Chapter 40

I am going back to Twelve.

I know I didn't want to live with Bill and Jane in the Capitol, but neither did I want to be squashed in a train-car with the two of them, Haymitch, Bickett, Elspeth and Elspeth's hair.

Chazzer Flickerman and Effie Trinket have been relocated to District One, due to their status. Anomaly is with them, as Chazzer's luggage.

The entire live audience of my Victor's Ceremony has been dispersed across the districts as new peacekeepers, along with every member of staff who came into contact with me.

I don't think anybody from a district has ever caused such a catastrophe. Or ever will again, probably.

Go me.

I wanted to have an impact, and I did. All it cost me was my self-worth, my heart, any hope of a nightmare-free sleep ever again, and the way my windpipe allowed air to flow through it freely.

I cough up a matted orange hairball, only to inhale more of Elspeth's rat-nest.

I snap at Elspeth, "Did you intentionally choose Twelve?"

She nods, buffeting me with her curls.

Bickett says, "We thought you could do with a friend."

Elspeth meekly tilts her head to one side, making me duck beneath her hair, and makes a heart shape with her hands.

"Thank you so much." I grumble.

Then I realise that I sound like Rubis.

I snatch the bottle of liquor that Haymitch is drinking from and take a generous swig.

Haymitch appears only slightly peeved before he pulls a second bottle from his pocket.

The train pulls into the station, and we step into the familiar, coaldust-saturated atmosphere.

To my surprise, a throng of people are there to greet us.

Am I popular? Was Corvid wrong – am I not a laughingstock?

The crowd chants, "MUDNUT! MUDNUT! MUDNUT!"

Nope. Corvid was right. Except the mob's hatred seems to be directed exclusively at me, not the Capitol, as Corvid intended.

I am fed up with crowds. I am fed up with being watched, and judged, and laughed at.

Right now, I just want to go home – to Haymitch's home, not my new villa in Victor's Village – and drink with my father – Haymitch, not bafoonish Bill.

Bill and Jane walk either side of me. Jane glares daggers at her husband. Bill is looking everywhere except at his wife.

Haymitch stumbles along behind us, already hammered and leaning on Elspeth for support.

A hoard of my ex-schoolmates lines the path out of the station. They call out to me in a cacophony that I struggle to ignore.

"You're a joke!"

"We filthy peasants are not worthy!"

"Bring back Pinty!"

"We'd rather have the parent-murderer!"

"Victor? More like dick-tor!"

I acknowledge that, honestly, not much has changed since before the reaping.

One onlooker shouts, "Death to gays!"

Okay… That one was unnecessary.

Haymitch sidles up beside me and hollers drunkenly, "You lot urh pathetic. If you wanna harass 'im, yuh godda be more creativer than thad."

Someone calls, "Go lick Rubis's decaying cock!"

I grouch, "Thanks a lot, Haymitch. That did the trick."

We finally make it to Victors' Village, where Bill and Jane instantly make themselves at home in my newly-built villa.

I vow to never set foot in there with them.

I follow Haymitch into his house, which is far more dilapidated than mine, after decades of neglect. It looks as wrecked I feel.

When Elspeth makes to follow us, I suggest, "Er, would you be a good friend and help my parents settle in next-door?"

Bickett squeaks, "You got it, boss."

Elspeth gives me a brief salute, then goes to infest my new house with her sheddings.

In Haymitch's kitchen, he and I sit opposite each other at the table.

Haymitch says, with a touch of malice, "So, son, whad was thad utter bullshit you pulled earlier?"

"What, leaving you for my real parents?"

"Yuh. Dick move, mate."

He glugs from a new bottle of white liquor.

I respond, "Well, look at you. You're a mess. You can't blame me for leaping at the chance to be parented."

Haymitch laughs.

I sigh, "I learned my lesson. I try to escape from Hell and I just make it to a lower ring. I guess on the other side of the darkness, there's just more darkness."

"Grass's always greener…" Mutters Haymitch, "Until yuh find oud the grass's a Capitol trap and id wands tuh devour your ass."

"Did that happen in your Games?!" I query, incredulously.

Haymitch finishes the bottle, smacks his lips and says, "Yuh. Man-eatin' plants." As though I should have known this.

"Right." I say.

I thump my head onto the table in despair and emit a long groan.

Muffled, I say, "What's the point in anything? My sanity has been eviscerated, I'll be heartbroken forever, I have no friends-"

Haymitch interjects with a hiccup, "You have Ethpeth… Elbez..."

"Shut up." I continue, "I'm eighteen and I feel like my life is over. I may as well watch everything burn to ash."

Haymitch says, "Yuh sound luhk a schul-shooter."

I roll my eyes, still staring into the sticky woodgrain of the tabletop.

Haymitch reaches over and places a hand on my back. I feel his liquor-stinking breath as he leans in close.

He says, in a consoling manner, "Do yuh need a gun?"

"No!" I yell, bolting up straight.

I scowl at Haymitch's slack-jawed face and say, "Look. I know how I sound. And maybe I do want to see people look at me with something other than disgust. But as much as my classmates get to me, at least I don't have to be around them anymore. Most of them work in the mines, now."

Haymitch stares at me, as though he is about to say something super profound. Maybe that he is proud of me, for not shooting up my school?

Finally, he says, "I've changed muh mind aboud dis jacket."

Haymitch picks up from the floor the crinkled, yellow-and-grey-striped blazer that I chose for him on the day of the reaping.

"Id goes wiv my eyes." He says.

Then he faceplants the table and starts to snore.

I grind my teeth as I scrape my chair backwards and leave Haymitch alone at his table, scattered with empty bottles.

I grab a full bottle of liquor on my way upstairs to my old bedroom.

My PS5 is still plugged in, next to the hole I punched in the wall.

I think of the everlasting misery that I am condemned to. The hole suddenly gains a twin.

When my fist crashes through the drywall, I am surprised to find that my knuckles don't throb like they did like last time. Must be the liquor.

I glug another mouthful and take a rasping sigh of defeat.

I can't think of what to do. I feel empty and overwhelmed at the same time. Confirmation that I am officially broken.

If I don't want to do anything, but I don't want to address my feelings either, I will have to fall back to my default pass-time.

I switch on my PS5.

I am met with a deluge of messages, all from the ancient, public computer in the Hob. As the child of a victor, I am the only person in the district who has their own console.

I scroll absently through the messages. Most of them are trolls – the usual, I hope you die, Not my victor, Eat shit, etcetera.

A message signed by Greasy Sae reads, You owe me a new rat-skinner!

It is followed by a string of vulgar emojis that makes clear why she got along with Pinty.

Then another message catches my eye.

It simply reads, I'm sorry. Can we talk? ~Rubis.

Liquor sprays from my mouth onto the screen.

I read the message again in case the booze is tricking me.

Though the letters blur together, it is definitely signed by the name 'Rubis'.

I chug more booze while I try to decipher the situation.

I type my own message:

Whoevers pretending to be rubis ur a fucking monster.

Something tells me that I'm letting my mental instability show.

Oh well; I'm beyond managing my emotions. Plus, I'm drunk.

After a minute of staring groggily at my screen, it clicks that all the messages were from a public computer, and I'm most likely to receive another death-threat in response.

Then my PS5 bloops and a new message pops up:

You're right to be sus, but I promise, it's me. ~Rubis.

I seethe.

Obviously, I don't believe them. But I have nothing better to do than direct my anger at this prick.

I reply, Oh yeh? Tell me something only rubis would know.

This should be entertaining.

Whoever I'm talking to says, We were on live TV 24/7. There's nothing I know that the whole country doesn't, you idiot.

I groan in confusion. This does sound like Rubis.

I decide not to give this moron the attention. But they don't give up.

They say, I know you don't believe me, but what kind of prank would this be? Obviously, you'd see right through me if I was faking, so why would some saddo even try if it wasn't real?

Now I'm even more confused.

I type, Stop using rubis logic on me. Hes ded. Now fuck off and let me game in piece.

No. I want to talk to you. I'm real. Or, as real as AI can be. The Capitol uploaded my consciousness to the internet.

I scoff.

Gd 4 u. I respond.

It's true. Fake-Rubis insists.

Yh right. Fuvk off alrwsdy.

The prick is probably loving my drunken typos, but I couldn't care less. It's not like my typing was much better when I was sober, anyway.

Their next message reads, Come on, come and see me. What have you got to lose?

They make a fair point. But I have nothing to gain, either.

Then they say, Don't you want closure, Midnight?

If closure involves smashing Rubis' head in with a table-leg… Well, gladly. And you know what? I could do the same to fake-Rubis too, at this point.

I ask, How am I meant to meet u if ur AI?

I can put myself on the screen in the Hob.

Hmm… a digital image is not punchable… but the chance that this is real is below 0.1 percent, anyway. I'll get the bastard who's trying to trick me.

I send a final message:

Ok my love. B ther soon.

They will soon find out what happens when you mess with a victor.

I bundle up all my rage towards Rubis and my peers, and carry it with me out of the house.

On the way past my own villa, I wrench a signpost out of the ground.

I read on it, Residence of Midnight Abernathy, Victor of the- before I smash it against a brick wall and the top snaps off. It crashes through my villa's front window and I hear Jane shriek like a banshee from inside.

China smashes, then orange curls balloon out of the window as Elspeth gets to cleaning up.

I heft my signpost over my shoulder and stagger drunkenly towards the Hob.

It is busy as usual. People jeer as I pass through. Greasy Sae flings a ladleful of mystery-stew at me and a glob of gristle slaps onto my neck.

I flick it off, to the sniggers of people around me.

I make my way to the back of the Hob, where I expect the communal computer to be. The crowd is thinner here, giving the place an ominous atmosphere, that I add to with my signpost-club.

I peer at the back wall. Sure enough, there sits an ancient computer, with a grainy face filling the screen.

Not just any face.

The face of the person I am hopelessly in love with and despise with every atom of my being.

Rubis.

I shake my head in disbelief.

Oh. False alarm; it's a photo.

I swear, whoever set up this scheme, I am going to-

The picture moves.

On-screen-Rubis catches me out of the corner of his eye.

The voice that has been haunting my every waking moment emanates from the tinny speaker.

"Midnight. Over here."

In what feels like slow-motion, I step towards the screen.

I slur, "Uhr you real?"

Rubis looks at me candidly. This can't be a recording, because he's here, in the Hob. I can tell from the rusted-tin wall of the warehouse in the video's background. And the old Rubis had never even been in District Twelve.

Rubis says, "It's so good to see you again."

I glower. That doesn't sound like my Rubis.

He says, "Sorry. I know you're not used to me being nice. But now we're not in the Games, I can finally let my guard down. I owe you a huge apology – no, I owe you way more than that – but I'm afraid that's all I can give you."

I can do nothing but listen, dumbfounded.

Rubis continues, "I'm really, really sorry, Midnight. I shouldn't have used you the way I did. It was evil of me and I feel absolutely terrible. Nobody deserves to be treated like that, let alone you, after you genuinely loved me."

"You're right." I say, "You were an apathetic tripe and you deserved everything you got."

I clench my signpost with whitening knuckles.

Rubis sighs, "Yeah. I can't deny that. I just wanted to see you one last time, for a chance to be honest with you before I delete myself from existence."

"You can skip to the deleting part." I snap.

After a moment of silence, Rubis says, "I was so scared, Midnight. All those times I was a jerk, it was because I was absolutely terrified. I had been ripped from my peaceful, dumb farming work to compete in the death-games with people who had trained for years. You know how scary that was, first-hand."

"Yeah, ok." I admit, trying to form words through my drunkenness, "Bud I blustered my way through id all."

"And I took out my fear and anger on other people." Rubis explains, "I just wish I hadn't hurt you in the process. I really thought I wanted to win. I have family back in Eleven, you know. They needed me to feed them. So, I vowed that I would use any means necessary to get back home and feed my little brothers and sisters. One of them has cancer, by the way."

That does make me a little more understanding. But not enough to loosen my grip on my signpost.

Rubis continues, "At first, I did intend to use you, but I'm so, so sorry that it went as far as it did. I couldn't think straight in the arena. Like I said, I was so scared. But Midnight, now I am really glad that you lived instead of me. I know you won't believe me… But I love you."

I try to shake the alcoholic haze from my head.

I say, "Come again?"

"I love you. I've loved you for a while. The way you light up a room with your confidence and optimism, and your strength to keep going. You proved yourself against Pinty, and that made me so proud of you… I just can't express…"

Rubis chokes on his words.

He says, "I wish I could hug you."

I stammer, "I-I am ruhlly mad at yuh, Rubis. Like, wan'-tuh-knock-your-teeth-oud mad." I smack my signpost into my palm, "You're a total butt-face an' you can burn in hell. Ten times ovuh."

Rubis doesn't say anything.

I tell him, "But I'm still in love wiv you. 'Cause of stupid teenage hormones and your dumb manilup… malipu… mind-games. Which makes me hate you even more."

Rubis says, "I understand. The old me deserves to be blown to smithereens. And that's exactly what I've done, Midnight. I'm a new person. Rubis 2.0, your clean-slate, empathetic AI boyfriend… if you'll have me back."

I'm stunned. Even despite the liquor sloshing inside me, this shocks me.

Rubis adds, "And if you say no, I'll delete myself and leave you alone forever."

I growl, "Thad's nod on, Rubis. You're threatnin' me wiv suicide!"

"I'm already dead. And I'm not threatening you, I'm telling you that, if you want, I will get out of your beautiful hair forever."

Somehow, I don't swoon at the compliment. The old Midnight would probably have stripped off then and there.

I've changed.

So why shouldn't Rubis?

And like he said, if he hasn't, I can ask him to leave me alone.

Rubis says, "Come on, Midnight. Who else would settle for you? Look at you; you're a drunk."

He's right. Even Merville hasn't reached out to me since I returned, and he was head-over-heels for me before I forgot who he was.

I inhale, deeply, and say, "I'm willing tuh give yuh one more chance... Take me back. You're the only person who knows whad I've really been through. As angry as I am at yuh, I can't imagine life wivoud yuh. I've never been closer tuh anybody than you."

"Are you kidding me?" Says Rubis.

"Wha'?" I say, "Did yuh nod expect me tuh say-"

Rubis interrupts me, "You'll go grovelling back to the guy who abused and laughed at you?"

"Yuh?" I answer, "I'm an emotional wreck; my judgement migh' not be sound, but I don't really care about maintaining sanity I don't have."

The screen flickers and Rubis' stoney face flashes with anger.

His accent seems to become more… queer…

He says, "How can you be so destructive?! You tell me you're not gay, then you follow your dick to a guy who treats you like shit?!"

I reel back in confusion. I hear a raised voice from a back room, but I don't think anything of it.

Rubis fumes, "You made me feel like trash! After everything Rubis put you through, you would still take him over me?!"

"I should have known you were just an evil AI." I mutter.

A shadow in a fedora emerges from a back room.

He says, "Not an AI."

Rubis says it at the same time.

The figure is holding a phone up to his face. He lowers it, to reveal the face I forgot weeks ago. Merville.

Merville waves his phone at me and my own face appears onscreen for a split-second, before I turn into Rubis.

"Do you like the filter?" Merville asks, "There's one for every Hunger Games tribute. You should see the videos people post of themselves doing stupid things with your face and voice. It's hilarious."

I scowl.

"Whad are yuh doing?" I say.

His phone picks up my voice and the filter repeats my words, in Rubis' deep voice.

Merville turns off the filter before answering.

"Oh, just seeing if you were as pathetic as I thought you were. Heads-up, you are."

I stammer, "S-so… Rubis isn't real? You were pretending tuh be him, because…?"

"Because I wanted to put you through what you did to me. I was nice to you when nobody else was. I baked you cakes and biscuits every week. I let you sleep in my bed, even though you always hogged the duvet. And you repaid me by forgetting who I was. You made me feel isolated, unwanted and foolish. Now look who's the fool!"

"Jokes on you;" I spit, "I've been thuh fool since thuh reapin'."

"But I wanted you to know how hated you are." Says Merville, "And I want Panem to know how worthless you are. They'll see you scurry back to your god damn Rubis and hear what you did to me, and they'll know what a vile, oblivious piece of shit you are."

I start to wish that Corvid's plan had worked; at least then I wouldn't be the only focus of all the anger.

"How are yuh gonna tell the world, then?" I mock, sounding more confident than I feel, "Post aboud it on the Hob Discord account?"

Merville says, "Oh, no, Midnight; you should be used to hidden cameras by now."

Out of the backrooms and crevices of the Hob, a handful of my ex-classmates slink into the light and surround me.

Each of them holds some sort of camera.

Merville sneers, "Let's see if Pinty's killer can take on more than one twelve-year-"

I heft my signpost and rush at him.

Before I reach him, I am grabbed from behind. I elbow my attacker and hear a lens crack as he drops his camera.

Someone kicks the back of my legs and I stumble to my knees. I swing my post in an arc and catch one of my assailants in the abdomen. The others rush me.

They slam my face into the sooty concrete and yank my arms up over my head. My ex-classmates laugh all the while. Merville's obnoxious giggles are piercing.

"Pathetic." Merville gloats, "What shall we do with him, guys? How do we punish sexual deviants?"

"Yuhv humiliated me enough!" I protest, with a mouthful of ash.

"Not if you're still defending yourself, we haven't." Merville snaps.

He crouches in front of me and grabs a fistful of my hair. He raises my head to look me in the eye. His voice becomes low.

Merville says, "You need to feel how I felt. You have to believe you deserve the shit people throw at you, and you'll never be worthy of love. Then you'll know what you did to me."

"I didn't do anything to you." I argue.

Merville stands and kicks me in the face.

It isn't a strong kick, but it shocks me. He did used to be nice. And he's this bitter, because of me?

Leading someone on then forgetting their name must actually be quite hurtful.

But it doesn't justify this. I've been through enough!

Red lights flash intermittently on the half-dozen cameras recording this whole humiliating scene.

I look up at Merville from the ground.

I say, "I didn't turn you into this. Ok, I hurt you, in a similar way to how Rubis hurt me. But I don't go round torturing people."

"Oh, please." Merville drawls, "Me thinking you liked me is not comparable to you pining over Rubis."

"Yeah, id is. We both fell for jerks, Merville. Bu' I accept where I went wrong and I wen' through hell tuh realise it. Don't you think I've been through enough?"

Merville grinds his teeth.

"Not. Nearly. Enough." He spits.

His goons jeer in agreement.

"Then you're a spiteful, vengeful toad." I say, "I wish I didn't volunteer for you. You should've went in the Games and suffered like me and the othuh Tributes."

Merville breathes heavily.

Eventually, he says, "We were just going to mess you up a bit. Shred your public image a little more, y'know? But now, I think I'll take my chances with the law. Afterall, how could a frail twink like me kill a Hunger Games victor?"

"K-kill me?" I gasp, "Come on, I don't deserve that!"

"Shut up." Says Merville, "You were right about me being vengeful. And I think the only way to quench my vendetta is to get rid of you entirely. Now, how about a mining accident? A perfectly boring end, as you deserve."

With my hands restrained tightly behind my back, I am hoisted up by my excited ex-classmates.

They drag me through the streets of District Twelve.

To the few people who even bother questioning them, they explain, "Victor's Parade! Just showing some love to our favourite classmate!"

The entire time, I beg of Merville to stop.

"This District will be better off without you." He responds, "I'm doing a public service."

His friends laugh.

To my surprise, Valkerie appears on the road in front of us. The girl who Pinty framed, and who has the hideous scars to prove it. She isn't wearing her polar bear mask anymore, which gives her the look of a hardened highwaywoman.

She says, sweetly, "Hey… What are you guys up to? Anything exciting?"

The boy grasping my hands behind my back says, "Just showin' our victor how much we love 'im."

Valkerie's face lights up.

She says, "Ooh! Can I help?"

Someone else says uncertainly, "Sure… Why not?"

I groan.

Valkerie survived prison with the toughest of District Twelve criminals; I know she can hold her own. Any slim chance I had of escape just slipped away.

Furiously, I gnash my teeth and struggle against my captors. I did not outlive twenty-three other kids to go down without a fight.

Valkerie comes up beside me.

She says, "Stop struggling, honey, ya won't gain nothin'."

I stop struggling only long enough to give her a death-stare.

In that moment of pause, Valkerie snags a short, leather whip from her belt and cracks it across my hands.

I shriek in pain and anger.

The boy dragging me along does the same and releases me to nurse the lash he shared with me.

Valkerie grabs my hand and yells, "Run!"

I stumble as she drags me the first few paces, then I regain my footing and sprint away from my attackers at full pelt.

Valkerie lets go of my hand and turns to face the mob, cracking her whip in the air.

They skid to a stop before they reach her.

Someone hollers, "We'll get you, Madnit!"

Another jeers, "That's it, run away! You can't hide forever!!"

Valkerie snaps her whip one more time, then chases after me.

The liquor dims the burning in my legs as I search desperately for a hiding spot.

When my classmates are far out of sight, I dive into a ditch by the road. I tumble head over heels and land spread-eagled in the mud.

Not long after, Valkerie lands in a crouch beside me.

I snarl at her, "Don't come fuh me. Your whip doesn' scare muh. Much."

She states, "I'm not gonna hurt ya."

I sit up and lean woozily against the wall of the ditch. I breathe heavily, suddenly transported to that pit in the Games, being rocked by explosions. Valkerie's face become's Rob's, filled with fear. The crack of his ankle resonates in my mind.

I wrench myself out of the flashback. The present is no better.

My head swims and Valkerie's face blurs into three.

I say, "Why don't yuh wanna hurt me? Everyone else seems tuh. Don't yuh hate me like the rest of thuh world?"

Valkerie chuckles, "Hate ya? You killed my mangy, rat-faced nemesis for me; I could kiss ya."

I mumble, "Er… thanks, but I'm gay."

Valkerie scoffs, "And I have standards."

"But you just said-"

"It's a figure-o'-speech, honey. But I did owe ya. You're welcome for me saving ya – now we're even. But them boys will come back for ya right after their shifts at the mine tomorrow."

I plant my head in my hands.

I moan, "What am I meant tuh do? I'm trapped in uh district with thum. They're right; I can't hide forevuh."

I take another defeated swig from my liquor bottle. It seems that I have become Haymitch, with an infinite supply.

Valkerie takes the bottle off me and I swat at her feebly for it.

She says, "Ain't it obvious? You gotta get to them first. Which ya can't do when you're this tanked."

I consider for a moment.

"This might be thuh liquor talkin'," I mutter, angrily, "Bu' I reckon I will. I've not come this far tuh get beated buh…" I start to drool, "By some… butty soot-faces…"

Valkerie's voice reaches me from seemingly far away.

She says, "Ok, that's nice. Now let's get ya the fuck to bed."

I wake up with blinding light piercing my pupils. I groan and roll over, only to tumble onto the floor, tangled in my blanket.

I extract my limbs and grasp my head in my hands. I have a pounding headache and my throat feels like sandpaper.

What happened? And where am I? I remember a pit… no, a ditch…

The backs of my hands sting horribly and are marked by a line of red welts.

Now I remember being whipped…

Oh yeah; Valkerie saving me from those thugs.

Even though she whipped my captor as well, I'm pissed.

When I try to stand up, there is a burning in my legs like I pulled several muscles. My ankle gives out and I collapse onto my butt.

My right ankle is swollen and a lurid purple, like a diseased turnip. How did I manage that without realising?!

In the process of the war with my duvet, I managed to knock a note off my nightstand. I squint at it through the sparks of light pricking my retinas.

It reads, Sorry if yor scraped up from me draging you hear. Injoy yor hangover. Val.

Wow. Her spelling is worse than mine.

I tear up the note.

Ow! Papercut!

I'm fuming. I try to kick my nightstand, forget about my ankle, and fall onto my butt again.

My aches, scrapes and bruises, my bursting headache and stinging hands, those thugs and my entire crappy district… It all makes me seethe and boil.

What's more, I know from living with Haymitch that the only cure for a hangover is booze, and Valkerie put me in the house without any!

Fuck her. Fuck all my bullies and everyone in Twelve. Fuck Haymitch, Elspeth, Bickett, Bill, Jane and my fucking life.

I'm gonna do something.

Ten minutes of agony later, I am hobbling towards the mines with a walking stick I stole from Bill, a hooded, winter cloak of Jane's, and a bottle of liquor, already half-drained.

I look nothing like the cocky prat that entered the reaping. Instead, I could be mistaken for the typical, District Twelve mother of ten, hunched and starving. Dirt still encrusts my face from last night. My hands are shaking and marred by welts.

My oversized hood shields my eyes from the sharp sliver of light hoisting itself over the horizon. I hope I'm not too late – the miners' shifts start at the crack of dawn.

Nobody questions me when I enter the mining compound, or when I stagger into the explosives warehouse.

A frail, hooded drunk surely couldn't cause much damage, right?

I tuck as much TNT under my cloak as I can, grateful that my mother is so skinny – she needs the longest cloak possible to stave off the cold.

The extra weight aggravates my ankle even more. My migraine is so blinding that I think my head will explode before the TNT does.

I sink miles below the ground in a rickety elevator, lower and lower into darkness.

I grimace at the metaphor.

The pulley system grinds to a halt and I step out of the elevator. Thankfully, there is a lantern lit down here, because I did not think to bring a light.

I dump the supplies out from under my cloak. A lot of explosives, a tripwire, and a detonator.

Every crack and crevice in the rock walls of the atrium gets packed with TNT. I hide more explosives in the darkened doorways that lead in every direction from the elevator.

The contraption Minx built to demolish our base flashes into my mind. That base feels so long ago that Sugar and the Careers seem like characters from a story.

I flinch at the memories, almost setting off the detonator.

I slap myself in the face and reality comes back into focus.

I string the tripwire across the mineshaft at shin-height and tie one end to the detonator. It is invisible in the dim light.

I straighten to admire my work.

And I'm standing on the wrong side of the wire. Of course I am.

It would be so simple to walk into it and end my misery. One step forwards…

But then Merville and his goons and the Capitol and Pinty and Rubis would get the final laugh.

I don't think so.

I was so enveloped in my work – or flashbacks of the arena – that I didn't even notice the elevator rise and return again.

Now, the grates slide apart to reveal a pack of miners, wearing hardhats like what Pinty and I wore on our chariot ride. Those hats didn't save us. They sure as hell won't save this lot.

Merville leads the pack, pickaxe over his shoulder.

I hunch over and bow my head as I shoulder through Merville's cronies to the elevator.

Their supervisor – Mr. Everdeen, according to his nametag – pats my shoulder. I jump.

He mutters, "Not the first time a drunk pensioner has woken up in the mines."

I keep my head down and say nothing.

"You're lucky you didn't die down here." He says, "Hold off the drink from now on, ok? And maybe spend the money at the apothecary instead, you look like you're on the verge of death."

I think, Let me in the elevator, or I'll blow up with you!

I hear the cruelty of my inner voice and start to have second thoughts.

Too late; I'm alone in the elevator and the grate is sliding closed behind me.

I begin to rise.

This is my moment.

Finally, Midnight strikes.

At about six a.m., but still.

Breath lodges in my throat as I strain my ears to hear blasts over the grinding hoist system.

I feel them instead.

The elevator rocks with a thunderous explosion.

Goodbye, Merville. I think, Goodbye, bullies and simple thugs.

There is a louder rally of explosions, in quick succession.

I must be a mile up by now, far out of range.

An ear-splitting snap resounds up to me. Then the echo of a chain clanking onto rock.

The elevator stops rising. It tips.

I fall into a corner and swell with panic.

The elevator may have taken me out of range, but the chains it runs on were not.

Grinding. Squeaking. Another blast and another SNAP!

The elevator plummets.

The rock floor meets me, with a crash as loud as a cannon.

THE END.

Author's Note

Thank you for your patience as I wrote this final chapter, and for getting through this entire story! And you're welcome for the happy, wholesome ending! XD

In the first half of this fanfic, I was immensely looking forward to killing off Midnight, especially in such an abrupt and idiotic way. But now I feel kinda sorry for the guy. Well, however you feel about Midnight, this is all the development he's getting – I can't exactly do a sequel now.

So, this will be the last you hear from the traumatised mess that was Midnight Abernathy. May his ignorant comments and perverted acts live on in your memory, as they will for those who watched him all over Panem… until the next twenty-four tributes are announced, at least.

If you did read all the way to this point, firstly, thank you. This has been fun to write, and I did not expect it to go on this long, or gain any traction at all, outside of my friends. I would love it if you would let me know what you thought and who your favourite character was, out of this unholy batch. Mine is Corvid (obviously I'm biased), but aside from them, it has to be our good old Midnight himself.

Maybe I'll write another fic in the future, maybe not. I had an idea for a spinoff story involving Rob, Haddock and Herringmione, but perhaps people don't want to read about Hogwaters School of Fishcraft and Wizardsea.

Anyway, thanks again for checking out my first ever fanfic! It was an unholy mess and I loved having to get out of my comfort zone to write it.

That's all from me for now.

CorvidChimerae