A/N: There was an issue in which a previous chapter for chapter forty-one was uploaded. The real chapter forty-one has been uploaded.

Chapter Forty-Two - "Verdict, Part Two"

Justin narrowly deflects my downward chop with his gladius. Our blades tremble as I press him backward. Somehow, with his lame leg, he barely manages to hold his ground against my force.

"First and foremost..." he grits through clenched teeth. "I should've killed you back in Two…That's for certain."

I roar in response, pumping a boot into his stomach as he staggers backward. I swing my shortsword towards him so hard that his parry in response causes sparks to fly. I press on my assault. I stab, I chop, I thrust, I swipe, yet he won't fucking die.

For a tunnel rat living under a destroyed district all his life, he sure knows how to avoid getting stuck by a sword. He must have fair muscle memory too, because his attack patterns are decent enough. Decent enough for a freshman cadet.

"It's true…what happened to…you was wrong, I admit..." Justin continues, almost not getting his throat slashed by a thrusting gauntlet. I respond by sweeping his feet from under him, following him to the ground with my gauntlet poised to puncture his chest. He rolls out the way and lashes out with his sword, which I swat away with a swipe from mine. We scramble onto our feet and I press the attack again.

"Those people, Dixen, Shadd…they weren't true…rebels. More like opportunists. What happened was out of my hands. Thirteen soldier or not…I was…just a kid in their eyes." Justin grunts in discomfort as he parries another blow from my sword. "Killing you would've been the right thing…to do…At least then-"

Our bout ends up with his back against a pillar. A punch from my gauntlet causes the three prongs to ride along his neck. My gauntlet occupied, I follow up with a sword thrust toward his gut, meeting resistance as his sword catches my hilt. His free hand forms a fist and mashes into my face.

As I stagger back, the telltale sensation of blood dribbling down my nose, I spot Eldwyn in the corner, gawking at us as if he were back home spectating.

"-At least then you would've been free of suffering! It was the least I could've done." Justin finishes, padding down the three, jagged cuts on his neck and scowling at the blood-soaked fingers that he raises back into his vision.

Chest heaving, tears pricking at my eyes, I level my gauntlet towards him and warble, "The 'least you could've done' was never crawl out of your fuckin' cave!"

"Now here we are…" he continues with a harsh rasp, throwing his hands into the air. "I knew that being the son of…a top rebel…would put me up for the reaping…I knew I was a dead man walking…Never would I have ever guessed I would deal with you…and the year's worth of rage you have. When you marched down that aisle, I couldn't believe it. Still, I thought the arena would take care of you…because you know, plenty of rebels and one reckless loyalist. The math should've added up.

"I was sorely mistaken…We can't kill a loyalist in over her head let alone topple a government that's oppressed us for so long now! Figures…Guess I deserve it…you coming after me, I mean. Has to be fate…The rebellion losing the war, me having to pay the piper…Never have I ever seen someone's ducks lined up so perfectly."

I use a sleeve to rub at my bloody nose. He's right. The universe is making him pay. What started off as a suicide mission turned into a near-perfect world where I can pick a bone with each and every one of my wrongdoers as I see fit. And here I am, dealing with the one I wanted all along.

It's great.

I spy Eldwyn on the fringes, surprised he even managed to keep track of me. Matix notices my staring towards Eldwyn and follows my eyes. Glaring at Eldwyn, he dabs at his neck again, his mouth slightly agape with mock amusement as a dry scoff escapes through it.

"Ah…so I see you guys heard about the 'rule change'..." Justin muses, as he levels the tip of his gladius towards Eldwyn. His glare is accusatory. "I guess it's business as usual, eh Eldwyn? Even though she killed off your allies - Lilith Rabe obviously among them - you still go along with it? You still play into their 'Games'?"

Enough talking. I rush him then and there. "He didn't ask for this," I scream. "I didn't ask for this!"

Each chop I deliver has him blocking clumsily, lurching to and fro as I swipe at him from all angles. Maybe due to wear and tear, his knee buckles as I deliver a mighty overhead strike which he barely wards off.

I take advantage, raising my foot directly into his jaw. He lurches upward, crumpling to the ground with both hands fastened to his mouth. He tries to recover, only for me to press a boot into his side which sends him skidding against the concrete. I could kill him right now, but I opt not to. I want him to feel as I felt. Exposed…useless…weak.

He sure looks the sort. His mouth contorting into a bloody grimace that exposes cracked teeth, his eyes flicker up at me and I can't help myself but grin. How does it feel, Matix? Not too good, huh?

Panting, he hobbles to his feet. With a newfound sense of energy, he begins to press the attack, swinging and thrusting his gladius this way and that. I activate my gauntlet's 'claw' again, watching, waiting for his sword to come in at the right angle.

And it does.

It whistles through the air towards me in a powerful, diagonal bend and like a baseball to a catcher's mitt, it fastens itself between two prongs. I clamp down on the blade, watching Matix frown in confusion. He tries in vain to release it from my grasp. As I did to Esmeralda and others before her, I close the distance, wringing his sword arm to the side while my sword plunges itself into his chest.

He gives a wail of agony, replying in kind by wringing his sword free, cutting me below the breast. He juts his sword forward in an attempt to stave me off and I reply in kind with my gauntlet. I realize both our weapons are coated in each others' blood.

It's Matix that has the most to lose. Where I feel the telltale dribble of blood trickling out of me, he reveals a hand washed in crimson. My wounds barely trickled down to my waist whereas quarter-sized droplets are pooling between his legs.

I got him.

"Zenobia!" Startled, I spin around and quickly realize Eldwyn is still here spectating. His mask on, he points towards the dangerously opaque space behind him as he begins running toward me. "Fog!"

"Zen!" It's Paulus now. I spin back to find Matix gone, a trail of blood leading towards the still-smoldering bookcase where his dead partner lies underneath. "It ain't over till the cannon sings. Go!"

"Right," I reply, nodding as Eldwyn catches up to me. "Right."

We vault over the bookcase just as the fog envelops the open space we just occupied. Using our flashlights, we navigate through crevice-like hallways, wriggling under bent beams and wriggling through waist-high mounds of rubble. If Matix's wounds are as grievous as I think, I'm surprised that we haven't come across his body yet.

He doesn't make it too far. It doesn't take long to slide down a brick slab, reaching an outside courtyard, a blood trail sullying the untouched snow leading up to where we see him leaning against a tree. I find myself splaying a hand across his chest when he joins me in approaching the dying Thirteen. Eldwyn, thankfully, obeys.

Matix is in the throes of a bloody coughing fit when I arrive at the tree in the center of the courtyard. He's looking over a paper object in his hand, a token, I don't care. When he turns to face me, all he can do is watch my boot forcefully nudge him in the gut, onto the ground. I press my foot onto his chest. I suppress my surprise when he tosses his gladius aside.

"If you're going to kill me," he says through chipped, jagged teeth, "You're going to have to kill an unarmed 'tribute'."

"You were never innocent and you know what I'm talkin' about," I grit back, adding further pressure onto his chest.

"Just like you are…now..." he splutters in reply.

I drop down so that my knee is on his chest now, prompting him to barely suppress a pained groan. "Wrong. I'd be happier at home, in a world where you stayed in your dank cave, like I said. But if this past year - hells these last few weeks - have taught me anythin' , it's that my fight with you is beyond me." I point towards the sky where there's sure to be an invisible drone or camera about. "There's people both Capitol and District who you and your 'rebels' hurt as well. Consider me an extension of them."

"You got half of it right…" he replies haggardly, earning narrowed eyes from myself. He watches me carefully as he continues. "Let me say…first and foremost, I am sorry…about that morning. I also can't help but feel sorry for you…"

What is this pasty cave dweller getting at? I yank him by the lapels. "Don't need your 'sorry', you rebel rat. I won," I hiss through gritted teeth. "And I will win. All while poor Mr. and Mrs. Matix and the rest of your kind watch you die."

The son of a bitch laughs. He laughs. My vision fills with flecks of his blood. I give him another shake.

"What's so funny?" I hiss.

Swallowing, he grimaces in pain while flashing pinkish teeth. "Rebels kill peacekeepers, peacekeepers kill rebels…I kill your parents and you kill me and half this arena…" he rolls his eyes. "We, the 'fallen'...We have friends…siblings…watching. We're right back to where we started…While the eagle soars…"

"Muttshit," I clap back, activating my lone gauntlet. I slowly scrape the tip against his cheek, drawing blood. "Plenty a' rebel rats just like you to fill the bowls...Innocents'll have nothin' t'worry 'bout."

"Whatever," Matix scoffs. "Kill me, just know I leave with my hands washed." he reels his head back and hocks a wad of blood into my eye. I recoil in kind, looking back as he splays his arms out, an expression of defiance on his face. "Go on, kill me like a good, Capitol-fearing Two!"

I reaffirm my grip on his shirt, readying my fist in order to plant my gauntlet in his face. But that's too quick…too merciful for a rat like him. I place my hands onto my chest, where multiple ID discs hang. Family discs.

I deactivate the remaining gauntlet. Then, with the discs in hand, I fasten my hands around Matix's throat and squeeze.

I fix my eyes onto his. They're bulging, a gasp of pain escapes his mouth when the whole of my bodyweight settles onto his chest. Blood erupting from his mouth, he weakly bucks and writhes to no avail, his feeble hands shooting up to rake at my face. He doesn't even break skin. Dunno if he's doin' it voluntarily…Involuntarily…Don't matter none. Sure are fighting now, though.

My head is flooded with a trove of scenes. Our car being ambushed. The gunfire, the struggling, the cries of pain. My back flat against the cold concrete road, my body bare for all to see...All because of him!

My brain acts like a conduit, channeling the years worth of pain into my hands as I tighten my grip, mashing Matix's head into the snow repeatedly. Most of his face is sprinkled in it, except for one singular eye that remains trained on me, even as he lets out an odd gargle and drops his hands from my face onto the snow either side of me.

"Rivendell...Hey, Zenobia!"

"What!?" I snap breathlessly, cranking my head towards Eldwyn. He's inches away rather than feet away, now.

"It's over," Eldwyn says, his voice a little tinny. "The cannon fired…"

Panting, I twist my head back towards Matix's still form, focusing on that singular eye and that gaping mouth seemingly forever frozen in anguish. It takes a good five seconds for my brain to reach my hands before I finally detach them from his throat. Even now it's hard to flex them, as if they were just taken out of a cast. I hone in on Eldwyn's words; It's over. It's over. It's over.

"How does it feel…" he asks wearily. "Came all this way…and now?"

I run a tongue across my lower lip, frowning at the amount of iron I taste in my mouth. How do I feel…My brain fills with Matix's laughter. I am sorry about that morning. I also can't help but feel sorry for you.

"I dunno…" I breathe out.

A few inches away from Matix's head are a pair of polished jackboots. Paulus kneels into view,

"Don't matter how you 'feel'," he says. "S'what matters is that you finish these Games. Then, you can 'feel' all you want." The look of sterness he gives me cracks into a sly grin. "Still…You sure showed him. You sure showed all of 'em…Y'did it, Zen. Proud of ya."

I shut my eyes, exhaling through my nose while my shoulders sag. We're not finished, not by a longshot. But at least I did what I set out to do, if anything. "All thanks to you, really."

"Seriously, Zenobia?" Paulus replies, snorting dryly. "Sis…I ain't even here."

I open my eyes, only for a gust of snowy wind to buffet my face and shroud the courtyard. It lets up. True to his word, as if the wind carried him away, Paulus is gone. I glance down at the four ID discs that dangle in my grip, honing in on Paulus'. Running a thumb over his name, I find myself grinning as I tighten my grip. That's a bit of a lie, Paulus.

An urgent shove prompts me to glance up at Eldwyn, who appears to be somewhat unnerved.

"Zenobia, we gotta go. Got plenty of work left to do."

As he says this, fog plumes from the hole we emerged out of like a volcano. Eldwyn hands me my shotgun and lends me a hand which I gingerly take, all while I make sure to stamp on Matix's body before joining my lone district partner in escaping the fog that trails after us.

While we run, I look over myself. The painkillers worked. Everything from the crown of my head, to the soles of my feet aches. Better than I would be if I hadn't had any medicine. But again, it's not like years of conditioning since kindergarten haven't accustomed me to busting myself into a tender lump of flesh. I then begin to consider our remaining competition. If Matix was any example of the remaining non-careers, I doubt any of them are in a decent condition either.

Speaking of condition…It may not even matter anymore. A quick glance at my cuff tells me we're getting by by the skin of our teeth, just barely ahead of the boundary line. A cannon roars overhead. Eleven tributes - myself included - remain.

Any thoughts of glee are quickly replaced with ones of fear as the air around me grows increasingly fowl. My face, secured with a gasmask, feels as it should. It's the neck, exposed skin and hands that bear the brunt of the seething, nagging, twitching, burning pain. I watch in shock as my hand becomes home to a dozen large whiteheads. Each step I make feels like my legs are brushing against searing coals, compelling me to shamble as if I were crippled.

"How long till we hit the park again?!" Eldwyn cries.

I point to the stone and steel fencing. "There!" I bark out, gripping his jacket. It's moist to the touch. Stings, stings so bad. "C'mon!"

We hobble through the entrance, past rusted-out iron gates, veering off the street and into the woods proper, teetering past trees as best we can. The fog seems to be slowing, forming a solid wall rather than tendrils that seem to be seeking us out. Still we keep shambling until we happen across our final destination, according to our communicuffs.

It's a meadow. Home to one of the many cornucopias in this arena, judging by the silver horn that lies on top of an elevated hill. I immediately decide that the surrounding area is less than ideal for the combat we're about to face. Everything appears to be a muddy, slushy mess with the continued sleet not helping none. Scenarios play in my head of having a running start toward a tribute, only to die because I slipped over a patch of dry ice or got bogged down in mud.

I tear the fogged up gasmask off my face and toss it aside, much to Eldwyn's dismay.

"Wait!" he cries.

I lazily wave him off, all while attempting to regain my bearings. "...I think…we're good." I pant, dismissively pointing towards the cloud of fog. Just like the Seventy-Fifth, I can literally see the fog be 'contained', as it were cordoned off by a wall of glass. Keeping the fog around won't make for good viewing…or so I hope.

And then a good snowy gust blows in, comparable to a breeze on a hot summer's day, tousling my hair and cooling my skin. The pins-and-needles sensation lessens, but just barely. Then I remember the Seventy-Fifth and what they did afterwards. Water negates…whatever the hells this fog is. I throw myself onto the ground and find myself moaning involuntarily at the relief of being in contact with the snow. Face down in it, I can't help but mutter a "Wow…" at the sound of sizzling that creeps into my ear. Moving onto my bottom, I watch Eldwyn follow suit, grabbing a clod of snow and massaging it into his neck while letting out a less than dignified sigh.

He glances at me and then at himself. We're basically wearing rags at this point. "...I'm tired, Zenobia," he moans. "Real tired."

"Almost there," I huff back in reply. "…Just nine more kills." I decide to use the last of my gauze, hastily throwing up my threadbare top to apply it on the wound Matix delivered. Then, I quickly lace my boots tight. Anything to be certain. The telltale beep of the 'all clear' signal rings out from our respective cuffs. The final boundary of the Seventy-sixth Games has been settled.

Like a miniature bloodbath. A quick glance tells me we're past the pedestals. So our boundary is fifty meters or so.

Eldwyn's brows furrow, leveling both his spade and Matix's gladius which he must've taken for himself. "Okay…where is everyone?"

A howl of wind gushes through, turning the space into a life-sized snowglobe. It doesn't make seeing much easier, but…

"There," I point out a duo some meters to our left. Without hesitation, I draw my short sword and extend my gauntlet. Crouching down low, I begin to move.

"Woahwoahwoah," Eldwyn babbles, slipping to my side. "W-What are you doin'?!"

"Said you were tired, right?" I reply, reaffirming the grip on my sword. "Well, I'm tired too. Best to not draw this out if we can help it..."

From the corner of my eye, I catch Eldwyn grimacing but pay it no mind. Like he said, we're not done yet. He swallows his anxiety with an audible gulp, it seems, and continues with me as we slowly skulk towards who appear to be a pair of Sevens given their bottle-green jackets.

Eldwyn nudges my shoulder. "Hey, we've got company."

I snap my head to the right. Stomping down the hill are a pair of Eight boys. One lunk and one gaunt. They look no better than we do, though the pipe and spear they wield are especially noteworthy. I let out a shaky sigh, and I don't even bother to quell my rapidly beating heart.

Still, we steadily continue to creep towards the other pairs as they do the same. We're close enough now that I can clearly see their faces.

I hone in on the grime-ridden face of the girl from Seven in front of me, eyeing her now as she thumbs with the handle of her hatchet. Where her blank expression gives off confidence, the constant wetting of her lips marks a hint of nervousness. Her partner, a younger male, has no poker face whatsoever, having to be rebuffed from gripping on to her shoulder multiple times.

I begin to skirt sideways, towards the eights who appear more strategic in their approach. The Sevens mirror us, not allowing us to leave their gaze. The big guy from Eight begins to teasingly smash his pipe into the palm of his hand, all while staring me down.

"I say we charge the Eights first," I whisper.

Eldwyn sizes them up, frowning. "The Sevens look weaker."

I shake my head. "Look at the bigger guy. Do y'wanna get your head caved in with that pipe?"

"What about the other three?" he asks. "Where are the Fives and Sixes?"

"Dunno…Big Eight has to go. S'all I know." I say, sighing now as thirty feet turns into twenty feet and twenty feet turns into ten. It's now that the stalking turns into a high-stakes game of three-way chess. We hold our ground, subtly moving towards or away from someone at any hint of danger. I'm about to lash out at the bigger Eight when Eldwyn holds me back.

"The fuck is that?!"

I follow his finger over the shoulder of the Seven male to see a dark, hooded figure running at us carrying a rather large pipe - a hose maybe. The hose shoots a sharp stream of water that quickly transforms into a blinding bright orange…Oh my gods!

The air transforms from cold and moist to dry and hot in an instant. All I can do is shield myself, tumbling backwards to narrowly avoid being consumed by the stream of fire. Multiple screams, including my own, ring out through the space. One sticks out above the rest of us.

I lower my forearm to see the boy from Seven getting the brunt of the flames. Despite the snow, despite the wetness, the boy continues to burn like a wick, dropping to his knees, rolling from side to side as the attacker keeps the pressure on. Through their mask's eyepiece, I spot a singular dark eye as they turn the hose on me.

For the splittest of seconds, I think back a day or two. The warehouse, that weird contraption on the table…The Three-Five alliance. Put a bunch of Threes and Fives into a room, you get a homemade flamethrower.

Flames licking at me, I leap out of the way, watching the spot I once occupied turn from a patch of snow into a ugly black trail. I'm still caught in the flames, the entirety of my forearm comparable to a burning log.

Letting out a panicked shriek, I roll into the snow and don't stop until the orange is gone. I rip off my communicuff, now a heap of molten plastic. Sitting on my bottom with my legs spread open, the singular thought running through my mind is: why haven't I been burned to a crisp yet?

Then I see them.

The District 7 female, uniform and hair singed to hell, clings onto the back of the Five tribute, attacking them, prompting the flame-wielder to spew streams of orange across the arenascape, sending tributes fleeing in any which direction. To add to the chaos, I hear sharp barking in the distance only to see a pair of Sixes coming around the hill, mutts nipping at their heels.

I glance down at my hip, where the grenade launcher somehow remains. Single handedly, I remove it from the loop and level it towards the Five tribute, fighting my shaking vision to ensure the sights line up with the Seven girl who continues to chop away at Five.

With a click of the trigger and a dull thump! I watch the gold shell soar through the air and land at Five's feet. What was once a stream of flame turns into an all around eruption, the heat suffocating me even as I sit some feet away from the explosion itself. Confused and disoriented, it's the flame-wielding Five that's now the wick, dancing to and fro before a second explosion takes them entirely, sending pieces of metal, cloth - flesh? - sailing into the air, some beside me. Has to be, Because the entirety of the space reeks of gas and what I assume is burning flesh.

I discard the launcher and roll onto my fours, spying the lanky male from Eight dispatching a mutt. I clamber onto my feet and start towards him. Noticing me, he gives a warble of fear and begins to shamble away. His mistake is not committing to running away, but instead continuing to glance back at me long enough to not notice the hole he falls into. A fissure from the earthquake event, maybe.

I jump into the hole to find Eight struggling to get upright. I slam into him, pressing his head down into the pool of muddy water while he frantically flails for an 'out'. His flailing works, managing to launch an elbow into my eye which sends me reeling into a muddy wall…and a vexed rage.

Eight lurches upward, gasping deeply before doubling over and retching. I watch as he attempts to scramble up the slope, only to sink back down again, letting out a panicked groan. Shaking off the grog, I activate my gauntlet and stalk towards him. Just as he's about to pull his lower half onto flat land, I drive the gauntlet into his back. He stills with a pained gasp. I tear it out and drive it into the nape of his neck with a twist, his head contorting in the same direction with a distinct crunch.

Allowing Eight to slump back down into the fissure, I watch now as Eldwyn and a male from District 5 team up against the bigger male from Eight. Despite this, Eight holds his own, kicking Eldwyn down the hill and slamming his pipe into Five's knee . Five crumples to the floor with an audible cry that turns into a shriek of agony when the pipe lands on his stomach and then quiets when the pipe collides into his temple.

Five's still being beaten with the pipe as I rush over to the dead mutt Eight killed with his spear. I tear it out of the mutt's skull, spin around and lob it towards the bigger Eight, watching him now as he goes down with a cry. It didn't stick him, but it did hurt him somehow. I scramble down the hill, over to Eldwyn, looking partially singed with soot all over his face and half his jacket blackened.

"Still…need you, Bishop," I breathe, handing the blade to him hilt first.

He accepts it with a groan, cracking a sad grin despite everything going on. "Have any of those…pills handy?"

I shake my head. "Even if I did…wouldn't make much of a difference…"

We both groan as I tug Eldwyn from off the ground. Three more people to go, it seems, as the pair from Six come rushing down the hilltop - a dead mutt in their wake. They stop at the bigger Eight, who with a fresh angry red wound on his cheek, points his pipe towards the two of us. Eldwyn hisses out a curse when the Sixes don't kill him but rather turn in our direction and begin to approach.

"Three against two…who cares," I say.

"I care," Eldwyn snips. "I'm not you."

I shake my head. "Just keep your head in the Game, Bishop. I'll take Eight, while you keep the Sixes at bay, yeah?"

"No promises."

"If you wanna go home, you will."

Their slow approach turns into a steady jog. It's only now that I realize that I only have my singular gauntlet remaining. No more short sword. No more bayonet. Still, it could be worse. I could be armed with just a dagger. When they close the distance, I split off from Eldwyn and engage Eight, dipping down low as I slam into his legs, knocking him off balance and onto the ground.

From his back, he swings at me with his pipe and I block it. The result is like a gong-like vibration that travels up my arm that's nearly impossible to shake. He strikes at me again and I'm forced to block once more. The power in his blow - and the vibrating effect it has - sends me falling to the ground, reversing our positions. I kick his leg out from under him, prompting a sharp 'oof' from the much bigger tribute.

I maneuver on top of him, pinning him with my knees. I quickly power down the gauntlet towards his chest. He just barely grips the attacking arm. Instead of the heart, the blade sinks itself into his shoulder. A frustrated snarl escapes my lips. Chest, shoulder…don't matter, as long as you can't play anymore. He roars in agony as I drive the gauntlet deeper, making sure to twist it in, anything to ensure an easier kill.

I whip my head towards Eldwyn, catching a glimpse of him in a melee with the Six female. A patch of blood by his head, her male counterpart struggles to get on his feet to aid his partner.

When I go in for another stab, he clutches my arm with one hand, and goes for my throat with the other. I beat out a startled gasp, my heart burning with anxiety as my steadily flips from the white of the snow, to the bleary gray sky above. Eight is on top of me now, breath stale, his blood and sweat dripping into my view. His immense weight is enough to have me spluttering for air and makes it tremendously difficult to keep him from slipping the gauntlet off my arm and killing me with it. Despite his attempts My gauntlet arm holds fast while I attempt to nick his eyes, throat, anything, all while our free hands attempt to prevent or gain further leverage over the gauntlet.

"I'll…be damned…if you win this!" Eight grunts.

My answer is to launch a knee into his groin, yet despite his howl of pain, he still holds fast.

When we tilt to the right I see a chain of steel circles sailing through the air. It lands in between the two fights but no one seems to pay mind except me. Upon quick inspection, it seems I'm so, so mistaken.

Those aren't 'steel circles', not exactly. More like miniature, black pineapples.

There's a pause in our wrestling. Judging by the fear in his eyes, Eight picks up on this too. Of course he'd know what those were. He probably used them in his war-torn district while I had the experience of throwing them on a range.

I take full advantage of the lull, tugging the ox that was the Eight boy towards the 'pineapples' and holding him there. Holding him there long enough for him to absorb the explosion, a very loud, firecracker-like burst, that sends me and Eight rolling down the hill regardless.

The roll down is hard throughout, the snow doing nothing to cushion the blow when I rise a few inches into the air and drop to a stop. The explosion causes a heap of snow to sprinkle down on me as I creep onto my fours. I'm not done yet, I need to fight. Get up! The dizziness, the kind that yearns for you to vomit, washes over me like a wave. Dizziness is half the battle, I can't fight without a weapon, which seems to have disappeared from off my forearm. Still, I try to power myself onto my two feet, only to collapse onto my bottom, my vision like a ship among the waves as it sways from left to right. A few frantic blinks and deep breaths corrects this a tad.

This allows my eyes to properly survey the scene in front of me.

One Six, the male, lies motionless while his female counterpart, on her knees, clutches at her stomach while stumbling aimlessly.

I hone in on Eldwyn, who with one eye wounded shut, uses one arm to inch himself toward me.

Near him, the boy from Eight writhes like a wounded bug.

All their mouths are moving, seemingly crying out in pain and shock or in Eldwyn's case, for my help. But my ears refuse to hear their howls. They continue to ring despite my attempts to 'shake off' the confusion.

My disorientation dims at the sight of someone I thought dead. Someone I didn't care about anymore to keep tabs on. My sight hones in on Emery as she marches down from the cornucopia, fresh for the fight. No limping, no obvious wounds besides white bandaging. Like most sub fourteen-year-olds, she used her 'pathetic' age to her advantage, hiding from us until we picked each other off.

She's swapped her 'baby' pistol for a grown up submachine gun, which she uses with a sling and a foregrip.

I can only watch as she stops at the Six female, who continues to cry out in shock. Emery's muzzle flashes and Six flops forward, rolling a few feet down the hill, blood trailing in her wake.

Eight is next. He rolls onto his back, only to be met with a hail of bullets that decorates the crown of his head with a crown of blood. Evidently startled, Emery continues with a stumble.

Eldwyn, poor, poor Eldwyn, doesn't even know what hits him. He's still reaching out to me, calling my name as Emery unloads into his back. He lurches upward in a closed-lipped grimace, blood bursting from the seams of his mouth before slumping forward again, hand still outstretched, his singular eye gazing blankly towards me.

The Thirteen-year-old glances my way and moves towards me with haste. There is no modest grin on her lips anymore, but only the dour resting expression she had worn before I'd come into contact with her. Part of me expects her to come over to me, pause, and wonder "What do we do now?" But why would she stop for a single second? After I dismissed her. Limited liability partnership.

I guess I'm not the one with nothing to lose anymore.

With that in mind, alarm bells go off in between my ears. All of a sudden Sergeant Floris is overhead of me, just like how she would be back at the Academy during PT. "Unfuck yourself, Rivendell! Move! Move! Move!". I spring to my feet and Emery raises her gun. I leap towards the nearest pedestal when I feel like my leg's been struck with a baseball bat. I let out a scream that sounds warbled to my still-ringing ears. When I find refuge behind the pedestal, I see that I'm bleeding through my pant leg.

I peer out from cover, only to cower back as another spray of bullets peppers the top of the pedestal. I'm wounded, tired and have no weapon whatsoever. I glance around for something, anything. Never would I ever think that my heart would soar over a piece of jagged metal, the remains of the female from Five after her explosive end. I leap for it and scramble back into cover.

Through my squirrelly hearing, I hear Emery fire, but her burst comes off short.

I peer from out of cover and rise up, only to see Emery fiddling with the cocking handle, her eyes screaming 'petrified' as she glances frantically between the gun and me.

I'll make it quick. With my bum leg, I begin a gallop towards her. Stab to the heart? No, that ain't quick. Throat. Carotid. Jugular. It'd be scary for her, but over just as quick.

Emery begins to scramble away, but even with my injuries I catch up to her, placing her in a headlock with one arm as I prepare to stab her with the other. She puts up a struggle, jumping and wriggling in my grasp so much that if I tried something, I could very well end up stabbing myself.

And then I feel it, something very hot clamping down on my exposed burnt forearm.

"..uck!" my ears are coming back to me. Emery sinks her teeth into my arm again and I have no choice but to bring her down with me, throwing myself downwards onto the ground. Even still, she doesn't let go. On the ground, rolling this way and that, I let go of the piece of metal in order to use my free hand to tug at her wooly head in order to free my arm!

She finally relents, releasing me as she scrambles onto her feet, back towards the gun. I leap towards her, managing to capture her jacket before she shrugs it off and continues on her way.

I need to end this. Discarding her jacket, I sift through the snow to find the metal shard, scrambling back to the indent signifying where I first fell to the ground. The darkness of the metal makes it easy to find again.

I spin around. Emery's still fiddling with that gun, the body in one hand and a magazine in the other. She's refilling it, one bullet at a time. I shamble towards her. For some odd reason, she suddenly glances up towards the sky.

"..op!" she says…or at least that's what I make out. She said something, though.

I continue my charge towards her regardless. The time for talking is over. I slam into her, pinning her to the ground. I level the metal with her eye and prepare to drive it through.

All of a sudden, my hearing returns. Returning enough to hear Emery shriek "Stop! Stop! Stop!"

The metal's about half an inch from her eye, enough to make her squint.

"Attention! Attention!" a female voice booms from overhead, piercing my eardrums so much I have to rise up and give my head a shake. Still, I plant a boot on Emery's belly keeping her - and her gun - secure. "As a gesture of the Capitol's good faith, An addendum has been made to the previous rule change.

I lift my head up to the sky.

"Though the addition of forty-eight tributes to the original twenty-four was meant to serve as penance, we are aware of the swelling toll the individual tributes endure as they shoulder the transgressions of their respective district. In recognition of this, as a showcase of fraternity and good will, the Capitol shall allow two victors irregardless of district. The co-victorship shall be solidified with a parley - the shaking of hands."

Stunned, I blink once. Hmph. Below my boot, Emery shows no sign of reaction. She continues to remain still, gazing listlessly into the sky. Not taking my eyes off of her, I exhale. I guess the tunnel rat was right. My ducks are in the straightest row ever seen.

I toss the shard away and extend the same hand forward towards Emery, who continues to lie like a stone. Looking at her now, I want to think of the same conclusion I had when she decided to break our alliance off, that she's just a 'scared little girl', but after what just happened…I opt to help her out, gently but firmly securing one of her hands in my own as I pump it three whole times.

Above us, the opening melody of the national anthem blares, accompanied with what appears to be the audience's roaring applause as Emery and I are pronounced the victors of the Seventy-sixth Hunger Games.

I find myself standing a little bit taller and feeling a whole lot 'lighter'. I quickly realize that 'lightness' is due to the gunshot wound in my leg, painting the whole of my trousers crimson. I tear a piece off my mangled jacket and fasten it around my thigh with a tight grimace. My attention then turns to the bloodbath we're about to leave behind. The hill face is marred with scorched patches, mud, blood, bodies and bits and pieces charred beyond recognition.

And then there's Eldwyn.

"Gee...Tough luck, Bishop." I murmur, eyeing his fallen form. I can only imagine the final thoughts in his head while he was crawling towards me, body full of metal fragments. Could've very well been me if I wasn't paying attention. And now, Emery is going home instead. "Come on, Emery…time to go." Tired of seeing her on the floor, I force her onto her feet, claiming her jacket from out of the snow and wrapping it around her waist in hopes the cameras won't see the damp spot between her legs.

When the hovercraft descends into view, its ladder dropping down to claim us, I have to keep a firm grip on Emery while closing in the distance between us and it. Once firmly secure I feel my body tighten as we're frozen in place and begin to descend.

I barely give the ruined cityscape that is our arena a final glance. As far as I'm concerned, I completed what I came here to do. I'll think and say it time and time again; it wasn't supposed to be me doing this.

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A/N: Predictable? Slightly subverting expectations? I'll be sure to offer a full explanation in the coming days...

[!] - The bane of Zenobia's existence, Justin Matix, has been added to the 'FOES' tab and 'GALLERY' tab. I guess I can explain him a little bit. He was a big fish, yes, but there were plenty of others in the pond who would've killed Zenobia just the same, as we saw. So in my opinion, it was realistic to not centralize this conflict between the two all while there were others who were worse. Definetly a grayman for sure. His hair being white - ghost like - my inspiration for someone who is just...there. Zenobia would kill me if she were real, but he isn't some mustache-twirling villain...He's just a kid caught up in the world that was Panem during its second rebellion...I'd imagine that a lot of bad choices had to be made, and ambushing Zenobia's family was one of them. That's my rationale. There'll be plenty more with the next chapter.

[!] - There was a neat commission I did depicting the finale between Zenobia and Matix. It's like..10 MB, so I posted it in the 'GALLERY' at the Weebly site. It works on AO3, though.

For people who have an account and are willing to log in, there's a poll, now that I'm sorta done with the Games portion - SYOT style - about how you feel about Zenobia as a character. The results (two of em, plus what I gleaned from A03), is what I expected. The results only confirm what I have to say in my explanation for the next chapter or two. Vote if you have time or even have an account.

Thanks for reading this, wherever you are. See you with the next chapter(s).