Day Ten, Afternoon

Portia Rhymes, District 4 Escort

Escorts seldom cared about the lives of their tributes. They merely cared about their payslips. Which was reasonable when money gave you a nice house and fed your children, without necessitating you having to work the rest of the year, but it still made all my co-workers seem distressed. When a tribute died escorts certainly panicked and worried - but it was not heartache that made escorts cry. It was the realisation that the Gamemakers could reshuffle you to a poorer District or - if you were particularly unfortunate - relinquish you of your cushy job altogether.

Now that more than half the tributes were dead and it would be mere hours until we figured out who the prodigal final eight were, all the escorts' worries and insecurities had gone completely. Many escorts had already packed and left to go home, hoping that they wouldn't be shuffled to a lower position (with the exception of my good friend Lillian, who had escorted for District Twelve for the past decade, meaning she already had the shortest straw). Now I was only left in the escort quarters with Leena, Marukilla, Markoz, Robinetro, Geonova and Magellan. Besides me, Fi-Fi was packing up her belongings and was crying softly to herself.

I had always been a good escort. I was gentle with my tributes, but always encouraged them to be the best they could be. Even though I hadn't scored a win for years - and even suffered humiliation last year when both of my tributes were bloodbaths - I generally performed well in the Games, and thus had been allowed to remain in a high ranking position. Sometimes I feared being demoted, or even fired and unable to provide for my daughter, because I would say or question things in an idiosyncratic way. But I'd learned to keep my mouth shut and remain dedicated to my work, so I felt secure. Fi-Fi did not have that security.

I decided to stand up and stride over to her. I patted her back. She had always been reluctant to leave; she relished in watching the Games and being a big part of it, but when both of her tributes died the magic was over.

"It's okay, Fi-Fi," I told her sympathetically. I didn't often get on with my fellow Career escorts, but I did feel bad for her. "You'll be okay."

"Ew, get away from me," Fi-Fi moved away from me, being rude to me because of my status as the Capitol's oddball. Mascara ran down her face like molten gold. "I can't believe neither of my tributes made the final eight again."

"I know how it feels-"

"You know jack shit, you don't get the Games Portia, not like I do," she sniffled, sitting down. I grabbed a double banana cappucino from a passing Avox, placing it in front of her. She sipped it enthusiastically. "What if I get demoted?"

"Oh, don't consider that-"

Suddenly I realised Fi-Fi should consider that when Ruth Pierce made her way into the room. Immediately all of the escorts looked concerned. It wasn't common for Gamemakers and escorts to mingle unless there was a shuffle, and Ruth had an austere and commanding presence that intimidated everybody anyway. I stopped speaking and looked at Ruth as she made her way into the room. The other escorts followed, tearing their eyes away from the uneventful Games to look at the boss.

"Fuck, I'm demoted," Fi-Fi whimpered quietly.

She glanced in our direction and made her way towards us.

"I'm fired," Fi-Fi sounded heartbroken. My stomach tied itself into a knot; what if it was me being fired or demoted?

"Ruth," I smiled at the brunette sheepishly. "Your frown lines aren't as deep as they were last year," I complimented.

Ruth gave me a very stern look that made me shrink. I hope she didn't think I was lying - I think it was true. She looked a teensy bit healthier, or maybe I just had bad memory. It was no secret that Ruth Pierce was also an oddball - unlike others in the Capitol, she completely rejected the beauty industry and their expectations, although she was still a fervent Capitol supporter as most of us were.

"Ah," Ruth glanced at Fi-Fi. "I was looking for you."

"I'm demoted, aren't I?" Fi-Fi welled up again, looking at her box filled with her possessions.

"Yep," Ruth was blunt and cutthroat as always. She opened one of the files she was holding. "We've decided to swap places between you and Robinetro," across the room, I saw Robinetro fistpump to himself quietly. I tried to suppress a smirk.

"What?" Fi-Fi stood up, outraged. "Robinetro is stupid! He doesn't know the difference between Generation X curlers and Snip-Snap curlers for starters, and he runs District Eight. He'd destroy District Two's reputation, he'll tell them that killing is optional or something!"

Ruth gave Fi-Fi that indifferent yet disapproving look that I hated so much.

"In the past three years only one tribute of yours has managed to make their way into the final eight. Robinetro may manage to have two tributes in the final eight for two years in a row, a record only surpassed by District One, which may have two tributes in the final eight for the past decade or so," Ruth closed the file and looked at Fi-Fi. "I'm afraid it's no longer an option to keep a lacklustre escort in a District that is often cited as the most bloodthirsty and brutal District of them all, no?"

"But-"

"I know Tobias may be known for being an innovative Gamemaker," Ruth said. "But he doesn't bother with trivial matters such as who escorts which District, but I do. And I believe there's a status quo for a reason," Ruth glanced Fi-Fi in the eyes with a firmness. "You're breaking the status quo."

"I've produced victors!" Fi-Fi was growing hysterical. "I stood at Jynx Blackthorne's side as she was crowned victor for the third time!"

"I'm sure Jynx will cherish the memories," Ruth smiled sarcastically. "You'll have lots of fun mentoring District Eight. Who knows, if District Eight continue to do so well you may even be promoted again."

"You are a bitch," Fi-Fi said quietly.

I held in a gasp. "Fi-Fi, you don't mean that."

"Of course I do," Fi-Fi picked up one of her boxes and awkwardly wiped her tears with her arm. She seemed stronger now, somehow. "You're a miserable old hag who lives on her own and has nobody love her because she's so twisted and bitter and dull. Everybody avoids you, Ruth, even Portia," I opened my mouth to defend myself but Fi-Fi relentlessly insulted the Deputy Gamemaker. "Even your daughter ran away into the arms of rebel scum because they were more appealing than you," she sneered. "Do you not think that says something?"

Ruth looked taken aback. I think she wanted to say something, but she appeared lost for words.

"I'm going home, and I'll make District Eight win next year, something Robinetro could never achieve," Fi-Fi boasted, shoving past Ruth and striding down the outside corridor. Owch. I noticed all eyes were on Ruth and I, shocked by all of the drama. This would be the talk for weeks. I almost wished Nadia Skettings was still alive; she'd definitely love a story like this.

Everybody eventually resisted temptation and turned back to their screens. Iopian Endovnier walked in and realised that something strange had just happened before he made his way over to Magellan.

"I'm so sorry," I said to Ruth, feeling bad for her even though she had been kind of mean to Fi-Fi. Neither Ruth nor Fi-Fi were renowned for being sensitive people. However, Fi-Fi still had a job. Ruth had just been insulted over something that must have still been a sore subject, despite happening so many years ago. I could see that she was extremely upset despite the lack of tears. "She's not fired, is she?"

Ruth stared at the screens for a few seconds, watching the District One girl float from the sky onto a mansion balcony. Without saying a word she flicked her hand and the balcony doors opened. That was some weird voodoo stuff.

"No," Ruth answered my question almost a minute late, composing herself. "She's not fired."

She made her way out of the room, furious. I wondered what that was about.

Maybe they should air the dramas inside the Gamemaker HQ. It was a lot more bloody sometimes.

Carlie Compton, District 10, 17

I was beginning to grow even more worried about Pullox.

When I first bumped into him I wasn't intimidated much. I knew he was cunning and calculating, and he had managed to accumulate a decent score, but he was tiny and he just didn't seem to be as bloodthirsty as other Careers. However I soon grew to realise that his cold front was... well, a front. Beneath it he seemed to be the most bloodthirsty tribute of all. Except he didn't revel in blood much. In fact, he had a distaste for it (and often forced me to bandage even the tiniest of wounds). He revelled in pain, suffering and torment, which scared me so much more.

I didn't want any pain, suffering or torment. The people in this arena had to deal with enough bullshit without being prodded at like a mouse in a laboratory. I just wanted people to die so that I could leave the arena, which made hell look tame despite its glamorous shell.

I abandoned Aurochs, left him to the mercy of these psychopaths. Even I regretted that. How much had the poor guy suffered at the mercy of freaks like Pullox before he died?

... Fuck.

And it wasn't just Pullox's twisted nature that made him all the more intimidating. It was his brilliance. He really was brilliant, in the least brilliant way. As I learned when he had caused the explosion back in the Throne room, he always had a backup plan for everything, and he had predicted future events with startling accuracy. And then he had the advantage of having watched the whole Games. He knew almost everything about everyone. Their lies, their secrets, their betrayals, what they had been through and everything they had revealed about their family. I needed to escape, but escaping Pullox wasn't going to be as easy as it would be with any other tribute. Hell, escaping your cliché dumb hulk of muscle like Jericho would be much easier.

He had been lying on the bed with his eyes closed for a while now. I wondered if Pullox ever slept. I'd never seen him eat, and he didn't talk that much. I was beginning to suspect he was not human.

I had my crossbow in hand. But I couldn't bring myself to aim it and shoot, even if that was the most practical thing. But I could escape from him. I didn't want to risk getting any supplies and waking him. But I'd probably starve.

My stomach tied itself into a knot and I decided to just go. I moved towards the closed door and gripped the handle.

"Carlie, what are you doing?"

I almost felt sick.

"Just going to the bathroom," I turned to Pullox and smiled. "Not a crime, is it?"

Pullox gave me puppy eyes, or the psychopathic equivalent of it.

"Tell me, Carlie," he sat at the edge of the bed and smiled. "Was I asleep, or was I awake?"

Oh no. I knew at this point that he planned to kill me. The mindgames had already started, it was like what he did with Jericho though I feared he may make these mindgames much longer and possibly more brutal. A part of me wanted to run away there and then, but that could be stupid when I considered the fact that Pullox had a gun and he was holding it almost lovingly.

"You looked asleep," I decided to play innocent, like I was answering a serious question and not some twisted psychological weapon. "Were you asleep, Pullox?"

"I never sleep, Carlie," Pullox slumped back onto the bed. He threw his gun into the air and caught it nonchalantly as it span. "Not truly. You'd do well to remember that."

Darius Cortez, District 8, 16

Mirane glanced at me, shocked, as I made my way into the kitchen. The painful weight in my chest made it hard to walk as I hobbled in. Holding onto a surface to keep upright, I slumped down onto the nearest seat and smiled up at her.

"Oh," she had been stirring something that smelt nice. She turned towards me. "I didn't expect you to be up. You need rest."

"What I need is to persevere," I stressed with a smile. "I know after Hadley... and Willow... I haven't exactly been Mr. Sunshine, I really want to keep the morale up here. We can't just wait around and be miserable. We're basically asking to die that way. We need to keep moving forward," I paused. "I don't know. I know we've been too caught up in the Games so far but we need some kind of strategy."

"Whatever we've done, it's kept us alive," Mirane put a hand on her hips.

"But what about Willow and Hadley?"

She sighed. "Maybe we should discuss this after we've eaten."

I suddenly paused. This wasn't right. The fight to the death thing had torn me up, and of course I wished Mirane would be more emotionally open, but I knew that she wasn't a psychopath by any means. She cared for Hadley and Willow in her own unconventional way. There was no point trying to push her into a position which would make her uncomfortable taking, and reminding her of the horrific past few days and almost shoving the responsibility onto her.

Besides, it was refreshing to see Mirane not suggest that we kill innocent people. It was as stupid as me trying to suggest we shouldn't kill innocents just a couple of days ago, but it was still nice.

"I'm sorry," I looked up at her and tried to give her the best puppy eyes I could. Which was difficult, considering I had no eyes. "I shouldn't be picking fights with you, not after everything." I saw her from an aerial view in the corner; she gave that slight smile which she always tried to repress because it seemed like a jovial admission of defeat. This time, she put less effort into hiding it. "It could be our last day together today," I reached for her hand, lightly touching it. "We should be cherishing every moment together."

Mirane scrunched her face up again, swatting my hand away playfully.

"Stop being disgusting, Buster," she laughed almost uncomfortably, moving across the kitchen. She halted and turned in my direction. "And it won't be our last day together."

"How do you know that?"

"I have my ways," she smiled. She reached a realisation and changed the light conversation into a much darker one: "But you're right. We do need to do something other than hang around here. In fact, we'll get out of here now, we'll pack up our food. And then we'll be on the hunt. If I have to kill every bastard in this arena to get home, I'm going to do it," I almost gulped. When I suggested we get out of here so that we don't lie around like sitting ducks, I didn't expect such bloodthirsty zeal.

"Who do we hunt?"

"Two Careers are still alive and out there. Considering there's so few, they've undoubtedly split, but they're still dangerous," Mirane sat at the kitchen table opposite me, thinking up a strategy in that pragmatic but vaguely threatening way she always did. She spoke again with conviction. "Then there's Seb and Trojan. They'll be out there and if they've somehow survived the last fight they're still vulnerable. They'll be weak, but they're by no means innocent," she paused. "But they're just the ones who deserve to die. If it comes to it, we have to kill anyone to survive. One girl, Eleven boy, Ten girl... They're all obstacles."

Looks like we'd be packing and leaving, which I liked. But this was the final eight now, or we were approaching it anyway. The stakes were suddenly higher than ever and everybody who was alive was determined, talented or lucky - all three of those traits threats in their own right. The realisation that I could die suddenly seemed much more potent than it had over a week ago, when there were so many others who were alive.

"You shoot, I look away?"

"I shoot, you look away," Mirane nodded. That had been what we had planned days ago. It would soon be protocol.

Carlie Compton, District 10, 17

After another hour of rest, Pullox and I had decided to venture around the middle floors of the Palace. Unlike me, Pullox had the Palace figured out and seemed to know how to navigate around it. We went downstairs, passed a rotten looking kitchen area which was characterised by the smell of rotten flesh and food. Pullox strode through it as I glanced around the dining area. There was enough food to feed the whole arena, but it was rotting. There looked like there had been some kind of struggle in here, too. One of the wineglasses was tipped over and a chair was broken.

"Hurry, hurry," Pullox told me. "We're wasting time."

"Time for what?" I tried not to sound irritated; I had to keep on Pullox's good side. Although I didn't know if I was on his good side or not. Did he think I was a threat now? Despite entering as an alliance, was I once again his prisoner? Was the act I put on for Jericho really an act?

I just knew I was scared and I had to get out.

"Time for a party," Pullox rubbed his palms together, picking up a bottle of wine and taking a sip from it. He wrinkled his nose. "A fun party."

"Sorry," I glanced at the commotion. "It's just it looks like there was some kind of scuffle."

"It was, the Twelve boy was killed here," Pullox started walking again. I was hot on his heels, despite wanting to turn away and run for my life. Pullox smiled. "Well, not quite here. He was killed in the basement." I got a chill. I almost forgot to care about the background tributes - all those I didn't really know who had died so many days ago. But I was reminded that there were a hell of a lot of kids that had died while I lived on. Seb and Trojan were still out there, though. The biggest personal threats to me after Honora and Pullox. Maybe it was best to stay in an alliance with Pullox, there were so many evils out there... Maybe, as twisted as it was, he would be someone who would defend me. "Do you want to hear more about the Twelve boy's death?"

"No," I said.

That was the correct answer. "He tipped a shelf of wine over me," Pullox explained. I almost sniggered. That would explain the crimson stains all over him - I thought that was blood. Made him seem an ounce less terrifying. "But it was okay. Half of his head was cut off. It was wonderful, because despite it being cut in half you could see the terror on both halves of the face. The mouth open in a scream, eyes wide in terror," he turned around and relished in my disgusted expression. Despite being alive for a while, I'd realised I'd never seen much death. I'd shut Aurochs off from the rest of the arena, but I didn't even see that thankfully. And there was Jericho, but that was somewhat tame for a Hunger Games death. "And the brain slipped from the first half of his head-"

"I get it," I snapped.

I don't know if that was the wrong or the right answer. It pleased Pullox, which was what I planned to do in theory, but it pleased him because he seized in on a weakness. He realised I wasn't some stone cold bitch like he had initially theorised. I may have killed Jericho, but Pullox probably knew at this point that we weren't one of the same.

We continued down multiple corridors, walking until my feet began to throb.

"Do you want me to show you my favourite room in the mansion?" Pullox paused as we reached the top of a stairway. "It's very beautiful."

"It's all very beautiful here."

"But this one is my favourite," I didn't like his smile, but I nodded in compliance.

We walked to the left hand corridor which must have held hundreds of doors. Pullox seemed to mentally count them in his head as we ambled along, but finally selected the room which he wanted to go to. It looked unremarkable compared to the rest of the rooms from the outside, so it musn't have been important. Usually the important rooms had grand entrances or stairways. Pullox twisted the doorknob and opened the door, revealing a bare room bar a few chaise longues and a red velveted carpet. I glanced at him skeptically.

"Go in and see," Pullox said.

"Is this to do with your 'party'?" I asked hesitantly.

"No, no, the party is later," Pullox sniggered. "Go in."

I obeyed tentatively, walking into the room and glancing at the wall. Oh, wow. It was pretty. The wall was actually some kind of aquarium. The bright blue of the water and the way it shimmered was reflected by the light in a gorgeous way. I glanced at it, and then turned to Pullox who seemed almost pleased with himself when he saw my expression. I'd never seen an aquarium like this before. Not one so big anyway. The tank was big enough to fit people in it. Never mind people, it could probably fit bigger species like sharks or something.

Although there was only one species in there, and it took me a while to see them amongst the coloured field of pebbles around the floor or the tropical looking marine plants. They travelled in herds. Little pink creatures that looked like jelly, all tiny. They were cute, and I'd never seen them before, but they were underwhelming when you considered the sheer size of the tent.

"They're pretty," I said, moving over to the tank and pressing my palm against the thick slab of glass. I was almost shocked when the creatures immediately jolted in my direction.

"You've never seen them?" Pullox sounded surprised. "Well, I guess I haven't until now. I know they're only really commonplace in District Four. They're called jellyfish."

"Are they mutts?"

"No, no," Pullox grinned and stood at my size, both of us looking at these tropical creatures with a degree of fascination. "But they're as dangerous as some mutts. Evolution over many years has programmed them. They were once a method of execution in District Four. You put someone in a cage and dunk them in the water. You see their tentacles?" He pointed at the seaweed looking limbs they trailed behind the jellyfish's main bodies - tiny little things. "They're stingers."

"Do they poison?" I asked.

"They always sting, but different species have different stings," Pullox said. "This species, the one used for execution, have paralysing stings. If they sting you enough you won't move, then you'll float and drown in the water." I shivered. Imagine dying like that? "But luckily for us they're in there and we're in here. They're just decoration, but even the decor in the arena needs a dark backstory, right?" Pullox slapped my back and laughed heartily.

"Yeah," I said unsurely. He was right. Nothing in the arena was wholly positive when it was designed to kill twenty-three kids.

But as I glanced at the jellyfish, who still congregated in the arena around my palm, I realised Pullox was right. There was a thick slab of glass separating them and separating me, and I'm pretty sure that if they went out of the water they'd die. But there were so many dangers in the arena. Pullox, Honora, Seb, Trojan... And then there were the others who were still alive. I'm sure I could get rid of them somehow with my crossbow, but there were other dangers I didn't know how to get rid of, including the boy standing right besides me. I had to make the decision if Pullox would, in the long run, be my rise to power or my downfall. And I would choose by tonight.

Trojan Reid, District 3, 15

I kicked open the saloon doors with such ferocity that the top door burst out of its hinges and crashed onto the kitchen door. I was hoping to storm in and shock them as they prepared lunch or did whatever happy little family things they did, but there was no sign of the Eight tributes. Holding a knife tight between my palm I glanced around the kitchen, almost angry by their presence.

Where were they? I didn't care. I wanted them dead.

"What if they've left?" Seb suggested timidly behind me. "Surely they're not stupid enough to stick around?" He walked into the kitchen, moving to the sink and twisting the tap. He was almost relieved when water spurted out of it, and I didn't blame him. We were reaching the Final Eight, and I knew the Gamemakers wouldn't hesitate in depriving us of water completely.

"I doubt it," I glanced at a corridor that lead off to a few other rooms. I walked through it, peering into empty bedrooms. Maybe they were hiding. I smirked. Were they that scared of me? I knew the girl was arrogant, surely she wouldn't hide? I peeked under the bed and tore open wardrobe doors, calling out to Seb as I searched. "They'd have assumed we were too injured to meet them, or that we were scared or something. But bam, curveball."

"The cupboards are empty," Seb called.

"So?" I stormed into another bedroom, getting a little more agitated. It was the first time I truly felt anger. Without searching the bed, I stabbed into it and tore out the stuffing, desperately searching for one of the Eight tributes in a desperate bid to get revenge. No matter how much I trashed the furniture, I couldn't find them. But I wanted to find them. For the first time, I felt scared of death. By throwing me into the throes of death Mirane - or whatever her stupid name was - had invoked something I'd suppressed for a long time. The fear of death. The need for survival. And with that I suddenly had emotion and feelings, such as the strength to resent her and want to desperately to spill her blood on my hands.

I exited the second bedroom, leaving it torn up. I was almost surprised to find Seb waiting outside in the quaint hallway, waiting for me. He'd been keeping a distance lately, a distance that was unusual for someone so personable like Seb. I was beginning to suspect he was scared of me.

It made me feel powerful, but was also kind of offensive. It made me feel like I was a monster, even though he was the one who had killed and the one who looked truly maddened. Despite his calm stance, I couldn't help but feel repulsed by his yellowing skin and eyes.

Seb glanced into the room behind me. He seemed almost unaffected by the mess.

"Hey," he said, scratching the back of his head.

"They're not fucking here."

"I know," Seb cleared his throat.

"Hm? How?"

"Don't get mad," Seb said reproachfully, walking into the kitchen. Naturally I followed him. In the quaint old fashioned kitchen he opened one of the kitchen cupboards and glanced at me unsurely.

There had been something scrawled down into it with a knife.

Nice try, fuckers.

My blood immediately began to boil. I would find them and they'd regret ever picking me as an enemy.

So sorry for the super late update. I haven't been feeling inspired for the story lately, mostly because I don't feel like many people have been enthused about the story, though I think I'm just having those stupid moments of self doubt which has mostly abated. Sooo... Enjoy :D

~Toxic