Tybalt Alistair Martell, 18


Tybalt was intensely uncomfortable with the whole leash thing. The Nine girl kept it on him for most of the day, and his hands kept finding it, fiddling with the slipknot at his throat. It was coarse and he felt like it restricted his breathing, even though he was sure he was imagining it. The girl's name was Maize and she had gotten a high training score. He remembered that much. Aside from keeping the noose around his neck, Maize was alright. She gave him water and food, and didn't poison it. Her treatment of him was reminiscent of Peacekeepers managing an attack dog, and he was both grateful for and resentful of it.

He understood why she was taking precautions. He was dangerous, and his handler had to remain vigilant and keep him restrained to protect herself from being suddenly mauled. He also was an attack dog, kept only to dispense with the enemies of others. He felt less than human, sitting in her camp. Maize was kind. She asked if he was hungry, and took the time to make his breakfast taste good. She tried to strike up a conversation, which he shut down because he wasn't in the mood for smalltalk. And yet she was also horrible, because she was keeping him here against his will. When the cannon sounded, he brightened. He had made it to the final six tributes. Maize said something to the effect of "We're getting down to it," and Tybalt agreed.

Then the second cannon sounded, and he started to freak the fuck out. That meant it had to be an alliance encounter because the deaths were so close together, and the only alliance still standing was the fragmented Pack. "Five," he said. "If you want me to be your weapon, now's the time." Maize unsheathed her sword and held the leash taut, and for a horrible moment, he thought he was going to be slaughtered. Instead, she sliced through the rope.

"We're a team," she told him. There was a time when Tybalt would have bristled at this, even killed her in his anger. But now that he had fled his Pack, gotten lost in a frigid alpine forest, and been captured by a younger tribute from an outer district, he was prepared to admit that entering this stage of the Games with a partner was the right choice to make. "I'm giving you your sword back." Somewhere nearby, unseen creatures rippled out piercing howls.

"The finale," Tybalt breathed. "It's happening." Maize turned towards him and stared into his eyes.

"Can you run?"

"I can. Can you keep up?"

"Yes." Tybalt stretched a little, sighing as his spine popped. He had always been inclined towards running, and he was good at it. He had run a lot the night he killed the Cabelleros. The sky darkened, thunder rumbling. The clouds grew low and warm, humidity blooming in the air as rain began to fall. A wolf padded through the tree line, six feet high at the shoulder. It emitted a warning snarl and tipped its muzzle to the gray heavens, howling for its pack, a Pack to rival Tybalt's own. "Let's go," he said, and he and Maize stowed their swords and tore for the river crossing.


Aspen Silvius, 15


The trees were screaming, and Aspen was doing everything in her power to avoid joining them. She had a long, reliable stride, and she was fast, but her body was tiring and the mutts were beginning to catch up. She snuck glances over her shoulder at the lean beasts, sinewy and powerful, their bodies compressed in an aerodynamic pose, muzzles stretched forward, baring jagged teeth. She had never been so terrified in her life, and yet as her body panicked, her mind was calm. There were many thoughts filling it, from these wolves are fast to I am not going out like a coward, but thinking wasn't going to help her in this situation. A primeval instinct had triggered, and she was no longer running the show. Her legs lunged for safety with a power they had never demonstrated before, automatically fleeing her pursuers. She recognized her cliffs go past, her river go past, and she knew what was happening.

The Games are ending. The realization hit her like a truck and spurred her to go faster. She only had four tributes left to fight through, at least two of them Careers. But she had her spear. It was awkward to carry, but she wasn't heading to the finale without it. This was the part of the Games when the Gamemakers rounded up the tributes for a last hurrah. I need to put up my hair. It was getting tangled in branches and whipping her face as she ran, and a hair tie sat around her wrist, but there was no time to make use of it. The mutts typically abated just before the last battle commenced. I'm so fucking scared. Fear meant nothing any longer. There was something reassuring about that. She had been skewered by a Career in the Bloodbath and people sponsored her a means of recovery. Now, the weapon he had used belonged to her, and she would use it to fight him.

There was movement in the trees in the distance, off towards her left. Two figures the size of matches running fast, much faster than she could ever hope to. She was panting hard. They seemed to be sprinting without expending effort. As she narrowed closer to them, she realized one of them was the short redheaded girl from Nine, and heaved a sigh of relief. She wasn't the only outlier in the final handful of tributes. But that meant the girl was in the vicinity of a Career, which was terrible news, and now they were forced to flee together. Then, across from her, two more figures emerged, both tall boys who could only be Careers. Three Careers to take down, plus one normal girl, and there were wolves all around, and she was covered in scratches, and nothing was happening like she'd planned. The wolves changed course slightly, guiding the group into an even triangular formation, before gradually slowing. Aspen's left hand flew to snag the hair tie off her wrist and pull her tangled curls back.

Then one of the figures threw a spear at fifty yards and it split open the redheaded Nine girl's skull, and Aspen's heart dropped in her throat.


Orpheus Adello, 18


He was already injured from the burns on his legs. Giving most of his armor to Nikita seemed like the right thing to do. Nikita's murder of Odicci had proved that he could be cruel and unpredictable, but he had also saved Orpheus's life and carried him when the wolves were bounding after them. It was returning a favor, a kindness repaid with a kindness, and Nikita was going to take care of everything, he just knew it. When he threw that fateful first spear, his thoughts were those of relief, of love and admiration of a man with loyalty and attractively strong arms. He took in the other tributes: Tybalt, holding a sword and taking a second one from the scabbard of the now-dead-or-dying girl next to him, and Aspen, her hair secured, a spear in her hands, a look of fierce vitriol in her eyes.


Tybalt Alistair Martell, 18


Nikita had cleaved his new ally's head open with a shockingly good throw, and Tybalt was playing catch-up. A replacement sword was within reach, so he took it, and he could see that behind Nikita was Orpheus, and across the clearing stood Aspen. But who to attack? Nikita snatched up a second spear and took aim, and Tybalt had his answer. He crouched at the last possible second and allowed the spear to pass over his crouched frame, then made a grab for it. He knew how to use a spear. He was a standout Career, who knew how to use every weapon, and now that he was also holding something long-range, the playing field was even. Perfect circumstances for an act of envy-fueled self sabotage, but no, he had grown past that. He fucked up Milos, and he was ready to let Panem know how.


Nikita Valeta, 18


He had missed. How had he missed? That never happened. But he had two targets, and they were both armed and creeping towards him. He picked out another spear and inched into the clearing, deciding where to run. What was happening? He should take out Tybalt, but he also had the armor. Orpheus was smart. He had Nikita put on the less conspicuous pieces, and put them on under his clothes whenever possible, to give him the upper hand in the finale. His opponents wouldn't be expecting him to be armored. Tybalt was more capable, but was he capable of getting a headshot at fifty years like a real District Two Male? No. So Nikita vowed to do what felt good, and what felt good would be carving Aspen to pieces.


Orpheus Adello, 18


Nothing good in life ever came easy, Orpheus mused. The Academy had been hard, but incredibly worthwhile. The Hunger Games were hard, but they had also brought him everything he'd ever dared hope for. Dreams only came true if you let them, and there was no way he had put himself in the final four tributes only to sit back and let Nikita take care of everything. He and Aspen had already paired off, which left Tybalt available. He got the most kills in the Bloodbath. He knew how to finish a job.


Aspen Silvius, 15


Nikita made an expedited approach, charging after her. Aspen stood her ground. Nikita was angry. He hated her. He wanted to make a show out of this, and she was going to stop him. "You're a failure!" she shouted. The rain soaked the clearing and its occupants, freezing and miserable. Had he heard her? "You're a murderer! A fucking pig! What do you think your mother's feeling right now, seeing you hurt people senselessly?"

He stopped. His eyes flicked upward, like he was wondering this himself. "You're playing at being a man, playing at being a Peacekeeper," she yelled. "And what did it get you? A boyfriend you're ignoring, who's fighting with the real District Two Male while you try to stroke your ego torturing me?"

His eyes went wide and he instinctively turned around to validate this.

Meanwhile, Aspen did what she'd been preparing for ever since obtaining the spear. She threw it.


Nikita Valeta, 18


He screamed. His body was alight with pain. The last time he had suffered an injury this intense, it had been when he fucked up so badly it got him ejected from the Academy. Aspen had thrown a spear at him. His own spear. And if he hadn't been petty and tried to hurt her for his own satisfaction at the beginning of the Games, he wouldn't be writhing on a soaked forest floor at its end, a spear in his belly. Everything had gone terribly wrong at the last second, because he couldn't, as Aspen had so nicely put it, resist protecting his ego. He warred with himself, cringing at the choice set before him. He was beneath begging, but that was the one thing that could save him, and he wasn't sure whether dying to a rebel or whining for help was more undignified.

His reflexes made the decision for him.


Orpheus Adello, 18


Nothing good in life ever came easy, Orpheus promised himself. He had spent eighteen years of life working towards something he perceived as both good and hard, but now, in light of Odicci's dying words, he had an impossible choice to make. He wanted nothing more than to run to the love of his life, crying for help all alone, but he had to get to Aspen first. Panem could not afford a controversial Victor, and Orpheus needed to follow her before she escaped into an overhang somewhere as the Careers slaughtered each other. Orpheus's fear was not one of exposing his vulnerable back to Tybalt's spear, but of leaving Nikita behind. Orpheus would lay down his life for his love, or for the greater good, without a second thought, but Nikita's life wasn't his to risk. Then he remembered that everything was riding on him, and so he gritted his teeth, ran after the exhausted Twelve girl, tackled her from behind, and swept his blade through her throat.
KABOOM!


Nikita Valeta, 18


Nikita was alone in the clearing when Tybalt approached and took a knee next to him. "She got you good," he said. His face burned.

"Here to finish me off? Or are you just making conversation?"

"I liked taking night watch with you," Tybalt said. He sounded fond, settling in next to Nikita's prone body and laying a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I liked it too," Nikita confessed. He craned his neck to look at Tybalt's face. His hair was overgrown and ruffled. He had styled it each day since entering the Arena, smoothing it down with water, using makeshift mirrors to get his parting right and running his fingers through his fringe until it shone. Now, it hung loose and sweaty in front of his face, coated in rain, spattered with blood.

"You want a kiss before I put you out of your misery? I'll make it a good one."

"Yes please," he whispered.

"Do you ever wonder if it's a pedestal or a cage, that you create for yourself?" Tybalt leaned in, breathing heavy, at home in the rain.

"Fucking kiss me," he demanded, and Tybalt did.


Orpheus Adello, 18


Orpheus returned to the clearing to discover his lover, his life, his everything locked in an embrace with someone he claimed to hate, and decided that these had never been his Games to win. Odicci's words would have more of an impact than she would ever know, but he would tell her, on the other side. The country didn't need division. Odicci had been very clear about that. One of the two finalists would bring that to fruition, and it wasn't the one he wanted, but it wasn't his fate to choose.

"I love you," he said. "I love you," he repeated, louder.
He looked at the rapier he'd just used to kill Aspen, and slowly, his hand trembling, he brought it to his own skin.


Nikita Valeta, 18


A cannon fired, and Nikita jumped. Tybalt's lips on his were distracting. His shirt had somehow been peeled off, his wound exposed, a steady avenue of blood that was soaking the both of them. Tybalt felt nice. It almost felt like a repeat of the night they'd spent sitting atop the Cornucopia together, with his shirt in his lap and Tybalt's hands on his back. The proof lay smudged on his collarbone, soft, pretty markings that had faded into a pale pink. "Wait," Tybalt said, muffled by the kiss. He pulled up.

"No," Nikita complained.

"That was third place. It's just us."

"Just us?" The fear flooded back into him. Tybalt's presence had numbed him to the reality of the circumstances, but now he propped himself up with his hands.

"Yeah."

"You know I love you, right?" Tybalt's fingers traced his jaw.

"Yes," he agreed, unaware if that had been the case.

"But your time's almost up, sugar." He laid down another kiss. "You're dying. Nothing I can do to stop it."

"You could sacrifice yourself for me," Nikita suggested, a little unhappily.

"I am not Orpheus Adello." Tybalt pulled his sword out from nowhere.

"No! Wait!" Thoughts materialized, confusing, blurred fragments of his life, every time he had chosen wrong, every time he had inflicted harm on others. Every hypocrisy and self-flagellation appeared in a milky haze of blood loss and budget lust.

"Love makes martyrs of us all, Nikita." Tybalt was still straddling him, now with sword in hand, looking at him with an indescribable expression. "It's a shame it has to be like this. If you ever bump into a couple of brunettes named Paris and Coventry, give them my love."

"What are you—"

The sword swung down like an executioner's blade and Tybalt came in for a final kiss goodbye.

Nikita blinked once, twice, and then nothing hurt anymore.


that was a fun one, no? see u in epilogues next week :)

JK I lied there's more to the story. have fun waiting for an update while I do Opulence shit. xoxo