The Mechanist and the Artisan

by Zevoros

The Hunger Games stood tall at their thirty-eighth year. The puppets danced to the Gamemakers' tune. The Mechanist would create a system to ensure her survival within the bowels of the arena. The Artisan stood against his bloody canvas, prepared to show Panem his composition. Porter Tripp and Sperren Dwightbone were going to cut their strings forever.

4. Disco Inferno

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~~(O)(O)(O)(O)(O)(O)(O)~~

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Authors' Note:

Zevoros: And once again, we return from the void with another chapter. Special thanks to ShadowMoose for betaing!

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The Mechanist and the Artisan

Part 4

Disco Inferno

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Sperren Dwightbone

District 9

Age 17

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Winnow became more and more antsy the longer they waited. Sperren watched as she practiced with her saber. She had become more fluid in her movements than she'd been during training.

His eyes drew over the unconscious girl that lay on the ground before them. Freiya Shutter, he recalled her name being. She'd accomplished little to earn anything more than a passing glance. He remembered her interview and how he'd subsequently disregarded it. The only thing of interest about her was the closeness she developed with Watt. A strange concept to chat with a fellow so animatedly where anyone could see (and hear) them.

What to do when Winnow and he were done with Freiya? Sperren mulled over the question, his gaze flicking to Winnow as he thought it over. A conclusion came to him as quickly as he sought for one.

They were going to pick off Porter's allies.

Porter Millicent Tripp, as she had introduced herself, was too succulent of a dish to be feasted on too early. Her blood would soon line Sperren's canvas, but not yet.

"Do you wonder what Omri thinks of you now?" Sperren asked, his voice cutting through the silence of the ruins that Winnow and he resided in.

Winnow spun around to look at Sperren, her features contorted with nervous surprise. "Omri?" she asked meekly. "Why?" she queried.

Sperren supposed her response was fair. He hadn't asked many questions regarding things that could pass as curiosity. But it was Omri that helped Sperren to see what lay beyond the surface of Winnow. A fact he had already known about her before the reaping…but Sperren wondered if Omri hadn't pushed at Winnow, would Sperren have entertained the idea of the partnership they had now?

"Indulge my curiosity," Sperren said. He wanted to know what she thought. An image flashed through his mind. Winnow and himself above the bloodied body of Omri as he failed to crawl away from them, as crimson pooled out of the wound in his back.

Winnow lowered her saber and Sperren saw her bite down on the inside of her cheek. "I thought you couldn't feel curiosity?" she said. And as soon as the words passed through her lips her face went red.

Sperren had heard another expression in the past. It was suitable here, he figured. How Winnow looked as though she wanted to shove the words she'd spoken back into her mouth.

"No," Sperren replied. "But he thought nothing of you on the train," he reminded her, "and he made no effort to help either of us throughout training or the interviews."

Winnow's blush steadily faded away. "No, he…he didn't," she muttered. Sperren saw her hand curled around the handle of her saber. "He made me so mad," she told Sperren.

"He propositioned you," Sperren stated, "which makes him a stupid man."

Winnow nodded. "He doesn't ev-even think the other tributes are p-people," she stammered. She raised her head to look fully at Sperren. "He doesn't get it."

"No," Sperren agreed, "he doesn't."

"It's…" Winnow trailed off but Sperren waited patiently for her to find the words he could tell she was looking for, "I think, uhm," she continued, growing meek as she spoke, "that knowing it's people I'm killing so…so…" She shyly dropped her gaze, moving the blade of her saber to trace the indents of the stone in the ground. "...so fun," she finally finished.

Not for the first time did Sperren wish that he could feel proper emotions. Perhaps that way he could feel the swell in his heart at Winnow's words. So he could fully appreciate how she understood. He walked to her side and he saw another small dusting of red on Winnow's cheeks as he got closer.

"I didn't tell you this before," Sperren spoke and Winnow looked at him, adoration shining in her eyes, "how I was waiting to see if Mizar would realize who I was."

Winnow's eyes lit up. "I-I forgot," she exhaled. "Kn-knowing that you killed his dau-daughter and-and he had no idea!" she spoke, her voice stammering in excitement.

"Right in front of him," Sperren said, letting a smile curl his lips upward, "and he had no idea that it was me that cut his daughter apart."

The blade that he'd slipped into her, the betrayed look she had given him. And Sperren stalked after her as she tried to get away. He'd given her a false sense that she could escape.

"Mizar didn't know I had befriended her," Sperren told Winnow as he recalled the kill. "And she didn't know that I had only done it to kill her."

Winnow nodded along fervently to his words and Sperren could see how she hung onto his every word. "I-I heard th-they found her the next mor-morning," Winnow stuttered out and she swallowed in what seemed to be an attempt to ease her excitement.

"They did," Sperren said, his own smile widening. "I cut out her heart and left it for Mizar to keep. There were rumors that his cries could be heard from the Victors' Village."

Winnow let out a quiet hum. "I heard things about it," she admitted shyly. "How come you…didn't paralyze her right away?" she asked meekly.

That was a good question. "I thought the daughter of a victor would provide more of a worthy challenge," Sperren answered. He turned slowly in place so that he could keep Winnow and Freiya's unconscious form in his sight. "She did not."

He watched as Winnow bounced on the balls of her feet, something he'd come to learn she did when she was happy or excited. It made him want to ask what she was thinking, but Winnow beat him to it. "I want to learn more about…uhm…" she crossed one leg over the other as she bit down on the inside of her cheek, "how to kill like you do."

Sperren cocked his head to the side as he realized something for the first time. "You haven't killed anyone yet." She hadn't. She had partaken in their murder of the Avox, but Sperren had been the one to claim that kill.

Winnow shyly dropped her gaze at her shoes, twisting her saber slightly as it continued to trace patterns in the floor. "No…" she said.

"Then we'll have to change that, won't we?" Sperren responded. He looked at Freiya. "You can kill her, if you wish."

She looked up at Sperren again, a glint in her eyes. "I do!" she said. "I…I, uh…" she cleared her throat before she spoke again, her voice taking on a shy tone. "I want it more than anything."

"Then you'll be the one to kill her," Sperren said. His smile had yet to fade, which was unusual. Winnow's eagerness was…exhilarating. It was as if her emotions bled off of her and into him. She was…the perfect partner.

"Sperren?" Winnow asked, more meek than ever before and Sperren turned his full attention to her. She bit down on the inside of her cheek once again, to the point that Sperren thought it looked painful.

"Winnow?" Sperren queried. What question did she have to ask that made her so nervous? So…hesitant to speak?

"Uhm," Winnow stated eloquently, fidgeting with the handle of her saber. "Can…" she started to say, but then stopped. But Sperren waited calmly for her to speak and she drew in a short breath. "Can I kiss you?" she asked, her face flaring into a blush.

Sperren cocked his head to the side for a second time. That had been…unexpected. Winnow's question hadn't been at all what he expected her to say. He'd never been kissed by anyone, nor had he ever initiated one before. Other than the thrill of the kill, Winnow had been the first person that he could recall who helped him feel things that were beyond neutrality. Perhaps there was a chance he could feel things more.

He was indifferent to Winnow's request. Yet, he felt…perhaps it was curiosity. Or at least, Sperren hoped it was curiosity.

"Uhm…" Winnow spoke quickly and Sperren heard a trace of embarrassment linger in her tone. "S-sorry, for-forget that!" she said.

"No," Sperren said and Winnow's blush grew ever brighter. "I consent," he told her and Winnow's head shot up in surprise, her mouth open in an 'O'. Then, she beamed at him with a bright smile.

"Really?" she asked weakly.

"Yes," Sperren affirmed and Winnow seemed to practically jump in happiness. She took a shuffled step closer to him and Sperren moved closer to her.

Winnow drew her face towards Sperren, breathless. And then, just like that, she closed the gap and pressed her lips against his own.

A brand new sensation flooded through Sperren. Winnow's lips were both soft and firm, a factoid that Sperren had thought to be an oxymoron. A paradox. He could feel her body thrum against his own in her excitement.

Then, suddenly, Sperren felt Winnow's tongue in his mouth. Another factor he hadn't anticipated. Her lips moved along on his, undeterred by his lack of movements with his own mouth. Sperren allowed his eyes to close as he took in the sensation of her lips on his, filing away the mild pleasantness.

Winnow pulled back and Sperren opened his eyes to watch her. Her face had contorted in bliss, a smile on the lips that she had touched to his own. She bounced on the balls of her feet all over again. Sperren could see how delighted she was.

"That was…unique," Sperren expressed and Winnow nodded frantically. The blush that adorned her face only just began to fade.

"That was ev-ever-everything I hoped it would be," Winnow confessed, stammering on her words in her excitement.

"How often have you thought about it?" Sperren asked and Winnow's blush returned. But she was saved from answering when Freiya began to stir.

"She's waking!" Winnow stated, pulling her saber from off the ground as she spoke, her excitement unrestrained.

Sperren considered the waking victim. How to go ahead with this one? He could allow Winnow to take free reign in the murder. She deserved it, after all. Idly, he touched a finger to his lips, rubbing over them.

Freiya jolted suddenly, her bloodshot eyes shooting wide open as a gasp fled out of her mouth. Instantly, she took in the unfamiliar duo that surrounded her and Sperren as her panic settled in. She was quick to realize just what might be happening.

"WATT!" she screamed, her voice bouncing off the stone walls of the chamber. She scrambled backwards, trembling violently as she did so. Sperren figured that she was ill.

A smile danced on Winnow's face. Freiya was already terrified to see them, and she had no way of knowing just what would be done to her. How frightened can we get her? Sperren mused.

"WATT!" Freiya screamed again, her fingers twitching frantically as she reached the far wall, her back crashing against it. "WATT!"

"Your allies abandoned you," Sperren said and Freiya shakily shook her head, then doubled over and vomited onto the ground. "You have been left alone."

"No," Freiya said in disbelief. "LIAR! Watt wouldn't!"

"He did!" Winnow bit in sadistically with a wide grin.

"LIARS!" Freiya screamed at them. Her fingers clenched, digging into the palms of her hands. "YOU'RE LIARS! LIARSLIARSLIARS!"

Sperren unsheathed his knife and Freiya's eyes shot to the weapon. "We're going to kill you, Freiya," Sperren stated calmly. Freiya wrapped an arm around her torso, frantically gazing around for an exit. "Because your allies left you behind. Porter Millicent Tripp had deemed you to be dead weight."

"LIAR!" Freiya called again, shaking from head to toe. "I saved her, I saved her, I saved her I saved her I saved her-"

"She's a morphling addict," Winnow said and Freiya's head turned sharply in her direction. "I-I recognize the symptoms," Winnow elaborated, blushing slightly when she noticed Sperren's attention on her. "My friend…uhm, she had a sister who was an addict."

Sperren hummed in response and he took a step closer to Freiya, who cried out in terror at his movements. But he saw Winnow shrugging off her backpack, dropping it on the ground to pull something out.

"Sp-Sperren," Winnow stuttered, her excitement palpable, yet Sperren could detect her shyness just as prevalent. "Can I…?" she asked, flicking her gaze to Freiya with sadistic hunger.

"You may," Sperren said, but he remained in place. He wanted to see what was going through Winnow's mind. It would be interesting, of that he had no doubt.

Winnow smiled and she looked at Freiya, then slowly, ever so slowly, Winnow held out her hand. And she revealed the morphling that they had been sponsored. Freiya's bloodshot eyes widened considerably. "Y-you want this?" she said, her voice taking on a playful-yet-shy tone.

Freiya's eyes watered, her lips quivering, and an expression of pure desperation overtook her entire countenance as she looked at the morphling in Winnow's hand, then at Winnow herself, at Sperren, and back to the morphling. Her need overtook any self-preservation she had, as she held a hand out towards the morphling, saying, "Give…give it to me, please…" She was teary-eyed, and her whole body was visibly trembling, now that the object of her addiction was within reach. Suddenly, after Winnow or Sperren took too long to say or do anything, the redhead screamed, "GIVE IT TO ME!"

She lunged forward so quickly that Sperren noticed Winnow getting startled and stumbled backwards.

Sperren was quick, however. Freiya didn't make it halfway to Winnow before he acted. He swung himself around and slid his knife into Freiya's spinal cord…

And Freiya dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, collapsing on her front in a dull thud. Sperren glanced at Winnow and he saw her smirk at the fallen Freiya, and then he saw her shoot him a look of adoration.

"AGHHH!" Freiya screamed in pain and Sperren bent over to roll her onto her back. As always, he had been precise. Her limbs were uncontrollable, immovable by Freiya herself. But she could still feel every bit of agony that would unfold upon her.

"Does…" Winnow started to speak as she took a small step closer to Freiya, "does it hu-hurt?" she asked meekly, infused with her excitement.

"IT HURTS!" Freiya howled. "I CAN'T MOVE! WHAT DID YOU DO!?"

Sperren didn't answer. This was Winnow's moment to do what she wished, and he decided he wouldn't step in beyond what he'd already done. Freiya's blood pooled onto the stone ground from her wound and tears began to form in her reddish eyes.

"May-maybe you'd like the mo-morphling to take the pain awa-away," Winnow stammered, her shyness giving way to such excitement that she had started to bounce on the balls of her feet. Then, she lowered herself onto her knees beside Freiya.

"Please…" Freiya said, longingly staring at the morphling wrapped in Winnow's fingers, "give it to me!"

Winnow uncapped the vial of morphling, the liquid inside spinning with her movements. Freiya followed the morphling inside with a desperate gaze and flicked out her tongue as Winnow brought the vial above her mouth.

She started to tilt it and Freiya gasped. Sperren watched silently as Freiya panted and darted her tongue out, aching for the morphling to spill. It was interesting to see how desperate she was for it.

But then Winnow turned the vial upward, just as the first of the morphling was about to drop out upon Freiya's tongue. "No…" Freiya moaned as Winnow drew the vial away, and Freiya let out a cry of anguish.

"How much does it hurt?" Winnow asked shyly, reaching down for Freiya's hand as she asked. Capping the vial, Winnow laid it down in Freiya's palm.

"I want it to stop!" Freiya sobbed, tears dribbling down her face. "Give it!" she said, her voice cracking in despair.

"Can you feel that?" Winnow inquired. Her grin split ever further. She truly was enjoying this, and yet had to make a single cut. Sperren's intrigue in her only continued to grow. "It's in y-your hand," Winnow stated meekly.

"I can't move!" Freiya sobbed, shaking her head back and forth. "WHAT DID YOU DO!?" she shouted, looking away from Winnow to Sperren, bloodshot eyes accusing.

"Sperren para-paralyzed you," Winnow revealed, relishing in the horror that spread across Freiya's face. Sperren could see the shiver run down Winnow's spine.

But before Freiya responded, the sound of a body crashing against stone reached their ears and Sperren and Winnow turned towards the direction of the stairs leading out of the chamber. Together, they saw as Freiya's district partner, Diesel, thumped against each step, throttling his body against the stone until he reached the bottom.

"DIESEL!" Freiya screamed.

A second tribute entered Sperren's vision as she stepped down the steps after Diesel. How unexpected, Sperren thought. Diesel grunted his pain, the first sound Sperren had heard him make.

"Four of you," Honoria said as she walked down the stairs. In her hands were her kusarigamas, dangling by their chains and scraping against the ground. "Four kills for me! You're too kind, Six," Honoria continued, planting her foot against Diesel's back.

Winnow rose from her position and Sperren carefully watched her from the corner of his eye. "You're very confident," Sperren said. He took a calculated step to the side, allowing Honoria view of the paralyzed form of Freiya.

Honoria grimaced slightly. "Gross," she said. Then, there was a familiarity that took up its place. "You're the two that left your ally behind," Honoria said, grinning slightly as she spoke. "Ruthless."

"Why are you here?" Sperren asked. Honoria would be the first of the Careers that he would kill. He could assume why she was here. But it raised the question of where Porter was if one of her allies were. No cannons had fired, which meant she was still alive.

Honoria pressed her heel into Diesel and he released a pained grunt. "Six escaped me during the Bloodbath. Wasn't gonna let him escape me again." She smirked. "And of course the Sixes brought me to the Nines. You're basically the same number, aren't you? Just flipped upside-down."

For an insult, it was not particularly clever. "You're quite pampered to find the sight of blood so unsightly," Sperren stated and Honoria's smirk faded.

"I forgot," Honoria started with a hiss, "that you heard everything we said at the Cornucopia." She stepped over Diesel, swinging her kusarigamas back and forth slowly as she did so. "Blood is too messy. You should be glad I'm the one who found you," she continued, the kusarigamas picking up speed. "I'll give you a quick death, unlike Nausicaa or Chariot."

Sperren didn't need to say a word to Winnow for her to withdraw out of his sight. He would be the one to incapacitate Honoria. "We were talking about you before the parade," Sperren revealed.

"Were you?" Honoria asked with a sneer. Her kusarigamas twirled through the air, scraping off the stone ground and launching sparks skyward.

"Yes. We were debating on how easy it would be to kill you," Sperren told her.

Honoria let out a growl. "Good luck," she stated haughtily, before spurring herself into action. The kusarigama in her left hand flew forth for Sperren.

Sperren, however, spun out of the way with surprising agility. The blade in his hand would find itself stuck through her spine, he had decided. Opposite of him, Honoria strut forward, intent on closing the distance between the two of them.

Perhaps she would prove to be an interesting opponent, at the very least.

He deflected Honoria's second kusarigama with a twirl of his knife and the first one hurtled towards him again. Honoria was going to become quicker, Sperren realized. She thought that she could toy with him?

Sperren leapt over Honoria's attack, the kusarigama cutting through the air beneath him as he did so, and he landed neatly on his feet. "So sloppy," he said aloud. Careers always seemed to be so prideful, when he had seen them in previous Games. Why would this be any different?

Honoria released an angry cry and she spun a kusarigama into the air above Sperren's head, then yanked it down upon him. Her action was so obviously telegraphed and Sperren rolled out of the way long before it collided into the stone ground, igniting sparks with its impact.

"And you're so meretricious!" Honoria sneered back. "You're not one of us!" She pulled her weapons back and it was her turn to leap for Sperren. It seemed she had enough of the distance.

She released the chain and gripped her weapons by their handles, and in one quick motion she swept towards Sperren's throat. But he ducked out of the way and stepped just out of range as soon as she reached him, and Honoria continued her attack.

Sperren watched patiently for an opening even as Honoria struck, faster and faster as she gained more and more confidence despite what Sperren could see was a brewing frustration. Then he saw it, and Sperren kicked his heel out, crushing it against Honoria's stomach.

"Agh!" Honoria grunted, taking an abrupt step back. Sperren stepped towards her quickly and jabbed with his knife, forcing Honoria onto the defensive. She curled her arms, blocking the knife halfway to her throat with her kusarigamas. "You must think you're so special," Honoria spat, "taking on someone of my prestige," she emphasized, pushing her strength into her arms to force Sperren's knife away from her throat. "But you…you're a classless LOSER!" she screamed.

And just like that, their standstill was broken. Honoria lurched and Sperren was forced to clamber. But though he could feel her pulse racing when he touched a finger to her wrist, Sperren felt calm.

Honoria wrenched a hand free, practically sending Sperren's knife clattering, and she swung, putting her limited momentum hard enough into it that her fist crushed against Sperren's jaw.

It was Sperren's turn to grunt. His head knocked back and he took small but quick steps in a retreat. Though he had expected her to hit him hard if she had the opportunity, he realized that he had underestimated her. The knife in his grip had almost been knocked loose, he silently admitted.

"Ohh," Honoria said, as though she had just pieced something together, "I get it!" She dropped her kusarigamas, wielding them again by their chains, and she sneered at Sperren. "You're trying to protect your little district partner," she continued, gesturing with her weapon towards Winnow.

Sperren touched a finger to his jaw, then drew back. There was no blood that marred his features. "You seem to be unable to grasp the situation you find yourself in."

Honoria scoffed and before she could say a word, Sperren flicked the knife in his hand, hurtling it towards her face, as swiftly as he was able. He didn't anticipate that it would connect, but he didn't need it to.

The blade spun through the air and Sperren barely saw Honoria's eyes widen in surprise before she snapped her head to the side in an attempt to dodge the knife. And as soon as she had, Sperren jumped towards her, ducking low as he did so in order to grab onto the handles of Honoria's kusarigamas.

"No!" Honoria screamed, reorienting herself with an efficiency that Sperren had already accounted for. She yanked on her weapons but he had already anticipated it, and he looped himself around Honoria's body, twisting the chains around her to restrain her. She would break free, given time. But Sperren had no intention of giving her that time.

Wielding the kusarigamas, Sperren wasted no time in stabbing the blade into Honoria's back. Her spinal cord severed, just as easily as anyone else.

Honoria howled in pain and Sperren released her. She dropped to the ground with a heavy thud and she truly did sound as though she were in great pain. Sperren smiled at the sight. If Honoria could writhe, she would. How quickly would it take for her to realize she couldn't move? As fast as Freiya? Or as slow as Emmet?

"You-you did it," Winnow said and Sperren looked at her. She had remained exactly where she had been standing, though her saber had been moved into a defensive position. Winnow beamed at him. "Just like we talked about!"

"Did you want to be the one to do it?" Sperren asked. He stepped past Honoria to pick up his knife and he cast a glance at Diesel. Either he had fallen unconscious, or his muscles had given out from the stress Honoria had put him under.

"I…I, uhm…" Winnow shyly looked down at her shoes. "I wanted to, uhm…watch," she admitted.

"And now you have," Sperren stated.

"And now I have," Winnow shyly repeated, lowering her saber.

Honoria grunted and Sperren gazed at her. "What did you do, Nine!?" she spat, a quiver of fear intermingling with her words.

"You can turn your head," Sperren stated. After a moment, Honoria did so, a scowl on her face. There was a fire in her eyes that Sperren wanted to see extinguished. He glanced at Winnow and asked, "Do you want to show her?"

An expression of unadulterated excitement warped Winnow's profile. "Sh-show her?" she stuttered out meekly.

"On him," Sperren said, gesturing with his knife at Diesel. Winnow smiled at Sperren and nodded quickly, furiously.

"No!" Freiya shouted. Her bloodshot gaze locked onto Diesel. "Get up! Get up! GET UP! GET UP GET UP GET UP!"

But Diesel remained unmoving, confirming Sperren's suspicions of him being unconscious. Winnow bent down to grab the morphling vial out of Freiya's hand, then walked to Diesel's prone form. This would be the first time that Winnow paralyzed someone herself.

"Can I use, uhm, your knife?" Winnow asked, offering Sperren the handle of her saber. She was so eager. Sperren gently took the saber from her and put his knife in her hand. Winnow seemed to hold it almost reverently.

"DIESEL!" Freiya screamed. Sperren glanced away from Winnow at Freiya, and then at Honoria. Bit by bit, Freiya's hopes that Diesel would awaken were dashed away. And Honoria laid silently and with budding horror.

"Diesel could-could've saved you," Winnow stated, lowering herself so she was right above Diesel. She looked right at Freiya with a wide grin. "M-maybe if he knew Honoria was there, he would ha-have."

"NO!" Freiya sobbed.

"Do you feel helpless?" Winnow asked, her words becoming faster as her excitement thrummed through her bones. "If you could move you could stop me."

Freiya shouted despairingly. Sperren thought that she looked like she was attempting to will her body to move. It was…entertaining to see, Sperren found.

"You've…" Honoria said slowly, realization finally dawning upon her. "You've paralyzed us."

"And now you are helpless," Winnow said, speaking before Sperren could. Her voice remained shy, yet there was so much excitement inside it.

"Wait, hold on!" Honoria said, shaking her head, for that was the only thing she could move. "You don't have to do this! You're better than us, aren't you?" She had already begun to break. "You're better than us Ca-C-Careers?" she managed to stutter out. Evidently, she hated the word. Perhaps she thought it to be a slur against her?

Sperren looked at Winnow, interested in how she would respond. What happened now was her show. And Winnow was the one to run it. Subtly, he saw her bounce on her knees. "I-I want to," she said.

Then, Winnow sank the knife into Diesel's back, her motion precise. It split through his back and Winnow relished every second that the knife inched through him.

Winnow had been paying attention, Sperren realized with satisfaction. Though she was slower than he was, she was careful and exact. Her practice during training had been extremely useful. Sperren hadn't been sure she would succeed on her first attempt on a live subject…

Diesel's eyes shot open, full of pain. "DIESEL!" Freiya screamed, but it was useless. Diesel managed an attempt to pull himself away from Winnow before she sank the knife through his spine, severing it. And Diesel went limp.

…But she had been.

Winnow pulled the knife back, grinning from ear to ear. "I did it!" she said, looking to Sperren with so much gratification.

"You did. I am impressed," Sperren admitted and Winnow blushed. "It took me many attempts to hone my craft. But you perfected it in just one." Winnow blushed brighter under his praise, shyly looking down at her shoes in an attempt to hide her smile.

"What?" Honoria voiced quietly and Sperren turned his attention towards her. Her fear was more pronounced than ever before. Honoria swallowed and she asked, "How many…?"

"Ninety-three," Sperren revealed. He held his hands out towards Winnow, offering her back her saber. Winnow took it and handed his knife back to him. With his knife returned, he stepped beside Honoria before crouching down beside her. "Do you think that your father is watching?" Sperren asked conversationally.

"D-daddy?" Honoria asked fearfully. "Daddy can get the funds to-to sponsor you whatever you want!" she said quickly. "That's what you want, ri-right? Th-that's why you're keeping me alive?"

Sperren watched her, then silently glanced at Winnow as she stood above Freiya. "I anticipated that you would be harder to break. I haven't killed a Career before," he said and he saw Honoria's throat bob in terror. "Do you think your father is disappointed in you?"

"I saw the Five boy!" Honoria stated frantically instead of answering his question.

"Watt!?" Freiya shouted. "DON'T HURT HIM!" she screamed, in spite of the saber blade that Winnow used to trace up and down Freiya's torso.

"So you have," Sperren said without looking at Freiya. He allowed his knife to hover above Honoria. The way she fought for a way to remain alive was all too enjoyable. "Where?" he demanded.

Honoria truly looked the epitome of terrified. Sperren savored it. "If I told you, y-you won't need me for anything," she said. "An-and then you'll k-k-kill me."

"I'll kill you if you don't," Sperren responded simply. He drew his knife up and down the skin on Honoria's arm. "Your family will see you pulled apart. They will see parts of you that they were never meant to see." He pressed the blade into her skin, blood marking his knife as he made his first cut.

"No! Stop!" Honoria shouted. Sperren eyed her as she winced and stared down at her arm as he slowly began to cut through her. "STOP!"

"You're protecting a tribute you don't even care about," Sperren said. "Interesting."

"Please! Don't tell them!" Freiya shouted. Winnow stopped her movements with her sword, deigning to watch Sperren as he tortured Honoria.

"Agh!" Honoria shouted. "He went that way!" She nodded her head to Sperren's right. "I saw him go that way!" she said. Pain laced her every word and Sperren stopped his ministrations.

Sperren considered her. Under pain, people would say whatever they could to get the torture to stop. Whether true or not. Honoria stared up at him with afraid eyes. When was the last time you were truly afraid? Sperren wondered. She winced terribly as he kept his knife under the surface of her skin.

"NO!" Freiya screamed. "WHY!?"

"I will keep that in mind," Sperren said at last, then pulled his knife upward, cutting through more of Honoria's arm. Blood leaked out of her as he split apart the sleeve of her dress, staining it red with each slice.

"Stop! STOP!" Honoria howled. "You PROMISED!"

"Did I?" Sperren asked without looking up from his work. "I don't seem to recall." Then, he pulled his knife away and Honoria let out a despairing whimper. She had broken very, very quickly. All her bravado was gone in the blink of an eye. Sperren cut off the sleeve of her dress and grabbed the back of Honoria's head with one hand, then yanked it to force her to see what he had done.

"My…my arm…" Honoria whispered in horror. Sperren could see tears prick at her eyes. Sperren grabbed a chunk of the loose skin, and he pulled. Honoria screamed in pain, clenching her eyes shut as she did so. "You fucker!" she screamed.

Sperren peeled away Honoria's skin, relishing the sound of her scream. It bounced off the stone walls, echoing throughout the small chamber.

"You are a Career," Sperren stated conversationally, and he tore away the rest of the dress that covered Honoria's arm, all the way to her shoulder. "Don't you enjoy the way you cause people pain? I saw you kill Chip."

"I'm sorry!" Honoria yelled. "I'M SORRY!" she screamed. "IS THIS TO AVENGE HIM? I'M SORRY! I UNDERSTAND NOW!"

"Revenge?" Sperren asked even as he brought his blade up through her arm, carving away more and more of Honoria's flesh. He sawed through her, leaving nothing but her muscle behind. "I care not about that, Honoria."

Honoria released a shallow gasp and from the corner of his eye, Sperren saw Winnow step away from Freiya to watch what he did, anticipation building within her as she did.

Sperren pulled away to examine his work. The muscle tissue underneath Honoria's arm had been exposed and she shook her head, as if she denied what was happening to her, it wouldn't be reality.

The anthem would play very soon. If Sperren were to hurry he would let every Career know what became of their ally. How they had lost another one and were brought down to three. Sperren supposed it would've been amusing, had he been capable of feeling it, how he had been warned of the Careers by his mentors, only for them to fall one after another.

"Daddy," Honoria whined, "help me…!"

Sperren pulled his blade away and hovered it over Honoria's chest. Her eyes, full of pain and a growing sense of hopelessness, shot to Sperren's.

"Please! Show mercy!" Honoria begged.

Without a word, Sperren brought his knife down into Honoria's chest and she screamed louder than ever before. Had she been able to move, she would have fought him every step of the way. Just like all the others. Sperren looked between his precise movements into her torso and her face. Her expressions of pain were delightful to watch. How they changed from one to the next.

Sperren made a thoughtful noise. "No matter if you're from District Nine or a Career from Two, all your begging and pleading is the same," he said. It was…disappointing. But even despite it, he carefully maneuvered his hand as he split Honoria's chest open. He would keep her alive until the very last second.

"S-so-someone," Honoria gasped and Sperren heard as her voice became weaker, "please help m-me!"

"No on-one's coming to s-save you, Honoria," Winnow said, enthusiasm ripping through her voice.

Honoria cried out and Sperren imagined the agony that tore through her with his blade. She grew weaker and weaker. "Your allies will know you've died tonight," Sperren told her.

"Agh!" Honoria grunted. Blood gushed out of her, staining everything around her. Her dress and skin. The stone floor. Sperren's own hands. She weakly looked down at the knife that had penetrated her chest. "Dirty…brute!" she hissed angrily.

So, she had given up on pleading. Perhaps she hoped that getting him angry would lessen her pain. Or maybe she had defaulted to what she knew best. Or perhaps the blood loss had shattered her mind utterly.

With a mighty yank, he felt muscles and sinew tear, splitting apart upon his blade. Honoria's chest had been successfully carved open and Sperren inserted a careful hand into her body. Honoria's eyes became glazed and Sperren wondered if she even knew where they were anymore.

Sperren's hands clutched what he'd been looking for, and he pried Honoria's heart from her chest. A wicked grin crossed Winnow's face and Sperren heard Freiya let out a quiet gasp.

It beat once in his palm and Honoria stared at it, seemingly uncomprehending. How lost and confused, Sperren thought.

"That is your heart, Honoria," Sperren stated for her. She stared blankly at it. She wouldn't last much longer. Perhaps another ten seconds, at the very most.

At the heart's second, slower beat, Sperren squeezed it, digging his nails into it. Blood seeped out of the spongy material, soaking the ground, his hand, and Honoria's chest.

Boom!

Ninety-four.

Honoria's head fell to one side, her glazed eyes glassy. Honoria was dead and Sperren released his grip on her heart.

"You…you really killed her…" Freiya said and Sperren looked at her. Winnow stepped back into her previous position above her, but Sperren saw a glint in her eye.

"Did you think I was bluffing?" Sperren asked. He wanted to know if she thought he had been.

Freiya didn't answer him. She stared at the corpse of Honoria, then screamed loudly when Winnow thrust down with her saber, piercing her shoulder with one harsh movement.

"Sperren, can you, uhm, grab Diesel?" Winnow asked with a small smile. She quivered from head to toe in enthusiasm. "I-I want him to watch," she said shyly.

Something stirred within Sperren in that moment. He did not know how to describe it, but it made his lips quirk upwards ever so slightly, almost involuntarily. He had never experienced something like that before.

"Please…d-don't make him watch," Freiya whimpered.

"But I want him to!" Winnow retorted.

That decided it for him, and he helpfully dragged Diesel's form, placing him next to Freiya, who whimpered and made incoherent noises. Between her pain, the despair of her situation, and the awareness of how powerless she was to do anything about it made a heady sensation for him. The only thing he believed would outdo this sensation was Porter Tripp. There was so much...flavor to her.

Once again, he was struck by the sensation he got when Winnow beamed up at him gratefully. The manic glee in her eyes was an expression he himself could not make, but he appreciated how much she reflected her enjoyment of what was to come.

Freiya looked up at Sperren and he could see in her eyes that she was already dead in every sense of the word. A little disappointing, to him, when they're resigned to their fates. It…cheapened the taste. He couldn't say that he liked that. It was like they were taking away some of the flavor, and they really had no right to do that.

Some would say he was unusually cruel.

Perhaps that was so. Perhaps he required the cruelty needed to make his victims suffer, scream, beg, threaten, demand. All of that and more, to feel alive. He fed on the heady torment and despair. The longer they screamed and fought even when they were so incapacitated. To their dying moments, until there was no fight or life left, and he held their heart in his hand, feasting on even that last ebb of life to its penultimate moment.

He was the monster. And now, he had a partner.

But Freiya was taking that from him. Still, while he would have snuffed her in the closest thing to frustration, her life was Winnow's to toy with. After all, he had Honoria unexpectedly gifted to him, it was only fair that Winnow had someone to claim herself. How else would she gain any experience? He kept in mind her own insecurities and decided to let her have Freiya entirely. If she made any mistakes, he would identify it through how she dealt with the redhead, and figure out a way to explain it to her.

As for Freiya, the girl was whimpering and crying, but by the lack of strain on her neck and facial expression, she seemed ready to die.

The gleam in Winnow's eye suggested Freiya's death would be a while yet.

In the distance, Sperren heard the telltale Capitol anthem. The Careers would know Honoria was dead now. Sperren wondered how they would react. Shock that yet another one of them had fallen so soon? There were only three of them left in that alliance. Nausicaa, Chariot, and Gideon. He glanced at Honoria's corpse at the thought. He had expected Gideon to die before Honoria. But the gift Honoria gave him was…fantastic.

"Diesel," Winnow said and Sperren focused his attention on the matter at hand. She knelt over Freiya, blade hovering over her body as she seemed to decide where she would make her first incision. And Freiya watched with fearful eyes, whimpers passing through her lips. "Wh-where do you thin-think I should start?" Winnow asked.

Sperren forced Diesel's head to face the scene. This was it. He was going to witness the death of his district partner. Diesel grunted, the only sound he let out that showed his despair and hopelessness, aside from his gritted teeth.

"Break your vow of silence," Winnow started with a wicked grin, "and Freiya's death w-won't be as painful." And with that, Winnow placed the blade of her knife against Freiya's cheek, and slowly pierced it, dragging it downward as a shallow stream of blood formed from the cut.

"AGH!" Freiya screamed. And yet, Winnow had barely even begun.

What Winnow said slotted something into place within Sperren. He released a thoughtful hum and rotated himself around Diesel so that he could look him in the eye. So he could examine his expression.

Diesel looked distraught. His eyes filled with sorrow and indecision. Sperren allowed himself a smile at the sight. "You took your vow for your best friend," Sperren stated. He recalled it when Diesel 'talked' to Caesar during the interview. Diesel's gaze flickered to Sperren, and he could see how Diesel's expression fell apart, bit by bit. "If you want to prevent Freiya's pain, you will break it. And that special memory of your best friend will forever be tainted."

Diesel's eyes watered. He seemed so unsure of what to do. Sperren felt a stab of something within him. A stir of…was it pleasure? Sperren wanted to see Diesel destroyed. He wanted to ruin him.

Another scream. Higher in pitch than before. Winnow moved the blade from Freiya's cheek to her lips. "The lips," Sperren narrated for Diesel's sake, for he had already told this piece of knowledge to Winnow once, "is one of the most sensitive parts of the body."

"Freiya so-sou-sounds like she agrees!" Winnow said eagerly, almost stumbling over her words in her excitement.

"DIESEL!" Freiya shrieked pleadingly, turning her head away from Winnow, for that was all she could do. But Winnow grabbed her by the back of the neck and yanked her head towards her again.

"Wouldn't you agree that it would be so simple, Diesel?" Sperren asked without looking at him. He watched as Winnow carved apart Freiya's lips, splitting them open as Freiya released an agonized cry.

"STOP!" Freiya half-gurgled, unable to use her lips properly anymore, blood leaking from gaping new wounds. She looked at Winnow with such despair, who merely grinned right back at her. "It hurts!" she cried.

Winnow pulled her knife back, then stabbed into the back of Freiya's hand and twisted. A blood curdling scream echoed through the chamber and Sperren admired Winnow's technique. "Die-Diesel can make m-me stop," Winnow said. "He j-just needs to say something."

Sperren eyed Diesel. Winnow was providing him with an opening. Allowing the opportunity for one victim to bounce off of the other. Would he break his vow or would Diesel continue to be silent? Diesel watched Freiya in despair, who looked back at him with an expression to match.

"Diesel…" Freiya choked, her voice slightly hoarse from her screaming. "It hurtsh…"

There was another twist of Winnow's knife and Sperren could hear the cracking of bone. Freiya shrieked out and Winnow seemed surprised at the sound. But then she grinned. "Did that hurt, too?" she asked, almost shyly.

"YE-YES!" Freiya shouted in agony, tears spilling down her face and over the wounds on her cheeks, sobbing helplessly.

"If you break your vow, Freiya will no longer be in pain," Sperren said, turning his head to look at Diesel. Did he persevere out of stubbornness? Sperren decided that he wanted to break him. Diesel would break his vow of silence. "It's not as if you have long to live, yourself, what does it matter?"

Diesel opened his mouth, as though to speak. His gaze locked onto Freiya's as a tear rolled down his face. But still, he didn't say a word and his mouth slowly closed.

Winnow ripped her knife out of Freiya's hand, who let out another scream. Blood and pieces of bone fragments followed with the force she pulled. "You-you're not a ve-very good district part-partner," Winnow said, looking at Diesel, though she spoke rather meekly. Her eyes darted away at the last second and she awkwardly coughed, then maneuvered herself so that she had a better position over Freiya.

The knife hovered in the air and Sperren watched silently as Winnow seemed to debate about what to do next. Then, a grin danced upon her lips and she leaned forward and grabbed at a lock of Freiya's red hair.

"I-I think Watt will be hap-happy to see this," Winnow said. And with a quick move, before Freiya could pull her head away, the knife cut through Freiya's locks and Winnow yanked away strands of red hair.

"NO!" Freiya shouted, pulling her head to and fro, but it was too late. Winnow dangled the red hair in front of her face, swinging it back and forth. "Leave Watt alone!"

Winnow rolled the hair around her finger, leaning back as she did so. "We're going to show him your corpse," she said, her voice taking on an even more excited and eager tone.

Sperren was mildly intrigued at the devotion Freiya had towards Watt, even as her death loomed close, she thought of someone else. Unusual, but not the first time he'd seen such behavior. He didn't fathom the why, but he had seen it before, a few times.

Freiya glared weakly at Winnow. She was ready to die. Had been ready to die. But Sperren wondered just how hopeless she truly felt and how much she wished she could do anything to fight back against Winnow.

"How does it feel?" Sperren asked and Winnow looked at him curiously, and as attentive as she always was.

"Wh-what?" she asked shyly, her hands withdrawing to pull herself into a more bashful position.

Sperren glanced at Freiya, listening to her soft breaths and panting. Her whimpers as she stared at her brutalized hand. "To be within arm's reach of someone who wants to kill you more than anything," he started, his words meant for Freiya just as much as they were for Winnow, "and they can't do anything."

Winnow grinned wide as she rocked back and forth on her knees. "Like-like nothing I've ev-ever felt before," she said softly.

"You won't survive!" Freiya said, shaking her head frantically and Sperren and Winnow looked at her. There was a new fire in her eye. Which only meant Winnow would have more fun dousing it, Sperren was confident in thinking. "There are others that'll-"

Winnow wrapped her fingers around Freiya's throat, effectively interrupting her. She lowered herself slowly so Freiya could only see her, and Sperren saw that fire put out in an instant. "The cat cares not for the opinion of mice," Winnow said softly.

Diesel let out a noise of protest, the furthest he had gotten to break his vow. But still, Sperren shoved his blade through Diesel's shoulder, unleashing a grunt of pain. "Your opportunity to save Freiya seems to have passed," he said.

A look of utter fear entered Freiya's expression. There was nothing that could save her. Perhaps this was the first time she had truly realized it?

Winnow raised her knife high in her free hand, then thrust it into Freiya's stomach.

"Agh!" Freiya cried. "I'm…I…" she weakly rolled her head along the ground. "I'm sorry…Watt…"

Then, her body went limp.

Boom!

Winnow pulled back, slipping her knife out of Freiya's stomach with the sound of steel wrapped around her intestines. "Sh-she died," Winnow said as she stood. Sperren detected her disappointment. "I-I wanted to cut her heart out," she said meekly, then turned towards Sperren. "Like you…"

"You were too rough," Sperren said and Winnow darted her gaze away. Embarrassment? "There will be others. It takes time to fine-tune the craft."

Winnow nodded. She looked at him, then away again. "Right…yeah," she agreed. "Sorry," she added.

Sperren watched Winnow. "Your first kill," he said. Somehow, he had managed to forget that fact. "How do you feel?"

Winnow smiled again, lifting her gaze up at Sperren. She turned her body so she could look at the corpse of Freiya. Blood pooled under her and her eyes had gone glassy in what seemed as a forever searching look, stuck forever on her face. The blood from each wound joined the pool under her body. It was an art piece, as Sperren always knew it would be. Though there was of course room for improvement within Winnow's methods.

"Amazing," she finally said softly. She fully looked at Sperren again. "It was amazing, Sperren!" She bit the inside of her cheek suddenly, though her smile remained. "I…just…I wanna do it again."

"You have the time to practice," Sperren said as he rotated around to see the paralyzed body of Diesel. From the corner of his eye, he saw Winnow's smile become wider. Diesel's breathing picked up. Surely he knew this was coming sooner rather than later? "Then, we'll find Watt."

Winnow gave a sure nod, then stopped forward, readying her knife as she closed the distance between herself and Diesel.

---

Porter Tripp

District 5

Age 18

---

Porter awoke with a start but without a sound. Pain engulfed her face, throbbing through her with incredible soreness. She tried to raise her hands to run them along her face, only to find them restricted. And suddenly, Porter became acutely aware of her surroundings.

Fear thrummed through her veins as she quickly gazed around. The walls were too familiar for her liking. I'm back inside the ruins, Porter thought with dismay. It had taken her less than a second to realize it. It only took an additional one-point-three-seven seconds to realize that what bound her was rope, tied around her feet and hands. Stained with the blood of someone else.

The next thing Porter realized were the voices. She gazed up and glanced around at her surroundings further. It was almost identical to the chamber that her alliance had found in their attempt to escape from the acidic rain. Directly across from where her captors had positioned her was an open doorway. One with curved words in an arch above it, just like the previous ruin that Porter had been through.

Porter ran the situation through her mind. It had been the Eight female, Three female, and Ten male that had captured her. They could have killed her, but they didn't. She swallowed. They have a reason for keeping me alive, Porter deduced. It was the most logical conclusion.

Her fingers rotated to pry against the rope. Her legs had been put into an awkward position. Lifted up backwards so that she was forced to lay on her stomach. If she could maneuver her hands just right, there was a chance she could get herself free.

Yet…that depended on where and if she could reach the knot.

Porter glanced over herself, as limited as she was able. These tributes - whoever had bound her - knew what they were doing. She brushed her chest against the stone ground in an attempt to rotate herself around. But the rope tore into her wrists and her ankles.

The voices ahead of her began to grow louder and Porter knew that they were returning. She wiggled back and forth on the floor, pulling her fingers against the rope in an attempt to manipulate the knot. Yet she couldn't see. She had been positioned in such a way that made it hard to look over her shoulder. But she could feel the texture of blood against the rope. Blood that Porter was sure didn't belong to her.

Porter was too late, though. She knew she was too late before she had even tried to pull herself free. Three tributes emerged from the archway and she fought to recall their names.

The Eight female grinned as her gaze landed on Porter. Her double-bladed axe had what looked to be strings attached from top to bottom. The Eight female, with an unrepentant smirk that split her face, thumped her hand against the flat side of her weapon.

"There once was a tribute who was put to sleep by the blade of my axe, how could this be?" she began to sing, a rhythmic beat bouncing through the chamber as she thumped her hand against her axe. "She writhed in pain and begged for mercy but it would never come!"

Porter narrowed her eyes. The trio came closer and closer and she spotted the pistol in the Ten male's hand. Behind both the Eight female and the Ten male was the Three female, who lingered in the back.

"Now I've got another tribute fallen at my feet!" The Eight female continued to sing and Porter could do nothing as she rapidly closed the distance between them. "Oh! The choices I could make to make you scream in agony!"

Porter frowned. Was this what they'd tied her up for? To torture her for their entertainment? Her fingers grasped at the knot, searching for a way to undo it. But the more that time bore on, the less of a surety she had that she could free herself.

"You can try to run," the Eight female sang and Porter realized with a pang in her chest that the Eight female had spotted her hands attempting to loosen the knot. "But you won't escape froooom meeeeeeee!"

Porter stilled. There was no point in trying to escape when they would recapture her in mere moments. Or kill me, she thought with a glance at the Ten male's pistol.

"It's no longer optional!" the Eight female sang, stomping a foot against the ground to add to her beat, "It's actually optimal! And we'll see your life through!"

Porter supposed that this was meant to be humiliating. For a tribute to sing about her before her death. But Porter found that she didn't care. It left her time to negotiate for her life.

"How long have you been practicing this?" Porter asked, cutting through whatever the Eight female could continue with. Porter didn't want to hear her sing any more than absolutely necessary. The Eight female was…incredibly bothersome.

"Until it was perfect," the Eight female answered. Her fingers lingered over the surface of her axe as she prepared to continue her beat.

"So you must be disappointed that I don't remember your name," Porter stated mechanically. And the Eight female's grin faltered, her hands stilling against her axe.

"Fine then," the Eight female said. "Ruin my song if you're going to keep going and going. They were chanting my name after my interview was done. 'Sasha Cholkoz!'" she mimicked loudly, as though she were the one in the proverbial audience. "'Sasha the Bard!'"

Sasha, Porter made a mental note. She glanced at the Ten male and the Three female. "You were only allied with the Three female before."

"Pixel," the Three female spoke, a hint of anger in her tone.

"Porter Millicent Tripp," Porter replied.

"Oh, Wensleydale?" Sasha asked. She looked towards the male in question who looked back at her, seemingly entertained. "I killed his district partner for him," she stated.

Porter looked at Wensleydale. "This was the favor Sasha decided for you?" Porter deduced. "You made yourself the most desirable ally," Porter stated mechanically. What she didn't say aloud was, You knew there would be a gun in the arena.

"You get a gun," Wensleydale remarked, waving his revolver to and fro, "and suddenly you're Mr. Sex."

Porter eyed the pistol. There was no telling how many bullets Wensleydale had left inside. But there was a chance - seventy-one percent chance, by Porter's calculations - that he was saving the ammo for a stronger tribute. A Career such as Nausicaa or Chariot. Honoria or Gideon.

"Why am I still alive?" Porter said without any inflection, looking from Wensleydale to Sasha. "When you found me you could have killed me."

"We will," Sasha stated, as though it were a cold, hard fact. She strummed the strings on her axe and Porter realized that it was mimicry of a guitar. Her heart felt like it had been lodged in her throat at Sasha's words.

Porter looked past Sasha at the archway further into the ruins. These weren't the same ruins. Of that, Porter was certain. But there could be another one of those beasts inside. Hid away until they freed it. "You're going to have someone…or something kill me for you," Porter replied to Sasha, looking back at her as she spoke. "Are you too spoiled to do it yourself?"

Sasha only grinned wider at Porter. She seemed…pleased, more than anything else. "Spoiled?" she asked. "Oh, too spoiled. So spoiled!" she said, lowering herself in front of Porter so that their faces were only a foot apart. "So spoiled to get forced to a whipping post in front of everyone," she said and Porter saw a glint in her eye.

"You…were?" Pixel asked. Evidently, she hadn't known of this, either.

Sasha bit her lower lip briefly. "I still have the scars. While they whipped me in front of my entire district. Can you imagine how badly it hurt?" she asked, but still, her grin had yet to fall. "Can you imagine being exposed to your entire district?" Sasha inched closer to Porter, so that their faces were only millimeters apart. Porter could feel every breath of Sasha's on her face. "Can you imagine the dramatic yelps they tore from between my lips?" Sasha asked.

Porter didn't understand. How would someone be so…thrilled by something like that? "You enjoyed it," Porter said. She noticed how even Wensleydale had grown to become disturbed.

"All eyes were on me," Sasha said, tilting her head up slightly. "I relished it." Porter stared at her as she straightened up, pulling away from Porter's face.

"You were flogged and…" Pixel stated, seeming similarly disturbed as Wensleydale, "you enjoyed it? Why?"

Sasha turned toward Pixel. "Pay attention, Pixel!" she said, strumming a hand over the strings of her axe. "Do you need me to spell out that I was in euphoria with everyone watching me?" She spun around on her heel, spinning with arms extended wide. "Now I'm in the Hunger Games and everyone, everyone is watching!"

Porter grimaced at the mental image. A Peacekeeper that forced Sasha onto a flogging post, the back of her shirt torn off as he began to whip her. Then where someone would scream, Sasha would only yelp…maybe even play up the dramatics or even encourage the Peacekeeper's flogging.

"Porter Millicent Tripp," Sasha stated slowly, in an almost singing voice and Porter looked at her without emotion, "you asked why you're still alive, and that's because Wensleydale gets to decide what to do with you. Happy sixteenth!"

What?

Wensleydale stepped shoulder-to-shoulder with Sasha. "So you're my birthday gift, are you?" Wensleydale asked. He leaned down, just as Sasha did, but Porter could smell the blood that wafted off of him. Was it the blood that belonged to whoever had been constrained by these ropes before…or was it because of his excuse the very first time she'd noticed?

"You're lettin' me do whatever I want to her?" Wensleydale asked, peering at Porter without looking back at Sasha.

"You're the birthday boy," Sasha responded. She had already started to sound…bored. Now that the attention wasn't focused on her, Porter figured.

"Ain't that fun," Wensleydale said with a smile. He seemed to ponder, resting the barrel of his revolver dangerously on his chin.

If only Porter could get him to pull the trigger. "Were you the one to tie me?" she asked instead.

"Yes I did," Wensleydale confirmed. "It's called a hogtie. D'you like?"

"It is not particularly comfortable," Porter responded neutrally and Wensleydale snorted.

"Guess you didn't think this was gonna happen to you," Wensleydale said, lowering his pistol so that the barrel was pointed at Porter's chest. Her breath hitched at his motion and Wensleydale eyed her in contemplation.

"Is that it, then?" Porter asked, forcing her voice to remain as neutral as it could be. "You're going to kill me without thinking what I could do for you, first?"

"What did I tell you about 'kill' being an ugly word?" Wensleydale asked. He propped himself on his knee, leaning his revolver against it to one side. "No no no no no, we can use you as bait."

"Bait," Porter repeated. "How humiliating a fate," she commented, though calculated swiftly for ways of escape. It entirely depended on how they decided to set her up, if she were intended on luring others to her. She flicked her gaze to Sasha. "Is that how you killed the Ten female? You used yourself as bait?"

Sasha seemed to preen under the attention that Porter gave her. "Poor Ten," she said softly, "saturated from heel to eye in acid. She never would have been able to walk again, but she insisted that she could be helpful!" Sasha regaled dramatically.

"So you killed her," Porter finished and Sasha only gave a shrug, her grin dancing on her lips. "And that's why you're with her," Porter said, looking back at Wensleydale.

"A favor is a favor, and hers was that I lend my gun," Wensleydale stated. "It really was nice of you to show up for my birthday but you ain't got much of a future left," he ended with a shrug of his own. As if to say 'what can you do?'

Porter could only see a single option left open for her. As Wensleydale reached down to grab her around her elbow, she spoke quickly but surely. This was not a decision she would have otherwise made, but she had no other choice. "I've been down there before," she stated, "or at least one similar to it. I know what to expect. You don't."

Wensleydale hesitated and Sasha seemed intrigued. Porter could not make out Pixel's expression. "Oh, I don't think so," Sasha said, touching the blade of her axe gently to Wensleydale's shoulder, "you can't say something like that and not explain!"

"I could," Porter acknowledged, "but then my leverage is gone and I cease to have anything to keep me alive."

Sasha made a show of tapping a finger to her chin, pulling back her axe as she did so. "You stitch a hard bargain, Porter Millicent Tripp." She dropped her fingers to her axe and strummed the chords, and sang, "Let's see what you can do!"

"No no no no," Wensleydale argued back for the first time. He raised a finger and wagged it at Sasha, who only stared back at him in amusement. "She's my birthday present, I get to decide what to do with her."

Sasha's fingers danced along her axe, pulling the strings gently. "Remember, Wensley, that I killed your partner for you," she said in a sing-song voice, "and for that, you said you would do anything I asked you…"

Wensleydale's eyes narrowed at Sasha, who merely looked back at him with an easy smile. It was the first time that Porter had seen any of the trio angry. He could shoot Sasha dead and turn his next bullet onto Pixel before she could react. It would erase two opponents but Porter would be left with him and him alone. Alternatively, there was the chance that Sasha killed Wensleydale before he pulled the revolver on her. Though such an action would only make Sasha an increasingly dangerous threat, as she would be the one to take the pistol from Wensleydale's corpse.

"Fine," Wensleydale said at last. There was no denying the disappointment and annoyance laced within that one word.

This alliance of theirs was tenuous, and perhaps Porter could use it. It was twice more strained than hers was after she'd decided to abandon Freiya. The question was when and how to use it to escape her fate. She knew she had little in the way of combat prowess. Even more while she was bound as she was.

Wensleydale suddenly released her and Porter crashed against the ground, and her chin bounced off of the stone floor painfully. She bit her tongue hard enough to taste the metallic tang of blood. All so she wouldn't give the trio the satisfaction of hearing her grunt of pain.

Sasha grinned unrepentantly down at her. Smugly. Porter glanced at Pixel, who only grimaced at the sight of her. Porter's frown deepened and she turned her head to spit a wad of blood out of her mouth. Their control over this situation was beyond frustrating. Porter could feel her mortality seep into her bones with every second. She had barely been able to escape the Careers. Nausicaa would've killed her had she not been interrupted by the collapsing ground.

She felt Wensleydale's hands on her hands as he began to undo the knot he had tied that had pinned her. First, her arms came loose. Then her legs. But she didn't dare stand up until Wensleydale stepped away. She would not give him a reason to kill her. Especially not when he seemed upset at Sasha and opened the possibility that he could kill her out of spite alone.

The strumming of chords redirected Porter's attention to Sasha. Her grin had yet to falter and she began a slow tempo. One that Porter reckoned would pick up the pace very soon. Sasha started to tap her foot and a best reverberated around the chamber that they all found themselves in.

"Stand up, take a bow," Sasha sang, her voice soft and melodic. Porter narrowed her eyes, but quickly did as Sasha suggested and stood up. "Or risk a bullet through your head!"

The barrel of Wensleydale's revolver pressed against the back of Porter's head and her heart skipped a beat. She needed to do everything Sasha said. Without exception. She rocked on her feet, then bent forward for Sasha, bowing to her. Porter suspected that other people would've hated to do such a thing. To be submissive in such a way. But if this is what she did to survive, then Porter would do it.

Sasha's smile only grew wider as Porter held herself down, her eyes staring up at Sasha. "You belong to me now!" she continued to sing, taking a short step closer to Porter. "Don't you disobey a single order!"

Porter stared at Sasha and rose from her bow. She was free from her binds but she couldn't do anything to escape. Not yet. If she were to run there was an eighty-eight-point-six percent chance that Wensleydale would shoot her dead before she made it to the exit of the ruins. With that thought, Porter cast a glance at the entrance into the ruins. It was almost identical to the one that she and her alliance had gone into to escape from the acidic rain.

"Or you'll find yourself quite dead!" Sasha continued and she took another step forward and Porter shot her eyes from the exit to Sasha. There was something in her expression that screamed to Porter how she was aware of what she was thinking. How she knew that Porter was calculating her odds of survival by running. "Consider me your controller!"

Sasha the Bard. Sasha the Controller, Porter thought to herself. The tempo of which began to speed up as Sasha strummed her chords at an increased pace.

"You are our slave," Sasha sang, a brief pause between her second and third word and Porter felt a stirring of anger in her gut. She looked past Sasha into the tunnel that would take them further into the ruins. There was a chance she could set something off that would kill the trio. Wensleydale was the most significant threat, but Porter could recall his score and odds. She had scored the same as him, but the Gamemakers had given her better odds. Barely. "So you'll do as I say and we'll permit you to staaaaayyy!"

Alive was the word that didn't need to be said. Porter knew what Sasha meant. She had interrupted her singing once and was spared for it, despite the clear annoyance Sasha held for it. Porter would not do it again. She had seen tributes in previous Games annoy or make their captors furious enough to kill them. Although, those had primarily been Careers. Alliances of outliers such as the one Sasha held with Wensleydale and Pixel…it was less common to capture a tribute and force them into doing their bidding.

Sasha thumbed the strings with the nail of her finger, her song quieting to just the sound of her plucking the chord. "You can't stop this, so why do you even try?" Sasha sang, her question posed through the song. "No one is coming to save your life!"

Porter didn't doubt that. She had no idea where her allies were and Porter deduced the likelihood of Watt or Diesel attempting to rescue her to be thirteen percent flat. The only one she could've counted on was Nemo, but there was no telling if he would even be able to find her. And even if he did…he wouldn't be able to survive a gunshot wound from Wensleydale. Porter hated this. She hated feeling as helpless as she did. But what could she do but stay silent and play along with whatever she was meant to do?

"Perhaps you can name me your controller!" Sasha sang, touching her shortest finger to her top lip in mock thought. She spun on her feet and resumed the strumming of her chords, and the music flooded through the chamber once more. Previously Porter had thought there was something missing…but now she heard Sasha's complete attention on her music.

Wensleydale's hand clutched Porter's shoulder, then shoved her forward. Porter suspected that his intention was to drop her to her knees, but she remained standing. The distance between herself and Sasha had closed incredibly but she simply spun out of the way and gestured towards Pixel with a pointer finger.

"Pixel! Why don't you give her your weapon," Sasha started her next verse, cooking her finger towards herself, before extending it back at Pixel and repeating the action, "so she can ensure that those traps aren't enough to seal her faaaaate!"

Pixel hesitated at Sasha's command, turning her spear around in her hands. And still, Porter watched. Would she go against Sasha for even suggesting she hand her weapon to someone else? Or would she acquiesce? There were emotions that warred across her face Porter's mind raced at the implications. The odds of her surviving this encounter started to rise by three-point-six percent. Porter could see how Pixel lacked confidence. A factor that could benefit her. If there was a way to turn her against Sasha and Wensleydale, Porter needed to find it. She might be the only chance that she had to escape.

"You can call me your controllerrrrr!" Sasha sang grandly as Pixel reluctantly stepped forward to Porter, turning her spear so that the pointed part was directed away from herself.

Porter reached out to take the weapon, glancing at Sasha as she did so. One wrong move and Sasha could deem her to be a threat, and order her execution. It would be easy for her to do. One tribute less to deal with in the arena. The thought made Porter grit her teeth as Pixel stepped out of the way, leaving Porter with only one direction to go in.

Further into the ruins. Her only offered direction. "What do you expect to find here?" Porter asked, taking a single step closer to the archway.

"Treasure!" Wensleydale stated, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Wonders of all kind! The possibilities are endless!"

Porter looked at Sasha instead of turning her head to look over her shoulder to find Wensleydale. "Do you think the Gamemakers would be so merciful?" she asked without inflection. "Do you think they would reward you?"

"I don't know," Sasha said with a grin. She pulled the strings of her axe, letting the sound bounce off the chamber walls. Porter supposed that was meant to signify the end of her song. "But you're my tester. And we'll find out together."

Porter stared at Sasha, taking in her features for any sign of a lie. She seemed…not at all worried about the possibilities of what they would find. Perhaps Porter could use that. If there was a chamber that released a beast similar to the one that she had found with her allies. Porter deduced a thirty-seven-point-seven percent chance that she would survive such an encounter a second time.

On the other hand, Porter thought as she glanced at Pixel, who nervously balled her hands into fists. There was an opportunity there, Porter was certain. If she could turn Pixel against her allies, then maybe Porter could survive this. She had no preconceptions that Sasha or Wensleydale would allow her to come out of this alive. She was only useful for as long as they needed her. Until she completed the task that Sasha had forcefully given her.

Porter rotated the spear in her hand, letting the bladed edge touch against the floor. Then, she walked through the archway.

---

Sperren Dwightbone

District 9

Age 17

---

Sperren wondered if any of the tributes found the view of the arena pleasing. If any tribute enjoyed the sight of a blanket of blackness that stretched on for miles and miles. It reminded Sperren of ash. The sky and tree leaves were both different shades of red. Sperren supposed that it was interesting, if only because it was different than the normal. He wasn't deluded, however, to think that anything in this arena was natural.

There were twelve tributes left in total. And if Sperren had been keeping track, he knew who each of them were. There was himself and Winnow. Had his district partner have been anyone else, Sperren knew that he would have been completely alone in all of his endeavors. When he had first glimpsed Winnow, he saw nothing of note. But it was when he stopped to watch her that he began to notice things. Things he had no time to explore before the reaping had occurred. As for the rest of the tributes…there were three Careers left. And one rogue. Nausicaa, the leader. Then Chariot and Gideon, and finally Nemo. Honoria had left much to be desired. She had died quicker than he'd expected, completely unaware of what was occurring within her last moments. Sperren suspected that the other four may be more…providing.

Sasha and Pixel. Sperren pondered how such an alliance could have come to be. Why did Pixel risk herself with an ally as boisterous as Sasha? Perhaps she simply had no one else to pick from. Sperren didn't know, nor did he care. Sasha, on the other hand, had proven herself more…crafty than Sperren had taken her for. Graze hadn't been a challenging opponent, if her score was to be believed, but the way Sasha had trapped her told him of further intrigue.

Graze's district partner, Wensleydale, would be the most prominent threat within the arena. Of that, Sperren was certain. Although his score wasn't as high as Nausicaa's had been, he wielded a weapon that changed the odds in his favor dramatically. A revolver pistol. He'd already used it once, and Sperren had no way of knowing if he had used it again. The revolver needed to be taken away and Wensleydale needed to be killed. Sperren imagined that Winnow would enjoy killing him.

Sperren's mind drifted towards Diesel, lying in wait for their return. Incapable of doing anything. He would remain alive for the time being. He was more resilient than Sperren had expected. But Diesel seemed intent on keeping his vow of silence until death. But he would break sooner or later. They always did.

Porter Millicent Tripp, Sperren thought. She was the one he wanted to break more than anyone else. The visual similarities they had were immense. Something Sperren had never seen before in anyone else. A factor that only added to his want to see that appearance of neutrality shatter because of something he would do. From what he had seen of her, they were similar in ways that he and Winnow were not. He wanted to see if she had emotions where he did not.

Honoria's directions had been honest. And tracking their new target from his last known position had been too easy. He was alone, without allies, and underneath a canopy of trees. With every second that Sperren stalked him, it was as though hope drained from him and the urge to fight left. The final tribute. Watt.

Watt seemed as though he were ready to move at a moment's notice, even as he chewed on something he'd pulled from his backpack. In one hand was a knife, in the other a piece of bread he'd pulled out of his pack. He had supplies Sperren and Winnow could use. Food had started to become scarce. They had almost entirely run out from their Bloodbath supplies. Honoria had only a small dried fruit snack packet on her corpse. And Diesel had been stupid enough to go running without anything on him other than a weapon.

"H-hey."

Sperren glanced in the direction Winnow spoke from, on the opposite end of the clearing. She emerged into Watt's view, visibly nervous. Watt shot up, slinging his backpack on without zipping it shut, and he pointed his knife at Winnow. A terrified look on his face.

"Wait!" Watt said loudly. His hand shook with such fear that would have been entertaining to Sperren, should he have been capable of feeling amusement. He wouldn't stand a chance in a fight, just as Sperren knew he wouldn't. "Don't move…"

"Please…don't," Winnow said, stepping back as she eyed his knife worriedly. Her saber was pointed away from Watt. Down toward the ground. "I just…" her eyes darted to the backpack strap, "I need some-something to eat."

Sperren saw Watt's throat bob and his hand rose to clutch his backpack strap. "I don't have much left," he cautiously said.

Winnow bit the inside of her cheek. This had been her idea. To get closer to Watt rather than ambush him. She had been all too eager for it. And then she was nervous. "Can I…uhm…just have…something?" she asked shyly.

Watt readjusted his grip and quickly glanced away from Winnow, casting a surveying look around the clearing. His eyes drifted over Sperren's hiding place without noticing anything. "Where's your district partner?" Watt asked. He took a step closer to Winnow and began to lower his knife.

"I-I don't know," Winnow lied. She took a small shuffled step forward. "What ab-about you?" she asked meekly.

Watt dropped his knife even further. His expression twisted into something pained. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "I'm looking for them."

"Sorry," Winnow said quietly. She turned her head away and her foot made a circle in the ground. Sperren saw her fight to swallow her grin. "Can I…can I stay with you, W-Watt?" Jus-just for-"

"How do you know my name?" Watt asked and his knife rose again. His expression changed into one of alarm. "Why do you know my name!?"

Winnow's eyes went wide and Sperren could tell that she was worried. That she had messed up what she had wanted to do. "I-I-" she stammered, "the reapings!"

"Oh," Watt said with a flush, embarrassed. "Right." His knife started to lower once more.

Sperren eyed Watt. In his district, Watt would be done in five minutes. He was too trusting and too quick to trust. If he had stayed closer to Porter, perhaps he might learn a thing or two…or not. Some people just couldn't learn until it was far, far too late.

Winnow took small side steps, her posture half bowed, and her knees bent and poised as if ready to run away at the slightest sign of aggression on Watt's part. She continued to play her part. Inch-by-inch, she drew closer until she could sit down at the very edge of a large shape vaguely resembling a poorly cut tree trunk.

Watt eyed her curiously, but her behavior was lulling him into a false sense of security. Even though her saber was significantly longer and had better reach and offensive capability compared to his…was that a butter knife?

Her legs were tilted towards the direction she came from, and she cast hooded glances at him from under her dark hair, as if meek and afraid as a mouse. She nervously brushed her hair back with a hand, as if to give herself something to do. Only Sperren knew that it was excitement and eagerness, barely contained.

"Did you manage to avoid fighting?" Watt asked suddenly.

Winnow jumped a little, and gave a nervous laugh. "Y-y-yeah…mos-mostly."

Her stammering seemed to be slowly putting Watt at ease, and he began to lower his attention span on Winnow in favor of inspecting his bag.

"Wh-what about you?" Winnow inquired back.

"Nowhere near that lucky…" Watt muttered, "had two run-ins with Careers as well…last one scattered me and my friends everywhere."

"Oh…"

"I'm sorry I can't give much, but here," Watt said, handing out a whole jerky.

Sperren watched as Winnow inched her way closer, stretching her trembling hand out as far as it could, and lightly grasped the offered food, then retreating a little bit, taking an eager chew of the tough but edible meat. That last part, Sperren was confident wasn't quite an act.

"Th-thank you…" Winnow said halfway.

"Sure…" Watt replied distractedly.

He hung his head a moment later, then shook it, and muttered something.

"Wh-what's wrong?" Winnow asked.

Watt looked over at her and smiled wistfully. "It's just…I never thought I'd miss Porter…my district partner."

Sperren began to pay more attention.

"I accused her of being a robot, incapable of feeling," Watt continued.

Now Sperren was intrigued. He was getting some clues into Porter's character. Watt's face was turned away from her, so he missed the dark shadow that fell over Winnow's face when Porter's name came up. She was indeed jealous and insecure about Porter despite what Sperren had told her.

"A-and…is she?" Winnow asked.

Watt took a moment to think it through, and said, "She's...strange...maybe you could say, unique. But nah, she's not a robot at all. I think she just doesn't know how to behave around other people."

"Oh…I see…what about…uhm…what about your other friends?"

Sperren looked carefully at Winnow now. There was a glint in her eyes now.

Watt let out a snort, then had a wistful look, but he also studied Winnow for a moment.

"What happened to yours?"

She glanced downwards. "One died, a-and I'm not sure wh-where my partner went...I-I'm sure he's okay…!"

She sounded panicked to Watt, probably, but Sperren detected her barely concealed eagerness.

"Well, all we can do is hope, right?" Watt said, but he looked away then, obviously remembering the two cannons that went off not too long ago.

"You didn't…uh…you di-didn't answer my que-question," Winnow meekly said a few seconds later.

"Sorry," Watt said, and he really did look apologetic. "I don't know where they are and…I'm scared about what happened to them." He tapped the handle of his knife as his words came to a pause. "Careers. Who else, right?" he voiced weakly.

"Right," Winnow repeated. She lowered her head and raised her jerky to her mouth. "D-did you see the…uhm, anthem la-last night?" Winnow asked, spying Watt through her bangs. Sperren saw how she became more and more eager, hidden beneath a veneer of nervousness.

Watt looked at Winnow. He wore his emotions on his sleeve and Sperren could see how he eased, only slightly. "Yeah," he said quietly. "It was the Two girl."

"Honoria," said Winnow with a small nod.

"Right," Watt responded, his voice dropping an octave in what Sperren detected might have been sorrow. "Honoria."

Winnow chewed on the inside of her cheek and Sperren could see how her lip quirked upwards, almost minutely. Then she raised the jerky to her mouth and chewed on it.

"Who do y-you, uh, think th-the second can-cannon was?" Winnow asked when she was done and Sperren saw as the glint in her eye became more evident

Watt frowned and he grabbed a pebble off the ground, rotating it in his hand, though Sperren figured he did so in an attempt to keep himself occupied. "I know who I hope it wasn't," he muttered. "Porter, Diesel, and hell, I'll throw Nemo in there, too. And…" he trailed off.

Winnow raised her head to look completely at Watt. The glint had become a fire, blazing within her irises. "And?" she shyly prompted.

"Freiya," he half-whispered, almost to himself. Sperren had to strain his ears to hear him, Winnow was closer and even she was leaning forward, with a half-smile forming on her lips.

"F-Freiya?" Winnow asked, eagerly prompting him.

Watt let out a self-deprecating scoff, "She's not even from my district, but she...she makes me feel...different. I guess you could say...I care about her, a lot."

Winnow smiled shyly at him. "Th-that's really so sweet. B-but...we only h-had a few days...before the Games. How did…did…"

"...how did I come to care for her so much? Over even my own district partner?" Watt asks.

Winnow's lips thinned slightly, but she maintained a polite smile and nodded.

"I guess I do care about Porter, but not in the same way. She can…I mean Porter can look after herself pretty well. Like, she's all logical and shit. She's good like that…but Freiya's just...she's not perfect, but she's not a complete mess or weirdo...and despite everything, she...likes me back...I think."

Winnow's eyes are almost popping out at this point and Watt misinterprets her expression for one of incredulousness.

"I know how stupid it sounds, but it's real, you know?" Watt tries to defend himself.

After a while, Winnow smiled and nodded, brushing strands of her hair behind an ear, "I b-believe you, Watt...and...I hope you'll g-g-get to rej…get to rej…he-he-he-hee!"

She broke out giggling, her head collapsing on her chest, before she pulled her head back up, and looked at him, then started laughing. She didn't laugh loudly or hard, but she kept it up long enough until she had a few streaks of tears trailing her cheeks.

Watt's face was now alarmed and he gripped his knife tightly, looking around frantically. Sperren ducked his head lower when Watt looked in his direction.

"What's going on!?" Watt demanded and Winnow had to cough a few times to get her laughter under control.

"I'm s-s-sorry, Watt, I was be-being rude…" Winnow said, waving her free hand in front of herself. "D-don't worry, it's j-just me."

Though her timidity remained, there was no hiding the eagerness on Winnow's part now, and Sperren's legs coiled down, ready to spring into action. They had not discussed at length what would transpire here shortly. But Sperren knew he did not wish to kill Watt just yet.

He had uses for the boy.

"Well…what was that about?" Watt asked, still on high alert.

Winnow now sported an impish, wicked smile. "Oh, it's just...I really wan-...uhm, I really want you to rejoin Freiya, since you care so m-much about her...and I'm going t-to help you."

She rose from her seat fluidly, never changing that impish grin as she held her saber in one hand, and Watt quickly rose too, eyeing her warily. Winnow's hand dug in her dress pockets, as she began to talk again.

"You-you know Freiya's hair color, right?" she asked, gazing intently at Watt, "it's really striking, and th-the only one in the Games with such hair..."

"What about it?" Watt looked at her worriedly now.

"Do you...r-recognize this?" Winnow pulled her fist out of her pocket, and long strands of fiery red hair dangled out of her clenched fingers.

In that moment, Sperren witnessed all sense leave Watt's mind as he let out an incoherent cry that reverberated within his chest, and his feet were shooting forward even as Winnow beat a hasty retreat, though her smirk never left her as Watt gave chase.

He slowed ever slightly to pick up rocks, sticks and clumped earth to hurl towards her, his necklace coming free from the confines of his outfit as he bent down.

Sperren sprinted out from his own cover, following carefully and quietly behind Watt, grabbing the pack he'd left in favor of pursuing Winnow. So focused was Watt on the zig-zagging and giggling Winnow that he never once turned his eyes away from her. Truly, emotions compromised one in such dangerous ways.

Sperren would never be so easily trailed like Watt was. Even as he kept an eye on the boy, he was situationally aware of his surroundings. Only a small branch had managed to hit Winnow of all the projectiles Watt had thrown, but it hardly daunted her and she remained a number of paces in front of him.

"What did you do to Freiya!?" Watt shouted. He was out of breath, panting rapidly as he said the words. But still, he didn't stop. Sperren suspected that every part of his body was telling him to stop, but still, Watt pushed on. He reached down to snap up a rock and hurtled at Winnow just as she whipped around a tree.

"Come on, Watt!" Winnow called back. She, too, sounded winded, but her eagerness remained. She was quicker than Watt. The only way he could possibly reach her was if he tired her out. But Sperren and her had planned this encounter enough so that that wasn't a possibility in the cards. "Don't you w-want to find her!?"

The rage almost radiated off of Watt's body. He zipped around the same tree Winnow went around and sprinted after her. His slow down to grab up things to throw had only put him even further behind Winnow. And he still remained clueless to Sperren's presence.

Watt could do nothing to stop Winnow at the distance she was at and she grew closer and closer to the ruins. Where Freiya's and Honoria's corpses were, and where Diesel lay in pain.

"Come, come, Watt! Find Freiya!" Winnow egged him when she reached it, disappearing from sight a moment later.

With another anguished scream, Watt tore into the collapsed ceiling that made for a pseudo plank, practically jumping right to the bottom.

"WHERE ARE YOU!?" Watt's voice echoed back out as he ventured into the darkness.

Sperren slowly entered, more sedately trailing his way down, when he heard a strangled and pained cry.

Ah, he'd found the bodies.

"F-Freiya?" Watt's voice was high-pitched, and he was kneeling over the redhead's corpse.

Now.

Sperren lunged, his feet silent from years of practice as he moved along the floor and closed the distance between himself and Watt. Had he even noticed Diesel? Or had he been so obtuse to take notice of him, because he would find Winnow's saber blade to his throat?

"Freiya…" Watt started to say, but Sperren's hands wrapped around the necklace hugging his throat, and he pulled taut. "AGH!" Watt let out, a choked noise escaping him. He hadn't even had time to pivot.

Winnow rose from her position, pulling her saber off of Diesel's throat, who guiltily looked at the stone floor. "See? I-I helped y-you re-re-rejoin her," Winnow said, giggling as she reached her final word.

"Freiya!" Watt shouted at the corpse. But it didn't move. "What did you…" He looked at Winnow as tears formed around his eyes. Was this the first person within the arena that Sperren saw cry? He searched his memory even as Watt clawed with his hands back in a vain attempt to pull himself free. "You…lied!" he choked out.

Watt's pathetic attempts to free himself stalled and he instead reached out for Winnow. Sperren tightened his grip around Watt's throat and Winnow watched with a smile as Watt's eyes seemed to bulge.

"Diesel…" Watt choked as his gaze finally landed on the district partner of the girl he cared so much for. Tears finally spilled down his cheeks as he looked at his ally, who stared back defeatedly. His face was covered in wounds. But even now, as he faced another one of his allies, he still didn't speak.

"D-Diesel didn't even try to st-stop me from killing Freiya," Winnow revealed to Watt. She stepped to the side so she could see both Watt and Diesel at the same time. "He r-r-really wants t-to keep his vow o-of silence," she said, meekly lifting her gaze to Sperren.

"What…why…what do you want with us?" Watt asked and Sperren glanced at the butter knife near Freiya's corpse. His attempt to defend himself had been beyond lackluster.

For the second time within the hour, Sperren saw an expression of jealousy cross Winnow's expression, though she swiftly ducked her head. He had told her once how she had nothing to be insecure or jealous about where Porter was concerned. Winnow was perfect. It was a fact. Sperren idly touched a hand to his lips at the thought.

"I am going to kill you in front of Porter," Sperren said at last, as calmly as can be. Watt stilled completely in his grip and Sperren released his hold of his necklace and looped an arm around Watt's shoulder.

Across from him, Winnow tilted her head up and Sperren saw her smile shyly. "What?" Watt asked, and he sounded truly shocked. "Is - no! Freiya!" he called, turning his head around so he could look at her corpse. "FREIYA!"

"She is dead," Sperren stated matter-of-factly. He shoved Watt forward before he stood up, quickly planting one foot against Watt's back to keep him in place. "You didn't even know her long and you care for her more than your own district partner. I wonder what your district thinks of you."

"I don't care!" Watt shouted. He reached his hand out in Freiya's direction. "FREIYA!"

"Neither do I," Sperren admitted and he thrust his heel down into Watt's hand. Hard. Watt screamed loudly in pain but Sperren simply lifted his heel and slammed it down again and again into Watt's knuckles, shattering his joints.

"AHHHHHH!" Watt screamed and Sperren briefly glanced at Diesel to find him closing his eyes, wincing at the sound of Sperren's heel connecting with Watt's hand. Watt weakly tried to grab Sperren's foot with his other hand, but Sperren easily shook him off.

Shattering Watt's knuckles created a simple and easy solution to a possible problem. Blood spurted from his fingers and Sperren crushed his hand one last time. "With your joints destroyed, you will be unable to use your fingers," Sperren revealed. He stepped off Watt's back to allow him to cradle his hand. "You will be unable to grab things. Moreover, you will be incapable of harming us."

Watt grunted in pain as he ignored Sperren. But Sperren didn't mind. He glanced at Winnow to see her pay close attention to what he had said. She wrung her hands, not out of nervousness, but something else. It reminded Sperren of the rooftop. When they had killed that Avox together.

"Will you help me, Winnow?" Sperren asked.

"Wh-what do you need?" Winnow asked shyly.

Sperren turned towards Watt and pinned him to the ground with one quick shove of his foot. "Take his uninjured hand and pin it above his head."

Winnow grinned and did as he asked. "Stop, no!" Watt shouted. Tears splattered against the ground beneath him. "PLEASE! No!"

Sperren smiled, just a fraction. Winnow's companionship was something he hadn't known he'd needed, but he would do anything to keep her at his side. He raised his foot and brought it down on Watt's knuckles again, and the chamber filled with Watt's screams.

---

Porter Tripp

District 5

Age 18

---

While the ruins before the archway looked mostly identical to the ruins she'd been in previously, there was a marked difference with the one she now stood in.

As far as she could see, the walls, floor, and ceiling were lacquered with gold, not just painted gold, but actual gold as far as she could tell. White or black marble tiles provided a stark contrast for the reflective gold, along with a bright cyan alloy that worked as accents along the gold inlays. Less than a hundred yards ahead the wide corridor grew wider, leading to a massive antechamber with a domed ceiling that had murals of the former Presidents standing amongst clouds, all of them now looking upwards to the very tip, where a seemingly floating pure white marble statue of President Coriolanus Snow hovered, arms stretched to either side of him, encompassing everything he saw.

There appeared to be soft glowing orange-yellow lights illuminating from behind the gold segments and even under the white or black marble tiles that lined the floors, walls, and ceiling. Coupled with the reflective gold, the illumination was almost too bright. Unlike the previous ruins that employed a more ancient medieval aesthetic, this place seemed to be more like something that was ahead of even their timeline, but was just as ruined by warfare.

Some sections of the nearby wall were penetrated by what looked like an explosive round. Wensleydale's eyes were alight with greed and desire. Pixel had scampered over to examine the hole, and she pushed at the edges of the hole inquisitively.

"It's solid gold!" she exclaimed.

"Nice," Wensleydale said, "imagine if we could take this with us...shoot my sheep and set it on fire!"

Porter blinked and looked over at Wensleydale, as did Sasha. Porter had never heard such an exclamation before, but given that he was from the district most well known for raising livestock, she supposed that was a regular kind of statement. If she only knew the context.

"Look at the size of that gem!" he said, pointing towards the most intact pillar.

Indeed, almost glowing with its own light, was a bright blue gemstone Porter couldn't identify embedded into the center of the pillar as some kind of aesthetic art piece. It was the size of both her fists with some more to spare, fitted into the wall with a black metallic alloy acting as a case for it, with the case itself inlaid upon a dome-shaped circular disc.

Porter suddenly felt the barrel of the gun pressing into her back, urging her forward, and towards the gemstone, clearly the objective of Wensleydale right then, except every instinct in Porter screamed for her to stop, despite the danger of Wensleydale discharging his weapon right into her.

"Wait," she whispered, first, then she said louder, when Wensleydale didn't appear to hear her, "WAIT!"

"Why!?" Wensleydale demanded, "What is it?"

Porter didn't answer, but she no longer felt him pushing her forwards, though his gun was still pressed into her back, and it was vibrating. Clearly, Wensleydale was impatient to get closer. Pixel in the meantime was returning to the group, looking warily at Porter, whose eyes were busy scanning the floor. This place was very uniform in style and design, and despite the ruined state of the structure they were in, she could still identify any irregularities. Just like she used to do at her job back home.

"PIXEL NO!" Porter shouted, but that was when the female had stepped her foot down in shock, and the pressure plate grated down under her weight.

She didn't know why she reacted, but she chalked it up to her having far more humanity than anyone thought she did, including herself. Porter lunged towards Pixel, throwing herself right at her, they both crashed to the ground as they impacted one another, narrowly avoiding the high intensity beam that shot out of the gemstone Wensleydale had been eyeing earlier. Porter saw strands of her own hair falling to the ground in front of her, and she realized that there was more than one beam firing around.

"Stay down," she ordered Pixel, who was trembling underneath her but she too was looking wildly about, trying to see where all the beams were coming from.

Porter twisted her head and she could see that there were more than one of those gemstones, and the circular discs acted as a turret or moving piece that could go up or down, or side-to-side on the walls and pillars. In the case of the pillars, the turrets also moved around the entirety of them. This was some kind of laser trap defense, or just a plain trap intended to kill.

Sasha and Wensleydale had taken cover behind a broken pillar and a wall segment respectively.

"PORTER! DO YOUR DAMN JOB!" Wensleydale ordered in a panic.

Porter's lips thinned as she pursed them in thought. It would be quite easy to figure out the pattern of the beams and get out of here, leaving Sasha's Band to try and get out of this alive. Plus she'd get a spear out of the deal. But as she glanced down the corridor leading to the antechamber, and then back towards the way they came, she knew that the Gamemakers probably had a nasty surprise waiting ahead, and if she fled back the way they came, Wensleydale had a clear and easy shot at her with his gun.

Damn.

"It was meant for you," came the soft voice beneath her.

Porter looked down at Pixel, whose pale face was framed by her faded pink hair. "What do you mean?"

"I always look at where I'm going. The…the pressure plate...it wasn't there until you started looking, and if you hadn't moved, it would have killed you."

Pixel reached out to the side and picked up the singed strands of Porter's hair.

"Those beams are aiming at you...what the hell did you do to piss off the Gamemakers?" she asked.

At this, Porter paused, then looked up at the beams criss-crossing the corridor, and she realized indeed that the manner in which they were layered or positioned was rather markedly over where she presently lay on top of Pixel. Only the fact they were both petite and on the thin side keeping them alive as one of the beams was merely inches above her.

So the Gamemakers openly wanted her dead, and she had a niggling suspicion she knew why.

Would apologizing verbally do anything?

Probably not.

But the ruins themselves may provide her salvation. Carefully moving her spear, she brought it closer and looked at the highly reflective steel, seeing her own haggard face in the mirror-like surface. But she didn't want to ruin the weapon just yet. It would be her last resort if things turned out wrong. But what other solution did she have? The thought made Porter turn her head to scan for a way out and she spotted the telltale reflection of the golden tiled floor. She glanced at the beams as they reflected off the tiled walls, bouncing from one end of the room to the other, creating scorch marks that Porter knew would burn right through a human body should it connect.

Porter held her breath and, as calmly as she was able, dug her spearpoint into the edge of the nearest gold tile, and pushed. Grunting with the effort, she tried again. Turning her head a little, Pixel saw what she was trying to do, and grabbed the lower haft of the spear and added her strength.

The first shove pushed the spearpoint beneath the tile. It would be enough leverage to pull the tile free. And Porter shoved downward with the combined weight of Pixel. But the tile didn't move and Porter frowned. Then she looked up and spotted a beam moving right towards her. Its turret reflected off a gold tile to point in her direction. And steadily growing closer.

Porter's heart began to race faster and she applied more strength to her shoves. The beam came closer and closer and Pixel came more frantic beneath Porter. If they weren't fast enough - strong enough - it would cut them right in two.

But after one last shove, the tile slid free from the ground with a strained groan, and Porter lifted the tile above her head, just as the beam was about to make contact with her and cut her and Pixel in half. The beam bounced away just in time and Porter aimed the beam for the turret it originated from. She squinted her eyes in determination and focus and before the beam or the Gamemakers could redirect it, Porter aimed it across the turret, shredding it to pieces.

Then, Porter lifted the tile up against the beam directly above them. The reflection redirected the beam away, loudly destroying the turret on the pillar. When he heard the bang and the sound of metallic debris falling to the floor, Wensleydale looked around his cover and cried out. With two beams more or less diverted, Porter got to her knees and Pixel crawled out from under her and into a kneeling position.

Turning the tile she destroyed another beam turret, and another, and another, until she'd taken out most of the main beams that were prohibiting their movement, and lastly, she aimed the beam right back to the turret she'd been using. A satisfying bang informed her of its destruction. Around the room, there were still other beams that were active, but their axis and position wouldn't harm them unless they deliberately walked or jumped into its path.

Finally, she lowered the tile, gripping only the edge with her fingers, but she was going to drop the heavy thing when Wensleydale came over eagerly. "Nice, nice, guess you were handy after all. Hey don't drop that, lemme have it-OW!"

Wensleydale had grabbed at the gleaming tile now with a slightly burnt center where the beam had been hitting it. He quickly withdrew his hand when he found how hot it was, and began to swear loudly and creatively.

"You don't touch a metal plate that was conducting heat and light, idiot!" Pixel scolded, then blushed and lowered her head at Wensleydale's death glare.

"Not very polite to take things that don't belong to you, Wensley," Sasha said. The first words she'd spoken since they'd entered into this…place. A fact that Porter found surprising, given Sasha's apparent need to be at the center of attention.

"Noted," Wensleydale stated, annoyed. He eyed Porter for a moment longer, then lingered at the hot tile that had dropped to the floor.

"You two need to be more careful where you step," Sasha added, looking past Wensleydale at Porter and Pixel. "Otherwise I might start thinking you're trying to kill me."

Wensleydale bent down and nudged the gold tile with the barrel of his pistol. "What kind of birthday is this, when I ain't got a single present?" He lifted his head and lifted his pistol so that it was pointed right at Porter's chest. "'Cept you."

Porter frowned at Wensleydale. But still, she didn't move. She wouldn't be able to strike him down with her spear faster than it would take for Wensleydale to pull the trigger.

"Stop," Sasha said, her voice firm and commanding. Wensleydale turned away from Porter to face Sasha, who had crossed her arms. "You can have more fun with my gift to you later," she told Wensleydale. Sasha stepped past Wensleydale, closer to Porter, and she reached her hand out against Porter's chest, flattening her palm just under her neck.

Anxiety flared inside of Porter. The close proximity was not welcome. But she didn't remove her gaze from Sasha's face, nor did she step back to pull herself out of her reach. Sasha's fingers pressed against the base of her neck, as if searching for how long Porter would allow. One wrong move was all it took for them to decide that she wasn't useful anymore. And if she was being targeted by the Gamemakers…

"You can't do anything," Sasha sang slowly, her free hand strumming the chords on her instrument. "If I asked to choke you, would you allow it?" she asked, and her hand rose to encircle around Porter's throat.

Porter's heartbeat pounded and forced all fear out of her expression as she felt Sasha's fingers on her skin. Wrapped around her throat, but not tightly. Her body still felt so sore from her battle with Nausicaa. "Would you give me a choice?" Porter asked mechanically as she stared back at Sasha.

Sasha's lips formed a small smile and she hummed. Whether it was another mockery or genuine, Porter didn't know. Instead, Sasha released her and stepped back. "Now isn't the time for stopping. Go on," she said, gesturing dramatically further down the antechamber as it continued to stretch on.

Porter turned away from Sasha without emotion. Internally, relief filled her. Pixel's footsteps were quick to join her. Sasha and Wensleydale's voices quietly started a discussion. Something that Porter couldn't hear at the distance that separated them. However, without the barrel of Wensleydale's gun digging into her back, Porter felt that she could think and calculate properly.

Idly she wondered what would become of Demonstrate if the Gamemakers failed to kill her. She had been…blunt in her opinions. Both within the arena and during her interview. Things that Porter should have calculated the worth of saying, but had made the mistake of forgoing it. How…human of a mistake, she thought.

It was clear the Gamemakers were targeting her for death. Openly enough for another tribute to put the pieces together. The thought made Porter glance at Pixel. Sasha and Wensleydale were remarkably at ease with their proximity. Theoretically, Porter could spin around and hold Pixel hostage. Or attempt to, at the very least. Perhaps Sasha and Wensleydale held little regard for her. Perhaps Sasha would have Wensleydale shoot through Pixel to get to Porter. But the thought was irrelevant. What mattered was the Gamemakers.

Did President Snow want her dead for the things she had said? Would she have even gotten his attention through the things she had spoken? How did her odds change if even the Gamemakers were attempting to kill her? They couldn't be obvious about it, as then her death would be seen as rigged. Which meant that they would need to do things carefully.

"You saved me," Pixel said at last, finally speaking and Porter looked at her from the corner of her eye. Carefully, she examined the floor, taking great care of exactly where she would step. "You didn't have to. Why?"

A valid question that even Porter was thinking about.

Why did she instinctively react the way she did? Pixel had done nothing that logically warranted such an act. They were all in a fight for their lives, and everyone would eventually become an enemy.

The simple answer came a lot quicker to her than she'd thought.

Freiya.

Nemo said that sometimes the illogical choice was the right one. And she had been regretting her decision over Freiya since. It didn't make sense to transfer the underlying guilt onto Pixel, but in that instant, all Porter could think of was she did not want Pixel to die if she could do something about it.

"It…seemed like the right thing to do." was all she said.

Pixel frowned, fidgeting with her hands. She stayed beside Porter in silence for a while as they walked.

"Thank you," she finally said, then fell back to walk alone, between Porter and the other two.

An olive branch, perhaps. Pixel was Porter's best chance out of this situation. She was the only optimal ally that she could take. Wensleydale wouldn't separate from Sasha without convincing, and Porter doubted that such a thing was possible. And Sasha had far too many loose wirings to ever be an option.

Ever on went the antechamber, its size and breadth awe-inspiring. It had Porter wondering upon the proximity of this place adjacent to the castle. She could no more tell if they were closer or further from it. Her sense of direction was astray ever since she fell unconscious and was relocated from her last position.

The structure was most opulent, with more gold plating aligning the walls, interspersed with white marble tiles and pearl accents and reflective neon cyan alloy filigree, marred only by apparent battle damage. Porter had no idea what Sasha's Band hoped to find here. The female had been vague, Pixel had no input, and Wensleydale only seemed to think about finding treasure, and he was distracted by the aesthetic beauty. Beauty that hid great peril.

As if the Gamemakers would let them keep anything they found in the arena.

As they crossed through the antechamber, Porter began to notice there were more damaged lights than ever, with greater signs of wear, tear, and damage. There were more tiles that were broken than those that were not, with some of the metallic structures looking partially melted. The gold still gleamed, and Wensleydale more than once made an unclear remark but his desire and greed were evident in his eyes and tone. Much of the light fixtures were dimmer, and there were many that flickered intermittently, making a jarring experience to her senses when she tried to refocus her vision to the ambient brightness.

When would Demonstrate Vanderblathe make his next attempt? Porter felt herself growing more and more uneasy.

When she turned a corner, an opening was clear for her to see. An archway that led into a circular room. A chandelier of unfamiliar design seemingly floated overhead, bathing the room with a dark orange glow. The light fixtures behind the tiles contrasted with a soft white shine that actually did not brighten up the place at all. A lone tapestry with the bottom half torn off provided the only decor to the room, and it had the face of a man wearing a strange white wig. As she stared at the face, she was suddenly shoved forward, deeper into the room. Looking back, she saw the smirking face of Sasha, who'd caught up to them. Behind her, Pixel had a conflicted expression on her face.

There was a metallic snap, the sound of which echoed further into the room, which was much larger than Porter initially realized, and it led down an extremely large corridor. The ceiling was thirty feet above, and the floor was about twenty feet wide. Debris, broken gold and marble tiles and plates littered the ground. Strange white plants that held a soft glow to them added to the mess, so much so that Porter realized they would have to clamber over some parts, and there was no telling how much weight the piles could sustain. The jagged metal plates looked nasty, and falling onto any of them could spell grievous injuries, at best. Death, at the worst.

Another snap and hiss, and beyond the corridor was a shadowy alcove, with a narrow path of the floor illuminated only by strange ground lamps that emitted a dark purple hue, flickering flames dancing within each.

Looking up at the ceiling again, Porter noticed a mural of President Coriolanus Snow, whose eyes were so expertly painted to appear as if they were following her every movement. Regal, proud, stoic. Porter paid it no mind and instead studied as much of the room as she could through its ruin and debris. She carefully navigated the piled debris that obstructed their path ahead, and she found that Pixel was cautiously following her exact movements, and finally Sasha and Wensleydale brought up the rear. Aside from a quick hiss of pain from Wensleydale when he'd cut his finger on something sharp, they all made it safely. Just beyond the piles, the dark alcove, she finally realized, led to...an abyss.

Images of her narrow escape from the collapsing arena ground flashed through her mind.

Was this the trap? Was she going to be swallowed this time by another collapse?

Beyond the vast emptiness, another archway beckoned to her, but how to get to it? Idly, she wondered how she could even see it. There was no floor. Darkness was all that she saw beneath, no end in sight, and the desire to lean forward was strong, but she knew nothing good would come of that. She calculated that it was a fifteen foot gap exactly. "There is no way across," Porter stated simply.

The purple lamps taunted her, floating on nothing, she realized upon closer inspection. The tiles vanished into darkness. The darkness looked…odd, to Porter. Like it wasn't natural. Which honestly didn't surprise her. The Gamemakers' control of the environment was quite absolute. Sasha and Wensleydale were squinting into the darkness, and Pixel was standing farther back than all of them, clearly unnerved by the engulfing darkness ahead. To be perfectly honest, Porter was too, but there was no point showing it, and so instead, she began to reach into the darkness with her spear, and she stared wide eyed as just beyond the visible tiles, the spear tip simply disappeared into the blackness, as if it were a light-absorbing wall.

"Interesting," said Wensleydale, "stick your hand in."

Having retrieved the spear, Porter first checked to see if it was hotter or colder. It felt the same. So, she tentatively reached out and was unnerved to see her hand just vanish into blackness, and her eyes could not penetrate it. She felt nothing different, though there seemed to be a certain sense of staleness.

"It...feels fine," Porter said, "I can't feel anything beYONNNND!"

She shrieked out the last bit of her word when Sasha once again shoved her forward, and Porter fell forward, expecting to drop down to her death, but she landed on something warm, almost hot, that she could feel, but could not see. Near her, one of the purple flame lamps burned, barely giving off any light.

As before, she could see ahead, somehow, but not what was immediately in front of her.

"DON'T DO THAT!" Wensleydale could be heard shouting at a smirking Sasha.

"Is it myyy fault that you do not know how best to use your own birthday present, Wensley?" Sasha sing-songed mockingly at the male. "Thy mind doth dwell upon wealth not thine own, upon fool's gold...and it's distracting you."

She switched between an ancient tongue, back to modern, and her mocking was clearly getting to Wensleydale as Porter practically heard his teeth grinding from where she lay prone.

"Don't call me 'Wensley'," he said.

"Are you alive, Porter?" Sasha asked instead of responding to Wensleydale. She sounded amused. A fact that annoyed Porter. Anything could have been beyond the dark, but Porter supposed that was the point. To test what was on the other side.

Porter swallowed down her emotions. "My cannon didn't fire. A fact that points towards my survival," she stated neutrally. Mechanically.

"And?" Wensleydale asked. "What do you see?"

The pertinent question, Porter thought as she squinted, gazing around at anything she could see. Her fingers remained curled around her spear and she didn't dare move a muscle. Her body had impacted something solid but when she looked down she saw nothing but blackness. She could barely see anything at all except for the archway opposite of the alcove she had been shoved through.

"Nothing," Porter said. "I believe that is rather the point." She glanced down again and, ever so carefully, ran her hand along whatever it was she had landed on. It was warm to the touch and it resonated through her entire body as she lay upon it. But the texture was all too familiar. Porter curled her hand and softly rapped her knuckle against the invisible floor. "There is a floor," she said aloud. "It's made of glass."

"Glass?" Pixel voiced. "Does it need to be said that we can't apply too much pressure?"

"We won't," Sasha said. "Wensleydale," she continued, putting emphasis on the second half of Wensleydale's name with a sing-song tone, "should go next. Can't let his birthday present go, can we?"

"And lose my present? No, no no no no."

Porter ignored them. Gently, she pressed her hand against the glass and pushed herself up. She didn't know how thick the glass was. And when she'd fallen upon it, she didn't know how much damage she had done. It could have cracked. Or it could not have. But she couldn't see much beneath her to confirm either possibility.

She planted her heels on the ground softly and slowly got to her feet. She had to be more careful than ever. The Gamemakers were looking for any way to kill her that wasn't evident that they were rigging things against her.

Though Pixel had shone a light on the fact. Would that make them back off a little?

The spear in her grip rotated so that she was pointing the flat edge at the glass floor. Then, ever so gently, she tapped it and moved the spear across the glass. She had to find the edges so that she knew precisely where to step. Any wrong move and she could topple over into the abyss below.

Will the Gamemakers risk the death of an interesting tribute? Porter wondered. Would they do so in their quest to kill her? She didn't know. But Demonstrate Vanderblathe could shatter the glass floor from under her and send her to her death at a moment's notice. "No," she said without pulling her gaze from the dark ahead of her. "Pixel is smaller. Lighter. She can join me."

She didn't step forward. If Porter heard the glass start to crack, she could leap back to safety and if she knew that, then so too did the Gamemakers.

"The weight-" Pixel started.

"-Is of no worry," Porter replied, as calm as she could be, even as she bluffed. "The floor will carry two of us. And since Sasha doesn't trust me not to run, you will make certain that I don't."

"Or you could just push her off," Sasha suggested and Porter could tell she was grinning as she said it. "You'd kill one of us. But then I'd have to shoot you."

"Wait…" Pixel said.

"I'd shoot you," Wensleydale corrected. "I haven't fired this in a while. Probably all dusty inside. It could use a good cleaning out."

"And then we would both be dead," Porter stated. Her spear moved forward along the glass bridge as she searched for an end and…There's one, she thought as the edge of her spear went over the edge. "There are holes here," she said aloud to the others.

"I have no weapon to defend myself!" Pixel hissed angrily.

"You'll be perfectly alright," Sasha sang, strumming the chords of her axe. "Don't shake in fright! Because you'll be…" she clicked her tongue twice, "just alright!"

Pixel cursed. "Fine," she muttered. There was a moment of silence before Porter heard her move and Pixel was suddenly closer to her than she had been before. "Son of a glitch, it's dark!"

Porter didn't feel relief, but something that was at least close to it. Was this the best she was going to get as some kind of shield against a Gamemaker trap? But even that was still a gamble based wholly on Pixel's popularity with the audience. Had it been Wensleydale instead, Porter would have been confident they wouldn't risk it. Wensleydale had the gun, which made him interesting by default.

Hands touched against Porter's back, briefly retracted, then found her shoulders. "Oh. There you are," Pixel said.

"You will need to follow my every move," Porter commanded. "Otherwise, you will fall."

"I'll try my best," Pixel replied, sounding annoyed. "I have hands I can use, too, you know."

"I am aware," Porter said. She took a small step forward, carefully where she knew there was more floor. "But that would require staying low to the ground."

Pixel let out a breath and the warmth of it tickled the back of Porter's neck. "Sorry," she said.

"I did not save you just so I could kill you later," Porter said, and then blinked, her body going stiff for a moment, "I much prefer you alive."

Why did she say that? It felt almost like she dropped that on instinct. Pixel could tell she was as surprised by herself, and if Pixel's hand stiffening was anything to go by, it surprised her as well.

"Thanks...I guess."

With little more to say, they continued a very slow, awkward trek across. It was not entirely a straight line, and the holes were not encouraging, but the path had a smooth, gentle curving pattern that held no extremes.

She needed to go about this carefully. Push too hard and Pixel would become withdrawn. But push too soft and Pixel would dismiss her. "You've been allied with Sasha since the beginning," Porter stated and she felt Pixel's hands stiffen against her shoulders.

"Why do you know that?" Pixel asked, her voice quiet but with an edge to it.

"By observing," Porter told her plainly and without emotion. "You must have noticed the hierarchy in your alliance," she said, careful about injecting any emotions into her words as she took another step forward. "I think we both understand that it's Sasha at the top." She paused. "And if you have been paying attention you will have realized that the only person lower than you is me. But I'm not a part of your alliance."

Pixel scoffed. "You're trying to convince me to betray them." It wasn't a question. "Sasha's been with me since the beginning and even if you saved me once, I still trust her more than I trust you."

They took another careful, measured step together. Pixel's limp made her only slightly slower than Porter. Her mind raced to reason with Pixel's response. The possibility of that kind of statement had been one Porter knew was likely. But there was no point in evading the heart of the matter. Porter hated delaying so much already. "Yes," she said simply and she felt Pixel actually hesitate in surprise. "Allies will always go their separate ways or betray the other eventually. Which route do you think Sasha will take?"

Pixel didn't answer for six-point-forty-seven seconds before she whispered, "And you have the Gamemakers after you." She said it low enough that Porter only barely heard her. Did Demonstrate Vanderblathe? Regardless, she had a point. Pixel had no reason to help her when the Gamemakers were so clear in their attempts to try to kill Porter.

She carefully maneuvered herself forward without a word, Pixel following her as best as she could within the dark. "If Sasha were forced into a situation where she would save either you or Wensleydale, why would she ever pick the one without the pistol?" Porter asked eventually.

No response came from Pixel. Perhaps that was the most that Porter could ask for as of this moment. The closer they came to the exit, the easier it became to avoid the holes. It was still dark, but it became just a little less the further that they went.

"I don't like it…" Pixel started, "...but, you're not wrong."

The female seemed bitter about this, based on how she tightened her grip on Porter's shoulder slightly, as if she wanted to clench her fist, but couldn't quite do that without letting go.

To her relief, they arrived at the other side and illumination filled her vision with a scene of greater ruin. The alcove they'd exited into had shattered structures, melted metal, loose hanging wires still sparking and crackling with electricity, and perpetually smoking damages, as if eternally reflecting the horrors and ruins of warfare. Despite its very modern architecture, Porter was beginning to recognize the Capitol themes of their supposed suffering at the ends of the district rebels. As if it justified the abhorrent and cruel annual punishments they now inflict on children for the sins of their forefathers.

Another large archway led beyond the chamber they were in, but there was an ominous sense based on the narrow line on the floor and the top of the archway, a door that rose and descended to meet in the middle. Several of the tile lamps were flickering intermittently, interfering with her vision, but as she took tentative steps forward and leaned her spear past the threshold of the archway, the doors snapped shut with unbelievable speed, the jagged serrated teeth cleanly sliced the spear tip off completely leaving her with a quarterstaff.

Porter's heart skipped a beat, eyes wide and staring, as she slowly withdrew her spear - now staff - and stared at the perfect clean cut the saws - not door - made. If she had tried going through that threshold, she would have been cleanly sliced in two, and Pixel would be treated to a whole new side of Porter no one had ever seen before. Literally.

Pixel squeaked and jumped back, alerting Porter to something new when she saw the flash of light from a seemingly damaged piece of equipment set on the ground. She hadn't taken note of it due to its extremely broken state. But now a hologram of a square cube of light that was slowly spinning in a perpetual state was floating before them. A ring of light surrounded the cube and with every word spoken, the cube and the hologram flashed.

"The way forward is yonder," the mechanical feminine voice spoke, "but woe betide those who prove unwilling to make the necessary sacrifice for safe passage."

As it finished its sentence, the threshold began to glow a faint golden hue.

"HEY! DO YOU THINK YOU CAN LEAVE US BEHIND!?" Wensleydale yelled angrily.

Turning, Porter realized her dilemma. She could leave Sasha and Wensleydale to navigate the darkness alone. It would take them time, but leaving them to chance would also mean the Gamemakers had ample opportunities to eliminate her without collateral, and Pixel was presently not much of a shield, due to how little intrigue she seemed to garner with her lack of skills or abilities.

"Careful, Wensleydale," Sasha said, again putting emphasis on the second half of his name. "You might have just put the idea in her head," she said with a sinister undertone.

"There is a clear glass path, about four feet wide and weaves in a pattern reminiscent of the letter 'S'," Porter said clearly, "but beware of the holes. It is about three and a half feet wide and two and a half feet long. The first one is exactly ten steps after entry into the dark, the next one is another ten steps, and the last one is at seven steps."

"Best. Present. Ever!" Wensleydale said.

"Or a clever one that wishes us dead," Sasha retorted, though Porter barely heard her.

Not entirely untrue, but at the immediate moment? Porter thought self-preservation more interesting at the present.

"Ladies first," Wensleydale offered, apparently wanting Sasha to go first.

"Age before beauty," Sasha replied evenly.

"You will both need to travel together," Porter said in a flat tone, "it will speed up your journey, and you are both fifty-six-point-three percent less likely to meet your end that way."

"And where did you calculate that percentage from?" Sasha asked mockingly. "But all right then; together, Wensleydale."

Porter could barely make out the forms entering the path and making their way over to her and Pixel, but their bickering and bantering gave her a good idea on their location and their progress. Despite disagreements and multiple citations by Sasha to Wensleydale about where he was placing his hands on her person and what her axe would do to the offending members if he continued his careless wanderings.

Personally, Porter thought that much arguing and creative insults were a strenuous waste of energy.

Pixel had picked up a small piece of rubble and approached the saw trap. When she was just a few feet away from stepping through the threshold, she tossed the rocky debris and watched as the saws snapped together with a metallic clang, and diced the rock in two.

"What was that!?" Wensleydale demanded.

Pixel had hopped back in fright, having seen the speed with which the saws moved and retracted, it was as fast as the blinking of an eye.

"To move safely beyond," the hologram said, "a sacrifice must be made."

There was a firmness to the tone of the supposedly mechanical voice that was not there before. Porter also did not miss how the hologram was not speaking in repetition or saying the exact same thing as earlier before. It was interactive, and likely there was a Gamemaker behind it responding in real time to Porter and Pixel's actions.

"What sort of sacrifice will be deemed sufficient?" Porter asked.

The pale yellow-white glow of the hologram shifted to a deeper golden hue, and it replied, "A life, for a life."

Pixel's eyes widened as she looked at Porter, and the staff in Porter's hands.

"That's not fair!" she cried out, then she whispered fiercely to Porter, "Sasha and Wensleydale would push us both into it!"

Porter felt her heart stop for a moment. On one hand, it was nice that Pixel wasn't considering outright betraying Porter for the moment, but on the other, she was right, Pixel and Porter held the least value of interest to the Capitol as a whole, and to Sasha and Wensleydale.

Turning back to look in the darkness, she could hear Wensleydale's voice much closer now. It wasn't long before they would be across, there were two more holes in the path that would slow them down, but it wasn't much. She felt her mortality fleeing her once more.

Pixel was looking frantically at her, seemingly depending on her to come up with a solution. It struck her as how remarkable it was that people seemed to turn to her for answers. It didn't make sense in her mind why they would do that, but they did. And what Nemo said came to mind once more: Sometimes the irrational choice is the right one, even if it is completely wrong and can cause your death.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded and approached the hologram. There had to be a way to appeal to the Capitol, to the Gamemakers, even in this last moment. But she needed to make this the most interesting deal ever. Something to wow the audience in a way she never thought of doing before, now completely regretting not asking for more input from her district's victor.

"So swift a sacrifice," she began, "whether willing or not, seems a waste."

The hologram did not deign to reply, but Porter did not expect one. However, the hue had shifted back to a more white color. She did not know if this was an indication of some sort. Clearly, however, she needed to offer something more substantial.

"What if...the sacrifice, was not our lives...but something of ourselves?"

The hologram shifted to a slightly more purple hue, and the cube shifted in its axis to seemingly look at Porter directly. Oh, she had someone's attention now.

Pixel however, picked up faster and apparently rolled with the idea now.

"Yes, a sacrifice...for an edge!" she said, stepping up beside Porter.

"Wha-" Porter started, but Pixel quickly spoke over her.

"I can't fight the way I am," she said imploringly, gesturing with her hands as she spoke. "Hells, even Porter has something to use, all I have are…are these!"

She picked up some broken slabs of marble and ruined metal bits. The cube seemed to dip downwards, as if looking at what was in Pixel's hands. It looked like the cube was considering the request, and Porter dared to feel hope.

"You propose trading the natural for that which is not," it said at last.

Pixel had an obstinate expression on her face. "Well a lot of good my soft natural hands have done for me, haven't they? Don't you want to see what I could do if I had something like what Wensleydale has?"

Porter whipped her head about to look at Pixel in a new light. What lengths was she willing to go to get an edge? What was she willing to give up?

The cube began to glow brighter.

"What's that light?" Wensleydale demanded.

Porter glanced back but saw only darkness. The two of them hadn't emerged yet, but that they could make out the light of the hologram said they were close.

"So?" Pixel pressed, "What'll it be?"

"The proposal is being considered," the cube replied in a flat tone, and a moment later, "It is acceptable. The path will open for all, should one of you make the sacrifice. An edge will be given to the one who makes such a payment. Know however, that the cost is still great."

The cube suddenly vanished and the doorway seemed to begin morphing. Porter and Pixel stood still as the portal's parts and segments melted or fell away, exposing internal circuitry that looked more complex than anything she had ever seen. The two saws above and below coalesced together slowly, changing dimensions into something significantly thicker and the change finished a decisive slam.

As the last echoes of the metallic noise faded away, Porter looked at Pixel, who had a determined and resolute expression on her face now.

"Pixel," Porter said, and the female turned her head slowly to look at her, "perhaps consider the ramifications of what you are about to do. Are you certain you will actually be rewarded, or tricked?"

She looked thoughtful, but Pixel eventually nodded her head. "I'm going to take that chance. You should hang back."

"Pixel…" Porter tried again, but the pink-haired female strode purposefully forward, towards the threshold.

Pixel turned to give Porter one last look and a smile, then without much hesitation, shoved both her arms into the openings that had appeared at a comfortable height for her in the wall that was once the threshold. Something within gripped Pixel's arms at an even and measured length, and the female's eyes widened with alarm, and then a piercing scream filled the air.

"Pixel!" Porter rushed forward, but the cube hologram materialized in front of her.

"Stay back, and make no interruptions," it said, "your actions will be construed as an attack, and will void the proposal that she has made."

What went unsaid was that the Gamemakers would resume killing Porter. She was on a fragile precipice and very little provocation was needed to make them try ending her life, hang the consequences.

"She's suffering!" Porter tried to argue.

"A sacrifice must be made," the cube retorted flatly.

Pixel's screams and vain struggling went on unabated, but whatever held her arms in place she could not tear away from.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!?" Wensleydale cried out and he was suddenly by Porter's side.

Sasha followed after more sedately, but was watching Pixel's dilemma with a morbid fascination. Soon though, her attention was diverted by the hologram cube floating before them, blocking them from Pixel.

"Step no further," Porter warned Wensledydale, who looked like he was just about to get closer, "the cube said it'll be construed as an attack."

"What happened? Why can't we help her!?" Wensleydale asked loudly over Pixel's cries and screams.

"Pixel cut a deal with this." Porter gestured to the hologram. "In return for letting us pass the doorway unharmed, one of us must sacrifice a part of ourselves…in this case, our arms. As a bonus, the one who made the sacrifice will be…given an edge, in exchange for what was taken."

"Seems like a good deal," Sasha said brightly.

"That depends," Porter retorted cryptically, "an edge could be anything."

As none could get past the hologram without violating the tentative permit to proceed unharmed, all three could only watch helplessly as Pixel's screams and cries continued. Eventually, her voice became hoarse and she turned to agonized groans and moans. Still twitching and spasming on the spot. All through this, Porter could hear the sound of flesh tearing, and mechanics working within the confines of the portal.

But as suddenly as it began, a silence overtook, and everyone, even Wensleydale and Sasha, watched Pixel's still form. She was shivering, but otherwise unresponsive.

"Pixel?" Porter said, noticing the hologram fade away.

Assuming it was okay to pass now, she took a few steps forward.

A loud metallic clink echoed through the chambers as Pixel twitched and pulled her hands out.

What were once her hands, were now reflective metal claws. The forearms were slightly longer than normal and the hands were outsize, with fingers that looked more like wickedly curved steel blades. To Porter's amazement there was no sign of blood and gore where the metal ended and flesh once more began. Somehow, the transition between metal to flesh was smooth and precise.

Pixel's voice was raspy due to all her screaming earlier, but she looked down at her arms and laughed.

"I...can feel them!" she said, looking joyously at Porter, then the other two.

Sasha, for once, had nothing to say. No song, no tune. She looked displeased even.

Probably because it takes attention away from her, Porter thought.

"A real waste though," said Wensleydale with a cocky grin, "it's still got no reach compared to me and my g-"

CHUNK!

Wensleydale swallowed whatever else he was going to say when a finger blade flew past him at near sonic speeds and embedded violently in the wall, the long, thin chain seemed cruelly bladed and sharp too. It had missed his left ear by a mere centimeter.

"Long enough?" Pixel asked innocently.

Wensleydale's horrified stare was answer enough.

Porter was suitably perturbed. But Pixel got what she wanted, she was dangerous now. Literally weaponized. And Wensleydale had his gun, and Sasha her axe. The trio were easily a greater threat than the Careers now. If they could get along.

"Nothing to say now, Sasha?" Pixel goaded, and the other female rounded on her.

Wensleydale and Sasha began to argue with Pixel aggressively. All three of them were talking at the same time, heedless of one another's words and arguments. Porter took a moment to look behind her, and noticed that the threshold was open, and there were no seams in the ground or the arch above. Leaning a bit of her foot through, and her staff, she saw nothing happened.

Not awaiting further invitation, she was through the threshold and booked it as fast as she could, the three were lost to sight before she heard them shouting out incoherently and making pursuit, but she saw three portals, all with solid steps that left no trails, and she picked one at random, going right, for the middle one, and rushing ever upwards.

Panting for breath, Porter hastened up the stairway, barely paying notice to how much more weathered the ruins became the further along she went. Once pristine gold and ivory walls with the resplendent metallic cyan accents that had decorated the structures had faded in lieu of soot and grime and utter decimation of violent battles fought by powerful technology and explosive weaponry.

Though it ran through her like a shock, she did not slow her run when a feminine scream came from far behind her, unclear if it were Sasha or Pixel. With the exception that the Gamemakers opened up another passage to let them through, none of the Band would be able to catch up to Porter.

She could scarcely believe her own nerve in acting so impetuously. Though a dangerous gambit, it was justifiably necessary. Had she delayed or hesitated, it would only end with Sasha chopping her head off with that damned axe of hers, or Wensleydale putting a bullet through her. Neither choice was appealing nor acceptable. Not if she wished to live.

Loose wiring that still arced with electricity provided most of the illumination, as the orange or pale light panels behind the gold and white wall tiles were dim or outright dead here. Parts of the ceiling had completely collapsed inwards, allowing cold air and the sky's illumination to filter in. The remaining clear gold plating reflected the light, giving Porter sufficient clarity to avoid many a misstep. There were no sounds of pursuit, but Porter did not dare tarry. Her thoughts finally turned to what lay ahead, such as where the current passage led.

Despite her panic, Porter's body began to protest her pace and efforts. Cursing herself for not applying better care to her fitness and exercise, she finally gave in, and slowed to a halt, heavily resting a palm against the safest looking wall panel after a swift cursory examination. Panting and heaving shamelessly, she irritably wiped away the cold beads of sweat from her face, hating the unnaturally cold weather making everything harder. The dry air and her rapid panting led to her throat getting raw very fast, and she began to miss her supplies more than ever, especially the flask of water.

She'd lost track of when she'd last eaten or drank anything. It had been before she'd been caught by Sasha's Band. Rubbing her eyes, she thought it over. It would become more difficult to function without the proper needs. Perhaps that was exactly why Sasha hadn't given her any. Why feed the redundancy circuit breaker? She needed water, at least. Without it, she would not make it much farther. Of course, now that she knew for certain that the Gamemakers intended to kill her, there was every chance the water she found would be poisoned or filled with microbes that would incapacitate or kill her painfully.

Eventually her breathing evened out, and she still heard no sounds of pursuit. Well, perhaps they were busy figuring out how to handle Pixel's new arms...Porter still could barely fathom what Pixel was willing to do to herself with almost barely a thought to the repercussions. The visage of her just shoving her arms into the modified doorway and the blood that trickled down their side of the threshold. It almost made Porter want to sick up, but she fought it down. She made her choice, and seemed more than happy with it. It told Porter how ill-suited she was as an alternate ally.

She glanced back and forth along the ground the further that she went, uneasiness lodging itself in the pit of her stomach. She hated how it felt. Where were the traps? Demonstrate Vanderblathe had laid traps to prevent them from reaching that junction point. So where were they now? It made no sense for them to already be deactivated. Why would she be treated to any mercy now? She kept her ears open to any sound outside of the arcing loose wires.

Her fingers danced along the length of her quarterstaff. Was there an exit the way that she was going? It would make for a rather dull show if she was trapped in one location. And the logical side of her told her that the Gamemakers wouldn't have put a corridor behind that deadly door for no reason. In a way, she owed Pixel for that. She wanted an edge, and she got one. The Gamemakers prioritized interesting actions first and foremost, and for the time being, killing Porter was not a top priority, but there was no protection for her now that she was on her own. They could use killer rays or something else to take her out.

The sound of someone grunting made her stop. Though it lasted less than a second, Porter recognized who the voice belonged to. Her eyes narrowed and she walked faster along the pathway. She hesitated when she turned a corner. In front of her was another corridor that had once been immaculate, destroyed completely, as though blown apart by hundreds of bullets.

She crouched down. Though the rest of the ruins had battle damage of some kind, this was different. Each side of the corridor had faces. All of the same one, carved into stone. Demonstrate Vanderblathe's own face, if Porter could recall his appearance the briefly she had ever seen it. Most of the faces had been completely annihilated, leaving almost nothing but chunks of stone behind. The ones that Porter could see had a mouth slightly open, forming an 'O' shape. No doubt where something was fired out.

It didn't need to be stated that this was a trap. It was obvious. Activated by pressure plate, Porter deduced. From her crouched position, however, she could see how plates had already been pressed downward. And yet, the trap hadn't fired anything at all since she had arrived. And how long before?

If that sound came from who she knew it came from, then maybe he stepped on a plate and hurt himself as he tried to cross. But in doing so…had he also deactivated the trap for good, or only those parts pressed down on the pressure plate?

Porter took a step closer to the edge of the trap, even as she was still crouched. No, it wasn't bullets that were fired from the trap, she decided as she spotted a small spiked sphere near one of the destroyed faces. She reached out with her quarterstaff and gently prodded one of the pressure plates, silently expecting for the trap to activate.

And fifty milliseconds later, Porter heard the click of something to her left. Machinery locking into place. Then, a blur shot from the stone mouth of Demonstrate Vanderblathe's face. It sailed over the quarterstaff in Porter's hand and crashed against the face opposite of it, shattering it in an explosion of dust and debris.

Someone might have triggered the trap, but they hadn't used all of the resources. Porter stood up, bringing her staff back to her side. It would be all too easy for the Gamemakers to kill her. And how ironic of a death it would be, dying beside the stone faces of Demonstrate Vanderblathe.

She cast another glance over the pressure plates in front of her. Or perhaps the destruction is part of the puzzle, she thought. It was a possibility. And the possibility of her jumping to the sunken pressure plates being her way of survival grew.

What other choice did she have? If she tried to sprint through to the other side, the spiked weapons would strike her down. Lodge themselves in her skull and leave her nothing but a bleeding corpse. The Gamemakers would likely enjoy such an ending.

Porter let out a breath and stepped back. Her fingers wrapped her quarterstaff. Resolve steeled within her and she abruptly threw her weight forward as she leapt across the untouched pressure plates, landing easily on the occupied one.

The pressure plates sank under her feet as she went. Barely noticeable. Stone debris shifted under her feet and Porter's heart started to slow down. It was far too much of a risk to step anywhere other than the activated plates. Vanderblathe could reactivate the trap. Rearm the faces in the wall.

Each one of the traps had been activated. That wasn't an accident. Porter eyed the floor beneath her. There were three sections. Small safe zones without a pressure plate and without faces on either side. Stuck in the middle of an archway. Which meant someone had activated the trap on purpose.

Porter let out a breath and glanced down. The plate she was on only had so much space. She had to leap as far as she could to the next pressure plate. Porter swept her gaze around in front of her. Her thoughts on the matter of how or if the trap had previously been activated didn't matter. What mattered was that she made it to her ally.

She edged backwards, then jumped to the next sunken plate, twisting her legs through the air to catch herself. A breath of air flooded through her lungs and she shuffled forward, pulling herself away from the edges of the plate. She couldn't make the slightest incorrect move. Not one.

How many people in the audience hoped that she died? How many of them were betting on it? Porter twisted on her feet to wheel around towards the next plate. She didn't have much further to go and she heard a louder cry from her ally down through the antechamber.

It could be a trick, Porter acknowledged. She wouldn't put it past Vanderblathe to attempt to get her to kill herself in a rush to rescue her non-existent ally. Part of her wondered why she was in such a rush to protect someone who likely wouldn't do the same for her.

After all, Watt hadn't gone into the Bloodbath to help her.

"Agh!" Watt shouted.

Porter stepped back to the edge of the plate and again jumped forward, hurtling her body forward onto the next available plate. Her feet crashed onto the ground and she felt the plate jolt under her.

And then a second plate gave way.

Her eyes widened in controlled panic as the sound of a mechanical click hit her ears. Swiftly as she was able, she spun to turn herself horizontally, then ducked low, shifting her foot onto the safe plate as she did so.

A loud bang met her ears, a spiked sphere flung from the face of a Demonstrate Vanderblathe bust, colliding with a second face, erupting into pieces as the stone fell to the ground, smashing against the pressure plates into a dozen pieces.

Another click met her ears and Porter grit her teeth. A bust fired another spiked sphere. Then another. And another. They flew over her head, unending as they shattered the busts, but didn't stop firing.

Porter glanced up and she held a hand over her eyes to stop the dust or shattered pieces from falling into her eyes. Five feet, ten inches, she calculated in her head. The distance between herself and the end of the trap. She grimaced and pushed forward an inch, then another. If she kept her head low, she could survive. Even as chaos reigned all around her.

The spiked weapons rolled against the floor, activating pressure plate after pressure plate. But Porter no longer cared. She reached out and gripped the floor, then pushed with her legs, crawling forward towards the end point of the corridor.

Four feet.

Would the Gamemakers allow her escape again? Or were they furious for doing as she did? Porter disregarded the thought. It didn't matter. What did was her survival.

Three feet.

A sphere rolled near Porter's arm and she nudged it out of the way. The busts exploded into shards of stone all around her as she activated more plates as she crawled over them.

Two feet.

Did the Gamemakers think her an idiot? Did they think she would run through the trap when she was out of options? The scathing thought made Porter pull her lips back.

One foot.

No. Porter wasn't going to let the Gamemakers rig the Games against her. She was going to survive.

She reached the end of the corridor and crawled off the pressure plates and glanced back as the busts continued to destroy themselves. She inched away, then got to her feet, tightening her grip on the quarterstaff. But then she turned away and continued down the antechamber.

"Ahh!" Watt shouted.

Porter frowned and increased her pace. Her body ached and she wiped away sweat that had formed on her temples. She tried to calculate the odds of this being the real Watt or another Demonstrate trick. But for once, she couldn't calculate it. Her mind was a mess with too many thoughts. Like she was trying to solve too many problems all at once.

Quickly, she reached the end of the antechamber just as she heard another yell, and turned into a circular room with a step down onto a disk. Between the disk and Porter was a short distance that she could see nothing beneath the disk. Golden trims glinted off the lights in the room. It was almost odd to see after Porter had seen the destruction of the previous areas of the ruin. But this one area looked like it was without battle damage of any kind. On the ceiling was another mural of President Coriolanus Snow. One that seemed to paint him in an all too benevolent light. Crowds of what seemed to be district folk cheered for him, if their less detailed faces were anything to go by.

But Porter cared nothing for any of it. What she cared for was at the center of the disk, Watt, her district partner, held at knife point by Sperren.

Porter froze in place, hands tightening around her quarterstaff. This hadn't been in her calculations. She hadn't expected this. She hadn't expected any of this. Ice filled her veins as a budding horror settled over her.

She suddenly wished she had Wensleydale's gun.

Sperren held Watt uncomfortably from behind, making her district partner half arch his back. His hands clutching Sperren's uselessly as he had it around his chest, while the knife steadily pressed against Watt's throat, yet not deeply enough to cut the skin.

"Porter Millicent Tripp," Sperren stated without emotion.

"Porter!" Watt choked in Sperren's grip.

This isn't an accident, she realized.

"What is this?" Porter voiced. She didn't know how to react to this sight. This had been far from what she had been expecting. Slowly, she lowered herself onto the disk, careful to avoid the gap.

"A consultation," Sperren responded. "If you were seeking to avoid being noticed by others, you have failed."

Porter ignored him. She glanced at Watt and took in his terrified features. His lip wobbled in fear, and his eyes were wide in horror. Her heart had begun to pick up again, slamming against her ribcage, though she tried to keep herself calm. How did this occur? she wondered, before dismissing the thought. It didn't matter.

"How did you find me?" she asked instead of responding to Sperren's question.

"You understand that I was looking for you," Sperren observed. His knife pressed into Watt, breaking skin enough for blood to emerge from his throat. Porter felt her heart jump and she took another step. "You are intelligent. Ask a question worth both of our time."

Porter's frown deepened. The Gamemakers, she deduced. They led Sperren to Porter. It was the only logical response because otherwise it was luck, and logic was not something to be constrained to luck.

She didn't need to save Watt. He had provided very little help to her and the alliance in way of a reason to keep him at their side. He fled the Bloodbath with nothing. And all of Porter's calculations told her that the odds of him coming close to winning the Games was minimal. And yet, Watt was still an ally, which made him an asset. She had to keep him alive. His death meant that her own odds were lowered. Which meant that she couldn't let Sperren kill him. But how? If she made a move too quickly, or tried to do anything, Sperren would kill him. The blade would cut through and leave him to die. And what then? Sperren would try to kill her next. His odds had been less than adequate. Tied with Watt. But Porter would never be quick enough to move across the twenty-foot disk to stop the knife in time.

"I've been looking forward to our meeting ever since that day in the training center," Sperren revealed, though his tone remained just as flat and neutral as before.

Porter squeezed her quarterstaff. "Why?" she asked, fighting to keep the neutrality in her voice. Internally, she battled between what was logical and what was emotional.

Sperren stared at her, like he was silently debating with himself whether to tell her or not. But before he could, Watt cried out, "He ki-"

"Quiet," Sperren interrupted calmly, pressing the knife against Watt's throat harder.

"Do not," Porter commanded, her emotional side winning out as she took another step forward. She would only be able to get so close before Sperren stopped her at all. He held every winning move in the palm of his hand.

"I will answer that question at the end of our consultation," Sperren told her. "You're quite the paradox; both more interesting and at the same time, not."

When Porter met Watt's gaze, she saw in his eyes a mix of what she could only guess to be unparalleled fear, despair, anguish and grief. How was she going to stop what was eventually going to turn out? Every calculation she tried came up empty. Every second that passed put her more and more at a disadvantage. She needed to keep Sperren talking while she worked on a plan.

"You seem to know more about me than I know of you," Porter said at last. She took another, short step forward. Fourteen feet between herself and Watt.

"Perhaps you should have kept an eye on your adversaries," Sperren replied.

"There are so many," Porter replied, her tone even, but there was a hint of a quiver, "aside from those I call my allies, everyone else is a foe on the road to survival."

Sperren thought on that for a while then gave a bare nod. "True enough, and even those you call your allies would eventually turn on you. Even Watt here."

"P-Porter! He-" Watt tried again, but the knife actually bit into his flesh this time, eliciting a cry of pain from Watt and a frightened gasp by Porter.

Sperren noted this and looked at her. Eyes narrowing as if figuring something out.

"Intriguing indeed," he said, "for a short while, I had thought you more similar to me, if a stilted refraction, but you can actually…feel?"

Porter stared questioningly at Sperren, feet inching forward slightly. "Yes…yes I do feel, who doesn't?"

"Me, for one," Sperren said almost as soon as Porter's question left her lips.

"So, you don't care what happens to anyone?" Porter asked, "Even yourself?"

"I suppose not, but people are nothing if not predictable," Sperren replied flatly.

Porter wondered briefly if that was how she used to sound to Watt and the others.

"So if you feel nothing, you would care nothing for your own district partner as well? Is she dead then?" Porter looked about her as if expecting to see Sperren's female district partner emerge.

When she looked back at Watt and Sperren, it was to see Watt mouthing the words, "She's still alive!"

Trying her best not to react or look too much at Watt, Porter tried to keep Sperren's guard up, and keep him focused on holding Watt steady and looking at her face, not her feet, which continued bringing her closer to the pair at a painstaking pace of inches.

"A valid question," Sperren said, "She's not here, if you're wondering."

"A vague non-answer," Porter observed.

"Indeed. Were you perhaps hoping to use her as a counter-bargaining chip in exchange for Watt here?"

Porter stiffened visibly, and Sperren clearly noticed. His self-indulgent nod said so.

Self-indulgent, but still devoid of emotion.

"It would not work," he continued, "I cannot be swayed as you can, clearly. Everyone is just currency to me."

"What?" Porter blinked, confused, "Currency?"

Two more inches forward.

"In common vernacular: the fact or quality of being generally accepted or in use," Sperren replied, "I have been killing for quite some time now, and have learnt quite a lot about human limits. At times, I have used one, to lure in another, much more valuable person."

"For...for what?" Porter almost whispered, fearing the answer.

"I suppose, for the thrill," Sperren seemed to admit, "the only time I can feel. I tell you this, because I suppose it is nice to explain it to you. After all, you too will die. I only implore you not to die at anyone else's hands."

Mixed now with her fear and apprehension was a sense of righteous indignation and no small hint of anger. But it was an impotent rage, as she also calculated her poor odds. She had a staff, but even if she threw it, there were too many odds favoring Sperren would be able to deflect or even avoid the attack, and slit Watt's throat in retaliation and then he could come after her unhindered. His score, if she recalled rightly was lower than hers, but…perhaps that was deliberate? After all, why would he advertise how dangerous he was if he could conceal it?

Everyone would underestimate or disregard him.

She did.

"You would have me go up against the Careers and the Gamemakers…perhaps even the Capitol, to fulfill your wishes," Porter replied.

Sperren considered this a moment. "Did you offend them in some way?"

"Yes," she replied honestly.

He regarded her calculatingly. "You slide evermore towards interesting."

"PORTER THEY KILLED FREIY-urkh!"

Sperren had run his blade deep into Watt's throat and slid it across. Porter saw it all happen in slow motion, and she felt her heart stop, then it began to beat a hundred times faster than normal. A single piercing scream filled her ears. It took her nine-point-seventy-five seconds to finally realize it was her.

She tried unsuccessfully to prop herself up with the staff, but her chest filled with a dull ache from a pain not stemming from physical injury. Her body was wracked with sobs and heaving as she suddenly experienced a whole gamut of emotions in a brief span of time.

For the first time in her life, Porter truly felt.

She regretted everything she did, from how little effort she put into befriending Watt, how little she said to him. How little he'd initially mattered to her.

Now, as he bled out and choked and died in a span of mere seconds, she regretted living while he died.

Her staff rolled slowly along the floor away from her as she fell down to all fours. Nothing mattered. She had no edge, no advantage. And for all her attempts to protect her, Freiya was dead too. It was Watt's literal last words. She couldn't protect anyone. She couldn't protect herself.

She felt the tip of the knife, still dripping with Watt's blood, touch the bottom of her chin, gently prompting her to look up at Sperren, now kneeling in front of her. He looked intently into her eyes, his expression blank.

"Not quite yet," he said, "You asked why. My answer is because I want to see your terror as your world crumbles around you. I wanted to see if your expression would remain as mechanical as it had been before…or if I could change it."

Porter only stared, resisting the urge to hiccup while that knife was still pressed to her skin. But the tears poured freely.

"You do feel, after all," he continued, his tone observant, yet truly devoid of feeling, "yet, as I said, you are far more interesting. I believe I will save you for last. Don't die."

He straightened up, his knife pulling away from Porter's chin as he did so, finally allowing her head to drop. She could still feel the press of his knife on her skin. Watt's blood dribbling down her neck. She didn't look at Sperren to know that he had turned away, with what was probably a quick glance at the convulsing body of Watt.

"Ninety-five."

Then, Sperren walked out the archway, disappearing from Porter's sight.

Porter almost crawled to Watt's side. The lash in his throat was deep. There would be no way for him to survive. His hands wrapped around his neck, even as his blood spilled through the gaps in his fingers. He opened his mouth, but nothing came except for a gasp and further blood that stained his skin.

"Watt…" Porter cried. She couldn't hold it back any longer and she sobbed. Watt didn't deserve to die. And yet, there was nothing she could do. Her own hands reached out to try to apply pressure to the wound in his neck, but it was so completely pointless.

Watt choked. His skin slowly became more and more pale with every passing second. His mouth formed a word, but nothing came out and Porter didn't know what he intended to say.

Her tears poured down the length of Porter's face, intermingling in the blood as they dripped onto the ground. She wanted to beg Watt to stay alive. But she couldn't speak. She wanted her district partner alive with her, to stand with her as he'd done so for everything else in spite of how she pushed him away.

His eyes found her's and Porter thought he looked lost. Confused, almost. But not quite. He opened his lips again, another wad of blood pouring from his mouth as he tried to speak, "I-I-I'm sor-sorry…" he managed to get out. "F-F-Fre-Fr-Freiya…?"

Then, his body went horrifically still and his eyes went unfeeling. A tear slipped out of the corner of his eye and Porter knew that he was dead.

Boom!

"No…" Porter sobbed. She gently took her hands off of Watt's. Never before had she felt so alone. There were a thousand different things she should have done differently. But now Watt and Freiya were dead and she had no idea where Nemo and Diesel were.

Porter looked at the exit that Sperren went through. In the distance, she heard someone shout, followed by what sounded like rapidly approaching footsteps. She didn't know who it belonged to, and she didn't want to find out. It was far beyond the time to leave. With a sniff, Porter wiped her arm across her face, drying herself of her tears and grabbed her spear from where it had rolled over.

She looked sorrowfully at Watt's corpse and quickly marched to the exit of the room. She couldn't get caught by Sasha or Wensleydale or even Pixel; not now! Fury blazed within Porter's heart as she passed through the archway. Sperren was picking off her allies one by one. He had made it very clear, even if he hadn't spelled it out directly.

What could she have done to ease Watt's pain? What could she have done to avoid all of this? Her mind was a whirl of possibilities and probabilities. The night sky came into view as she climbed up a set of stairs, leading her out of the ruins she had been forced into.

For once, she felt grateful to see nature.

Her eyes scanned the area for a potential trap by Sperren, but she saw nothing. She couldn't even tell which way he had gone. Porter took a breath. She had to think. She had no supplies and barely had a weapon.

Her situation felt so hopeless.

Porter took another breath, then stumbled off into the night.