Chapter Thirty-Three - "Par For The Course"

I've seen so much gore as of late, causing a lot of it myself. The only reason why I keep my wits in the face of it all is thanks to the Academy. We would constantly review past Games to not fall victim to the same screw ups that killed tributes past. Unlucky cadets would break bones and take heavy hits. We see so much of it by the time we're eighteen and ready to jump off the pedestal - or begin duties as Peacekeepers - most if not all of us just get to work.

I just found out there's a caveat to that, though.

It's easy to turn off your brain when it comes to engaging and destroying your enemy. But when it happens to an ally, it seems as if the world just…stops.

That's what happens to us now as I look over at Clancy's fallen form, his dark blood spilling out onto the drab road. My world is thrown off-kilter yet again, my brain seeming to repeat the moment of impact again and again. Emery lets out the nastiest of shrieks that rattles my ears, and suddenly I'm transported yet again onto that backroad in Two.

It's me that's screaming now, surrounded by the bodies of my loved ones.

I'm pulled back into reality as more bullets pepper our location, compelling me to hitch myself up to the nearest vehicle and make myself as small as I can appear to avoid getting hit. While continuing to sob, Emery crawls over to Clancy.

"Emery! Emery!" I bark at her. "Godsdammit, what the hells are you doin'!? Get back here!"

She doesn't listen. Bullets continue to kick up dirt and sparks as she makes her way past her brother and picks up something…what it is I don't know. I lunge forward, grabbing her by the scruff of her jacket collar as I shove her against the car. Emery's cries become deep labored breaths.

"What're you doin?!" I screech, maintaining my hold on her as I slam her against the car again. "What'd you pick…?"

My grip on her slackens immediately when I notice that the item she went to retrieve was a piece of Clancy's skull, this reddish-orange thing pooling in her small hands.

Emery comes to the startling realization and her face reflects that as with eyes wide as saucers, she continues to shriek bloody murder.

"Shut up! Shut. up!" Despite being trained not to crack under pressure - and experiencing a similar event just days prior with Syndra and the others - I can't help but feel stuck without a clue of what to do. Emery's wails are not helping.

"Cushioning! 'Member what DeWynter said?" says Paulus. "If the girl wants to wail her head off, attracting gods knows what to you, let her. Don't mean that you gotta go down with her!"

My eyes flicker toward Emery and then to her brother, whose chest continues to rise and fall rapidly. Who knew our conversation this morning would bring on this? I would've thought the end would come later, but the Games can be fickle like that.

Drowning out Emery's cries, I try to peer over the car only to be pinned back down by a precise shot. Whoever these tributes are, they're definitely not in front of us on the ground, or else I'd be dead right now. That means they're up above, sniping.

Think Zen, think…my eyes snap onto the car I hide behind's mirror and a lightbulb turns on in my brain. Eons of being dormant on the street allows me to snap the car mirror off as I give it a quick clean, place it onto my rifle's muzzle and ever so slowly inch myself and the mirror towards the direction of the shooter. Through the grimy glass I see it now, a row of burnt out tenement buildings, a perfect place to snipe from. A flurry of shots stops my eavesdropping, shattering the mirror and causing me to flinch back into position. I let out a hesitant chuckle. This guy is good, but I still got what I needed. Can't live for much longer, lest he pulls the rug from under me down the line.

I give Emery another glance. If I do what I do, there's a chance she'll get picked off.

"If you hesitate any longer, chances are another tribute will hear her screamin'. Then they'll end both of you," warns Paulus.

He's right. No use letting her drag me down. Sighing sharply, I pull my rifle's cocking handle back to ensure I have a round ready and release it back into the chamber. I take another breath in and with a sharp exhale I bound forward, firing random pot shots towards the sniper's nest, all while taking incoming fire. I use the rusted out cars and tall patches of grass as barriers, earning a few close calls as I hastily navigate the decaying landscape. Colliding into another car, I switch to full auto, raise my rifle over my heard and spray a hail of bullets into the upper floors of the tenement building, only to get a hailstorm back, nearly taking off my arm as bullets rip through the windshield, pepper the chassis and pop tires.

There's an alleyway to my immediate left that seems to bend right. I take full advantage of the car's positioning, scrambling into it without a shot being fired at me. Fortune has it that the alleyway bends towards the street which is adjacent to the sniper's nest. I hug the far right wall, positioning my aim towards the dilapidated windows and gored out holes of the sniper's tenement. I see the barrel of a rifle and that's all I need, as I empty half of my magazine towards it running and gunning until I reach the inside. I barely have time to take in my surroundings as I hear panicked yelling and the groaning of a heavy object scraping the floor as I glance upward and bound out of the way as a whole desk crashes onto the spot I once occupied with a giant rumble that stings my ears.

They just tried to crush me…As the dust settles I quickly rise off from the ground and aim my rifle towards any potential foes. There are none…for now.. The tenement building is pretty much gutted. As I look up, I could see multiple floors upwards, most of which now lies at the ground floor in a pile of rubble at my feet.

Paulus nods towards a stairwell on the far side of the lobby. "Six floors only. Seems like the only way in or out of this place…"

I once again take note of the large hole that dominates the lobby. "'Less they wanna broken leg..."

"Be careful, Zen," he warns. "Somethin' tells me these are some shiesty assholes you're dealin' with."

"Y'don't say…" Discreetly, I swap my spent magazine with a new one. Thirty rounds instead of the typical twenty. If they're willing to try and crush me with a fucking desk, then who knows what they have for me at the end of this 'tunnel'.

I creep towards the stairwell, the disrepair of the tenement allowing ample light to shine in and illuminate my way upward without use of a flashlight. Slowly but surely, one step at a time like a cat about to seize its prey, I make my way up floor by floor.

When I reach the fourth floor, I feel my boot tug on something, a rope maybe? It's enough to plant me face first against the steps. It's then that I hear the jangling. The lighting creeping in allows me to see the bouquet of olive balls tumbling down the stair shaft. My heart burns with fear as I hunker close to the nearest wall and cover my ears.

The resulting explosion casts the well into darkness as hot smoke and dust chokes the air. My body shudders and my ears sting something fierce.

"Zen, move your ass!"

"Wha-?" I glance upward, watching now as a figure comes barreling down from the top floor, firing wildly towards me. I return the same haphazard fire back, scrambling down the stairwell and holding my position when my shots halt his momentum. Using the wedged walls as cover, we exchange gunfire. We could be in the eye of a storm, this guy and I. The confined space of the stairwell makes it so that nothing else but our gunfire can be heard.

As I trade shots with him I notice something; his slow, single rate in comparison to my faster rate. Both of our fires are frantic, but mine even more in the way of shots being fired. I outgun him.

I'm on autopilot now, rising from my spot as I pepper his location with burst after burst. They barely pop off two shots before being struck, judging from the shout they let out, and the blood that sprays the wall behind them. Silence.

I swap my magazine out for another thirty-round. Besides that, I'm almost dry in the bullet department. But that's another issue for a later date.

Through the thick haze of gun smoke, I proceed to skulk up the stairs, past where the grenades first went off and towards my attacker. As I round the corner, I take note of a pistol with an extended magazine…as well as a considerable amount of blood peppering the steps.

And then I begin to hear the gurgling.

Rifle at the ready, I round the corner to see a young man from District 3. Cookie-cutter, ashen skin and dark hair. In a pool of his own blood, he clutches at his throat in a pathetic attempt to keep the blood in but balks at the sight of me, causing blood to erupt from out of his mouth.

I raise the barrel towards his head and contemplate pulling the trigger but opt against it. Let him spend his last moments regretting ever trying to take me out.

I casually step over him and steadily continue upward. I heard multiple voices when I assaulted this place. He ain't the only one here. Fourth floor…Sixth floor. This is where their nest is situated. The place is completely gutted from whatever disasters destroyed this city. Each apartment that once was is now a skeleton of their former selves, allowing me to 'walk through walls'. I do just that, creeping through the rubble and minding my footing tenement is one big rectangle. The stairwell is the bottom left and the sniper's nest is at the very top. Just as I reach the 'top', the way forward is blocked by a mound of rubble. I ready myself and bound on top of it.

I barely notice the two figures hunkered against a block of concrete, but immediately register the rattle of gunfire and the hot pain that blossoms across my chest.

As if I've been shoved, I find myself tumbling to the ground, crying out as the pain flares out again and again with each breath I take. But I can move, at least I can move. I hunker down as closer to the mound of rubble as I can, allowing it to take the brunt of the gunfire hurling my way. My chest…Am I hit, what's going on?

All while they continue to pepper me with bullets, I tear my jacket open to find four bullets implanted into my chestplate. If I didn't have it I would be just like that boy from District 3, choking on my own blood.

"It's pain," Paulus says. "Pain goes away, death doesn't. Now focus!"

My mind immediately goes to the grenade dangling against my harness' shoulder strap. I detach it, pull the pin and wait until the gunfire ceases. I slacken my grip and toss it over the mound, hearing their panicked screams and the resulting explosion that showers me with tiny bits of debris.

I fight through the pain, taking my rifle as I squirm over the mound and towards the sniper's nest. I barely see one Three roll over the edge and instead train my sights on one who wriggles on their belly. Still smoldering from the grenade, their uniform in tattered rags.

With my boot I flip them over to find that she is Moira, one of the female tributes from District 3 that stood out the most to me. A quick glance at the bolt-action rifle inches away from her tells me that my thoughts were correct.

"Got any other surprises for me…? Huh, poindexter?" I begin patting her down with a single hand, only for it to come up bloody. "Got a bomb rigged to ya somewhere? The whole building, maybe?"

As winded as I am, all she can do is shake her head in apparent disbelief. "...Despite all our measures…you're still alive. Truly impossible."

"Yea well, the odds are in my favor so much, I could take on an arena of victors and still do fine," I reply. From up here I get a full view of the approach, enough to see a glimpse of Emery beyond the cluster of cars. A cannon fires off the distance and Clancy immediately comes to mind. I hoist Moira up, regardless of her cries of discomfort. "Get the fuck up."

As quickly as I can, I drag Moira out of the nest and back toward the scene of Clancy's… 'accident'. All while tending to her brother, Emery is still sobbing, quieter than before. She sees us now and her face twists into one of deep rage.

"What are you doing?!" she whines, her hands digging into her brother's jacket. "Help him!"

Help him? I drop Moira like a sack of potatoes and wearily make my way to Clancy's fallen form. How can I possibly help him? He's splayed out like a snow angel in the exact spot he went down. The blood pooling from his head mixes in with the rocks and the cracked road to make some sort of odd-looking mosaic.

And then I make the stupid decision to look into his eyes. Gods, why in the ever-loving hells did I look into his eyes?

It's funny. I just shot a boy's throat out minutes ago, stuck a foot-long blade into another's brain, looked into their eyes when I did it and felt only content. When I look into Clancy's, well, I see this empty void where his subdued, yet noticeable personality once was. Like Syndra when I saw her eyes, that 'spark' is gone.

Why does it bother me so much?

A desperate nudge from Emery plants me right back in the moment. "Zenobia, do something!"

"What?! What do you wan-" I peel back the gauze she had applied to the wound to try and assess the situation. Calling this a 'wound' is a severe fucking understatement. There's a gaping hole the size of a two baseball in the side of his head. I fight back the acidic bile that bubbles in my throat as I examine it further. The wound is like an exploded cigar...slivers of skin hanging limply, allowing me to see the inside of his head. Considerable piece of brain, lots and lots of blood...

How is he still alive? I didn't hear a cannon yet.

I plant a hand to his chest and when that doesn't work too well I try my ear. I barely hear anything...just barely.

"Help!"

I shake my head in utter disbelief. "Fucking help…"

"Do something!" Emery pleads, yanking me by my collar. "Use your training!"

What is there to do? For Panem's sake, his brains are on the road... "Yea, yea, I hear ya! Just gimme a second-"

"If you can kill a bunch of people in training you can help them too!"

I whip my head towards her. How did she know that? Anyways, look at the guy, so big and tall and now…. "Like…Emery, his eyes, just look!-"

"Why aren't you doing anything?!"

"'Cause his fuckin' head was blown apart!" I snap at her, getting into her face as she shies away, whimpering "What do you want me to do!?"

And then Clancy's cannon fires. It's his cannon. The Three boy took a shot to the throat, he's long gone. The Academy taught me that head wounds could take a while, depending on the blow. So I'm not surprised he lasted this long. He has the strength for it.

I cringe inwardly as Emery lets out the ugliest of wails, throwing herself on top of her fallen brother all while babbling incoherent nothings at him. Clancy, I love you. Clancy please come back. What am I going to do by myself, Clancy?

I feel my head begin to spin as not too long ago, I was in the same position she was. Her wails combine with my wails and the scene around us - her scene now - becomes mine andohEmerycanyoupleasepleasepleaseshutthefuckup! I rise from Clancy's side, in a failed attempt to get some reprieve. Shutupshutupshutpshutup…

"The bullet wasn't even meant for him."

I whip my head towards Moira, who sits weakly on her legs. "It must've been a miscalculation on my end. Wrong range, poor wind direction. Logically you would be the first person to target."

As if I were possessed, lunge toward her and grip her collars, throwing her towards Emery.

"I meant nothing by it!" Moira pleads. "This is our reality!"

I grab the Three girl by her braid. "You shut the fuck up!" I hiss, shoving her head forward as I take Emery, and spin her around to face her brother's killer. I take Emery's pistol from its holster, place it in her grasp and level it towards Moira's head. "You wanna know the difference between me an' you, city mouse? You get to kill the person who wronged you. Sure, Matix is still kickin' out there, but the other two men he was with, the crowd mobbed them. Watchin' ain't the same as doin' it yourself."

I flick the safety off and reaffirm her aim towards Moira, taking my place standing up between the two.

"Go on city mouse, end her."

Emery blinks back tears in response. "I…I haven't…besides mutts…"

Moira hangs her head. "It's only logical you would want revenge against me. All I wish is that it be done in the same manner I did to your late brother. It's relatively painless."

With a sheen of sweat over her forehead, Emery's trembling eyes flicker towards me. I motion my hands in a 'what?' motion. It's revenge. Shouldn't she pounce on it like I did?

"She killed your brother, Emery," I say. "Your flesh and blood. For that, she's a different kind of mutt but a mutt all the same. Put her down."

Shoulders sagging, Moira shakes her head repeatedly. "How did I get the trajectory wrong? I could've sworn there wasn't any wind to take into account…"

I roll my eyes. I've killed many pet livestock when I was her age. "Emery…"

Emery reaffirms her grip, only for it to waiver again. "I-I can't…"

"Even though she just blew your brother's head off!?"

"When I do it, I just think of video games," Moira adds. "If you want, I can do it myself. You can even empty the magazine-"

"Shut the fuck up!" I hiss. "Emery, fuckin' do it!"

Emery stands up now, hovering over moira with her pistol pressing directly into the Three girl's head. Moira seems truly resigned now. My anticipation turns into a deep seated annoyance as Emery stands there for what seems like eons before drooping her hands to her sides and beginning another round of crying.

"I can't!" she babbles pitifully, glancing up at me with an equally weak look. "I…I feel sick..."

"It's okay," Moira nods with a painful expression. "The grenade Zenobia used on me was a high explosive one. I can barely stand and I'm bleeding considerably. I'm sure if you leave me here where I am, I won't last much longer."

Wordlessly, I activate one of my gauntlets for Moira to see. I don't think she can become any paler than she is.

"Ah…" Moira says lamely, shoulders drooping. "Not surprising."

The three girl tries to scramble away, only for me to latch onto her hair and twist it around the length of my forearm. Her screams quickly devolve into unclear gargles as I run my blade back and forth against her neck. Her blood sullies the entirety of my gauntlet hand and the road in front of us.

I let her go and she scrambles away with a gargled cry, leaving a trail of red in her wake before collapsing onto her belly. A cannon fires in the distance.

I retract my blade in hopes to clean it later, turning back to Emery as I watch her empty the contents of her stomach. She Lumbers over to her fallen brother and lies on his stomach while dry heaving. Not functional at all.

In the Academy, we call this state being "In the black". A sibling pair goes into the Games, you take a shine to another tribute, they die, you lose sight of the task…you're in the black. What would happen to her if I weren't here?

"This ain't good, Zen," notes Paulus, posting up against a rusted-out hood as he shakes his head. "Kid's in the black. I say broom her and move on. Surprised no one else picked up on the commotion yet."

With a pained sigh, I shuffle over to Clancy's fallen form, searching his pockets for valuables before pulling his jacket over his head. Emery gives me a glare that could melt a girder.

"Don't recommend looking into the eyes, you won't get the image out," I say. Stuffing Clancy's contents into my rucksack. "I'm checking him for things…s'not like he'll need 'em…and he'd want us to have 'em…"

Emery doesn't reply. Her head is downcast and I can't read her face from this angle. I experienced this very same thing. I know how she's feeling. It's still fresh, but maybe I can pull her out somehow…

"Listen, city mouse. Clancy would want you to get serious now," I say. "What you choose to do from this point forward can either-"

Her head is still downcast, although I do notice the way her fists clench up. "He was right, you know."

I swallow, wincing as the movement strains my chest. "I beg your pardon?"

"He didn't want to be your ally, because you're a big target," she says with a sniffle. "He was concerned because you were a big target and we would get caught up in your storm!"

She stands up, launching her hands into the air.

"Look at us now!" she cheers fauxly, her artificial smile giving way to a face of rage. "Look at us now!"

"Cut it out!" I snap, my head whipping to every angle in which a tribute could pop out and end us if they really wanted. "We need to leave, now-"

"Clancy and I are loyal to the Capitol just as much as you are, if not more!" Emery continues, her movements animated as she throws her hands this way and that. "We would've been just fine if we kept to ourselves-"

"One of you would've died all the same!"

"At least then we would've died on our own terms instead of being forced to go along with you!" she shrieks back, fists clenching and neck jutting out towards me. "All because of your quite frankly stupid need to get 'payback'-"

The back of my hand connects with her face so hard the hit makes Emery grunt out and tumble to the ground. Startled, she sits there in silence, eyeing me while running a hand against her bruised cheek.

Part of me is shocked too, while the other half was just about ready to deck her out.

Emery's about to bawl again. I can see it in the way her chest rises and her eyes tremble. She launches to her feet with a snarl, shoving into me with all the might she can muster.

"This is all your fault! You got him killed and now I'm all alone!" she roars, futilely pounding her fists into me. "Come on, hit me again!"

"Wai- what?"

"Hit me again, kill me so I don't have to be alone again! Kill me so I can be with my mother! Kill me! Kill me kill me kill me!"

If my brain is having a meltdown now, it turns to complete mush at the sound of flapping wings nearby, the sky goes dark, albeit for the briefest of seconds. Gargoyles. Paulus claps loudly, an attempt to 'snap me out of it'.

"Zenobia for fuck sake! Just leave her before you get yourself killed!" he yells.

Between my aching body, my ears hyperfocusing on the sounds around me and Emery's continued beating into my chest, I hone all the strength I have left into giving her another good slap across the face, gripping her by the collar as I yank her towards me, our faces just inches away.

"Shut up! Shut your damn mouth!" I scream, shaking her with every word.

Like a wounded dog, she's gobsmacked again, her eyes wide and unfocused. I hate that look she's giving me, but what other option do I have? She's literally going to get us killed! I can't let her go because she's Clancy's sib and I was a baby sister and I went through the same thing so…

My brain is doing somersaults and My chest is killing me, but I suck it up, shoving her forward while hastily collecting her and her brother's rucksacks. "Move! Now!"

Thank Panem I didn't have my Peacekeepers haul Zenobia's ass off the stage.

Grinning, I fasten my cigarette holder in between my lips and take a drag, taking note of the wide array of faces in the Gamemakers' Lounge. All of them, every single one - even Antonius, mastermind behind this year's show - are flabbergasted, in tears or some mix of the two. Even on the various holoscreens in the room, each on a different network covering the various viewing venues in the Capitol and the districts, people across the City are glued to the scene of little Emery losing her protector and big brother. The other remaining One female and the male from Ten who died today are relics.

Oh and Zenobia! The approach to the sniper's hideout, the shootout in the stairwell, the execution, the confrontation with Emery! All of it makes for sublime drama that will withstand the ages. And people got teary over Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. The Seventy-Fourth might as well be what the Seventy-Third was to it. Nothing but a pathetic blip. Its connection to the Second Rebellion makes it even moreso.

Even Caesar and co appear without words. "Poor, poor Emery…" he laments. "What will become of her now?"

"They appeared to be quite the rock, she and him," says a panelist. "Unless she can bounce back, I don't think she can keep up with Zenobia's energy."

"With only a singular ally left, I imagine Zenobia will be on a hunting foot now lest the opposition gets some ideas," adds another.

I watch the screen now, frowning as Zenobia literally tows the younger girl along with her all while gargoyle mutts patrol the skies overhead. Emery's all but checked out. If the alliance weren't so marketable - which it probably is even more now - I'd wish that Zenobia left her for the mutts to deal with then and there. Given her history, Zenobia would be doing her a favor. The War, the prison camp and now the Games? I forget, have I ever seen her before…?

Speaking of Emery Smithson, my half-brother enters the room looking like he's at his wits end. We lock eyes and he quickly speeds over to where I sit, sighing deeply as he plops down onto his seat.

"Where are you coming back from, the Smithson Family?" I ask. The other escorts with Capitol-born tributes did the scramble to get a scoop with their relatives. If it weren't for Zenobia's star power, I would bet a dollar no one would give a toss about them.

Pluto nods. "The Media Department just informed me that they will be conducting an in-depth interview for both Emery and Clancy."

"So it won't be just Zenobia getting an interview?" I don't bother hiding my disappointment. They're to do away with the 'final interviews', Antonius' Media Department says. Because who cares about war criminals and their families. I say who cares about Capitolite deportees either? Even if they 'helped' Zenobia.

Zenobia is 'our girl'. The more we focus on her, the better. Her 'allies' will be just a footnote.

Pluto doesn't seem to notice my tone, as he frantically scrolls through his communicuff, groaning anxiously at the loud notifications that ring out every half second.

I'm genuinely surprised. "Sponsorship money? One would think she was a lost cause now that the brother has died."

Now Pluto eyes me with disappointment. "Viondra, how can you be so flippant? Emery is one of us-"

"She's twelve."

"But one of us," Pluto retorts. "And the last Capitolite remaining. Not to mention her '9' score and the way she's held up her end of the fight. I'm surprised people still believe in her too. I just hope that she can find it within herself to carry on. But right now, with her age and what she just went through, it's…"

He reclines in his seat with a deep sigh and goes silent, watching with me in silence as the two girls make it back to the apartment. As Emery collapses onto the ground facing the living room wall, a panting Zenobia sheds her useless body armor, the cameras picking up the numerous bullet holes that dent the surface as the garment drops to the ground.

I go over Zenobia's vitals once more. Myalgia seems to be the main issue, compounded by the broken sternum the gunshots gave her. I contemplate scrolling through the sponsor item library when Zenobia immediately washes down two painkillers. Calmer than when she was outside, she moves to the kitchen island and begins to pace, all while muttering to herself.

"That certainly mustn't be healthy…" notes Pluto. "She does that an awful lot, murmuring to herself. It's probably the pills that's making her do that."

I chew on the ivory tube between my lips. With how consistently she takes them in such a condensed period of time? No, it's not, but we need her up and running to the best of her ability. Just a few more days and we'll begin the process of building her back up.

And the muttering…? Well, everyone has different mechanisms, no matter how peculiar they may be. As long as she's winning for us, she can dance the jitters away for all I care.

Pluto makes the decision to sponsor Emery some heated food, a pricier alternative to packaged rations. Curled into a ball while silently weeping, she all but ignores the parachute as Zenobia checks it out, tries to inform her but gives up, moving to prepare her own food leftover from the sponsor package Pluto and I sent the group nearly three days ago. Zenobia eats away at her rations, seemingly ignoring the sniffles coming from Emery's corner until it's evident that the day's action, and the actions of yesterday's assault on the hospital, are beginning to wear on Zenobia.

Her food all but finished, she stomps over to Emery's form, spins her around and shoves the sponsored food into her limp hands.

"Eat," Zenobia orders.

Too tired to resist, Emery shakily begins to unravel the container to get at its contents. Zenobia on the other hand sinks back onto the nearby couch and we watch as she activates her gauntlets and begins cleaning the grime and blood from off the blades.

"I never had a genuine 'one-on-one' conversation with your brother before he…left," Zenobia begins, eyeing Emery while absentmindedly polishing away. "I imagine you guys had a conversation before all this about what to do in the event that he's no longer here to protect you. Somethin' along the lines of 'if something happens to me, try your hardest', right?"

Head downcast, Emery continues to pick at her food.

Zenobia wobbles her head. "Obviously you two had some sorta game plan before me. But y'know…as we've seen time and time again, plans barely go the way we want them. Like with you for example. Your sib told you to stay strong and well…well, look at you. It's been what? A few hours since the ambush and you're still frozen the way you are. If I weren't here, you would be long dead."

Emery lets out a sniffle, dragging her sleeve across her nose.

"I could've left you on that street, I had half a mind to," Zenobia continues. "But truth be told, I respect your brother. Your family and mine are kinda cut from the same cloth. Peacekeepers, athletic, loyal… If he had survived even longer, I imagine he would want me to mind you in case something happened to him. In fact, I respect you too."

The tweenager barely glances up from her untouched food before hanging her head again.

"I do. People your age barely survive the bloodbath yet here you are. A '9' in training somehow, you have potential, even if you don't see it now for obvious reasons. But you're twelve, obviously, so there's some flaws there. Flaws that almost got me killed."

I, alongside the entirety of the room, watch as Zenobia rises from the couch and stalks over to Emery, scooting aside her food with a flick of her boot. Some partygoers gasp as she presses her glistening gauntlet against Emery's cheek.

"It's obvious that you can't and won't function out there alone. So that means you're stickin' with me. If you ever put my neck out like the way you did earlier today and we somehow survive, I'll do you in just like how I did the Three girl today. Got it?"

Numerous eyes flicker in my direction, Pluto's especially. They watch me now as I extinguish my cigarette and down a flute of champagne. If anything, Zenobia is giving her genuine advice. If she's going to sulk, therefore ruining any sliver of winning, she might as well leap from the apartment now.

Back on the screen, Emery is wide-eyed as she barely offers a nod in return. Satisfied, Zenobia retracts her blade and leaves the room without a word prompting Emery to curl into a ball and cry.

"How can she be so rude?" Pluto fumes. "I imagine the audience doesn't like that. Neither will Caesar or the pundits!"

"I don't wholly control Zenobia's actions, Plu," I deadpan in reply. My communicuff is on silent, but I imagine that Fletcher, Wyatt and Amir are blowing up my line in an attempt to get me to appear on the networks to somehow explain Zenobia's actions and predict her next steps.

With the Games more or less finished for the day, I turn my attention to Antonius who seemingly had me in his sights all this time given how I turned to see him eyeing me. We meet in the hallways. One hand casually in his pocket while the other nurses a glass of wine while I clasp mine behind my back, we waltz towards less populated corridors.

"Your girl is a real treasure trove," Toni marvels. "A perfect repudiation of the last two years."

I get a hold of his flute and take a small sip, staining his glass with my lipstick as I hand it back. "I imagine now that the field is narrowed, we can move on to the next phase in your plan?"

Although Zenobia is doing what she came here to do, get revenge, her foray into the arena has seemingly shifted from action to reaction. With ninety-odd tributes running around, the potential for failure was immense. But now that the herd has been culled a little bit, and Zenobia no longer has too much 'cushioning' to maintain, we can squeeze in a few killings of prominent rebel children who still remain. Toni seems to be three steps ahead of me, presenting me with a datapad of potential targets.

"But of course," the Head Gamemaker drawls. "The list goes from lowest threat to highest. Caesar and the networks have already been briefed on the familial notoriety of each tribute should Zenobia go on the hunt."

I grin from ear to ear. "Perfect. The rebels get crushed further into the dirt and Zenobia's mission is back on track." I hand him back the datapad. "The little girl is the main issue."

"It seems you're in the minority on that one," Toni replies. "I'm already hearing comparisons between Katniss Everdeen and Rue Stenberg. Another avenue to explore there."

"Yes, well, I'd rather have Zenobia focus fully on the task at hand…" I mutter. "Speaking of 'tasks' , are you going to give me any hints about the 'endgame' you've been talking about?"

It's not just me who's asking. Everyone is wondering how Antonius will cap off what seems to be a Games that won't be soon forgotten.

"Thought you didn't like spoilers?" he says.

I shrug. "I think I have an inkling about how this show will end."

"Still, I think this one is best kept under wraps."

"Seriously…?"

He makes a show of 'zipping' his lips. I grin. I see that as a challenge. We turn into what seems to be a dead part of this floor and I trap him, catching him between a mahogany console and the corner.

"I recall that this wing of the HQ is quite dead," I purr, playing with the buttons of his tunic. "Is there any way I could…influence you into giving me a brief abstract about this plan of yours?"

The Colonel lets out a dry chuckle at the thought of it all, drowning the rest of his flute. "Who's to say I'll divulge information anyway?"

"Wouldn't hurt to try," I breathe, slipping his free hand into mine as I tug him towards the nearby restroom. "I win either way."

I spend what feels like hours staring down at my rucksack. It's pitch black out. I can barely see the thing but somehow I still manage to loom over it, frozen in place. Numb. One half of my brain is telling me to pick it up while the other half is stuck replaying the events of today. All I can dwell on is Clancy grinning down at me before being brought to his knees and struck down by a snipers' bullet. That awful sound when the bullet pierced…there was so much blood.

Come on, Emery, Move!

I…I can't.

I need to leave…there's no place for me here anymore. Or anywhere, really.

Do I take it or do I leave it? It's not like I'll live long enough to use its contents. I begrudgingly take it anyways, throwing it over my shoulders as I spin around and give the apartment one last glance before forcing myself to take steps towards the exit. It was nice…while it lasted. Slowly I make my way to the exit, stopping and dwelling by her door longer than I should.

'It's all your fault' I shouted at her. She was the one who forced us to go hunting when we just survived a feast!

…But what if it was my fault? Clancy's always been on his toes since we stepped off our pedestal. If I didn't prattle on about stupid things like dating, maybe he would've been more focused. Maybe he would've seen Moira in the building. Maybe he would've tried to duck and got wounded instead. Maybe even Zenobia would've noticed something too if I weren't trying to get away from what was happening right now. Maybe…

"Come to think of it-"

"H-Huh?" I whirl around, looking on in shock as Vi and Pax materialize from a fixture in the ceiling, painting the room in a dark blue hue.

"The Hunger Games, when you cut the 'middle man' out and leave the tribute alone with their dilemma, is all about choice," says Vi.

"Who sent you?" I ask them, bewildered at the sight of them. "Pluto?"

"What about 'the odds'?" asks Pax, ignoring me.

"'May the odds be ever in your favor' is a fallacious term, really." answers Vi. "The 'odds' are influenced by the tribute's decisions ultimately."

Pax tilts his head and nods. "Ah. In that case I agree."

"Decisions, decisions…" hums Vi. "In a Hunger Games setting, a decision one makes often results in their salvation…or demise."

As if on a swivel, the two 'children' twist their heads toward me. It doesn't help that they don't appear one hundred percent human.

"So tell us, Emery," says Pax, "Are you in the right mind to make a decision?"

I shake my head, turning away from the holograms and focusing my attention into the pitch black hallway that will take me away from here. "Even if I had half a mind, I'd still make this decision."

There's nothing left for me here. She said it herself, I'm just a twelve-year-old. A 'baby'. I would either just get in the way or get killed because she wants to take the arena by storm and I wouldn't be able to keep up. And what happens after everyone else is dead? She'll just gun me down and go home without a care in the world.

I twist my head towards the holograms, who remain as impassive as ever. I don't want to be 'babied', but today proves what everyone already knows. I might as well just go out there and get my early placement like all the other twelve-year-olds before me.

I don't wait for more lectures from Vi and Pax, neither do I spare another glance at her room. I march out of the apartment and into the cold lonesome ruins of the arena. Having no destination in mind, I sulk from rubble pile to rubble pile, slipping into and inspecting storefronts for livability in which there are none I personally think are safe or far enough from her apartment. I quickly zip up my coat as a breeze blows through, making me only feel worse as my body shudders from the chill.

I'm inspecting the inside of a bus when I hear something, the clattering of rubble. I rush outside with my pistol drawn, only for the open air to greet me. I lower my gun and decide to continue walking. On second thought, a bus in the middle of an intersection isn't the smartest idea.

Even though the forcefield's glow casting the arena in a bluish hue, I can't help but feel as if it's casting a bubble around me. A spotlight. If I were to venture ten steps away, I'd be gobbled up by the darkness. Speaking of darkness…I spin around for the briefest of moments as a sharp howling noise passes through my ears, mussing up my hair as well. All that greets me are the husks of cars and trees dancing through the night.

I shrug. "It's just the wind…" I say, to calm myself rather than stating a fact. "Of course, it's just the wind…With all the cars and the growth, obviously the wind would bounce through-"

A loud flourish causes me to shriek and discharge a bullet. I calm down immediately, groaning when I realize it's just the national anthem playing overhead. The seal of Panem gives way to a girl from District 1.

The girl from District 3 comes next and all I can think of is her screams of panic before Zenobia put an end to them. I don't know if it's because I've poured out so much emotion today, but I can't bring myself to feel anything when I gaze up at her blank expression.

Following her is the boy from District 10 and then Clancy's face comes last and I force myself to look. I had hoped that looking at his portrait, calm and collected, would immediately cancel out the image of him spread out on the ground with a hole in his head. If anything, it only made it worse.

"Awwh…Widdle bwaby swister is all awone!" coos a sickly sweet voice, right up against my ear. "What a shame."

My attempt to spin around is immediately quashed when a metal bar is pressing up against my throat. Alarm bells ringing, I buck my hips in an attempt to get back the air I so desperately need, but they're taller than me, so I begin to panic even more now since the bucking isn't working. Stomp on their feet, nothing! I decide to throw myself onto the ground, bringing them down with me but freeing myself from their grasp.

Pistolpistolpistol! Kill them, kill them nownownow! Wheezing, I scramble for the discarded gun, only for their weight to smother me, pressing me up against the ground like a sandwich. I reach out desperately to the shining piece of metal, only for it to be cast out of reach once more as they snake an arm around my neck and yank me backwards.

"Let…Go!" I try to remain engaged, but the lack of air and the fear…I can't do it anymore. I'm such an idiot for trying to leave. The holograms were right, I made a dumb decision. "Zenobia, help! Help me!"

"No one's comin' to help ya," they hiss, reapplying their vice-like grip. "Not if they have common sense. Now why dontcha just relax a spell-"

I feel something sharp enter me, along with something warm spreading throughout my thigh. "Ow-!"

They, she, begin to snicker. "There you go, just relaaax. Gonna need to save your energy for what's to come…"

I don't feel right. First, I feel a warm numbness in my legs, which then spreads further and further up my body. For some reason, I don't feel pain, rather I feel it going away the more the warmness spreads. Now I feel the urge of rest calling for me. But I know there is no rest to be had with this person so I use the last of my strength to toss and turn before the numbness leaves me turnt to my side. Hearing my attacker's snickers becoming muddled, my vision slowly fades away to nothing.

Coming up Next:

'Just like the private sessions…but not so private this time.' - V

I allow a full blown smile to creep onto my face. I conjure up mental Images of the adult rebels I killed back in the Capitol, all wide-eyed and frantic as I ended each and every one of them with a bevy of methods. The screams, the pleas…pathetic. It was a shame that all of Panem couldn't see them grovel. But now…I activate one of my gauntlets, slowly twisting my forearm as the blade glistens from hilt to tip.

They have front row seats. No more five second kills, quick flashes and then a cannon booms and it's onto the next. No. This time, they're all gonna watch as I tear the rest piece by fucking piece.

\