VE: Vengance and Entropy: The 102nd Hunger Games

by ThePoptropicalGoose

Ivar Dusktree was never a boy with a very wide view of the world around him. Bound to his family tree nourished by the blood spilt in Hunger Games of the past, I think it's time we learn just how far the apple falls. In conjunction with the VV universe. One-shot.

12:00, January 5th, HG 102
Dusktree family mansion, Victors Village, District Two

---

Each time I pass the family tapestry, I can't help but stare at it. The sprawling forest, the blue skies, lovingly crafted in a time before the Hunger Games, hell, before the Dark days. Some time when there was District travel and intermingling, so came together a weaver from Eight and an artist from Seven, who united to create the Dusktree dynasty. Or so the family legend goes. Why else would we have a depiction of such a lush landscape, when the barren landscapes of Two are all we have known?

Most of the tapestry is just that, a picture frozen in time. But the centrepiece is our family tree, lovingly named Yggdrasil, as the banner above it proclaims. The tapestry's long run out of the original space left to put names, so the tapestry is extended with every generation. Somewhere along the line, it condenses to only two names, the first Dusktrees of District Two, and that's where the story really begins. The piece takes pride of place in the main family home, in the foyer. The first thing anyone ever asks about. Then, they ask you to point out the victors, the volunteers, the trainers, the next-in-lines.

Lucky for younger me, the art of weaving portraits has been mostly lost to us. Until one of us picks up that art, my grandfather brings it to the Capitol each time a family Victor is crowned. It'd be awkward, given the amount of times I'd lied about which family member I was.

The name Dusktree is a fabled one. It branches throughout District Two, with roots in volunteers and Victors. It is nourished in blood and ashes, in tales of vengeance and lives filled with entropy.

But, as my Grandather has always said, sick branches must be pruned. And I am one of those scraps. One of those whom's condition could be immediately assessed.

I'm in one of the corners of the tapestry. Not for any malicious reason, it was just how the tree was formatted. My father was the youngest of his siblings or cousins to have children, and I'm the youngest of his, so I'm the furthest to the right. Ivan Dusktree. Youngest of three. Son to Dryanna and Anders.

I have to stoop even to read it now. Grandmother's calligraphic way of stitching makes my eye go fuzzy, but it's manageable.

I'll have a portrait soon. It's difficult to make a family outcast of your next Victor. But by then, I won't need it.

In a way, the piece is a reminder, an encouragement. Look, the blood you bleed is of Victors and warriors. Your lineage is an honourable, holy thing. I used to believe it. That the lines and leaves were imbued with something magical and binding, that family was all that mattered. And in a way, that is all that matters. But time and treatment have proven that I'm not viewed as worthy. Just another faceless branch off the family tree.

They'll see soon that my glory is not for them.

---

15:30, May 22nd, HG 102
Main meeting room, District Two Academy, District Two

---

The Victor council is stunningly reminiscent of family court. Were I younger, I'd be expecting complete dismissal, purely because I was deemed too insignificant to ever be the subject of Grandfather or the other elders' ire. If I were lucky, and younger than twelve, I'd be told to hush by my mother as she sat next to me, unwilling to disrupt the proceedings of whichever Dusktree had incurred wrath and unwilling to make me the subject of it. Older than twelve was almost better. At least then there were the stares, the whispers. No one hid what they thought of me.

"Dyanna's boy. At least now he looks the part."

"Something in the bloodline there. None of those three came out quite right, but what can you expect?"

"Do you know why you are here, Dusktree?" Trainer Juno seems bored. I'm not surprised, he must have asked that question countless times over the years.

"You've picked me to volunteer."

"Hah!" He chokes so hard it takes him into a coughing fit. "You think mighty high of yourself, don't you? That don't stop you from being right, but still."

I don't speak. I know when I'm not expected to. Militaristic discipline, the one thing I knew how to maintain.

"You Dusktrees always make it so damn awkward." He rolls his eyes, and my present relatives flinch. There are very few people alive who will look my grandfather in the eye and say what they mean. It is, perhaps, the only thing about the Head Trainer I can actually admire.

But refusing to lick the boot and growing up crushed beneath it are entirely different beasts.

"We have so many Victors, and when it comes to your brats, it doesn't make a lick of difference for you, does it Amos?"

They are close in age. Similar in their mockery of weakness, willingness to disregard what is not advantageous. Unwilling to bequeath power, or even respect to the young. But only one of them has the right to veto any volunteer or trainee, to decide which tribute should live or die. Grandfather has never been able to stomach it, the knowledge that if he wanted to, Etruscan Juno could tear the Dusktree legacy up by its roots by revealing the secrets he keeps.

They're following me again. Sometimes I'm imagining the eyes on me. A phantom audience, Mom said, when I told her about it. It was the nerves. An eagerness to please.

But I know the footsteps behind me are real. I know whose they are. And I know why they're here. To laugh. The same way that Elwin and the other boys do when Mom and Aia are out the house.

We had our first real fight today. They paired up everyone in the year, put us in the big auditorium where they announce the leaderboard toppers for the senior academy, the twelve and ups. The one where every year, for almost as long as I can remember, they've announced who would be volunteering.

At first the pairs seemed random. Trainer Romas read them all off a clipboard. Like normal, they put the Dimante twins together. But when it was done, and I looked at Xander next to me, the pattern clicked.

Father isn't a trainer, but he helps out in the halls. He lead everyone out to our spaces, and gave us our hand wrappings. As he was doing mine, I kept seeing him looking towards the balcony. Nervous. But that's nothing new. Father walks around like the minute he stops, he'll collapse.

I thought it was just going to be a normal match. Hit the opponents boxing shield as hard as you can, over and over and over again.

But when the whistle started… no one had been given a shield. The trainers didn't say a word. Xander was about to say something. But then someone moved.

Lilly might have been the first one to swing, not knowing or maybe not caring what she was about to do to her best friend, but it was Theodora Astoras who made first contact, first blood, and sent the other girl to the floor with a crunch.

That's when… to steal a catchphrase from Elwin: all hell broke loose.

It was like a flipped switch. No one cared that this was different, that they were hurting each other. Even the twins… it didn't take long until they had matching black eyes.

Xander just started… circling me. The way we did in regular training. He knows me better than anyone else, he knew I don't like going first. He knew every time someone got hurt by accident, I looked away.

That didn't stop him from swinging.

And all I could see was him, his hands. Feel them. The plasters I put on his knuckles yesterday afternoon after he'd swung for the punching bags and hit brick instead. The warmth of his palms as I'd held his hand between our desks.

The first one nearly took me to my knees, and the second one did. It forced me to move, to start dodging, to try.

But I couldn't. I couldn't look Xander in the eyes and just… hurt him. It was so different to normal, knowing that there was nothing to absorb the blows. Usually, the trainers would be walking around. Trainer Bijou always has something good to say about my power shots.

But the only time I saw any of them stepping in was when one of the helpers blew the whistle. Trainers Juno and Romas had to tear Theodora off of Lily. Then Trainer Bijou had to tear the twins apart before they could tear each other apart.

Slowly, slowly, the fighting subsided. Until it was only me and him. He's swing, I'd dodge. We must've kept going for at least ten minutes. I couldn't do it. I'd see an opening, well versed enough in where his weak points are, where it'd hurt… but I couldn't.

And eventually… I couldn't dodge anymore.

Even when I was on the floor, and we were the only ones left, he kept going, knelt over me, pummeling into my nose, my ribs.

And I kept looking at Father, hoping he would help me, hoping he'd step in. Tears in my eyes and blood in my mouth, knowing Grandfather wouldn't be happy about it.

He looked away and walked out.

I woke up in the infirmary. I was on the way home but… I know those footsteps.

"You know what I think, Dusktree? I think you're just like the rest of them."

They're only looking for a reaction. They don't realise the cruel things they say.

"The only reason Trainer Juno lets you little nepo-babies in the Academy, hell, in the games, is because he likes to watch you bleed." Caspian has always been one of the more vocal kids. Backtalks the trainers, puts pins in shoes, gets his big brother to threaten the ones he doesn't like. It's not the first time he's done this.

"Leave me alone. I haven't done anything to you."

"Or what? You'll get your big brother on me? They're paying Juno off, you know. To hide what really happened when your first Victor happened. Your Peepaw never did an honest days work in his life."

One of the others spits on me.

"It was rigged, you know it was. Why do you think you're here. Why do you think that even though you're too weak to fight a single one of us, Juno's gonna let you stay? To piss your family off. To embarrass you. That's the only use you'll ever have here."

In the Dusktree household, my grandfather's word is tantamount to the President's. But no one in my family was allowed to vote for or against my volunteering.

And because I know for a fact everyone else would fall in line… that works in my favour.

---

16:00, June 22nd, HG 102
Goodbye Room, Justice Building, District Two

---

I barely get a moment to talk before Mom nearly takes me off my feet. Even a foot shorter than me, she's the type to bear hug. She must've run to get here first before the rest of the family shows. Well… some of them will. I've far too many relatives for them all to go at once. And it's not like it's the first time a Dusktree has inhabited this room.

Every family's got a story of a tribute somewhere, but anything before HG 40, it gets a little fuzzy. Grandfather's brothers. Him. My father's eldest sister, Linnea. His kid brother, the twin we lost. Cousins. Lovisa, who Mom said held me as a baby my first time here. Erik, Signe, the twins, who I didn't get to see off. Kristopher. Tyrell. Too many to count or name. Then, finally, the latest Victor. Hallie. The Quarter Quell of all things. That streak didn't last. Last year, Boe got caught in the Bloodbath clusterfuck. And who would kill him but Chance fucking Caishen. His first kill. All for underestimating his District Partner. You can't make it up.

I'd say it's basically a family reunion at this point, but there's already too many of us in the Academy Halls.

In two years time, it'll be Sigard. I won't wait up here. After all, I'll probably be preparing to mentor. Not that I'd want to see him off. Leif won't ever make it here. He's just a little bit too much like me, in the worst ways. At least Sigard can somewhat hold his own in a fight.

"Look at you…" Mom kisses me on the only person I think I'll ever let. Maybe Aia, but my sister's not the cuddly type. "Your father will be so proud when he gets here."

"I'm your son, not his."

We've had this discussion before. I can accept that somewhere, my parents do care about each other. But at its foundation. It was business. I was a product. We all were. Elwin was promising, but like every Dusktree burnout, once he lost Grandfather's attention, all he was was a wasted opportunity. Like Aia and I, essentially banished to the shadows of the family. At least she got to choose that path.

"... I know." She sighs, and fixes my jacket. "He wasn't… it wasn't always this way. I'm just sorry you never got to see him the way he was when we were young."

"You're not old yet, Mom." Aia comes sweeping in, dragging Elwin by his arm. I'm surprised he's not passed out in the Square. "But I guess its hard not to feel old when every Dusktree dies young."

I don't miss the look Mom gives her. The elephant in the room, the doubts, the way I know she wants to believe in me but can't. The way she was so relieved when Elwin failed, even it meant losing him to alcohol and partying.

"We won't have long until the others get here. Don't talk that way... I want to enjoy our last sit down together before my father in law comes and ruins it."

---

12:00, Training Day One, 24th June, HG 102
Training Centre, HG 102 Tower, Central Capitol.

---

"Don't expect me to stick around." I'm firm on my choice. The reaction is exactly what my mentor warned me about.

"The fuck you mean you're not sticking? Sleep with one fucking eye open, Dusktree." Maia takes one step closer. District One, of course. Chips in their shoulders so deep it's like they were born with them.

"You think I sleep any other way?"

I flip the patch upwards. She flinches. They always do. No sapphire in the socket. It's not a particularly gorey sight, but maybe I've just gotten used to it. Can hardly be worse than when it happened. The doc had to take the whole thing. Risked infection otherwise.

I can't remember the last time I did this, but I cherish the memory of the first.

"Ain't this some deja vu? Ivar… seems you just don't learn." Signar closes the door behind him, Leif's staying quiet. All bite, no bark. And I thought we used to be so similar.

"Don't leave your shit where it can be easily stolen." They're not worth lying to. Maybe last time, when I just didn't want to take four-on-one, but not now.

"Watch your mouth, Cyclops. Unless you want Leif to take the other one."

They know. Of course they know, they did it. Ran off afterwards, like the cowards they are. But then there was blood pouring down my face. I wouldn't have seen them leave, but I heard it. Waited, for hours, until Mom came in. I was never going to tell.

Like that old chestnut about the boy who stole the baby fox. Confronted by officers, he continued to deny the theft, right until he dropped dead in front of them. Why? Because the boy had hidden it in his shirt, and the fox had chewed through him.

Steal, if you will. But never get caught. And if you do, better be able to handle the consequences. I know better now.

I know better than to think Leif isn't armed. Unlucky for him, I am too. I will never be caught unaware again.

He flinches when I show him what he's done, and the look of horror is almost worth his lack of consequence.

---

9:00 am, Pre-Games Start, 26th June, HG 102
Arena Prep Room, Classified.

---

"Don't bother touching that until the gong goes, it won't work." My stylist buckles a simple black watch around my wrist. Brown accents that don't really match the all-black gear. It looks like mountain climbing is on the table. Insulated jackets, sharp toed boots. But I can't figure out why the gloves are so thin. Capitol technology at play?

I'll have time to figure it all out later.

By all accounts, this should be easy. The long-winded video interviews of our Victors describing their Bloodbaths. The good, the gory, the glory. My mentor, Imogen Bijou and her story of perfect coordination, back to back with her brother, leading a Pack that would lose the Fours, but also bring the Bloodbath death toll to a record high of fourteen deaths. Enobaria Romas' classic first kill of the games. Etruscan Juno and his genius plans, trapping five other tributes in the Cornucopia for his Pack to pick off like fish in a barrel.

"We can teach you a lot of things, son. To wield a sword, to crack a skull, to win the Hunger Games." He leans back in his chair, ignoring Imogen's glare. He's retired from mentoring, but apparently the unsolicited advice is a yearly occurrence. Happened often enough at the Academy. "But we cannot teach you everything."

"No two Bloodbaths are the same, Ivar." She finally wrestles control back of the conversation. "You kill, or you run. You can't do both. We can't teach you how to make it through a bloodbath, that has to come from you. Especially…"

She glances back at the older man, talking without words. This must be deja-vu for her. We know what happens to Twos and fractured Packs.

"Look." She sighs. "I shouldn't- fuck it. Theodora wants your head on a stick, Ivar. So I hope you have a plan. I can help you refine it, we can help you after you make it through. But not during. So, make me a promise, okay? You'll kill or run. Not both."

My stylist retreats as I step into the tube. It closes in silence. We've barely spoken two words since we've met. Haven't needed to. Why start now? But even as they turn away, the look in their eyes is clear: equal parts excitement and fear. For me. How sweet.

They wheel out the cart that held my outfit. The door locks. The tube doesn't move. The fuck?

A click. I search my hand around the glass, no latch. A mistake? Mechanical failure? What game is the team playing this time around?

Then, a hiss.

No. Not now.

There have been whispers of Rebellion. From Six, from Eleven.

"It's nothin', Ma." Elwin slurs his words, and I can feel Aia rolling her eyes next to me, holding her nose each time he breathes in her direction. "It'll all be over before the next Victory Tour. Only ever takes a cut supply line to put 'em back in place."

Immediately, I clamp my hand over my nose. They warned us about this. That the tech districts were delving into chemistry, hell, that even the Fours with their water treatment plants would likely start using it to their advantage. That if any little outlier rat had gotten their hands on tear gas canisters they might be able to figure out the recipe and we should be prepared.

But nothing could have prepared me for it to be in the fucking tube. The one place of respite.

I can taste it. Sour. Bitter, and I'm renewed in banging on the glass, even though I know I can't break it. No one's heard any tales of such escape since what, the thirties?

I can't go out like this.

---

?:?, ?, HG 102
Cornucopia?

---

Ever so slowly, I feel myself moving upwards, but when I open my eyes, all I can see is the arena. Already?

The silence is deafening. I look around, but though I can see other tributes, most of them are still out for the count, and the glass remains. But when I look down… I'm not standing on a plate… but on some sort of door?

Has something gone wrong? It's ludicrous to even think about. Games don't go wrong anymore. The trainers made sure to drill that into our heads. Play the damn game, and don't try to act cute. That's what Juno always said, and it was a sentiment my grandfather and the others echoed often.

No. It's a tactic. Likely to scare the outliers and give them false hope. If anything, we're probably ahead of schedule. Staring at these grimy walls, it'll give them time to overthink. Time to panic, and think about the limited air supply in the tubes. Let the intrusive thoughts take over, wonder if anyone's ever died before the mines were even activated, how easy it would be to take yourself out using just the glass. How much it would hurt. Forcing yourself to continue to bash your head against it, over and over and over, just wanting the pain and fear to end.

…

Ow.

No more of that. The walls are all the same white and blue-green, they look freshly painted and tiled. Ripe for spilling blood and hosting the best looking thing in this arena so far: the Cornucopia.

They've gone for a cube shape this time. It's black and green, with little shelves holding all sorts of treasures. Weapons, medicine. If I squint hard enough, I can see what looks like a door handle on the side facing me, and I can only guess that the better loot will be through there.

"Hope they spoil you in there, Ivar." Hallie isn't meant to be giving me mentoring advice, since she, like the other Dusktree mentors, are only meant to be here in a sponsor-gathering capacity. But I'm not exactly going to reject it. "My BB was… rough. Hell, I was almost glad when Three blew it up, fat lot of good that Cornucopia ever did me."

Of course, the disadvantage of playing it solo is that I'll have to be on the other end of the Career's numbers game. And Theodora's been baying for my blood, so that'll help. Juno's not the type to discourage killing District Partners. Grandfather and the others did, but this was back when losing the twins was still fresh, when I was too small yet to be considered a lost cause. He's probably told Theodora to go after me himself, the bastard.

There's nothing Amos Dusktree hates more than being proven wrong. Nothing that would give me more pleasure.

To the left is the five girl, then the nine boy. To the right, eleven's boy, three's girl, and Theodora. It's seemingly random. But if you've watched as many tapes as I have, you know that everything is by the configuration of tributes is a square, with six on each side. They must have put the explosives beneath the concrete, but I think we all know better than to think that will change anything.

Augustus Flickerman's voice reverberates throughout the room. Empty. Hollow. There's the usual showman pep in his voice, but there are only grave faces here. Even the boy from Seven, whom had laughed and pranked his way through training.

Sixty seconds. The majority of the other Careers are on the other side of the Cornucopia. I can outfight the majority of those I can see. Something as petty as being outnumbered isn't enough to stop me.

Fifty seconds. Theodora's about to be a pain in the ass. I feel her staring, and turn my head to return the favour. She's grinning, an expression betraying her bloodlust. I shake my head. She doesn't want to do this. As I told her…

"I will kill you and not lose a moment's sleep. District loyalty be damned."

Forty seconds. I'll hardly be the first to make it to the Cornucopia, but I doubt that'll put me at too much of a disadvantage. Tributes like the Ten pair have been avoiding me like the plague, my patch and status doing their job. It's unlikely that any outliers will want to start anything with me now.

Thirty seconds. I knew before we even arrived that if the Gamemaking Team knew what was good for them, swords would be on the table. They very rarely aren't. However, I can't see them, so they must be stashed inside the Cornucopia. And given Theodora is a fellow shortsword user… that'll be interesting at best, and bloody at worst. Her funeral. I didn't top her score of Eight with an Eleven for nothing.

Twenty seconds. My eye is itching again. It does that when it's cold, in the dead winters of Two, up on the mountains, winter solstice. Or when I'm hurting. The gas must've done a bigger number on me than I thought.

Ten seconds. I was given an ultimatum, run or fight. But here, I don't have to defer to my elders, my 'betters'. There's absolutely no bearing they can have on me. My family's taunts ring in my ears. But they aren't here. I am. This will be another Dusktree game, that's for certain. But it will never be theirs.

Five. Take one slow, deep breath.
Four. Get ready to sprint.
Three. Watch your six.
Two. Everyone's watching.
One. Relax.

"Happy Hunger Games."

Go!

I'm first off the plate, timing it exactly. How embarrassing would it have been if I'd mistimed?

Footsteps behind me. District Seven is hot on my heels, speedy as he was during training, probably hoping to slip through behind me. No chance. It only takes a moment to lapse in speed, trip him over. Leave him to his fate. Theodora wouldn't be the type to give up such an easy kill. Lilly Acheron can attest to that.

I can't tell if I'm first to the Cornucopia, and I'm definitely not going to draw first blood.

Boom.

My District Partner, predictable as ever, has probably left her footprints embedded in Seven's face. And if she doesn't get the hell out of my way, his District Partner might be about to end up the same way.

I grab the first shortsword I see and wrench open the Cornucopia, grabbing the first bag in sight and gunning back out. Only Seven is still blocking the entrance, so I take the only course of action. I swing, and these swords are far beyond the durability of those at the Academy or the Training Centre, because it carves through her neck like butter, leaving her headless.

Boom.

Amongst all the cannons and the beginnings of war cries and fear cries alike, a blur shoves into me and latches onto my wrist.

"Run." She insists, leading me to a hatch and opening it, dragging me through to god knows where, and it takes me a while to get over the pure audacity and nerve to realise I only got one kill.

---

?:?, Day One/Bloodbath

---

As soon as I've gathered my wits, I raise my blade, but she trips and shoves me, machete at the ready. Who the hell does she think she is?

"Who the hell do you think you are to be denying help right now, Two?"

I let the silence provide its own answer.

"Not even going to thank me?"

"No." No way in hell I'm about to thank some random girl for dragging me out when it was just getting interesting.

"So you can talk. Fucking Snow, man, I thought you must've gotten avoxed or some shit."

"I don't even know you."

"Well I know you, Dusktree, so I think you're gonna have to suck it up and listen to what I say. And I see you so much as flinch near that sword, I won't hesitate to take you out. That's how you sickos work, right?"

I almost like this girl. She keeps staring, eyes restless, completely unwilling to give me even an inch of space. I take the time to glance at her gloves. Five. That pings something in my brain.

"People like Caishen set a dangerous precedent for outlier volunteers. A boy gets the perfect circumstances. A broken Pack, some uncharacteristically dangerous groupies, and a whole lot of luck, and suddenly, it sparks hope. Do your best to quash it. No one really knows why he did it, but a fuck load of good it'll do you if someone tries a copycat manouevre."

She's the sole outlier volunteer. I remember now. In her interview… fuck, what was it?

"Better one life lost than two."

Right. Pregnant best friend. Theodora laughing at her. Scored… seven maybe? She lunges, and I feel a thwack across my left cheek. Right. Listening.

"I said… why did you ditch your little gaggle of murderers? Huh?"

Like Enobaria said, the Games are a series of divulging paths and choices. Even the outlay of this weird fucking place reflects that. If we fight, I'm confident I could win. But the risk of being injured will only make me more vulnerable. And until I know what the scores are, who's lived and who's died, how to evade them as a hunting party, I can't take the risk of getting hurt.

"They're only out for themselves-"

"What, and you aren't?" She scoffs.

"- and I know the odds of a knife in the back. Better to get them before they get me."

"Fair enough. I thought you District Twos were meant to be all honourable and shit, but even I can be wrong."

There's no point rising to that bait.

She looks down at me, and for a horrible moment, I feel small. She wouldn't be out of place as one of Theodora's posse. Crude, capable. But then she does something neither Theodora or anyone else in our grad class would ever do. She kicks away my sword, sure, but she also reaches a hand down.

Elwin used to do that before I hit my growth spurt, just to fucking suplex me and rub salt in the wound, the dick.

"It sounds like you can help me, Dusktree." She pulls me to my feet, staring me in the face. "And maybe… if you agree, I can help you too."

"Get to the point."

"Thanks to your bunch of dickwads, not only do I now have no contact with my fucking allies, but I'm pretty sure they're going to be after both of our dumbasses. You have the whole 'murdering since diapers' thing going on and I have pure fucking spite. We can work together to take them out, and then we can… i don't fucking know I haven't thought past that. Kill each other, probably."

"Probably." There's little use lying about it.

"Exactly. Easy. And with any luck some poor fucker that actually deserves to get out kills us both. My bet's personally on Twelve's girl." She grins. "What about you?"

Twelve hasn't won in almost thirty years. All this is is an attempt at coping through humour.

I can do this. I don't really want to be dragging dead weight around, but it wouldn't hurt to have an extra blade or two. At the very least, she's made it very clear that she's trying to be a martyr, so if she gets killed in whatever plan we come up with, it'll at least give me time to get away and reconvene. And there's always the tried and tested strategy of killing her in her sleep. District Two as honourable indeed.

"Three's boy." Whip smart. Smile brighter than sun beams off the mountainside. Hiding something. Something District One's boy grew almost obsessive about. I kept catching Felix lurking at the elevator to catch him on the way down. Too friendly. Score too low to justify the confidence.

"There, two more targets for you, you're welcome. So, you've got one chance. We can hightail it back to the Cornucopia and hopefully run circles around them, or you can say no, and we go our separate ways now, I'll even let you keep the sword. And then, if we see each other again, we get to beat the shit out of each other."

Why should she give a shit what I do afterwards? We haven't even gotten started yet.

"Sounds… fine."

"Then it's a deal." The corners of her eyes crinkle, and she shakes my hand. She's just been… holding it the whole time. "It'll be a pleasure to work with you, Dusktree. Now, come on, I wanna be somewhere less precarious when the Bloodbath's done-"

Boom.

"- and as much as I'd love to back in there guns blazing, I'm gonna need to look at this fuckin' leg. Make sure your merry band of psychos haven't done me too much damage, then we can talk about getting the drop on them."

"We go up."

"Literal. I like it." She nods, adjusting the straps of her backpack. "I say we go as far diagonally as possible. Close every door behind, make it seem untouched, see how far this hell maze goes. Then up."

"Fine."

"Grab your sword. We've got work to do."

As soon as I stoop to grab it, she starts dragging me along, wrenching the wheel to open the door inwards. She drags me through to the next room, making a sort of L-shape in our path. I'm not sure if she's aware of the chess analogy, or if she's even seen Emmer Triticale's games, but it is useful. Everything I learn about this new ally could be.

I don't even know her name yet.

---

?:?, Day One

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It isn't long before we realise what the point of this particular arena is. The rooms are identical, endless, and we've gone through at least ten of them. Each time we open a door to a new room, the one on the other side of the hole opens too. Given the pairs of doors seem to have identical puzzles, Five's been assuming they're on the same kind of circuit, both must be open or closed. We haven't bothered to check. There isn't time. Each time we clear a door, we shut the past one and hit the bright red 'RESET' buttons. That should slow anyone planning on following us.

"Wait-"

Clicking. I've just made light work of the pressure pad needed to unlock the door. We glance at one another and back away from the door, leaving it closed. Fuck that shit.

One year, the arena had a similar science-y theme going on. An abandoned lab, I think. Indoor, as this one seemingly is. The place was filled with insect mutts. Human-sized clicking beetles were a particular source of terror for my toddler self, according to Mom. No thanks.

"Fucking explosives. What's the point of rigging a fucking room like that? It's only been like half an hour." Her suggestion's equally plausible. It'd have to be laid by the Gamemakers. I don't care how smart the Threes or Sixes or hell, even the Tens think they are, no one would be quick enough to both remove all the mines, evade all of the fighting and make their way to some random room just to plant them. Oh, and the mines are pressure activated but… semantics.

"Maybe we're getting close to the edge."

She tilts her head, making a little 'mhm' noise.

I move towards the Northern door, or at least what I've silently dubbed as Northern. Snow knows what way we've actually been going or where true north actually is. Our quick rummage of supplies didn't unearth any kind of compass or map.

This door's unlocking mechanism is a sort of colour button puzzle. You press each one in the order. Like the reflex puzzles they gave us in the junior division, but in miniature and frankly easier.

It's a lazy attempt by the Gamemakers. Just a copy-paste of rooms and hovercraft hatch doors. Sure, the puzzles are different each time, and they've been getting slightly harder, but even then, there's little novelty to it. The only purposes they serve are seemingly to slow down movement, make it easier for the hunter than for the prey in classic Hunger Games style.

The door swings open… but I wasn't finished yet?

Whatever. It probably malfunctioned. Not my problem, since the door on the other side is open too. I swing one leg through the gap.

The room begins to shake.

Turns out we were both wrong, because that clicking was mechanical. The room ahead starts moving, as does this one, tilting in opposite directions. I wrench my leg back, barely avoiding impromptu amputation.

But that's the least of our problems. We both hang onto the hatch for dear life as the room keeps spinning.

"God I think I'm gonna, bff-" Five's screaming, the walls are a blur of blue and grey. Upside down, right way up, but we keep clinging until it slows. At these speeds, hitting the walls would be a sure way to get a brain injury.

When finally, finally, it stops, we're dangling upside down, my brain feeling like its been blended and dripfed back into my skull like some fucked up smoothie. Slowly, I manage to orient myself the right way, and drop, only swaying lightly.

Five isn't so lucky, only just landing on her feet and swaying to the nearest corner to throw up.

"Wh-" She can barely speak until she starts again. "What the fuck was-"

"It's the gimmick." I dig through my bag and throw a bottle of water in her general direction.

"Oh gross dude that landed in the- eugh." She sips on the water, leaning one hand against the corner for balance. "I fucking hate that."

The hatches we opened are still open, as are those on the other side, but I'm not about to move and check if my hypothesis is right.

"Well, if anyone was following us, no way in hell they still are. Should keep them off our trails." She takes a deep breath and caps the water. "No one will know where we are."

"Neither do we."

"Really?" She scoffs. "That's your issue? Its not like it'll be hard to figure out. Sure, we got spun a fucking million times. But gravity doesn't lie. We've got to be near the top."

"Didn't your mentor win in an arena based on anti-gravity tech?"

"Touché. But that's not the point. Why the hell would they put us in climbing gear unless they wanted to fuck with us. And if they were fucking around with a gravitational field like that, why would the room be upside down? Why'd they give us these babies?"

And why would they drug us in the tubes unless there was something they didn't want us to see?

She kicks into the wall, making her point as the blades on the toes of her boots stick, concrete dust flying. Mountain gear. I guess I was half right. After all, how else are you going to go up or down without help? The tiny suction pads on the gloves.

I follow her as she starts climbing, and test if the gloves alone will hold my weight on the ceiling. This must look so stupid.

We make quick work of this hatch, a hand crank. But instead of seeing the same blue-green walls, the fluorescent lights, only inky blackness remains. Five swings herself through the hatch first, using it as leverage, then moves to let me through.

"Let it be known, I'm never wrong." She glances around, mouthing numbers. "Now, all we've gotta do is figure out where we were, and we'll know where we're going."

"Rest first." I defend myself against her look. "You said you'll need to check on your leg. We need to sort supplies."

She gives a short nod, and immediately sits down and shrugs her bag off. I sit a meter away, far enough that I know if she lunges, I can get her first. Not that I think she will. Something about Five is… ambivalent. Neither threat nor prey.

Food, thank Snow. Mostly tins and vacuum sealed packages, but we've got blades and I'm sure she's eaten worse than whatever the hell freeze-dried pomegranate puree is. Somehow I doubt anyone will be doing any hunting or gathering. Unless mutts count. No one likes a game where everyone dies of dehydration and starvation. Then again, no one likes an arena where the only thing you're looking at is six hatches and bricks, so what do I know? Maybe someone's getting fired over this.

Five winces as she checks her ankle. Lucky for her, there's not so much blood and the wound is nowhere deep enough to panic. Probably won't even need stitches. She takes off her jacket to staunch the flow, and I snap out of staring.

I have a kit in my bag, but unless she asks, I won't offer. Our resources are scarce.

A few vials of liquid, a knife holder, which would be great if we actually had any, and it's too small to hold either my sword or her machete, so that's a bust. Night vision glasses. For nighttime, which I'll wager is limited to out here.

As if on cue, the anthem starts playing. The hologram blazes across the empty space, and I wonder how they're broadcasting it to those inside the structure. I didn't see any screens. Five unclips her glasses from her shirt. Long sighted then.

I'd hoped that, if anything, Maia might just start stabbing and running, but no dice. Districts One and Two remain intact.

Three girl. Spent the whole pregames going through withdrawal symptoms and crying. Probably for the best.

Four. I wonder if going through with her stupid plan is what got Isla killed. I did warn her she couldn't outfight the Ones alone.

Five boy. My allies District Partner.

"Don't." So I don't. I hate watching people cry. "I knew the kid wasn't going to make it, so just don't."

Both Sixes. Looks like the girl either bled out or one of the others finished the job.

Both Sevens. Obviously. One kill for Theodora, one for me.

Nine's girl.

Ten's boy.

Both Elevens.

Miracle upon miracles… no Twelves. I'm sure my former allies will be quick to rectify that.

"Bets are still on, huh?" She's shaky, but Five has managed to clear her tears away by the time the anthem has faded away. "I've still got faith in District Twelve to pull through."

I nod, if only to show I'm listening. Eleven deaths is one hell of a Bloodbath. And it would be. What use will nature districts find in these barren concrete halls? What chance will anyone have without supplies or the generosity of the sponsors who didn't immediately switch off when they realised the place was more prison than arena.

Isla's death was unlucky. If she knew what was good for her, she would've met up with me first and maybe we could've done some damage. Two-on-oned our District Partners before the others knew what was happening. But it's back to the original plan. Hunt the hunters.

"So, Dusktree, how are we doing this? You take one corner, I'll take the other? Sleeping with our backs to each other to give optimal stabbing opportunities? You've gotta give me something."

"I'll take the first watch. We can't both risk being asleep in case it spins again."

"Yeah, sure, fine. Just remember, it's you they're after in case you change your mind."

Five swipes the sleeping bag. Not that I'd need it. It's not warm out here or in the rooms, but I'm used to the harshness of a Two winter. This won't even come close to making a dent in me.

For someone who's made it clear we'll kill each other later, Five's asleep at a drop of a hat.

I take a moment to fiddle with my watch. It lights up as soon as I touch the screen, and it looks like a regular 24 hour clock, but given my stylists last warning, I'm inclined to make sure

I'm not sure what I've done, but the screen brings up a hologram. Doesn't take a genius to figure out it's this very structure. Swiping around it and inside it confirms Five was right. We were on the bottom of the cube, and if we'd opened those floor hatches, they would've opened to the same nothingness we've been staring at.

I'm guessing it's me represented by the brown dot, with the grey as Five. In fact… most of the dots are grey. Nine are black. Four greys remain at the centre of the bottom level, part of which is marked with a C. Probably the others in the Cornucopia. The remainders are spread around, with only one being on the level below us.

Far as I can see, only three other people have colours. Me… a bright white directly above where I'm guessing the Cornucopia is, a light green hiding in one of the bottom corners, and a bright yellow on one of the middle layers. I tap the dot to reveal a label. White: D3M. Green, D12F. Yellow. D9M. Son of a bitch. At least Three's the tech District, how the hell did the other two figure it?

I swipe back to the original screen. The time remains, 00:59, but there's a countdown below it of the minute until one am, with a small popup.

Would you like to change your path?

Yes || No

Fuck it. I click yes, and it brings me back to the map, showing me the directions that the rooms can move, how they moved earlier. Our nine and a half rotations are marked by white. I can't move the Cornucopia itself, but I'm wondering if I can spin the whole bottom layer and take them out like that. The countdown hits zero, and the dots flash. One of the greys is between boxes, and Twelve's girl has moved up a few levels.

I'd rather be smart about this, make sure it actually works first. I spin the furthest column from us, the one the grey is between, and set it to a quarter rotation. That brings the grey to the level below. Five doesn't stir, and hardly anyone will know what's happened.

It's weird, to be watching over someone.

---

08:30, Day 2

---

"Come on, sleepyhead." A foot gently nudges me. "We've got Careers to hunt."

"Mmf."

"Eleven in training, six foot, built like a brick shithouse but you can't handle an early start? I've been taking 4am shifts since I was twelve, now move."

I'm rolled over onto my face, and flail my arms to hit her ankles.

"Give me a minute." I haven't slept this well in years. I wipe the crust from my good eye and smooth my patch- wait. Where the fuck-

I scramble around for it, letting my hair fall over my face, I don't have time to care about that where the fuck is it. I never sleep with it on but that's just because I'm always facing the wall and have it in front of me.

"On your Six."

I reach behind me. Thank Snow. I keep my back turned to her as I slide it back on, double knotting the strap for good measure. Then, and only then, do I push my hair out of my face. Sat on one of the empty bags, Five is twisting hers up into a bun.

"I didn't… see anything if that's what you're worried about." Her voice is softer than I've heard it. "Wasn't sure I'd be able to handle it. You kept moving in your sleep. Like you expected…"

She doesn't need to finish that sentence. Before the incident, I used to wake up to all sorts of mayhem. In the family house, in the Academy. Elwin or Leif or Sigard, or whichever other cousin wanted to fuck about with me. At least at home, when we were young, Aia would come and put a stop to it.

"Get the fuck out, Elwin, leave him alone."

"Fine, Ivar, get your big, scary, sister to protect you, I see how it is." He scoffs and leaves, like I'm not even worth the effort of tipping water on, or lighting a flame at the foot of my bed.

"Why does he hate me?"

"He… he doesn't hate you, Ivar, he's just a dick." She rubs me on the shoulder. "He knows you won't hurt him back. That's not your fault. Some… some people just can't do it."

Back in the junior academy, I had Xander. He was a scrawny thing, the perfect target. But he would fight back with words, if not with fists. They always preferred targeting me. It was funnier to go for the black sheep, the kid who should by all means be able to beat the shit out of them but just let himself get pushed around. And that ended well.

When he was gone and all was said and done, I moved up to the seniors… and I only had me. I wish I had a fucking picture of Elwin's face the time I came home for Victory Tour season and broke his fucking nose the minute he laid a hand on me.

"Don't worry about it…" I trail off, before setting my face. Get a fucking hold of yourself, Ivar.

She looks back up at me from repacking our bags. We can strategise on the way, especially now that I know how to tip this arena to my favour.

"Lichtenberg. My…" She coughs. "My surname. Feels weird not having anything but a District to go by."

"Then, Lichtenberg, let's move."

She slips a bag onto my shoulder, crossing her arms.

"Oh. I almost forgot, there was a canon a few… hours ago I think. I'd've woken you but… anyway." She looks down through the hatch. "Where to? Straight down and hope we hit a Career, or back the way we came?"

"Neither. "

"Oh, you're normal again. I got worried you were sick and it'd turned you into less of an asshole. I need you to be the beauty and brains to my brawn. Anything else will fuck this up."

Huh?

"Don't sideeye me, you know what I'm talking about."

Whatever. The watch is saying none of the rooms have moved since I touched it, though a few of the dots have moved. Most notably, it looks like a career has moved. A black dot flashes right in the centre of the cube. I move my wrist over towards Fi- Lichtenberg, and reach over to tap on her watch. Her dot flares up dark blue.

"Woah. That's sick. Figure that out last night?" Her eyes are bright, and I get a nudge on the shoulder. "So, genius, where are we heading?"

"One down, all the way to the left." I point it out on mine as she starts fiddling with her own diagram. "I want to make sure we don't get followed."

"I take it all the greys haven't activated theirs yet?"

Doesn't look like it. I start walking diagonally across the block, making sure to avoid messing with the hatches and keeping a close eye on the countdown. It's not worth trying to go through many hatches. We're two against one. Besides, we know where they are. Even if these aren't live, they must update by some kind of time scale. We won't be far behind.

Lichtenberg doesn't try to make any conversation, following my footsteps as we grow closer. She pushes a finger to her lips and an ear to the hatch above the grey. We've heard nothing, no scrape of metal or even our own footsteps. We've got that in common. It only takes a minute of her fucking about with the slide puzzle for the door to make its click sound.

She pulls the hatch upwards and I make the jump in, regretting it when the shock rattles through my knees. Shortsword at the ready, I'm prepared to shove it through the next living being I see… but I don't know if I'll need to.

All I can hear is ragged breathing. The glove is so bloody it takes me a while to figure out who it is. Guess I was right about what happens to those who get caught between the rooms.

"Dusktree?"

"Clear."

Twelve can't exactly do us any harm in this kind of state. Had he lost the other forearm, I'm sure the watch would have led us to a much different sight.

She dangles from the hatch and drops, stopping dead when she takes in the extent of the blood, of the way Twelve had done what she did, tried to use his jacket to staunch the blood, the way his skin has gone ashen and grey. Satchel tipped over without any medical supplies in sight.

"Oh my-" She covers her mouth, eyes darting away. In disgust or in respect, I can't tell. She starts looking at her watch, confirming this is who we'd been looking for. The dot hasn't yet gone grey, but that's probably just because it hasn't updated yet.

We both flinch when he moves. Eyelids encrusted with blood tearing themselves open.

"L… Lia?"

Five skids to her knees by Twelve, checking his face.

"No, it's me. What the hell happened to you, Dusty? Tell me, now." She grips his remaining hand. "Where's Talia?"

"Got… split up early. Had Four on our tails." He lets out a groan every time he moves. "Took a nap in between the doors. Couldn't… I wasn't quick enough. Serves me right, huh?"

He lets out a laugh, but it's hollow.

"I'm… I'm gonna be okay though, right? I mean, the four chick won when she was more driftwood than person, so I can make it too, right?"

Maybe, but Cordelia Swash's wounds were cauterised by the very blade that caused them, and all she had left to fight through were three untrained fourteen year olds suffering from dehydration. This kid's been bleeding out since I moved the rooms.

"Yeah… yeah, you're gonna be fine. Go back to sleep, Dusty, w- I'm sorry I woke you. I'll keep watch… try to fix you up."

It's astounding, the faith Twelve has, like Five, to just go back to sleep. Fitful sleep, but he goes back under quickly. Then again, I'm not even sure he knew I was in here, too delirious with pain and eyes too covered by a film of blood to notice much but Five and her hand in his.

"We…" she takes a deep breath. "We have to get this over with quick. Can you? It'd… it'd be kinder."

A long time ago, I promised I'd never be kind again.

"Do it yourself, Lichtenberg. I'm not the one who made empty promises to a dying boy." I won't break that promise for a boy who's already dying.

"What?

"You heard me. That, or let's go. We have a job to do." I turn heel to start on the hatch on the floor, checking on the watch and countdown. 9:10. Son of a bitch, I missed it. I didn't hear anything moving, so either everyone else missed it too, or the movement was so far away we couldn't even hear it. Yep, there it is, Three's shifted himself to our column, and better not be planning anything funny.

"The fuck you mean, Dusktree" She hisses through gritted teeth. "We can't just leave him, and we both know he's not gonna fucking make it. I thought you'd be thrilled. The rest of your ilk would be."

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm not them." I'm better, I'm more.

"Then why the hell do you suddenly care whether or not its you that does it. You don't even care about him."

"I don't care enough to waste my time." I'm trying not to shake, not to let anything seep through. I don't need to lose the only person that might be willing to help me take out the others because I let weakness show in front of her. "He'll die no matter what we do."

"I'd rather he die at peace, believing there were better things than to bleed out slowly and suffer. Why is this where you draw that line? Why is mercy so impossible for you-"

"Because kindness is weakness and we're running out of-"

Twelve stirs, mumbling in his sleep. We both shut up, and Five takes his head to use her lap as a pillow, wiping his fringe away from his eyes. And I know I don't know anything about her, but if I didn't know better, I'd say that's the same as what Aia would do to me when we were little. Really little.

"Please." She tries to stop her voice from breaking. "I can't… I can't do it alone. If I do it… he'll struggle and I don't want him to wake up and think I've betrayed him."

"Then why did you?"

I let the question hang, but in the silence, I still crouch next to her. Just another kill on the board. Another step closer.

"Hold his shoulders."

She follows my instructions wordlessly, looking at me with a mixture of sadness and thanks.

It's not a difficult thing, to take a life, to hurt someone. Not like it was. It's not difficult to slice the edge of my sword against Twelves neck, to sever the nerves and induce brain death. It only took a few seconds.

Boom.

Lichtenberg gently sets his body aside and stands up, unable to look at him. Then she lunges for me, and I'm not quick enough to swing my sword for when she goes in for the-

The hug?

"Thank you…" She just manages to hook her head over my shoulder. "And I'm sorry, for what I said but most of all thank you… thank you, Ivar."

And it's too much, it's too personal, and I can't seem to back away. I haven't been held like this in so long that I'm not sure whether it's best to push her off or just let it be. In the end, she makes the decision for me, and gives me one last squeeze round the shoulders before stepping away.

"We should… we should go."

"The hovercrafts won't be able to get him until we do."

"Yeah." She glances back one last time, rolling and unrolling the straps of her backpack.

"As absolutely tooth-rottingly sweet it is that you've gotten yourself a boyfriend, Five, I thought the plan was for you to kill the Careers, not join them." The lazy drawl is unmistakable. I knew I should've been keeping an eye on that map. "I almost feel like I'm intruding on a Capitol film set."

And while I'm ready to knock Three off of his perch between doors - how the hell did I miss them opening - Five gets there first. His face is half covered in bandages, earthy skin covered in scrapes, but he looks just as dangerous as he did when he arrived.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes? What the hell took you so long?" She jumps to hug him, knocking their foreheads together. Great, now there's two of them.

"Got lost. Started fucking about with the watch, had to figure out whether you two were allied or fighting, and well…" He looks me up and down. "I think I've gotten that one figured. Come on, lovebirds. We've got justice to dispense."

I follow the pair silently through the hatch, suddenly relegated back in time to the third wheel. Seeing their arms around each other's shoulders gives a rise to something in my throat I can't quite name.

"Vulcan, this is Ivar. District Two." Five looks back at me and smiles brightly.

"Oh, don't worry. I know exactly who he is." Vulcan follows her gaze back to me, giving that same look he had been all training. A grin, all teeth at that, but masking something that's been driving me insane trying to figure out. "Spent all the training just trying to get you to talk to me. Should've just sent Vee to you, huh? Would've gotten this show on the road much quicker."

I don't know what the hell they're yapping about, and I don't know if I have the mental capacity right now even to attempt the mental strain.

"Shut up." She yanks him closer to mutter in his ear. "We're not… don't be silly, of course he's… we're just allies."

"Ally-zoned? That's got to be a whole new low." He grins at me again, putting a hand over his mouth and stage-whispering. "That mean I can keep him?"

"Y'know what…" She gently pushes him away. "If we all survive whatever scheme you're planning, you can ask yourself. Speaking of…"

She looks at him sternly as we stop in the middle of the room.

"I second that. Tell me what we're doing…" I step forward toward Vulcan, glaring down. Whatever these mind games are, they stop now. "Before I change my mind about letting you live."

"We…" To my surprise, and annoyance, he only leans toward me, keeping direct eye contact. "Are going to use these pretty little watches to get the Careers while the idiots are still lounging at the 'copia. As long as we can find a matching puzzle door, we can get the ambush before they even realise what the watches are for. And I'd rather that be sooner than later, mm?"

"Fine…" It's only until the others are gone. "Lead the way."

Five (Vee?) gives me a smirk to rival Vulcans, pleased as punch.

"Shut up."

She only grins in response, linking our arms and listening as Three starts rambling about the mechanics of the arena, some that I'd realised, like how you can only move a part of the arena every time the countdown happens, and others neither of us had had a clue about.

"Yeah, so turns out fucking up one of these is a one way ticket to trap-ville. A kind of punishment for being dumb enough to fail the puzzles slash your one defence against someone with a weapon when you have nothing." He has the nerve to look sheepish. "Ten, and by extension, I found that out the hard way. It was early this morning, I was following her to see if she might make a good ally… but she was stumbling and could barely keep awake so she… ah… failed one of them… that annoying stick-and-wire one. And… well, then came the darts. And since the hatch I was watching her through was open…"

Lichtenberg physically winces.

"But… live and learn." He shrugs. "We're here."

I check my watch, 9:55. Time sure fucking crawls.

I recognise the puzzle on the handle he's in front of, if you can even call it that. A simple twist and push handle, like an emergency exit. The same one on every hatch in the Cornucopia. So they are linked.

"'S that why ours opened even when I hadn't finished it?" I venture. "Because they're all linked."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Five mouth 'brains and beauty' and elect to ignore it. These people are already so damn confusing.

"Well, yeah." Vulcan tilts his head, invested in what I'm saying. "That'd make sense. I mean, I kept seeing open hatches in places I thought other people couldn't have gotten to yet. And from how I understand the movement mechanics, if you don't match the puzzle hatches to each other, the door on the other side won't open. And that on its own is no bueno. But it'd make sense to put the same puzzles on the same circuitry no matter where they are, since the Gamemakers expect us to do the work and move the arena around like we're on my second-worst unpaid internship."

"Second? What's the worst?" Lichtenberg squints at him.

"Took up an unpaid security job outside one of our Peacekeeper compounds because I wanted to get close to the Head PKs son. Got that kiss in the end, but fuck was boiling in the summer not worth it. Ended up dating his twin sister, and you can guess how awkward that got."

"Yeah, I got those kinds of vibes from you when we met." She shrugs.

"Pfft." He rolls his eyes. "Was it that, or catching me making out with Gil in the elevator. You're still an idiot for that by the way, we worked hard on that 'Out of Order' sign. You could've gotten stuck in there and looked stupid."

"Not as stupid as you looked when me and Isla just came in and closed the door."

They keep ribbing on each other, so I go ahead and keep an eye on the time.

"The countdown's started, if you two want to come back to earth." I can hear the dryness in my voice, although I've been making sure to keep my hydration up. All that time spent in the training centre was wasted, because we had to have a million concrete boxes instead of, I don't know, a forest? Cliche as hell but I'd at least have an excuse to go somewhere else and do something productive.

"You're no fun." Vulcan rolls his eyes but smiles anyway, seemingly the only expression he can pull. "But, you're right. I'd rather not fuck up this next bit."

He swipes on his own watch.

"Should we not… hold onto anything?" Lichtenberg swallows, our previous experience with the spinning columns clearly still fresh in her head.

"No. It's only a quarter rotation, right?" I glance at Vulcan and catch a nod. "Should be slow, we can walk it round."

"I'd still rather…"

"Go ahead, Vee." He gestures at one of the other hatches. "We won't judge you."

She nods, tongue flicking over her lips and swallowing again. Walking over to the hatch on the opposite wall, she gives Vulcan a shaky thumbs up. He nods back, then at me, inputting the command for the boxes to turn. Like I predicted, it's nothing like the first time, more like when I had a turn last night. A quarter rotation, walking speed. We walk it in silence, Vulcan keeping an eye on where Five keeps clinging to her hatch, even as it moves from being part of a wall to part of the ceiling. In fact, it takes her a good thirty seconds after it's stopped to even open her eyes.

"That wasn't so bad…" She sounds almost ashamed of her cowardice.

"Yeah… done now." Vulcan stands beneath where she clings, holding his arms out. "Come on down."

"You'll drop me." She deadpans. "You're what, five foot clean? I'll take my chances."

"Five foot five, fuck right off. Average height."

Yeah, that's about right. Outlier tributes are generally shorter. But the factory Districts kind of skew it because of the rickets rate and malnutrition, plus stunted growth, that kind of thing. Would make Five… five foot eleven? Not much shorter than me. I didn't really realise how tall she was until she hugged me.

"Yeah, sure, but at eighteen? You're screwed." Five laughs, but lets herself drop anyway. To his credit, Vulcan does manage to catch her.

To take that credit away, he manages to stumble back into me and take us all down.

And so here we are, a tangled heap, Five and Three with their hands shoved over each other's mouths to stifle the giggles, and they both smile at me and I feel…

Holding hands under the school desks, rubbing his bruises with ice to make them better. Having him watch my hands when I fold up origami animals for him, knowing he collects every one.

Fulfilled. In a way I haven't felt in years.

Vulcan's laughing so hard he's crying, and Five's shoulders are shaking as she buries her face in my arm, and I can't move them… so I drop my head to the floor and just… let it be. What harm can it do.

I don't know how long we'll stay here until they both finally move. Twin pairs of hands reach to pull me up, and I just let them. It feels like I'm floating in reality. The calm before the storm. They look at each other, eyes wide, then back at me, staring.

"Do I have something on my face?" I raise an eyebrow and wipe around my mouth. Be awkward if I'd been walking around with dried blood on me.

They both shake their heads, and Vulcan makes his way to the hatch on the floor, checking his watch. The three greys still remain inside the Cornucopia blocks. Good. At least we didn't waste our chance with the… idiocy.

"We go for them one at a time if we can. Isolate, attack, repeat. If we…" All of a sudden, his tone drops. "If we lose someone… run. Recuperate later. This is an assassination, not a suicide mission. Got that, Vee?"

He glares pointedly at her, then glances at me.

"You don't really need any pointers. But… uh… if we get Gil… let me talk to him? I… we agreed to leave it in the tower… but I'm gonna apologise. Wouldn't be fair otherwise."

Five puts a hand atop his and rubs his knuckles gently. Then looks at me, my hand, and theirs.

"I'm not doing 'go team.'"

"You're no fun." She groans. "When we unlock the hatch, on three. Me first, then you, Vulcan take up the rear and leave the door in case we need an escape route."

With one final nod, Vulcan twists open the hatches, slow and quiet, and Five sticks herself to the ceiling as she crawls through. I follow behind, blood rushing to my head and definitely looking stupid but it's not like my original plan of hunting them down one by one was any better thought out.

The handle to the Cornucopia door rattles. We freeze in tandem, and I'm pretty sure Vulcan must've been mid step, or whatever the closest equivalent is, because his breath hitches. Out comes Maia, bow and arrows strapped to her back, chewing on something and yawning. I knew I hated her for a reason. Can't stand people who eat with their mouths full. Ugh. She doesn't look up, and closes the door behind her, starting to stretch. Five, of course, takes this as a cue, without consulting either of us, to detach her shoes and swing while Maia's back is turned, using her momentum to take her to the floor. And the plan kind of goes to hell from there.

Vulcan and I are forced to follow her lead and drop as quietly as we can, which is ass to try and do under pressure, but we do relatively well. We pull our weapons from our bags, my sword and his weird pocket knife thing, and advance as quickly as we can as Five tries to gag One before she can yell for backup. It's not a terrible idea, but a warning would've been nice.

Maia keeps thrashing and trying to bite Five's hand, then the jacket when she tries to use that instead. Can't blame her, Five hasn't had time to wash blood out of it, and it's not like we'd have enough water in supply to even try it.

Vulcan gestures to me to restrain her legs, so I kneel on the backs of her knees while Five manoeuvres to sit on her back. Not so honourable now, but I don't think any of us could give a fuck. It's the only way without alerting the others. And while the other Careers could be on death's door in the worst shape of their lives, they could also not be like that. We're not sure which one of them's out right now, but as we've seen, the arena mechanics aren't difficult to manoeuvre. And I wouldn't put it past Gamemakers to interfere.

Maia finally stops thrashing when Vulcan slugs her with a boot. The noise it makes isn't worth the risk. Speaking of, we'd better hope a cannon isn't going to go off at some point, because I don't know if anyone left here is stupid enough not to check their surroundings when a cannon blows. I'd rather not get caught like fish in a barrel against Felix' knives. I usually hated trainees who only excelled in one thing, but if I can respect anyone's niche, it's his.

We have to be careful about Maia in the same way too. Cannon noises might get broadcast everywhere, but like Five and I found out, they're always loudest in the room where it happens, and they're a surefire way to attract attention. Best to incapacitate first, then go for the others. Finish them off in a line. Keep the numbers straight. Vulcan and Five aren't exactly the best of fighters, but three-on-one in a confined space would be a bitch on anyone.

They take it in turns stabbing Maia, over and over, maybe a dozen times in a minute, shallow but painful cuts, until she's barely strong enough to move and I can feel comfortable getting off of her legs. They both keep their faces blank, expressions that look wrong, so wrong on them. None of the feral glee I saw on Theodora's the first, or even second time I watched her kill someone.

"And you won't say a word, right, Dusktree? You know how these things go. When someones a threat… you've gotta take them out. Lilly shoudn't have fucked with me."

"No.I'll be leaving. Good night, Astoras."

It takes a while, but eventually the pool of blood spreads out, and by some unspoken communication, my allies both straighten up.

One down, two to go. And it's easy to make someone trip into death from its brink. Too easy. So we've got to act fast. We put our heads together, watching Maia nervously as she twitches, weapons pointed in case somehow she could find the strength or will or the sheer miracle needed to stand, let alone attack. Can't let my guard down.

But isn't that what you've been doing? A traitorous voice rattles around in my head, and it sounds suspiciously like Leif.

"That's one. How do we play this?" Vulcan whispers softly. "Kick down the door, take 'em by surprise?"

"Depends who's in there. Best case scenario. Four and One. Worst case. Two and One."

"Easiest thing to do is lie. We lure them out, they'll see Maia. We go in, they start swinging. Maybe…" I bite my tongue. "You won't like it, but if I act like I've brought you as a peace offering for Dora, they might buy it."

"No, I actually like that a lot. Do we have rope or something to make it seem more authentic-"

"Freak-" Five coughs, and I give them both a look. Of all the times that are not the time.

"Whatever. If you're sure?"

"Sure." Five rolls her eyes at Vulcans enthusiastic nodding.

It doesn't take long to get them both sorted, since Vulcan already looks like he got bombed through a hedge, all we really have to do is take the bandages off, and it looks like he's gotten beaten to shit. Five is a little more difficult, and we use Maia's blood to make it look a little more authentic. But it's easy to reason that with how dark it is in the Cornucopia, we won't need to hold the illusion for long so we don't really need to do too much.

I grab all the bags and hoist them onto my back. Grip Vulcan by the back of the shirt and put my sword to Five's neck, just to sell it a little more.

I don't bother knocking, and keep my cool when both Felix and Theodora stand in a flash.

"Well…" Felix smirks as he starts walking closer, eyes locked on me. "Look who came crawling back. I told you he would, Dora. Dusktrees aren't really built for solo ventures."

"I get it, Ivar. I do. If you run at the Bloodbath, I won't chase you… and when you come crawling back, I'd be more than willing to trade Dora for you. She's just a little too… opportunistic, shall we say? To be nice. But if I catch you trying to harm me or the Pack…" He tuts. "I think we both know what I'll have to do."

"The fuck do you think you're doing here, Ivar." Theodora isn't so easily entertained. Always an attack dog, just waiting for Felix to let go of the leash.

"A peace offering." I do my best not to look at either of them. "I knew you had your eye on Three, Felix."

"True…" Felix bites his tongue and exchanges a glance with Dora. "But didn't we all? He spent enough time hanging around us that he was more Pack than you were, Ivar. Maybe we should just take him instead… what do you think, Three?"

He tries to wiggle out of my grip, but I kick him in the back of the knee.

"Great idea. In fact, if anything… I'd say these two are my peace offering." And it's that fucking grin again, the one that made us all worry, because no one should be so happy with their life on the line. No one should feel so genuine in a den of liars. "What d'ya say?"

"I think." Theodora was never one to let herself be outdone by anyone. "You're all full of shit. Because I bet…"

She takes too steps forward, completely blanking me in favour of staring Five dead in the face. How badly did we fuck this up?

"The only wound you've gotten so far this game," She reaches down and pulls up Five's pant leg. The cut is oozing blood from where it reopened from the exertion. "Is the one I fucking gave you, thanks for nearly breaking my fucking nose by the way, but other than that, you all look fresh as fucking daisies. Wanna explain that? Or do you need me to do it for you?"

She straightens back up, and Vulcan freezes from where he'd been haphazardly trying to wiggle his way out of my grip.

"Why the hell did Maia even let you in-" She stops suddenly, smiling that same nasty smile as the day I caught her cutting Lilly Acheron open neck to navel. A promise of pain and a threat all on its own. "... Where is she, Ivar?"

Plans never work when you say them aloud. You can't trust anyone but yourself. Grandfather's small notes of wisdom float past my eyes. Snippets of information meant for Elwin, or Sigard. Never me. It used to be a gift just to sit in the same room. Imparted with an unbelievable seriousness and a certainty backed up by the sheer volume.

For a moment, I almost wish I'd believed what he said about my chances here. But who knows if it actually would've changed anything?

Felix takes another step closer, knives between each finger.

Boom.

Vulcan and I exchange a look, the same thoughts running through our heads. Fuck it.

He grabs the sword out of my hand to clash with Theodora as she swings, Five and I ducking for cover as Felix unleashes his barrage of knives. We tear open the bags, and I'm forced to make do with the axe hanging off the wall.

Within seconds, Felix is stepping inside my swing, pushing my defences, knives at the ready. The only thing I regret about splitting early is not getting that fighting experience against the others. I could watch, and I did when I found the time, but it's not the same. Not when he's a far more vindictive fighter than I'd pegged him as, knives flashing past my face in blurs that feel so stupidly, hauntingly familiar.

"What's wrong Ivar, you gonna cry?"

The glint of Leif's blade, bringing a knife to a fistfight. They'd never gone that far before, but afterwards, it became a chief staple.

And somehow, somehow, Felix must know just how to get under my skin, every blow aimed for my eye, like he knows how badly I have to fight just to keep myself from getting stuck in that past.

They say that the reason the pirates and soldiers of old wore patches was to help them adjust to dark situations, so that when they ambushed in caves or overnight, their covered eye would already be used to the lack of light. And before anyone really realised what had happened, people thought that was what I was doing too. Just another desperate attempt to get ahead of the predetermined judgements made of me. But whenever I blink, I'm flying blind, and the darkness works to all advantages but mine.

Across the room, the others are trying desperately, valiantly to keep Theodora at bay. It's not them she wants. It's me. Who are we kidding, she's wanted my head on a spike outside her window since the day we had our victor confirmations. She doesn't care what damage is done, as long as she kills me.

Because she's much like a Dusktree herself, and the highest dishonour doesn't come from death or disgrace, but the crime of being wrong.

"I warned you, Ivar." Felix isn't even shouting, and is half blocked by the grunts of pain across the word, yet I can hear every single word. Even as I get a lucky hit in, axe leaving a screaming trail of blood down his arm. "I would've let you go if you just turned tail again. You made us do this. And now your little friends have to go too."

"You're making me do this, Ivar." Elwin's breath stinks of the booze he raided from the main cabinet. It has more and more recently. Like he soon knows, I'll replace him, and thinks if he tries to rough me up enough they'll take him back into the fold of Grandather's favourites. They won't have another choice. But I'm not a little kid anymore, and he can't push me around unless I don't feel like trying to stop him. "Why won't you just fucking listen to me? Quit while you're ahead. You'll never make it here. You can't. And if I can't do it, what the hell gives you the right to have it?"

They're not my friends. I grit my teeth together as he catches me slacking, knife embedding itself into my cheek. Close, way too fucking close. I rip it out and throw it to the floor, tasting and feeling the running blood. I focus on his wounded arm, knowing if I can just hurt him enough - we saw what happened to Twelve.

Felix presses closer again, knives getting more and more difficult to deflect. Maybe fighting in weapons central wasn't such a good idea. It's a Cornucopia with rat trap corners, and try as I might to press an advantage, he's not the type of guy to give up easy.

With a flourish, he throws another two knives, aimed for my stomach, and I move the axe to deflect according-

Legs… not the stomach.

My pain receptors catch up around five seconds after my brain, giving Felix time to unleash one of those faux-pity looks as Five yells my name, only to yelp in pain as Theodora rips a chunk out of her hair with her bare hands.

I try to keep standing, to lunge for Felix' neck and end it in his gloating… but I'm not strong enough. I can't do anything but fall to my knees, dislodging the blades but ultimately worsening the pain. It's all I can do to stop my shaky hands from dropping the axe, but it's pathetically easy for Felix to disarm me.

My head feels underwater, vision blurring. The others are calling something… my name? Felix's blurred shape is blocking out any semblance of light, and I can just barely register the tip of a knife under my chin, forcing me to look him in the face. A hand rests by my ear, moving… why?

"I just… I can't do it." I can barely look at Mom, head still doped up on all the painkillers the medics were willing to give me before it became a safety risk. It's not enough, even if all they are are stupid phantom pains.

"I'll do it." She checks the hall to make sure no one's coming. That's fair, Snow knows the minute the others find out about this I'll be even more popular.

She's gentle about it in a way I'm not sure the others know how to be. Even though Aia isn't cruel, she's never been able to completely escape that philosophy of competition, of violence. Hence why she and Elwin butt heads so often. I'm not stupid enough to think it's all just in my defence.

She's got soft, deft hands, not like the rest of us. Free of the callouses built by weapon work and the scars after spars… I don't actually know much about how she was, how she lived before she married… him. She's like some sort of angel.

"It's okay, Ivar. He won't get away with this." It's the first time I've heard her voice with that note of pure vengeance. And I don't believe her, but I want to… because I know she'll try anyway. "The… the doctor said you won't need to do much medical upkeep. They couldn't save it."

She brings the eye patch away from my face, and puts her hands on my cheeks. Letting me take my time. I'd known it'd happen. Knew enough about the blood vessels and delicacy of the organ to know that the minute Leif got that lucky hit in… I might not ever see again. But this…

I can't help probing around with my fingers, unable to accept what I know is happening. Has happened.

All this family wants to do is take from me. Leave me with the pieces of what I wanted to be true, what I needed to be true. Leif and I could have been friends. I could've helped him…

No one will ever take from me again. Not only has he marred my sight… but when I look into the abyss of my eye socket, nothing is there to stare back.

"So it is true… I should've put more faith in Maia. If anything, I thought the sapphire story was plausible. Stranger things have happened in One… but you're just Two, aren't you, Ivar…" He simpers, false pity pouring from his mouth. "Second best."

He dangles the patch in front of my good eye, and I try to clutch it, bring back a shred of my dignity, try to force back the tears welling from the pain, god the pain. He kicks away my hand, stomping on one, just to hear me yell.

"You won't need this where you're going… I promise… it'll only hurt for a moment." It's almost tender, almost kind, almost true. I was bred for these Games… but I was never really made for them, was I? "I'll make you match… you got this far… isn't that enough?"

He grabs my chin, gentle, and brings his knife closer, closer, closer.

"No… please…" I haven't begged since I was twelve years old… but I'm not ready to die. Woozy from my injury, I still know what he wants to do. And if Leif couldn't keep my eye, this sick freak can't either. "I'm not… I don't want to die."

The liquid running down from my lash line repulses me, but it's not blood, not until he makes a shallow cut above my brow, and it comes streaming down to mix with the water and fuck further with my vision.

"No one wants to die, Two…" He hushes me gently. "But everyone has to one day. Don't fight."

Then there's a blur of motion, a blade, two bodies careening into me. My head hits the wall, and as my vision fades, only then do I hear the crack of shattering bone.

---

?:?, Day ?

---

"Ivar…you've gotta wake up. Please."

A dreamless sleep. Far less painful than reality.

"I got him. I got them both. Had to get you out… just left One to bleed. She's gone too."

It's a voice I don't recognise the owner of, though I know the sound. The sound that brings the warmth of summer solstice with it, when even though we don't have a summer, for one day we can feel like we do. But the voice almost feels incomplete, like somethings missing.

"We didn't… I couldn't… I've just been moving the arena, trying to make sure no one else gets to us. Putting us where none of the doors match so they can't get in. She's… it's bad, I don't know if she's gonna make it. We're running out of supplies."

Something… someone's missing… but there's still warmth surrounding me, still the sense of pressure and the tactility of arms around me.

"Everyone else activated their watches. Yours is kind of glitchy now, I don't know if it'll move the arena anymore. I think when One stepped on it…"

Motion. Rotation. A whirring, clicking sound, and the slow grind of rock.

"I haven't slept since. I have to be the one in control of the cube. I feel like a fucking Gamemaker, I hope you sick fucks are enjoying it. I keep… I keep thinking that as soon as one of them finds us… we're dead. Fuck, I should just leave you both… but I can't."

I know this voice. I do. A shadow of a picture of a face.

"It's so fucking stupid. Mama always said I loved too easy. I just want to go home… isn't that enough. I came here and I just wanted to fuck about and have fun before fate did me in… but it's not that easy. I can't believe you fuckers got me to care about you. Especially you. I think at first… the only reason I gave a shit was because Vee did."

An interruption. A loud noise. Echoes.

"No, Gilbert, you can't fucking come in."

Back under. Dreamless again. The anaesthetic always felt better when they let me go on my own terms.

---

15:46, Day 4

---

"Twelve, Ten, One, Two, One, Nine."

"Hm?" I can hear something. Really hear it. I struggle to crack open my eyelids… but there's only black. No, no, fucking no. I'd rather be dead. Why didn't Felix kill me, he said he would, why is he keeping me like this let me out let me out let me out-

"Woah, Ivar, Ivar." Hands to my wrists, stopping me from touching my face. "It's me, you're okay! You were clawing at yourself in your sleep. I needed to stop you. You're not- gimme a-"

Something slowly peels away from my forehead.

Light. Snow, I've never been so grateful.

It's too bright, I know that. It fuzzes around the shape of the figure sitting next to me. He presses leather into my hands and I know that at least something went right.

"Hey big guy." His smile is sad, and the humour is gone. But it's unmistakably Vulcan. As soon as I manage to sit he's cramping himself into my side, holding on like he's about to float off the planet. "Welcome back. It's been uh… about two days. Day four."

He has tear tracks running grooves down his cheeks. Dark eyebags, bloodshot eyes. If I didn't know better, I'd say we match in that regard.

"What the hell even-" I try to stand, but he offers a hand first. Stumbles as he pulls me, like he's hardly got the energy for it. To be fair, he probably doesn't.

"Don't overexert yourself. Those sponsor gifts were a bitch to beg for." He keeps looking behind me, nervous, biting his cheek. "Sold my soul to the devil for you."

"Where's-" I turn around and my blood runs cold. Guess the voices weren't dreams after all. At least not all of them.

Five rolls into the spot I'd just occupied, like she'd been propped against me. Barely breathing, shirt rolled up slightly to reveal enough bandages to take the local hospital out of business and then some. Eyes closed, expression disturbed, pallid.

I look to Vulcan, and he visibly withers.

"She… I… when One went for you, I panicked, knew if he came back our way, we were all dead. Kicked Two- your partner, I mean- back and jumped him. Kept hitting him with the hilt. Over and over and over until he backed off and kept going until the cannon went. And Vee kept fighting but… I don't know how. She'd gotten her on the floor by some fucking miracle and they both swung. Vee got her in the chest, and she got her between the ribs. Lungs. And they were both still moving so I took one of One's knives and- you get the jist. Vee was… she even managed to get up to check on you when I was stocking supplies… but then she collapsed too. And there was this ping on the watch, I think the Gamemakers activated them all remotely, and I knew people would be coming. So I just… dragged you in here. Kept moving the box every hour, on the hour. Kept hoping one of you would wake up and be fine but… I could barely stop your from bleeding… I can't fix a ruptured lung."

I can't stop staring at her, thinking. We haven't even gone after Four yet. The last Career, that was the plan… when did I stop being one? But I don't even know how long I've been out. He could be dead… we could be finished… then why hasn't Three killed me yet? Regardless, it's the smartest move.

"She's… she's not gonna make it, Ivar. The Gamemakers are gonna get sick of us being in here, unreachable. They've been moving rooms themselves… I think they're gearing up for a finale."

"How many?"

"Me, you, Gil- Four, Vee, Twelve… Talia." He shrugs gently. "It had to have been Nine, the cannon in the 'copia. One was still twitching when we left, covered in blood… I think she drowned in it. Four keeps coming by, trying to convince me to 'F2'. The Eights managed to run right into him… I hadn't seen them all game. Didn't stand a chance. That was yesterday. It's like a game of cat and fucking mouse, watching him chase Talia. But she can't run forever. I want to think she could beat him but… we could barely take on the others when we had the numbers. Talia's been running nonstop. I've helped her when I can but… when he gets her, he won't have any other choice but to come and get us-"

"Vulcan. You look like shit. Go to sleep."

"I can't." He drags his hand down his face, catching on each and every dart wound. If he were to make it out… I'm not sure even Capitol surgery could properly fix it.

If.

A careless word. Brought by my own carelessness… because though its been short and hellish… I never forced myself to think beyond this kind of situation… never thought I could end up in it. One ally, let alone two, was unthinkable.

But given one's comatose and the other's half dead for lack of sleep… I don't know what to do anymore. Even if we stick with the plan to try and kill Four… there's still the issue of Five. Of if she wakes up, if she dies. And it's only numbers. I could potentially take him out on my own. But our odds are even, and it could just as easily swing the other way.

"Yeah, sure, you tell yourself that."

We're only down to five tributes. In four days, that's got to be up there with the quickest games. Heads will roll, and I have to make sure I'm not among them.

"We… we should go." Vulcan is still sniffling, glancing at this watch, then back at Lichtenberg. Five minutes til four.

"We should?" I haven't let myself feel lost in a long time, but it's like we're in limbo.

"It's… it doesn't matter what we do. She won't…" He covers his face to avoid saying it.

It hits me at once that I don't want to do it. And he doesn't either. We could, we should just leave her here and carry on… put this whole ordeal to rest. Delaying it helps no one. She stuck on multiple chest wounds, maybe both of her lungs collapsed. It's… smarter to let her go.

Not kinder. Smarter.

With any luck, she'll go by herself. Peacefully, in her sleep. And we'll know by the canon and the watch, so it's not like we're abandoning her, not really. Just letting it take its course.

"It's not like I'm making it out of here anyway." She walks closely to me, talking even when I don't respond. "They liked the story… hell, they'll probably even interview Millie. Ask about the baby… but they're not about to let me win, y'know? Not after last year's mess. Fucking Sixes ruining everything."

Vulcan leans down to place her jacket over her face and starts emptying the contents of the bag. Far less than even what I had alone. Small bits of food, some spearheads. He hands me my sword without ceremony, taking Fives machete and leaving his pocketknife next to her. The only other thing he has on him is a few of Felix's knives. I think we both know we won't need anything more.

"I ah… would've gotten you your partner's sword but it… broke. 'S how hard she was swinging it. Hit the wall too hard and it just… shattered. It's a miracle Vee even held her off but… she was a miracle all on her own, weren't you Vetra?"

I can't do anything but nod. Just my luck she didn't get to tell me her name herself. Maybe if I'd paid more attention... this could have gone differently from the beginning.I could have made it here without them both, I'm sure of it. But would I have wanted to, knowing what I know now? Knowing that maybe… I'm not wrong about the Games, or my family. But that that there's infinitely more than what I chose to see, that people can live and die and trust. That earnest people could make the best out of the situation and choose to laugh, in spite of what they knew was coming.

Knowing that even over the past few days, not once have I genuinely feared a knife in the back.

Vulcan fiddles with his watch. The bright yellow of Twelve and turquoise of blue have seemingly stopped moving, right on cue for the countdown.

"They… I think the Gamemakers kind of gave up on limiting these babies." He takes a moment to show me the paths he's been moving our room. Corner to corner, up and down, never creating a pattern. " They just let you move things however you want. I mean if you think about it the whole thing was a clusterfuck. Seventeen deaths in the first two days. Blows right past a final eight, let alone a final ten. Two deaths on day three almost makes it look stagnant."

I know this game. He wants us to go and face the others before they can make us. Get the edge while they've been fighting. But what then? The grimace on his face tells me he didn't think through to that part either.

But if we want to be out of here before the day is done… we'll just have to go on the fly. I never thought I'd see the day when I actually wanted to go home.

Vulcan claims the ability to move the arena for what will hopefully be the last time. We both keep looking at Five like she's going to sit up and crack a joke about how we couldn't have all the fun. But her breathing has slowed even further.

"I almost want to wait, y'know… just to make sure she's okay." Vulcan stands next to me and he sounds stranded. Like he expects everything to collapse in on itself.

I pick up Five so that he can spin the row. If Twelve and Four haven't moved, we should only end up five floors away. That's not so bad now. For an arena that seemed so endless, now it only closes in on us more and more. Vulcan works on the puzzle as I put her back down, tightening her hair band where I see it's come loose. It's not pretty, but it'll do. Not like she can care about it anymore. Vulcan squeezes her hand one last time and takes her watch before we head forwards through the nearest hatch, taking the path of least resistance.

"What was that for?" I barely trust myself to talk, plagued by something I don't want to name.

"Insurance." Vulcan's voice is grim and hoarse, all bravado from our past encounters gone. "Might as well test to see if it's attached to the vitals of any wearer or just the assigned one."

The next room we enter has two hatches on opposite walls already open. As we look through them, on the left is just an endless path of open hatches. On the other, well… there's a reason Vulcan yanks me back against the wall, because had he been a second later, I would've been staring into Four's soul. He can only be around six rooms away, and I check my map to confirm that they've both hit one of the edges.

Twelve must've managed to dodge him somehow, because the pairs of footsteps grow louder and louder. Closer to us. The louder they get, the more Vulcan shakes. Until they're all but two rooms away, and he pulls me to face him and kisses me on the cheek, right over where Felix punctured me.

"For luck." He interrupts before I can even process. "For Vetra… and for me, too."

And with that, he moves back again, watching for the moment Twelve vaults through, Gil's hand flailing attempting to grab for her, and he slams the hatch as hard as possible. Yeah, that's gonna bruise.

It barely takes five seconds before Gilbert's brute forced the hatch back open and gotten in here too, grabbing Vulcan by the collar in the middle of the room, and I stay flat against the wall, watching to see what he'll do. All of the hatches slam shut automatically.

A canon sounds.

Boom.

And Vetras' old watch beeps pathetically. Guess that answers that question.

Twelve flattened herself against the furthest hatch the minute they shut, eyeing each of us. When her eyes meet mine, they widen, and I see her mouth open and put a finger to my lips, then point to Gil, still blissfully unaware of my presence. She shits her mouth. All alliances are temporary now, but I'll take that molecule of trust.

"Well that was fucking rude, Three." Four's injured hand is already red. Probably broke a finger if not two.

"Hey, call it payback for the Bloodbath." Vulcan grins, licking over his teeth. "You were the one who said no hard feelings."

"And I meant it." Despite the way he's idly swinging his mace around, Gilbert seems almost at ease. Content with the way things have gone. And he would be, there's hardly any blood on him, while Twelve must've been fighting for her life if the open gashes on her neck say anything. "I'm glad you made it this far, Vulcan."

"I could say the same, Gil. Ready?"

Four puts him down, much to the chagrin of Twelve, watching me creep round behind Gilbert, sword in hand.

"Yeah…"

But he's not, because if he were, he would've at least flinched before I put my sword right through him, spearing his heart on the way through. I don't have time to feel bad that he never saw it coming. The blade draws back out cleanly, covered in blood. Gilbert drops to the floor, not even able to say dying words as more blood comes spouting out of his mouth and nose. Maybe he was more injured than I thought, just better at hiding it.

Boom.

The Gamemakers wanted quick, they'll get quick. Twelve almost looks amused that the one who's been tormenting her went down so easy. She's a scrawny thing, smaller than even Vulcan, younger too. The kind that Felix had looked at and gone 'aw bless… best to leave her to the others' just to keep his moral high ground.

"Hey, Talia…" Vulcan must sound lame even to himself.

"Just get it fucking over with, Three. I want to go home." Her malice barely disguises her fatigue. And I agree with the sentiment.

"Okay…" His voice is soft, almost a match to how Vetra had spoken to Dusty. How can it feel like it happened so long ago? This place is doing something to me that I don't like. He turns to me, smile sad, so sad, and it reminds me of another sad smile, another boy, all those years before I learned how to turn it all off. "This is the end of the line, huh? What'd Vee say you guys were going to do when the last Career fell?"

"We get to beat the shit out of each other."

I'm not sure if she meant it or not.

"Doesn't matter." I put my face back into place. Dusktree, volunteer, Career. All the things I've had to be to get here are the same things I have to be to get out.

Because if I give into that tiny voice insisting that I tell him, tell him everything, he'll understand, Five would have too, then all I get is the mental image of falling to my sore bloody knees and begging for him to win, because of factors like deserving and trust and laughter, when all I ever was was a shell of who my mother raised me to be.

And Vulcan looks almost hurt at that, but raises his machete. Nothing else to be said, nowhere else to be. For all of Talia's insistence that she would be going home, all she has are her fists and her wits. So it's no surprise that she's willing to hang back while Vulcan and I start circling each other, just the way I imagined we might when we first locked eyes in the Training Centre.

We don't speak, but in his eyes I see Vetra, and grief, and apologies, and I have to look away before he can start reading me too.

I'm not sure who swings first, but all I know is that I must swing last. That I was trained for this. To evade the sloppy, clumsy swings of an outlier unused to melee combat, smaller and weaker, insignificant in all ways.

I used to be able to turn it off, to stop thinking so fucking hard.

Vulcan gets a surprise slash across my calf, and from there, all I see is blood. Slashing and pressing closer, ignoring the pain as long as we can just make the other die first, win, win like we deserve to. Even though it hurts like nothing ever has. We both have flesh and muscle exposed, but we're almost done, it's almost over, and he looks like a martyr. My wounds are reopened, and I know his are too, and it has this horrible sense of finality that I have to force myself not to dwell on.

He drops and rolls to avoid my next swing, avoiding separating his neck from his shoulders. I'm strong enough to do it. Seven proved that. The room is empty for us- wait… empty?

I was taught better than to forget about an opponent. Talia jumps down onto my upper back, immediately crossing her legs to try and crush my windpipe, boots pressing into my chest. My vision spots and I crash backwards against the wall, her resulting noise of pain only a tenth as relieving as it should be.

She's done well. And maybe if she'd had a knife on her to finish the job, maybe slash my trachea, she could've done it. But these walls are concrete, and it doesn't matter how much she kicks to break something in my nose or drives her fists into my shoulders, I have the upper hand. And driving her head against the wall six or seven times does well to drive the point home.

Her grip goes weaker, and she drops with another crunch. I'm about to turn back to Vulcan, but he outmanoeuvres me to slice his machete clean through the slit in her throat.

She chokes, and it looks like maybe she's smiling, but that's all we get.

Boom.

There it is. I barely feel able to stand but somewhere in my bones I know I've won, not least because he's struggling to keep his heart in his chest. If I look close enough, I can see it beating.

"The finale is a whole other beast, Ivar." Bijou's smile has long dissipated between Juno's rambles and her own recounting of each of our Victor's finales, hers included, like we haven't all heard them a baker's dozen times or more. "You can only act, do what your instincts demand, whether or not your brain or even your body agree with you. To make the finale is a worthy enough achievement in itself, but there can only be one Victor. Even when there wasn't… we knew who claimed the crown. And it must be you."

I look down. The tip of the machete is in my stomach. I drop my sword.

"Stop thinking. Start doing." Trainer Juno swats me on the back of the head. "Hesitance will only ever kill you."

But what have I left?

He steps closer, crying. Why would he be crying? This is just how it has to be. We know that. He tries to talk, but he can't, so I don't either. Die staring into one another's eyes, I'm fine with that. I've done what I needed.

"You think you're worthy of the Hunger Games?" Grandfather's voice is poison in my ears. "Prove it."

I slip a hand into his, another into his jacket pocket. Thumbing for the right knife.

"Thank you, Vulcan." I rip the knife from it's sleeve, and it's like losing my eye all over again, because I'm looking in third person as I jam it into the back of his head. A kill spot. He slumps forward, clutching at me, mouth forming gibberish.

As he loses control of his own body, he leaves a bloody hand print down my cheek where he kissed me earlier. Eyes shining. One last comfort.

Boom.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, Ivar Dusktree, Victor of the One hundred and Second Hunger Games!"

It's all I can do to play the Game, and let out the fabled Dusktree roar. Something to symbolise victory, renewal, but it only adds to the ringing in my ears.

I've won the Hunger Games, but what does it matter when 'I' no longer exist as I was?

---

AN: Waves. Hi illegalcryptid 3

Here we are, I hope I've sufficiently fed you. Ivar was a real twister to get my head around in the beginning, but he was such a joy to write and I have nothing but praise for you for sending him out into the aether and therefore my arms. I am the treasurer of the 'give this kid a goddamn hug committee' but as a HG writer was also forced to sign up for the 'rip him to shreds newsletter, so I hope I gave you the best of both words. Iconically too hostile for a relationship indeed. He is so very fucked up and I love him dearly, and I hope you enjoyed this little offering 3