Chapter Twenty-Four - "To a Head"

Because of their decent job during our first attack, I allow the alliance to take a break after Syndra falls back and voices her concern for the rest of the pack. `

"People are a little…frazzled. Like Gem, Quartz...myself included. I'd be a liar if I said I wasn't," she explains with a nervous giggle. "Just for a little bit and I promise we'll be up and running again for the next hunt."

As we continue our patrol down the ruined street, I take notice of the others. Arm around her shoulder, Max consoles Daphne as she clutches her right arm. We'll need to patch that up properly. Cicero with his gun at the ready cautiously eyes the buildings that flank either side of us. Quartz continues to brood with his arms folded while Gem, like a needy puppy, casts the occasional look back at Syndra and I.

Troy is our spearhead, a little ways ahead of the main group. Still upset over Eleven girl he shot, at least his feelings are prompting him to come back down to earth.

Syndra's fingers invade my vision, snapping. "So…can we?"

"I guess. It wouldn't hurt," I reply. The viewers are probably still raving over our attack and It'd benefit me to give them a little time to decompress. It's not like they spent the entirety of their teenage life training for moments like that.

My heart flutters when Gem gasps, pointing off to her right. "T-Tribute!"

I pivot, raising my rifle to find an Eight male in my sights. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, Eight is shocked to see us as well, dropping his mess tin, spilling the contents all over his boots.

I fire. He narrowly misses a bullet to the head as he ducks back into the tenement building, squealing like a startled animal.

I don't have to say a word. Max leads the charge at first, but allows me to slip to the front as we begin our rush up the stairs.

"Don't bunch up!" I scream, as flashbacks of Academy drilling flash through my head. The 'fatal funnel'. Many tributes end up being collaterals in a trap because they're all bunched together.

My warning comes true when as we advance up the third floor, I see Eight lob something silver my way. A hand grabs me by the hood, forcing me up against the wall. I barely register Max's hold on me as I see the object whizz past my vision, sinking itself into the wall, not before skinning Quartz, who lets out a sharp curse while clutching his leg. Gem rushes to his aid.

I fire a few rounds up the stairwell, a hot curse leaving my lips when Eight doesn't stay down, but continues to shamble upward. I lock eyes with Max once more, nodding.

"Thanks," I say, though the words come out tinny due to the gunfire.

He must understand, because Max flashes me a quick grin. "Don't mention it."

I turn my attention to Quartz as the girls swarm him. I catch Syndra's eyes as she waves us off.

"We'll help him. Go!" she yells.

Max and I exchange nods and press forward. Unfortunately for our new 'friend', this building only contains five floors. All of them are welded shut except one.I barely catch his petrified expression as he slams the door shut, locking it.

Skidding to a halt, I hold Max back, shuffling backward as I fire a burst into the door, expending all ammunition. It doesn't have the desired effect, what, with the door being made of solid oak. Instead of shredding it, the door is pocked with visible holes while retaining its sturdiness.

As I reload, I watch as Max makes like a human battering ram and flings himself repeatedly against the door. His body colliding with the door resonates through the hallway, but it still doesn't give way. I sling my rifle, adding my meager mass to Maxs' as we ram the door not once, not twice, but three times. Still, the door doesn't budge all the while Eight continues to curse from inside his crumbling refuge.

Max and I exchange glances. It seems we have a 'meeting of the minds' as the both of us take a series of steps back from the door. Once we're far away enough, he links arms with me.

"Ready?" I ask him.

His lips twitching into the tiniest of grins, he nods. "Ready Freddy."

We wind ourselves back a little bit, and then break out into a full sprint. Still sore from the shrapnel, my legs ache in protest but I ignore it, joining Max as we present our shoulders toward the door. It gives way like a finger through a piece of tissue.

Something to our left shatters. We turn to face the source of the noise, a broken window in an alcove.

Did that really just happen…? Max and I share the briefest of glances, opting to rush back down to the ground floor, the girls and Quartz - with a freshly bandaged leg - joining us on the third floor landing.

"Where's Troy?" I ask Syndra, who shrugs in reply.

We find out when we bound down the remaining steps of Eight's hideout onto the street. A few feet away, surrounded by shattered glass, is Eight.

One leg bent at an awkward angle while his arms are splayed out on either side of him, he lets out a series of drawn out moans. His bent out of shape leg continues to twitch uncontrollably, as do his fingers on both hands. It's almost as if he still wants to run away. I shake my head, slinging my rifle and folding my arms at the pathetic sight.

"This Eight tribute was rather disappointing." says Vi from my communicuff. "One would think an urban jungle would be a godsend for him."

"I would've just taken the shooting or the stabbing as opposed to flinging myself out of a building," adds Pax. "He wasn't even at the optimal height for lethal distance!"

From Eight's downed form, my eyes drift upward to Troy, who stands just before Eight's head with a knife in hand. He dips down, grabbing Eight by the hair as he jams the knife into his neck and out again. Eight gags for a few seconds tops before his cannon rings out, his blood beginning to escape onto the pavement.

"Glad you're finding your appetite," I say to Troy, grinning coyly as he brushes by me with a severe look on his mug. I roll my eyes and give my head a shake, turning my attention back to my allies. Compared to the Ten and Eleven we killed, the others seem to be less wide-eyed this time around.

Cicero holds his gaze towards the broken body of the Eight boy. "Now what?"

I tilt my head toward our new place of rest. "Let's head inside."

Eight' had a good setup going for him in the form of a two bedroom apartment and a contained fire. He even had a pot of stew brewing that we quickly took advantage of. Besides that, The group has a few wounds to lick as well. Quartz gets his leg redressed. From my observation, he's lucky Eight didn't nick an artery. He'll pull through. Daphne on the other hand suffered a pretty deep cut to the bicep, so deep we had to toss away her blood-drenched jacket. A cleaning and basic stitch job by yours truly alongside Syndra and Gem is enough to make her feel fine. As I clean my hands of Daphne's blood, I can't help but notice the way she was gripping onto Max for support.

"What a trooper you are," he says when we finish binding the wound. Daphne gives her hand a flex and nods in satisfaction. She'll be good…for now.

"When the year started, I never once thought I'd be escaping a bloodbath, fighting off seven-foot rats or getting sliced with a machete…" she muses with a sad grin.

"Like Max said, you're doing great," I add. "But remember, as the numbers dwindle, you might earn something worse than a sliced arm."

Her grin widens. "Thank you Zenobia, I appreciate it."

Gem emerges from the bathroom with a handful of canisters. "Here Zenobia, these would be more useful to you than me."

Mouth casually agape, I review the canisters in question. Looks like some sort of concussion grenade and more smokes. My eyes casually flicker toward her cousin, who turns his attention elsewhere. If Eight missed the memo about the crates, then what else is in here? Gem and I move to find out, only to find simple things like kitchen knives and more gauze. Gem is quite the kleptic, taking anything and everything. I watch as she even removes a curtain rod of all things from off the window.

"Why a curtain rod?"

"The trainers call it the 'prison mentality'," she explains, slipping a large knife into the rod. It reminds me of the same makeshift style Daphne and Syndra sport with their spears. Maybe they're onto something. Gem even goes as far as to tie the knife down with twine. "With how long I imagine us being in here, it's going to come down to weapons like these. The goodies won't last forever."

My hand consciously runs over one of my gauntlets . The difference between me and them is that I can properly maintain my supplies. Confident I can make my things last, I make sure to keep her words in mind, however.

"Maybe we should set up shop here?" Syndra says, maintaining her gaze with me rather than anyone else. "Sure, it's as dusty as the plains of Ten, but I'd take this over the cold market any day."

I take a quick look outside and answer with a noncommittal grunt. It is getting pretty dark out there.

"Since we're in a new location, it only makes sense to scout the general area," I say. "I'll do that."

Max is quick to rise from off the couch he sits on. "And I'll join you."

I nod. With today's scraps, he's not a bad ally to keep close. To my surprise, Troy shrugs, swallowing his food before standing up and adjusting his bandolier of knives.

"I'll come as well."

"Okay," I reply unevenly. I wonder why the one-eighty all of a sudden, but I'm glad to see he's putting in more work. Rather have Cicero here looking over the others than have him. Doesn't seem right in my mind. "I can't blame you, for wanting to do more. You must be feeling left out after our scrap with the Elevens..."

That dark look on his face again, he shrugs, gesturing to the door.

"After you."

...

As we trudge through the chilling downpour, I wonder to myself what exactly the remaining tributes are up to. Besides the occasional bouts of gunfire and open loot cases there are little to no signs of anyone out here.

"So… "You're here now, "living the dream" so to speak."

Frowning deeply, I turn to face Troy. "I'm sorry?"

"I'd be a liar if I said that you didn't pique my interest," he explains, his grin faint. "So I might as well pick your brain while we still have the time. The War must've hit you fairly hard if you forced your way into this shit show. So why? Why force your way here when you could do the same thing just with fancy armor and a decent wage?"

I don't know how to reply, besides spare him a brief glance and continue trudging through the rain. He's not like the Capitols, or even Quartz and Gem - not that I'd pour my heart out to those two. He might as well be Rabe or Rief Cohen if I had a temporary truce with them. Temporary meaning a millisecond. I glance at Max to find that he's minding his own business, watching the road ahead alongside the various buildings surrounding us.

"Oh come on, so you can pick my brain but I can't yours?"

I crane my head towards him. "The interview with Flickerman not enough for you?"

In fact, I try to remember his interview. I can't. Syndra and Spinel are the only highlights of the One team. The only tributes who mattered.

"Interviews are skin deep at best," he replies.

I gesture to my face. "I mean…my being here is kinda obvious, ain't it?" He stares blankly at me, which causes me to become genuinely perplexed. This guy's mining town must be in the middle of nowhere up in One. "Are you not aware of my last name, hells, my whole name?"

"No," he replies with a frown. His face lightens up in realization when he 'gets it'. "Oh yeah, right. You're named after a victor."

I nod slowly in reply. I still can't believe it took him that long to realize. "Yea…"

"Again, in my neck of the woods, the Games aren't the end all be all, unlike in Helena or Billings."

"Sure," I reply evenly. I find that to be odd. I mean, since kindergarten they've had posters displaying all the up-to-date victors. It wouldn't be wrong to say that his schools didn't do the same, especially in One - Two's frenemy.

"Yea…Well, in 'your neck of the woods' , you might think that because they were your neighbors, Rebels are misunderstood, what, with them being your friendly shopkeep or teacher," I maintain my gaze with him. "They're not. Thanks to 'ordinary people' I'm the last of my line-"

He shakes his head. "Last…?"

"Last Rivendell there ever was-" I say, the memories of the past year becoming fresh in my mind again, as if done over with a fresh coat of paint. I clench my fists in an attempt to stave away the images. It barely works. "It all ends, or continues, with me."

He shakes his head. "I still don't get it. The last of your bloodline and you decide to come here to "kill us all"? I mean, you almost failed at that-"

"She has the skills to pull it off, though," Max says, keeping his eyes forward as he walks.

"Can't believe I'm saying this to a One of all people, but you don't understand," I say, gazing toward Max. "My aunt did it, but sickness took her. Dad was a twin so he aged out. Brother was supposed to be here 'stead of me, but because of them…the Rebels, he's…well, I'm here in his place now. An' guess what? Turns out that I volunteered just in time, seein' as some 'friends' are in here with me. It ain't even about the crown anymore."

His brows furrow. "You mean Justin Matix?"

"And others," I say. "I already got two of 'em. If you ask me, I'm doin' pretty well for myself."

Troy's about to open his mouth in reply when Maxs' hand halts us both in place. I immediately start scanning around for potential threats, relaxing when there seems to be none. I spare a glance to my taller ally, confused.

"We've gone too far, don't you think?" he says.

I consult my communicuff. We're about two hundred meters out from the apartment. Two intersections away. Among the three of us, we decide to keep watch from here to the apartment later on tonight. Being on the edge of the arena - the fog to our backs - we assume that no one should come our way. Day five down, many more days left to go…As we turn to leave, Max grips my shoulder.

"Don't do that," I snap, trying my best to stem my beating heart as I remove his hand. "What's up?"

"Sorry," he replies sheepishly, nodding off to a storefront off to our left. "I just thought we could check out that corner store while we're still here. Looks open."

It's interesting how they come up with new concepts every year…" says Troy, to himself more than anyone. "These containers, I mean."

Scanty acknowledging Troy's remarks, I shrug in reply. It wouldn't hurt to check every nook and cranny."

A half hour later, Max leads us home with an honest-to-the-Gods smile on his face. When we enter the apartment, the others all share his excitement upon sight of the ancient bottle of wine he holds in his hands.

"No way…" Cicero says in between chuckles. "I mean, we are in an ancient city! If we can fashion spears out of poles and kitchen knives, surely we can find alcohol as well."

I swear Gem's eyes glisten. "Were you sponsored?"

"Nope, it was just there, all on its own in a corner store!" Max chimes back. "Who would've thunk, huh? A cup of wine in the arena. I'll take it."

As they all clamor around Max, following him into the kitchen, Syndra glances back at me with a certain look in her eyes. Are you coming? I simply shake my head, not really caring about a bottle of wine. Why someone would want to drink and let their guard down in an arena of all places is beyond me. But they're Capitolites and affluent Ones...mostly. It's best to keep them relaxed instead of wound up all the time. Paulus seems to think so too, nodding at me from across the living room.

"Good call, Sis," he says. "I wouldn't let my guard down in this place…"

I throw myself down on a couch that's seen better days, wondering to myself if the crate Troy inspected in that corner store was truly empty or not.

…

After some time of light drinking and forced rest by yours truly, we divvy up the scouting hours for the rest of the night. It's Syndra and I for the first shift. As we patrol the ruined streets of this once great pre-Panem American city, we're both in agreement that the arena was becoming more and more wearisome, even with our luck catching the Ten and Elevens. The nightly elimination count goes by and we're perplexed when we don't see the face of the female from Eleven in the sky.

"Did he miss…?" Syndra says aloud.

I shake my head. "He couldn't have missed, she keeled over as soon as he shot," I say, massaging my temples in an attempt to fend off my racing brain. He shot her. She went down. I saw it.

"She should be dead shortly then…" Syndra replies. "Stabbed twice, shot in the back-"

"She should be dead now," I spit, shaking my head as the nation's seal dissolves into a million pixels, casting the arena back into darkness. Did he miss? Did he shoot past her, the whizzing of the rounds scaring her into falling into the culvert? I can't say for sure, but with two useless arms like Syndra said, she'll be dead very shortly. If not by mutts, then her body breaking down.

"Still…three more down is always good, right?"

I shake my head. "In my opinion, no." More of them should go.

"There's still a good chunk of the park that makes up the boundary…" Syndra says as we consult my communicuff's map, "The other tributes could literally be anywhere at this point."

"They're not dying quick enough," I murmur, low enough so that only Syndra could hear and hopefully not the Gamemakers or their holographic eyes. After pressing her, it seems that a lot of tributes at her cornucopia united rather than fought. We may be a popular alliance but we're not the only members of the cast. Makes me wonder what the others are doing. What the 'Twelves' are doing.

...

With our shift coming to a close, we make our way back to the apartment, swapping out with Gem and Troy. He asks for a report and it's Syndra who gives it to him, all while he and I hold one another's gaze. With him gone, I slip myself into my sleeping bag. Syndra is out as soon as she settles in.

I grin to myself, wondering if a Capitolite like her would be mortified if I told her she snores in her sleep. Callista swears she doesn't, despite me and the girls constantly pinching her nose to settle her during the night. I fight it, but I eventually drift off wondering what they're up to, the guys. Bea probably has her eyes glued to the holovision, just as anxious as any tribute in the arena right now. Callista's probably compiling a piece on my journey so far. Forge is probably overanalyzing my every move…and that of my opponents, while Domita kicks back assuming that I have this all wrapped up.

And Randy, Randy well, I imagine Randy to be proud of me. My hand moves to caress the promise ring he gifted me.

"Come back home and I'll replace it with somethin' proper," he said.

What would that be like? A homecoming. Everyone cheering their lungs off, only to part ways and allow him to stride up to me with a velvet-covered case in hand…

I never get to see the ring, as the train station and the District devolve back into the ruined apartment I laid down in. Wide awake now, I let out a growl of pain as the entirety of my arm feels like it's on fire - as if I was shocked. My communicuff. The watch illuminates the room in a dim blue hue, along with the dark figure looming over me. Coupled with the light of the night sky, I barely make out the severe face of Troy and the knife that glints by his side.

He shakes his head, hissing out a hot curse. "How the hell did you know?!"

This mutt bastard was gonna kill me. Glaring at him, my heart aches with shock, flushing me with warmth from head to toe.

"I fucking knew it-!"

His element of surprise gone, he's on me in an instant. I try to lurch upward, but the damned sleeping bag I'm cocooned in is zipped up too high. My rifle, after years and years of having unsecured kit swiped from us, is nestled to my side - too confined to manipulate properly.

He stabs downward and I instinctively raise my freest hand upward, yelping when I feel the prick of his knife entering my forearm, dragging it down from wrist to elbow. He goes for another stab, causing me to catch the knife with my palm. The entirety of my arm becomes chilled as my blood reacts to the cold air.

Somewhere to my right, I hear Syndra stirring awake. "...Guys? Is something the matter?"

As we grapple for the blade, its constant movement creating more jagged cuts into my palm, I manage to activate my right gauntlet. I push it through the sleeping bags material, creating an eruption of down. The blade connects, as I feel Troy's weight leave me.

Zippers busting and seams tearing, I burst from out of the sleeping bag in a flurry of down. Five feet away stands Troy, the traitor (like he was ever 'on my side') as he clutches his chest which is surely bleeding.

The memories - the moments of doubt - all come flooding back. Him not knowing who my family was, his reluctance to kill, his leers at me, his not being around Syndra and the others during training - all of it. While Quartz lurches up from his sleeping bag, wide-eyed and confused, Syndra's wide awake now, wedging herself between Troy with both hands splaying outward, stopping us.

"Zenobia, what's going on?!" she cries. She might as well be an annoying gnat as I swat her aside and pounce toward the stunned Troy. "Zenobia, STOP!"

Troy goes for another stab, and I capture his wrist mid-thrust, presenting my back toward him. What follows next is a lengthy grapple choked full of elbows to the face, jabs to the ribs and the clawing of skin as I keep his knife hand at bay while preventing him from fishing another one out from his bandolier. I tear the bandolier from off of his chest, tossing it to the wayside as the both of us focus on that singular hand.

His knife slowly inching its way toward me, I jab my elbow into his face not once, but three times, stunning him enough to wring the weapon from his grasp and kick it aside.

Now disarmed, I retaliate with an attack of my own, driving him up against the kitchen's island table, thrusting a gauntlet towards his throat in hopes of tearing it to ribbons.

He catches my forearm, forcing us into a stalemate of sorts. The gauntlet trembling in my grasp, I try to sink my blade into him but my strength is no match against his as he presses my forearm against my chest and begins to drive me forward, my legs having no choice but to follow. I grip onto his collar lest he puts me on my back.

He may be driving, but that doesn't mean I can't steer.

As we spill back into the living room, I grip the bicep of his free arm and stamp one of my feet in between his. We begin to tumble, but I use his momentum against him, driving him through the adjacent glass table.

To my ears, the glass shattering sounds like cannon fire.

Troy cries out and thrashes, prompting me to take quick advantage by planting myself on top of his already wounded chest, causing him to cry out even louder. His cries immediately cease when I place a gauntlet across his throat.

"I knew you were a dirty Thirteen, I knew it!" I seethe, pressing the blade harder against him. "Who put you up to it? Him?! It was him, wasn't it?!"

His response is to shoot a wad of blood laden spit into my vision.

"I hope you ge-" with a twelve inch blade piercing him from his neck up to the crown of his head, it'd be hard to formulate a complete sentence.

Instead he lets out a warbled cry, muddled by the blood erupting from his mouth and nose while the entirety of his body trembles violently before stilling.

As the Thirteen's cannon fires, I unceremoniously tear my gauntlet from out of his head and stumble upright, his body lying in between my feet. Behind me, I hear the rapid pounding of feet.

"What happened!?" I hear Gem cry out. "T-Troy!? What's…What's Troy doing…?"

I spin around to see the pale faces of my 'allies.' They look even more stunned then when we finished off the trio from Ten and Eleven. When Quartz steps forward, I whip out the pistol from my pant pocket and level it toward his head, prompting everyone to flinch back in fear.

Paulus surveys the ransacked apartment with a smirk on his mug, posting up against the kitchen island while fishing through his pockets for a cigarette.

"You'd better start getting a Q&A session going, Zen." he says, plopping one in his mouth and igniting it.

"Who's to say you're not a Thirteen too?!" I bark out.

"I'm not a Thirteen! Was he…?" Quartz cranes his head down to examine the body but quickly returns eye contact with me as I flick the hammer downward. "There aren't many dark-haired people within the district, but his story checked out!"

"You," I swivel the gun toward Gem, who lets out an anxious squeal. "You were supposed to be on watch with him. What the fuck happened?!"

Her face blanches. "He was! I mean…I dozed off and then I woke up and then the cannon, so I ran back here…"

"I should kill you for that alone!" I snap, switching targets to Quartz as he shields his cousin, his hands splaying outward.

"Hey, leave her alone!" he yells. "This isn't her fault."

I stomp towards the 'District One' male, trouncing on Troy's lifeless body as I do so. Deep regret washes over his face almost immediately. Before I could come toe-to-toe with him, Max's broad figure acts as another barrier.

"Hey, Zenobia…It's okay now. Everything's fine," he soothes, a tight grin on his lips. "No one is here to hurt you, I swear."

I scowl at him. "Where's your shirt?" as I avert my eyes from his bare chest, glancing toward my left, I can't help but notice Daphne's lack of proper attire. Barring a thigh-length thermal top, she's bare from the legs down.

My scowl deepens when the two Capitols avert their eyes to anywhere but me. Syndra frowns while Cicero breaks the ice with a hesitant chuckle.

"I'd chalk it up to ignorance," Paulus says, stomping his cig into the ground. "They're Capitolites, District 1 is a loyal district therefore they can trust a tribute from there…excluding that crazy broad Spinel…"

I don't know…The entirety of my left arm is beginning to grow tired, what with the large cut in my forearm and hole in my palm. This could've been their plan all along, use me to bump a few tributes off before getting rid of me when I least expected it. Syndra slowly strides forward, smiling sadly.

"Zenobia, I promise you everything's alright," she soothes, reaching out to clasp my shoulder. She does, moving now to lower the gun. "If we weren't trustworthy, your escort wouldn't've flagged us down to go after you in the tunnels."

She's right. I allow her to pry the pistol from out of my grip. Adrenaline is one hell of a feeling. We stir when a sponsor gift floats in from the broken window Eight jumped out of. Cicero is quick to collect it.

"It's big, soft," he says, turning back to face us. "Must be a new jacket for Zenobia."

I glance down at my arm. It looks like I dipped it in a bucket of red paint. The fabric is in tatters as well.

Syndra smiles, a little bit too wide if you ask me. "Good, that's good. Let's get you stitched up as best we can," she says, her eyes drifting towards the lifeless body on the ground as she scowls. "Cicero, Maximus…Get rid of him, please. Daphne, fish out the medkit, will you?"

With that. everyone awkwardly goes about their tasks. Quartz awkwardly joins Cicero and Max as they lug his body out of the apartment while Gem sniffles in the kitchen. Daphne quickly comes back from the bedroom, dressed this time, with the kit in question. I can't help but notice the worrisome expression on her face, coupled with the constant shaking of her head.

"I knew it…" she murmurs.

"Knew what?" I say, wincing as Syndra begins to peel me out of my soiled jacket.

"While you were out, after the tunnels, he kept asking me, asking me if I wanted a break from keeping watch over you," she explains. "Especially during those early hours after the fact. Imagine if I said yes."

I snort, shaking my head at the fact that this guy had me singled out from day one. I immediately recall the buzzing communicuff. If Viondra weren't so on the ball, I'd be lying right here on the ground with a hole in my chest. Hells, maybe this entire alliance would be wiped out.

With everything said and done, we all decide to relocate into a singular bedroom. None of us dare shut our eyes.

As I stare into space, I find that I'm not all really that surprised by Troy. I get over the shock quickly, knowing that far worse things were bound to happen very soon.

"In all honesty, besides Syndra and Spinel, we'd written off everyone else," Kaiser explains dryly. Continuing to nurse his drink, he shakes his head. "Hells, we were in separate cars the entire ride down here."

Serene twists her cigarette into the ashtray. "In layman's terms, these aren't our tributes."

I cross one leg over the other. "Then why bother coming?" I ask.

Smirking, the sole male victor for District One reaches out and begins playing languidly with my blonde ringlets. "For you, of course," he purrs. "And the admiration. Serene and I, we're a rare breed, the last of our kind."

I offer a playful hum, turning my attention back to the holovision. And to think I nearly lost everything…

They show the scene at the City Circle where the majority of the Games festivities are currently being held. Capitolites breathe a collective sigh of relief and cheer as Zenobia gets the upper hand. At Zenobia's academy, they set up a 24 hour camera in the lounge of her wing. Her

friends showcase the textbook definition of 'elation'.

The other tributes, all in their respective district pairings, are holed up at various points in the arena. Despite multiple attempts at flushing them out with fog and mutt swarms, all groups hold fast. Rief Cohen only barely escapes from out of the tunnels with his depleted alliance in tote.

Holed up in a singular bedroom, Zenobia and her allies are only just beginning to drift away after a close call with that boy from Thirteen. There are many like him, finding themselves in a district that is not their own, following along with their parents or siblings who just so happened to share the same unit. I didn't think much of him. He 'was' a One. Almost all of them are in the Games by happenstance rather than active participation in the Rebellion. Coupled with their loyalty, even with all the recent happenings, I didn't worry about Zenobia's company at all. They were just three more pieces of assurance. While he was hovering over her with that knife I was mortified!

Thank Panem Zenobia has not just one minder in the form of myself, Fletcher, Wyatt and Amir, but a cadre of Gamemakers. I stir a little when my communicuff vibrates against my wrist. It's Antonius of course: "Crisis averted. No need to thank me…much."

I grin from ear to ear. Toni will get all the thanking he needs and then some once we're through here. Even with the entire nation behind her (those who matter, at least), all it takes is one determined and crafty snake to wriggle through and ruin it all.

"She is a fighter, isn't she?" I hear Serene muse.

I lurch my head upward, scowling at the sight before my eyes. The sole District 11 female, known as Tilly, continues to run on what I assume are fumes with a sprinkle of sheer luck mixed in. Uniform in taters and soaked with blood, Tilly shambles down the street armed with nothing but a lead pipe, all while a pack of mutated dogs race after her.

Her wounds, coupled with the constant running, have taken its toll. She collapses onto her bottom as the dogs descend on her like it's meal time. She manages to get a few decent swings in against the mutts, only to be dogpiled and mauled. One dog has her by the leg, another by the arm while the others scramble for the middle. It's a pathetic sight, really. Too bad none of the other tributes are up to much.

Until now that is.

"What's this…? There appears to be some activity going on in the periphery," notes Caesar.

"It appears that the Twelves have arrived on scene!" announces Marceline. "But why would they save Tilly?"

The three of us watch as the Twelves seemingly rush in from the shadows to aid Tilly. The muttated dogs are skewered, stabbed and hacked to death within seconds, no fuss, no hesitation. The comparisons between a young District Thirteen 'Soldier' and the Upper District 'Career' are uncanny.

If or when the two alliances collide…

I mentally put the thought aside for now as miraculously, Tilly still manages to cling to life, bleating out low moans. One of the girls steps forward with a pistol to finish her off, only for their ringleader, Justin, to swat her hand away. Upon seeing him, Tilly grimaces and begins to speak, but the microphones aren't picking up much, not from the audience's perspective at least. Justin gets on her level as the two of them have a dialogue. Still, we can't discern anything. The three of us even go as far as to lean forward or even stand up in my case.

I snap a finger toward Serene. "Turn the volume up," I say.

Serene complies, shaking her head. "Doesn't help much," she replies.

Even the hosts are confused, leaning in over their desks with their faces scrounged in confusion.

Caesar caresses his chin. "What are they saying…?"

Marceline shrugs. "Our holographic friends would be able to quickly fill us in but alas, the Twelves destroyed their communicuffs."

The camera focuses on Tilly's ashen face as she exchanges a nod with Justin. He motions to one of the Twelve girls for her gun, who hands it to him. He quickly presses the gun to Tilly's temple and fires. Her cannon sounds. Justin's close friend, Thom, steps forward.

"What now?" he asks.

Justin, no friend to the Gamemakers or the audience at large, orders the group into a huddle. He knows that people are wanting to know their next steps, but the Thirteen isn't interested in playing the Game, hence why his alliance has been fending off mutts since launch.

Kaiser scowls. "C'mon, always in kahoots, these guys."

"Can't they just speak like normal people!" I yell out.

On the holovision, the hosts are sharing our frustrations. "A secretive bunch, aren't they?" remarks Caesar, his tone dry.

"Squatting underground for years at a time will do that, Caesar," Marceline chimes tiredly in reply. "Whatever it is they're talking about, it seems that there's going to be a change of plans for this alliance."

Justin Matix may be smart, but he's not that smart. Though he might be censoring his words, his actions can be read as clear as day and I'm not liking it.

I can't help but notice that all while Justin speaks, his allies crane their heads north.

Coming Up Next...

"Bea..."

I shrug. "What?"

"You wear your emotions like a sandwich board," she jests. "You don't seem too happy."

I shake my head. "I'm not."

Callista bumps me with her hip, causing me to stumble a few feet to the left. "Why not?"