Chapter Forty - "Muster Up"

December 4th.

Day 18

Despite the making up, despite the getting to know one another, despite the promises…It's over…Zenobia and I are no longer allies. And I feel…I feel…

Free?

Yes…Free.

I'm no longer on the one-track route to second place, only for Zenobia to…what, just whip out a gun and shoot me? Like I stated to her, I can play the Game by my rules and attempt to win on my own now.

I don't want to die…I'd very much like to win. Clancy would've wanted that…Mother too if she knew. Not to mention everyone else who still spares me a thought.

...

I startle somewhat as two cannons fire off in the distance. Two more deaths on top of three three - no, four that already occurred.

The train is starting to pick up speed, it seems. Probably because of that announcement the Gamemakers made. Two victors, who would've thought they would be so...generous. It's not like it matters to me, as I doubt a Thirteen would take a Capitol girl along with them...especially one that hung out with Zenobia.

I close my diary and slip it back into my rucksack. What I decided not to include in my diary was yes I'm free, but I'm still scared. Scared of getting gnawed to death by rats or dogs or worst yet shot or bludgeoned to death by another tribute…or tributes, given the rule change.

I have a chance now, yes, but that chance was still a pipe dream, those methods of death have more of a chance of happening than me outright winning.

Now that I am here, now that Zenobia is gone, I find myself genuinely thinking about my chances. The average age of all the tributes was about seventeen or so. Seventeen-to-eighteen-year-old teenage rebel soldiers who would love to kill off a Capitolite like me. Attempts to envision myself going one-on-one with one of these tributes all end the same gruesome way.

In the run-down loft I seek refuge in, I lay my head against the living room wall with a deep sigh. The sofas are too worn out with mold to warrant sitting on. I said I was going to try to make a go at victory. So, how will I go about it in a way that doesn't scream 'pipe dream'?

Think Emery, think…

I could hide…? I bring my wrist up to my face and activate my communicuff. The boundary continues to get smaller. Two kilometers wide I'd imagine, which is about right for a normal arena. It's only going to get smaller and smaller…small enough so that it's next to impossible to not run into another tribute. It's an option, but not an option I can rely on.

I wring my hands together as I think about the Tens…before things went sour. If I were fourteen, sixteen, they would've killed me on the spot. It was only because of my age, and the weakness that comes along with it, that allowed me to survive.

"I'm the youngest, right?" I say aloud, wringing my hands. "If it worked against the Tens, it could work again…"

Out of curiosity, I rise to my feet and stumble over to the bathroom. I pickup a half-disintegrated cloth and wipe down the grimy mirror in front of me and turn on my flashlight for good measure.

I immediately get flashbacks to the prison camp, looking into the mirror and being absolutely shocked at the girl staring back at me.

My hair, oily and sullied with soot and Panem knows what else, wasn't that of a normal thirteen-year-old girl like myself. Neither was my face, pocked with cuts, bruises and shed of all 'baby fat' as Mother would call it.

It was the face of a hardened tribute...A killer, even. I doubt anyone on the outside is looking at me and thinking 'Another Little Rue'. They're thinking 'Little Johanna Mason'.

I grip either side of the porcelain sink in front of me. Never ever in my wildest dreams did I think this would happen. I go as far as to dare to think about my situation more harshly: I hate this. I hate every last bit of it!

I lift my head towards the mirror once more. Now that I've experienced it first hand, I confirm what I've been thinking for a while now.

I…I can't believe I used to enjoy watching this!

Just over a year ago, the roles were reversed. I was sitting on my settee with my family and cheering this on. What I wouldn't give to be back there, in Bountiful, at home, cheering mindlessly without a care in the world! At least then I wouldn't have this feeling. This feeling of incoming dread.

I give my eyes a harsh rub in an attempt to stave off the tears, letting out a pathetic whimper. The rubbing tapers off into placing a fist against my lips.

"I'm not a pretty little girl anymore…" I say aloud, tone hollow. "Not in the usual way…"

"Which is precisely why you're still alive."

I jump when the holograms appear from out of my cuff, one on either side of me as they too gaze into the mirror. I don't think I get them very much. Always popping in at odd times, making quips as people die…what's the point?

"Why are you here right now?" I ask. "Not just here, with me…but generally."

"Change," Vi answers with an incline of her head. "Humans are fallible creatures, if the previous years are anything to go by."

"...So think of us as the equalizer," says Pax. "Facilitators to ensure that the objectives sought are completed with…minimal error."

"In regards to your first inquiry…Your escort was kind enough to pay for some…much needed advice."

I nod, offering a silent thank-you to Pluto. "So you said I'm alive because I'm not a little girl?"

"Change is a key tenant a tribute must undergo to become victor," replies Vi.

"One would be daft to believe that you yourself have not undergone such changes…" Pax adds.

"...Or are not undergoing them currently."

At first I'm confused. What changes could I have possibly gone through to prepare me for the Games? And then it clicks. Despite the tiredness, despite the negative thoughts…I'm here. I'm alive. I don't need to 'hide'. I don't need to 'look cute'. All I need to do is just do what I've been doing. Trying. I glance back at my rucksack where my diary rests inside.

I've been writing about 'trying' ever since my name was called. Those were just empty words, to make me feel better. But now that the holograms remind me…

Speaking of the 'facilitators', the two of them carry knowing grins on their faces, probably in response to my 'lightbulb' moment.

"Reflection. It helps in situations like these," Vi continues. "Looking back can perhaps…clear the way forward,"

The two child-like images begin to flicker before dissipating entirely, leaving me standing just a little bit taller and with a less cloudier mind than I had seconds ago. I knew I had to break it off with Zenobia simply due to common sense, but it's only now that I found a genuine reason to see this through as best as I can: I've made it through so much already, why not this?

Beat these Games, Emery, and you'll never have to worry about them ever again.

The distinct ring of my communicuff warning me of a boundary shift has me sighing deeply as I fit on my gas mask, adjust my boots, throw on my rucksack and make my way outside.

I'm thankful for the heavy sleet. It, together with the vapor and the evening creeping in, makes it so that it's even easier to move undercover without being detected…and vice versa. It's better this way, because then the others are too busy trying to 'take it easy' rather than actively seeking out one another. I take Zenobia and Clancy's strategy to heart, taking advantage of the bountiful cover the arena provides while ensuring to take five minute 'halts' just in case another tribute rushes by. The strategy serves me well as I skirt the arena's boundary, allowing the vapor to mask my movements.

I can see Zenobia doing the exact same thing now. Here's hoping we don't run into each other anytime soon.

It's when I slink into a car's husk for rest when I notice a flashing green 'bulb'. Like a cellular tower. Instead now, it's located in what looks to be an apartment building. Just a hundred or so meter dash across the intersection and up the street. Maybe ten…ten, twenty floors tops. What is that light? I gaze into the strobing light so hard my vision nearly flashes over. Do I dare venture up that building?

Before I can come up with an answer, I hear footsteps pounding against the pavement. A figure bursts through the fog. The golden-yellow jacket tells me that he's a Three, the very same from the alliance Zenobia and I attacked. I hold my position, anticipating some brownish-purple jackets following after him, but see none. He seems to have seen the flashing light too, judging by how he makes a beeline across the street straight into the building in question.

My breath begins to shallow, my stomach binding itself into knots. Just let him have it, my brain tells me as my body does the bipolar opposite, my feet carrying me towards the apartment despite my discomfort. You're going to get yourself killed, just let him have it! Let him have it!

I suppress my thoughts by giving my head a firm shake, veering off to the alley rather than following him outright. Like some other tall buildings, the Gamemakers have outfitted the building with ladders, connecting one floor to another. I give the closest ladder a good shake and once I deem it 'good enough', I put my two years of high ropes to the test.

Besides the cool winds lashing me as I ascend, so far, so good. I count out the floors I pass. One…Two...Five…Until a mid tier loot crate compels me to enter the tenth floor. The Gamemakers have gutted each floor, besides the pillars for support making it an open, barren space instead of individual walls and living spaces.

Just as I approach the yellow crate, I hear the Three boy's clomping feet quickly approaching. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! I retreat behind the nearest pillar. The Three boy is on the same floor as me, his huffing and panting telling me that he's on a mission to seek that light out. Despite waving his flashlight toward my direction, catching the glowing gold-light that highlights the crate, he continues on his way.

I allow myself to continue breathing as normal, gripping onto the concrete and spluttering as air rushes into both my mouth and nose. And to think Threes were apparently the smartest tributes on average…

When the coast is clear, I glance back at the yellow loot crate. You could just settle for that and leave…?

I walk past the crate as if it isn't even there. No. That green light means something. No use settling for less.

I continue using my alternative path and somehow make it to the topmost floor without tumbling off the ladders. It's the same like all the other floors, just without most of its walls, allowing the evening light to creep in. Along with the gaping hole above in the ceiling, I can't miss the desk-sized orange loot crate that lies smack dab in the middle of the floor. It lies on top of made up material…insolation, wood, things like that.

I've never seen an orange loot crate before. Blue, yellow…but never an orange crate. Orange and black…and so darn huge.

Thanks to the little bit of light, I now know that the Three male in question is an eighteen-year-old boy named Albert. He enters now from the stairwell, cautiously making his way over to the crate. A quick recall of my diary reminds me that his score - or that of all the tributes from his district - are average. 5's and 6's. Compared to my '9' based on observing and observing alone, he's leagues better than me. Even if he's built like a broomstick.

I channel my inner Zenobia, taking up a piece of concrete and lobbing it into the ceiling in an attempt to startle him.

"What?! Who's there!" he screams, drawing what appears to be a pistol as he pivots this way and that. That's when I realize he's about to make a break for the box. I punch through my nerves, push off the pillar I hide from and steadily walk toward him.

"Stop!" I say. "Don't touch that crate."

It's now of all times that I yearn for some bullets. Thanks to aiding in Zenobia's ambush, My pistol's empty and I didn't bother to scour the ground for spare rounds.

He pauses, pivoting on his heel to face me. The look on his face is the same as Maja, Tanners and everyone else I've met face to face in this arena; one of complete surprise. Surprise that I, a twelve-now-thirteen-year-old-girl, is here keeping up with the rest of them.

The fact that he doesn't throttle me where I stand confirms that he doesn't know it was me and Zenobia that attacked his alliance. He doesn't know.

"Emery, was it?" he replies, strolling a few cautious steps my way. He continues to glance back at the crate every few seconds. "How did you get up here so quickly?"

My fingers dance along the handle of Clancy's kukri that's sheathed in my belt. "I guess you saw the light too?"

Albert nods. "I have to say, they ought to implicate this in future Games. Scattered loot. Gives people like you and me a chance for once…" he glances back at the box. "It seems we've reached an impasse-"

I sigh as I give my head a stern shake. If we saw the light, other people might have seen it too. We don't have time to talk. "It's my box. Either we fight for it or you leave."

Guffawing, he pulls out his pistol and levels it towards me. His face etched with annoyance as he says, "That's rich. How about you leave and give the loot to someone who actually has a Chance?"

Unknown to Albert, I've been paying attention during the gunfight we had. Before Wattson tried to blow me up, he was all spent, cowering behind a crate as I continued to pepper his position with bullets.

"Go on," he continues, jerking the gun towards me. "Scram! And maybe, just maybe, you'll survive another night."

Despite being hyper focused on the barrel dancing in my vision, I remain where I stand. "You're empty."

His expression twitches, but holds. So does his aim towards me. "H-How do you know that?!"

"Your hammer isn't even flicked down, " I reply, rolling my eyes as he flicks it down and continues to threaten me. "If you had no qualms, you would've just shot me already."

Thank you, Atala, for all your advice.

Pistol trembling, he hisses a piping hot curse under his breath, the pistol hand dropping to his side audibly. "Listen! We don't have time to argue. Let's split the loot, fifty-fifty. In fact, let's ally. We're alone. My allies are dead and I doubt your remaining 'partners' want you for obvious reasons…What do you say?"

We're both antsy now. Him more than me. If anyone else comes, it may make it easier for me, not him. He's the oldest, they'd focus on him more than me…If I'm lucky.

Shaking his head in anxious frustration, he turns around and begins moving toward the crate.

"No," I say, swallowing deeply. "I don't want to ally with you. It would be an odd pairing, all things considered."

He stops in his tracks. "Why is that…?"

"Remember the warehouse? That was Zenobia, with me at her side," I reply. "Not to mention Moira and the others…I was there for them, too."

That sets him off. "WHAT?!" he splutters, his breathing becoming more audible as he spins around, eyeing me like I'm some rabid mutt that needs to be put down. "So our plan…our perfectly thought about plan was foiled because of… because of…?!"

His chest puffs up with each breath he takes until he lets out a ragged sigh, tossing the gun aside as he instead unhooks the hatchet from his hip as he begins to stomp forwards.

I reply in kind, pulling out Clancy's kukri and gripping it tight as I begin to shift backward, as much as I am able. My breaths are as shaky as the knees I wobble on.

"You got some nerve, I'll give you that." he snarls, continuing to approach. "By all accounts, you should be dead…Yet here you are, threatening someone twice your size."

He's right. I should be dead.

I should've been dead when I came to Dawn's rescue wearing only a slip and armed with a kitchen knife.

I should've been dead when I was tossed into a detention camp filled with moldy food, rampant sickness and angry Peacekeepers.

I should've been dead when I was then tossed into a squalid district that was barely built up.

I really should've been dead many cannons ago.

But I'm not.

Sure, I had Mother, Clancy, Zenobia and others by my side when things got tough, but as people often say: 'It's all up to you'.

It really is all up to me.

I hold in place, digging my toes down into my boot as I solidify my stance. Next I try to stabilize my wobbly breathing. That too goes away just as my trembling body stills.

Albert halts as well, splaying his body outward while fidgeting with his nasty-looking hatchet. He looks just as awkward with his weapon as I do with mine. If he were so confident, so strong, he would've done something already. My flashlight catches a bead of sweat trickling down his dark forehead.

I reaffirm my grip, reading the kukri by my side.

I am Emery. And Emery means brave.

With a shriek, I charge at Albert with all my might.

The communicuff calls for me to move to an apartment complex.

I shimmy onto a piece of scaffolding, moving onto the second floor just before a dog mutt could pounce up, grab me and pull me into his pack that barks continually bellow. Hungry for fresh meat. I glance at the bayonet that's still wet with blood. The arena is filled with passive mutts prowling around. I thought that mutt was it. It only makes sense that a dog belongs to a pack. Why not?

A violent tremble snaps me back into reality. They're slamming themselves into the structure. If it were ancient, I would've already gone down, so it has to be Gamemaker-installed. That don't mean it'll last forever.

Another shudder from the structure reminds me of that fact, as I continue to maneuver my way across the scaffold in search for somewhere to jump off and lose these things, but the mutts continue their pursuit. The 'alpha', judging from its bigger size and lighter coat, leaps into the air in an attempt to nab me. A feint with my shotgun's bayonet keeps him at bay, to which the beast responds with a hair-blowing roar.

I spare a moment to glance over to the building across the way, where an object continues to glow on the topmost floor. My original destination. I guess they have other plans.

One of them gets lucky, bounding from the top of a car only for its front claws to dig into the wooden floorboards. A blast from my shotgun sends it tumbling down with an anguished yelp. Its arm remains stuck in the wood, a bloody stump now.

They're getting antsy now, clambering up the scaffolds while the alpha moves and snarls in a way that makes it seem as if it's shot-calling. Or maybe it's just the possibility of getting eaten that's sending my senses into overdrive. Like the first mutt who tried, three more attacking mutts earn a spray of buckshot. A head exploding here, a torso being ripped apart over there…

…And then I hear the distinctive clicking of an empty gun.

I squawk out a cuss. An empty gun isn't the only issue I face. My feet turn into mush, wobbling this way and that as I'm suddenly and violently thrown onto my face. I shriek as the scaffolding dips with a groan, only to collapse from under me. I land painfully on my side, hastily bandaged after Esmeralda's stabbing of me.

I wait for the agony that comes with having nine-inch fangs sunk into your flesh. But it doesn't come. The mutts assault, but don't come close enough thanks to the twisted metal and wood that shields me from them. It doesn't stop the mutts from rifling through the debris. I reply in kind, haphazardly swiping my bayonet towards any paw or snout I spot. It's an awkward dance, keeping the mutts at bay while padding my pockets for the remaining slugs all while loading them in. I get a glance at the last slug I slip in - a gold cylinder with a red ring around its circumference. Different from the others…has to mean something, right?

A pair of jaws clamp down on a piece of metal above my head. It's torn away, revealing the alpha. It widens its gaping jaws, letting out a blaring roar.

I'm about to find out! I jut my barrel in its general direction and tug the trigger. An astonished scream escapes my mouth, my vision flashing over in an orange-colored hue as the barrel erupts literal flames against the alpha mutt. The mutt catches like paper, bellowing out a deathly shriek as the shot sends it careening onto the ground. A flaming heap of mass.

I rise from the rubble, the mutts looking just as shocked as I am. I'm quicker than them, turning my barrel on the first mutt that catches my eye. Then another. And another. It's like having the mouth of a dragon in my fingertips…Each blast is more astonishing than the last, as I watch everything within my radius catch fire, mutts and tall grass alike - despite the heavy sleet coming down.

The mutts whimpering and scattering about, I don't waste time and capitalize on the confusion. I bound over the mound of debris and force my way through the flaming foliage that chokes up the street, coughing and wheezing all the while, making my way towards the apartment complex in question.

I attempt to force the double glass doors, only to find them blocked shut. I force even harder this time, to no avail.

A cannon fires in the distance, coupled with pops of gunfire. I'm not the only one who seems to be in trouble. I'm brought back to the now as the howl of mutts come from close by. I double back, scanning the front edifice in an attempt to find somewhere to gain entry. I find it in the form of a window, off to the side. With no time to lose, I stroke the window with the butt of the shotgun, shattering it. I hop through the gaping hole to find myself in an ancient laundromat. I spot a low-tier crate but decide not to touch it. The Gamemakers sent me here for a reason. I burst through the laundromat entrance, walking into what appears to be an open pass. It's like the quarries back in Two. Gone are the individual floors that would make up this building's 'guts'. Artificial bridges and concrete slabs replace them. Dim, flickering lights illuminate the way from the 'ground floor' onwards.

This isn't the only thing I notice. A pair of loud gasps has my head swiveling towards the main entrance. The very same I tried forcing my way into. Eldwyn Bishop and Lilith Rabe, bracing against a wall, gawk at me like some kind of bogeyman. The door itself is barricaded up to the gills with rubble.

On my end, a dozen questions bounce through my brain. None of which can be answered as the mound of debris that blocks the main entrance gradually gives away. A mutt's snout and claw pokes through the ajar door.

The three of us waste no time, scrambling towards the doors in an attempt to keep it closed. If those mutts break through, we're all food.

Using a spade, Eldwyn swipes at an exposed appendage, managing to lob a claw off. A full head manages to break through the space between the doors. I move from the door to take aim at the head and fire. Both Eldwyn and Lilith exclaim as the mutt's head explodes, scorching glass and filling the air with a nasty stench.

I join the two of them by rejigging the door with a long sideboard, wedging the door shut.

Allowing myself a small pause, I crane my head towards my 'partners'. Eldwyn and Lilith glare back at me. Despite the imminent danger just inches away, neither of us have forgotten the days before the pedestals rose. The words exchanged. The war fought and the sides we took in said war.

"It baffles me, despite everything that happened, people like you are still bought into the system!"

"You don't know fuck all about me!"

A panel of glass explodes above our heads. Eldwyn lets out a shout as a claw rakes over the top of his head.

"Eldwyn!" Lilith barks, as suddenly the two get up and book it towards the open stairwell, leaving me to fend off the mutts threatening to break in. Without their additional support, the mutts do. Snarling out a curse, I double back to the stairwell, only spinning around to fire an additional shot at the first mutt to break in before pursuing again.

Each corner I round, I come to find Rabe pulling down cupboards or slamming doors in my face. I vault over and break down each one, continuing my chase with a heightened desire to kill Lilith Rabe by any means necessary. My side hurts. Everywhere hurts. I hack with each step I take, but I don't dare stop.

When I reach the sixth floor, Rabe is waiting.

Like a pathetic lower district tribute would do, she tries to corner me as soon as I leave the stairwell, swinging her scimitar high in an attempt to lob my head off. I swat it down with a downward chop, twirling around to meet her hateful glare. She scoffs. I spit phlegm in her direction. The feeling's oh so mutual.

"Gonna make you regret runnin' that mouth, Rabe." I rasp, activating my second gauntlet. "If ya aren't regrettin' it already..."

My eyes flicker to Eldwyn and I don't hesitate. He narrowly dodges my thrust towards him, fleeing back as Rabe takes the opportunity to come at me with a flurry of swipes. Despite her famous last name, I've never seen her set foot in the Academy. I chalk up her competence with the sword in her hand to pent-up rage and a dash of fear.

"Look at yourself!" she yells. "Look at yourself, Zenobia! Still dancing to the same old song!"

"'M pretty good at it," I reply, flicking away her swipe as I counter with a jab to the face. She just barely parries it. "Had plenty o'dancing partners, too. Wanna be eighteenth?"

Swatting my gauntlet away, Rabe staggers backwards, face etched in confusion only for it to be wiped away and replaced with an anger that has me grinning my face off. She charges me again, causing our blades to clash. "This is why we're in this mess. Why we failed. 'Cause of people like you!"

"'S'no 'we'!" I retort through gritted teeth. "S'your mess! Yours!"

Eldwyn still has that spade, meant for Peacekeepers with a sharp head and mean-looking carbon body. Despite its lethal potential, he barely puts it to use, meekly lunging towards me, making half-hearted chops, only for me to fend him off with feints before turning my attention to the more eager Rabe.

The sixth floor we duel on is a patchwork of concrete slabs, sizeable gaps beneath exposing the flesh-hungry mutts barking at us below. I keep my back to the wall, towards the stairwell, lest I get coaxed into falling to my death. It's easy, too easy. Especially when one of your opponents seems to value their own life above all else.

Rabe begins to realize this too, her eyes glancing past me, fixing on Eldwyn.

"Eldwyn c'mon!" she yells, clashing with me once more. "We can take her!"

I pump a boot into Rabe's stomach, not bothering to watch her tumble onto her back as I lunge back towards the remaining Two male, feigning an upward slash. While he goes high, I go low, raking my gauntlet's three prongs into his thigh.

And back to you, I think, spinning around to engage Rabe again.

Bleating out deep, ragged breaths, her scimitar swoops down in a diagonal arc and I catch it, fastening the sword in between the prongs of my secondary gauntlet. Like Esmeralda before her, I close the distance, my other gauntlet's dagger burying itself into her gut.

Rabe's eyes bulge as her mouth opens wide, blood dribbling from her mouth, some of it into my vision, while she gives a shout of agony. Her sword drops from her hand. Through her pain, she still manages to launch a fist into my face, colliding against my forehead.

The pain explodes. I reel onto the ground, rolling onto my stomach while watching through spotty vision as my gauntlet that was just embedded in Rabe's stomach clatter onto the ground. She herself, clutching her gut, stumbles to the other side of the floor where Eldwyn nurses his cut leg.

With my remaining gauntlet, I give chase. My boots pounding against the concrete, I immediately feel something off. The ground beneath my feet feels floaty, as if I was walking on a trampoline rather than fortified cement.

And then it happens. A good look at the sixth 'floor' we were on tells us everything we need to know. The pockmarked floors with noticeable chunks taken out. It only makes sense that these buildings have little integrity to them. The floor implodes, and my knees turn into putty, but not before I manage to lunge towards a corner, gripping onto a piece of rebar.

Don't you dare fuckin' look down there! Too damn late. My swinging vision catches a piece of concrete tumbling down onto the main floor, crushing one mutt. The rest are too bloodthirsty to care, as they continue to yap at us from below. I don't bother suppressing the pathetic whimper that escapes my lips. A few meters away, Rabe clings to a tilted slab of concrete, groaning out to Eldwyn who continues to nurse his leg with a tourniquet.

I focus on Rabe. She twists her head my way and my heart sinks as through blood-stained teeth, she smiles at me.

She's smiling at me.

Despite the agony. Despite the emergent situation. It's not like she doesn't have a good reason to. She's about to be pulled from the edge of death while I'm hanging on by a literal thread, no Clancy, no Emery to bail me out. Nothing but a singular hand gripping onto a piece of rebar like a lifeline. It's just my luck that the hand I rely on is the same that Rief stabbed into and cut to ribbons. The pain is alive, centering in the palm of my cut open hand while it shoots up into my shoulder.

I try and fail to use my 'free hand' to cling on to a piece of rebar, concrete, anything. It continues to dangle limply by my side. The past dozen days are finally catching up to me. I can't even pull myself up anymore.

I hiss out a curse as my grip slackens. My all-finger grip dissolves into my middle and index pulling all my weight. My brain runs a mile a millisecond with a bevy of images. Falling, pain, eaten alive, failure, crying friends, upset Capitolites.

"Eldwyn…? Eldwyn!?" Rabe bursts. My vision's the size of marbles, but it's enough to see our sole remaining Two male hobble his way towards me. Not Lilith Rabe, his ally since day one. Me. "The fuck, Eldwyn?! What're you doing?! Eldwyn!"

I swear on Panem's bountiful land that my fingers were going to fail and I was going to fall. Eldwyn grips me by the shoulder and collar just as I lose all feeling. Stunning, I relax into his grip as he effortlessly tugs me away from the abyss below.

My eyes remain on Rabe, who fits the definition of 'screwed' oh so well. She's gawking now, eyes wide with disbelief while she attempts to clamber up on her own. But she's slipping, gaining momentum only to slide down a few inches. The blood from the stab wound I delivered coating the slab a dark red.

It's my turn to grin now. I even manage a weak chuckle at her expense, silently hoping that it's her mind now flooding with despair.

It must be. Because she's cursing now. Cursing me, cursing Panem, cursing Eldwyn above all else.

And then she loses strength. Shrieking all the while, she tumbles back first off the slab, down five floors into the pack of raving mutts below, disappearing into the flurry of dark manes and wagging tails.

Her cries go silent. And through the gleeful howls and combative barks of the mutts battling over who gets a piece of what, I hear a cannon fire outside.

The danger seemingly over, I move from the edge of the chasm and turn onto my back. Fatigue is kicking in something fierce, with each breath I take drifting me closer and closer to sleep. Beside me, Eldwyn remains on his knees, his eyes seemingly glued to the scene five floors down.

And then it clicks: Eldwyn. S'my Enemy…right? So..

"Why…?" I breathe out in a raspy croak.

He glares at me in a way that causes me to inwardly cringe. Given my state of vulnerability, I half expect him to drive that spade into my forehead. Instead, his reply comes in the form of a fist crashing into my face.

A/n: No... 'sneak peaks' this time around. Just know that we've come to the end of our time here in the concrete jungle where dreams are made of. 2 more chapters plus a few more tidbits dealing with the aftermath.

I also added a poll, in light of a observation a fellow author made a few months back. I wonder if you all might share the same opinion..hmmm