Is this place really being run well, or can we make a better, fairer society for ourselves?"

Mrs. Sewell went even more pale, if that was possible. She sat down and thought for a second as everybody became shellshocked and silent. Suddenly I realised I'd really crossed the line - and a part of me inside didn't care. We were all so desensitised to our own oppression. I tried to hold my anger, but Mrs. Sewell was only doing what she had to do to make sure her children could have food through the week. This affected us all.

Still, a puppet as ever, Mrs. Sewell sat down. She gave a sad sigh and glanced up at me with regret.

"I don't want to do this... But you are an exceptional case, Mr. Cortez," she scribbled something down onto a piece of paper and slid it to the edge of the desk. "But this will help you, it's for your own good," my heart felt constricted in my chest. "I want you to pick this piece of paper and give it to the school principle, then you are to go home and think about your actions." I stood up, shakily walking to the desk and collecting the piece of paper. I looked into Mrs. Sewells' eyes, noting she was reluctant to give any eye contact. "I'm afraid you'll be punished so severely you won't be able to sit down for a week."

I lay down, staring blankly at the wall. Despite everything, despite Mirane, I would still have moments where I just felt... nothing. This wasn't something that started after the Reaping - it was something I felt my whole life. I felt like I was missing something, like everybody was missing something. Like life could be better than this, but because of factors that were beyond my control... factors almost as old as humanity itself... I was missing out. And there was something I could do about it, but when you were just a speck of dust in a vast room, what was there to do?

"You have a scar," Mirane whispered in my ear, now awake. I turned to her, raising an eyebrow. "A scar on your butt."

"Mirane," I said, almost sulkily, turning around. "There are people watching. My family are watching."

"The Hunger Games is child friendly, remember?" Mirane laughed. "They'll show people getting gutted, but as soon as you say 'fuck' you're bleeped out." She slid her dress over her body, putting it back on. "Though there is the late night edition on Capitol TV2."

I didn't reply, though I tried to hide my irritation. It wasn't Mirane. It was just... Despite having Mirane as a companion, despite having there to touch and hold, there was something within me that was dissatisfied, that felt as if there was something missing. I was just stuck in this arena, stuck in this room. And I felt so vulnerable and helpless. I couldn't just lie around feeling sorry for myself, waiting for something to get me out of here or for Mirane to rescue me. I felt useless but despite everything I believed, there was something I could do.

I slipped out of the bed, desperately fumbling around the room. Mirane just lay across the bed, gun on her chest, letting me do whatever. But when I began grabbing drawers and throwing them out of the cabinet, letting clothes pool across the floor, she turned around and began to look concerned.

"What are you doing?" She said, concerned.

"I'm getting us out of here."

"With clothes?"

"There has to be some way out. The Gamemakers won't just let us deteriorate into nothing. I'm not letting that happen to us," I hissed, rummaging through empty drawers and growling with frustration that there was nothing there. Don't give up, there's more you can do and more drawers to search. "Mirane, there may be something around the bookshelf. Search around there."

"I like it when you take control," she grinned. I turned around, giving her a small smirk.

She actually did what I said - which was quite unexpected. When I opened a small drawer in the bedside cabinet I immediately paused when I saw when it was: there was a small bowl, made of clay. Inside of it was a note and a small blade - by a small blade, I meant miniscule. At first I thought it was a nail file or something, it was barely longer than my fingernail. I raised it, watching the light glint off it as I saw the reflection of my iris in it.

"Hey, did you find something?" Mirane said. I turned around and noted all the books that were on the bookshelf were spilled across the floor.

"I-I think so," for some reason my hands were shaking as I lowered the knife, lifting up the small note and reading it:

"If you are reading this, you are dead.

The Palace was once a hive of the beautiful and the regal. But then revolution took place, a revolution filled with hatred and blood and dark magic. Cruel leaders were usurped, replaced by cruel leaders as always, and where there were kings there are now only killers. But you are weak. You have no chance of survival... Unless you are prepared to give it all. Unless you are prepared to give your sight.

When the blood reaches this bowl those brave enough to give their eyes will be given a powerful gift, a gift that will allow them to see what everybody else cannot, a gift that will guide them to victory. The blade will take the eyes without penetrating the brain.

Sometimes you have to be blind to truly see

Are you brave enough to survive?"

I didn't know if it was hope or fear that made my heart twist itself into a pulp, forcing a rush of cold blood through my body. The thought of taking my eyes crossed my mind. But suddenly Mirane was stood behind me. Before I could stuff the note away, she snatched it from me. I looked up at her nervously as she read it.

"This is fucking twisted," she muttered. She looked furious, but spoke to me calmly. "They're liars, Darius. What is taking out your eyes out going to do? They were hoping someone was naive enough to do this. Nothing would get them off more than seeing a tribute so desperate they take their eyes out for nothing. They want us to go to these extremes, Darius. You didn't entertain the thought, did you?"

I stared blankly forwards like a naughty child who was attempting rebellion, not even responding for a few seconds as I thought on it. Mirane had a knack of always sounding reasonable, and I knew I was just being motivated by useless hope. No, I wasn't going to do it.

I considered lying, but Mirane deserved more than that. "Yeah, I did."

She looked like she wanted to shout at me. Instead, she tore up the paper and threw it to the ground. It fell in strings. Wanting to destroy it further, Mirane stomped into the paper and ground it with her heel. She looked livid. And I got why - I truly did. I don't think it was sensible. But if there was hope, could I just throw away an opportunity? I was fed up with doing nothing. I had to do something. Anything...

Mirane got to her knees, kissing me once, trying to sway me to her favour. The more I considered the words on the note, the more hope I had. If I could do something that could get us out of this room or help Mirane or me to survive... But it also seemed more stupid the more I thought about it.

In that moment, I made up my mind.

"Please tell me you won't do it?"

"It's stupid," I agreed, smiling at her.

She smiled back and I couldn't help but feel bad for her because I was deceiving her. It was the one time I felt like Mirane was being naive and I wasn't. When she got up and moved towards the bookshelf to continue searching, I looked numbly at the knife and the bowl. I think I stared at it for a few minutes, adrenaline and fear filling me. I was so fed up of being a coward, of doing nothing. I had to do what Hadley couldn't... I had to be brave...

I lifted up the knife, staring at it for a few seconds. My hands were trembling.

No. It was too terrifying... The thought of the pain... And what if it wasn't worth it? I felt tears well up as I kept the knife held tight in my palms, the blade protruding neatly. I wanted to lower it...

Taking the plunge, I forced it into my left eye.

I couldn't hold in the scream as half of my sight was shut off like a light switch. Pain permeated through me and all my senses were suddenly overrode. I focused on nothing else, sobbing, screaming and shaking. From my other eye I saw the blood seep, and despite the pain I moved the bowl and ensure every single drop fell into it. In the background Mirane screamed angrily as I tore the knife from the hole where my eye was, creating another punch of pain that left me writhing and screaming. Blood continued spraying out of my eye all over the carpet and walls as I fell to the ground, trying desperately to finish what I started.

Mirane gripped my arm, which held the knife, trying to drag it away from me desperately. She kept striking around my temple, screaming curses and begging me to stop. I took every blow: it was nothing like the current agony. I pulled against her weight, also screaming out unintelligible words as I desperately attempted to take my other eye. Mirane wrapped her arms around my chest but by then it was too late.

I forced the knife to destroy my second eye, hoping desperately that its contents would leak onto the bowl. The pain was like fire that activated every nerve ending; the only satisfaction I got was hearing blood drop onto the clay bowl. And just as the pain reached its peak and I could only collapse in Mirane's arms and writhe, I slipped into unconsciousness.

Sooo when I said things were going to get brutal, I wasn't lying. See, that was brutal, yes?

And 600 reviews :)! Wow, that's pretty brilliant. A lot of people have ceased to review, but it's nice to know there are some people who will always make sure to tell me they've read the story and have given me feedback (and they will, of course, be the ones who get a tribute accepted in the next instalment).

Eulogies:

Tear: God, what can I even say? I won't lie, you were the hardest death to write. I'm still lying awake wondering if, as an author, I made the right decision. People considered you one of (if not the biggest) contenders to win, and, if I'm honest, as a character I was so devoted to I often envisaged you winning and would often take your character development in that direction. You'd have been a wonderful Victor: strong, intelligent, flawed - but ultimately a great person - complex, likeable and obviously you had poor Rita :( Sometimes though, there are going to be plots and things will be shocking and horrible, so that's just how it went. Sigh.

~Toxic

P.S – That is the CLOSEST thing you're getting to a sex-scene, rabid Dirrane shippers!