Big thank you to the kind guest reviewer on the last chapter! It made me feel a lot better about This Whole Thing.

This story is STILL STUCK ON 666 VIEWS! But now I know it's genuinely an issue with the site, and not that I've actually gotten 0 reads on the last 5 chapters I've posted…so if anyone knows how to fix that, that'd be great lol.

Obviously this chapter includes violence. If you're reading THG fanfic you're probably ok with that, but I'm warning you just in case.

A robotic voice- I don't know where it could be coming from- begins counting down from sixty. Sixty seconds to get my bearings. Okay. I can do that.

I'm nearly blinded, at first, by the whiteness of it all. The evergreen trees around us are sagging with thick, wet snow and even the Cornucopia- in the center of a small frozen lake, surrounded by clear ice that promises to be slick- has a hearty coating of the stuff. Dozens of thoughts run through my head and I try to sort them into a neat line. It's not so cold it's unbearable; I've hunted in worse and this jacket will keep me warm. The snow looks powdery; even the smallest prey will leave tracks. But that means people can track me too…

Another powerful gust of wind blows through the clearing, nearly knocking me off my feet. I scramble to catch myself- if I step off my pedestal before the countdown ends, on accident or on purpose, I will be blown to smithereens by landmines. That's probably exactly what they're hoping will happen, but I refuse to die in such a meaningless way. I intend to win, and if I can't do that, I will die in a way that preserves my defiance.

Forty-six, forty-five…

I look up, trying to get a feel for the arena beyond the windbreak of pines that I can see. As far as I can tell, the forest is dense in every direction- at least that part will feel like home. Oddly enough, trails of thin gray smoke are rising out of the trees, even though there can't be anyone out there starting fires yet. Maybe our first obstacle will not be the bloodbath, but a wildfire of the Gamemakers' doing.

Bloodbath. Careers. I swing my head around, looking for the other members of our pack. Peeta is four pedestals to my right, visibly scared out of his mind. I meet his eyes, shining brightest blue to match his jacket, and he nods at me, almost imperceptibly. My stomach turns; I wish for a moment we could forget the pack, take off on our own. No matter what I thought last night, Peeta's the only one I can really trust. I wish the plan didn't involve us splitting up.

But, we made a promise, and Haymitch had drilled it into us even more in our last strategy talk. Stay with the Careers as long as you can. Learn their weaknesses and use them as a shield. Don't leave unless you have to; don't give them a reason to turn on you before you turn on them.

It's still hard to believe any of this is real.

Thirty-four, thirty-three, thirty-two…

I crane my neck to get a get a glimpse of any of the Careers, looking for some kind of reassurance. Turquoise is next to me, but she doesn't make me feel any better. I find Nolan, at the same time he finds me. He nods at me too, more confident than Peeta. I use that as reassurance. We are on the same team- for now.

The last twenty seconds are agony. Every muscle in my body tenses, ready to spring off my pedestal and into action. Couldn't they have just made the countdown a minute long? Couldn't they just get it over with?

Five, four, three, two…

On "one", I leap, heading straight for the Cornucopia. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peeta flee, meeting Turquoise and Thunder and bolting into the woods. Good. All according to plan.

There's loot scattered all over the pond, but the best stuff is in the tail of the Cornucopia. I- along with the tributes from District Two- am responsible for securing "the best stuff" before anyone else can get ahold of it. We're not the only ones running for the Cornucopia- plenty of others are just as brave and/or foolish as we are.

Impact. The girl who tackles me is small- even smaller than me- but the ice is so slick that I go down. Instantly, she's scratching at me, grabbing at my throat, and for a second I'm too paralyzed to fight back. But this is the Hunger Games; it's kill or be killed. I block my face with my arm and shove at the girl- who I now recognize as Brin from Ten, by her copper-colored hair- but have little luck in dislodging her from my belly. She has no weapon, neither of us does, but for a minute I think she might actually kill me, before she's gutted from behind with a spear.

Blood spills out of her and she slumps over. She goes quickly, at least, and I shove her off me. There's no time to thank Storm; she just pushes the now-bloody spear into my hands and takes off again.

I scramble to my feet and make another run for the Cornucopia, which Nolan is currently defending singlehandedly. No matter how scrambled I might be right now, I have to push it aside and do what it takes to survive the next few hours.

Heart pounding in my throat, I take my place next to Nolan. He is the perfect image of a predator, blood spattered on his face- I assume it's not his own- and an enormous metal mace in his hands. I thank my lucky stars we are on the same side.

No time for thinking, much less thanking. Even with two of us, holding the Cornucopia is a daunting task. Its mouth is wide and spilling over with riches, and everyone wants their share of it. Many have run off, taking whatever they can carry, but many still fight, barehanded if they have to or using any object is within reach.

I'm not comfortable with the spear I got from Storm. It's short, meant more for throwing than for jabbing at close-up attackers, but you'd have to be pretty stupid to throw away your weapon in this madhouse. What I need is a bow, but I'm in no position to be picky right now. Fortunately, Nolan takes care of most of the attackers, one fluid swing with his mace knocking several of them back. For him, the weapon is a natural extension of his body. Years of training will do that to you.

All four tributes from Seven and Eight fly at us. Nolan is ready for them, letting out a war cry and swinging the mace in one sweeping blow. A blow that doesn't kill, but does knock all four of them over and I hear a jacket rip. One of the girls- Aspen- is up before Nolan can take another swing. That's a downside; he's not very fast with that thing. That means it's up to me.

I jab; she dodges, almost throwing herself at my feet. I jump back instinctively and bring my spear down on Aspen's shoulder. It hurts, I'm sure, but it tears only her coat, not her skin. I hit her again and this time she reacts, but I can tell she managed to grab something while she was down. She flees as fast as she arrived, and the other three flee with her.

No time to rest, no time to think. The tributes from District Four launch themselves at us next, a curly-haired girl and a boy that seems to be entirely made of bronze. The boy goes straight for Nolan, catching the grip of his mace and locking him into a glorified wrestling match. I can tell they've planned this, because the girl knows exactly where the gap in the guard will be and she ducks through it nimbly, knocking me off-balance with a well-placed shoulder check.

I spin around, spear poised to throw. She's cornered now; no way out except through me. That doesn't make her helpless, though- she grabs a crate and launches at my head, forcing me to dodge before I strike. The crate pops open and several vacuum-sealed sleeping bags burst out of it, puffing to full size immediately. I jump over them and throw my spear, making contact but not enough to kill. Not enough to even really slow her down, and now I'm without a weapon. I prepare to face her down barehanded- death before dishonor- but she's faster than me. I find myself slammed into the side of the Cornucopia headfirst, stars flashing before my eyes.

This is it, I think woozily. This is how it ends.

I fight my way through it, the pain that threatens to fog up my entire body. I'm probably concussed, but that's not worth worrying about right now. I scramble to my feet- long after the girl from Four is gone, of course- and retrieve my spear. I have one thought, one goal only: get back to Nolan's side.

By the time I drag myself back to the mouth of the Cornucopia, my head is beginning to clear- thank you, adrenaline- and the crowd has visibly thinned. The boy from Four is dead and pushed off to the side, with a crossbow bolt sticking out of his face that means Storm has gotten to him.

Nolan's expression is pained, and he hardly acknowledges me as we fight side by side. I find a rhythm, learn when to jab and when to swing. My spear finds its target in a boy named Trace, District Three's smallest tribute. I feel sick after, but I'm grateful that his death signals the bloodbath's bitter end. Everyone else scatters- the tributes from Seven, who had continuously come back for more, Tollen from Ten and Davina from Six, scuffling over a fire-starting kit- and I can vomit in peace.

Storm, of course, sneers at me. The violence hasn't seemed to bother her at all, judging by the way she immediately turns her attention to fixing her ponytail and check her nails. They're covered in blood, of course. There's blood on her face, too, little spatters that almost blend in with the freckles on her nose, but not quite.

Five cannons go off, confirming the end. Only five. It felt like so much more than that, but I suppose not every scuffle ends in a kill. I'm certain every tribute- everyone who dared approach the Cornucopia, at least- has some kind of wound to nurse, myself most definitely included. My head is throbbing, now that the adrenaline has faded, and puking my guts up has not helped at all.

Nolan is all business. Even though the clearing is empty except for us, he glances around every other second, making sure no one is planning a surprise attack. "We need to move out. Let's fill the sleeping bags with loot; that'll be the easiest way to carry it all."

I chew my lip, envisioning the three of us dragging bags loaded down with goods over the snow. "Won't that make us easy to track?"

Storm just laughs. "You're kidding, right? What kind of idiot would see the tracks of heavily armed Careers and think going after us is a good idea?"

I shrug uncomfortably. "There are lots of idiots in this arena."

She stares me down. "I can tell."

Nolan clears his throat. He's just as uncomfortable as I am, albeit for different reasons. "We're going to be easy to track no matter what. Let's just…get going."

It's easier to listen than to argue, at least in this case. We take turns, one standing guard while the other packs weapons and survival items into the down sleeping bags. We can't take everything, but we take everything that's useful. Nothing wrong with leaving some scraps for others to find.

I feel incredibly out of place, with Storm and Nolan and no Peeta. The two of them work in sync effortlessly, and while they might not admit it, they are incredibly alike, in personality and looks. I guess I'm not the odd one out for looks- we do all have dark hair- but when it comes down to personality and life experiences, I don't think we have a single thing in common.

By the time we actually walk into the woods, a loaded sleeping bag trailing behind each of us, I get the sense that sunset is near. My heartbeat quickens and I realize just how much I don't want to be stuck with just Storm and Nolan after dark. "Turquoise didn't tell me much," I say, huffing and puffing with the effort of lugging the bag. "How exactly are we going to find them?"

"Well, as you pointed out earlier, genius, people leave footprints," Storm points out. I figure it's best to ignore her.

Nolan makes a frustrated noise. "She had this whole thing- something about the angle of the sun and a certain amount of pedestals…I think it'll be easier to just follow the tracks."

So we follow the tracks into the woods. After about ten minutes of walking, Storm does something weird. She starts whistling. It's not the most unusual thing in the world- not compared to many of the things I've seen Turquoise do- but in an arena where you don't really want people to find you, when it's the least cheerful person you know…yeah, it's weird.

"What are you doing?" I have to ask. It sounds oddly familiar, but it's not any song I know. It's the same four notes over and over, with random pauses in between.

Storm looks at me like I'm the one being weird right now. "It's a signal, dumbass."

As if the world exists to prove her point, someone whistles back from deeper in the woods.

"It's supposed to sound like a mockingjay call," Nolan explains. He whistles the sequence too, and he is markedly worse at whistling than Storm is. Who knew.

I suddenly remember where I've heard those notes, though. "Oh. Like Turquoise did in her interview."

"Yeah, crazy bitch," Storm says. She doesn't put any emotion into her words and I imagine she's called Turquoise crazy so many times it's just a reflex for her.

"I don't know why we let her make the plans," Nolan grumbles, but he keeps whistling all the same.

The answering whistles get closer and closer. A couple mockingjays fly overhead, taking the song and making it their own, but I stay focused on the human reply. Even though we're all tired, we find it in ourselves to pick up the pace, encouraged by the idea of a reunion and the relative safety of "camp".

My heart quickens when I get my first glimpse of them, three figures in blue jackets that wave madly to us. One more whistle, one more confirmation from us, and the three who are unburdened break into a run.

I'll admit it; my first reaction is fear, but I quell that quickly. I've just spent too much time being under attack today to not think of everything in terms of predators and prey. But that's no way to make allies.

That fear turns into undeniable relief when they get close enough I can see Peeta's face. I knew he'd be safe- that was the whole point of the plan- but I needed to see it in person. Without thinking, I drop the string of the sleeping bag I'm dragging and embrace him, wrapping my arms around my neck and squeezing, making sure he's still there under the big puffy jacket. He squeezes me back after a moment of hesitation. "Katniss, thank God you're okay."

"I was worried about you too," I admit.

Even without looking up, I can tell Thunder's rolling his eyes. "Don't worry. We took good care of him."

"He just spent the whole time worrying about you, though," Turquoise adds with a wink. "Break it up, lovebirds! We gotta make camp!"

She sings her last two sentences in a complete nonsense tune, but I still flush as I step away. No one else is hugging joyfully- I should have thought about what it would look like. I've had no energy to worry Peeta's interview and the consequences of actions, but that doesn't mean it's not relevant anymore.

"It's this way," says Peeta, cocking his head toward the path they'd come in on. "Here. Let me help."

He grabs one side of the string loop I've been using to pull the stuffed sleeping bag and we pull it together. Turquoise and Thunder help Nolan and Storm respectively, and we make much better time on this portion of our journey to "camp".

I stop short when we get there. "What is that?"

Turquoise cackles somewhat madly. "It's our campfire!"

"Uh…it doesn't look like a campfire."

"It" is a raised circle of rock, about five feet across, with steam bubbling out the middle of it. It is definitely not something of Turquoise's own creation.

"It's a geyser," says Nolan. "They bubble like that most of the time and shoot hot water up once in a while."

"Oh. We don't have those in District Twelve."

"They're not in District Two, either. We just learned about them in school."

I'm oddly jealous he got education that didn't revolve around coal, but this is not the time or place. "There must be a lot of them," I say, remembering the trails of smoke I noticed when I first popped into the arena. "I guess we can't track anyone for starting a fire, then."

"Well, why would you start a fire when you have this?" asks Turquoise.

The geyser bubbles somewhat menacingly, but I take a few steps closer to it for a better look anyway. I don't want to get too close- the six-foot radius of clear stone around it indicates that it gets at least hot enough to melt snow- but I can't help being curious. The heat it produces is definitely greater than a campfire, and it smells like salt, not sulfur or any other undesirable compound, so I assume we can use it to cook, too.

I check out the rest of camp, which really doesn't look like much yet. All that indicates it's a settled area is the slough of footprints in the small clearing, presumably from Turquoise, Thunder, and Peeta growing restless while the rest of us were at the Cornucopia. It's a good spot, though- we're a ways out from the center of the arena, but close enough we could still hear if a fight broke out, and we have access to heat and water. Well, everyone has access to water, I guess. There's clean snow everywhere.

This is home from now on, I guess.

This chapter was so much harder than I thought! Luckily I was smarter than when I was working on Taking Sides because I actually made a FULL LIST OF TRIBUTES and MADE A NOTE when somebody died. So hopefully this fic seems a little bit more put together.