President Clair was watching the Games when he came into her viewing room, and she turned and frowned, "Get back in the control room, Richard."

"Nothing's happening right now," Rick assured her. "President, it'll be twenty minutes before anyone makes it to the feast. You make me work the craziest hours and I'm exhausted. I need coffee."

"Didn't I tell you about Nico di Angelo? I don't care that he's the Capitol favourite and everybody wants to sponsor him. Whatever happens, he does not make it out. Do you hear me? Pour all your attention into him. If he wins, you are done."

"Fine. And if you hate my methods so much, you shouldn't have appointed me in the first place."

◼▲◼

"Instead of food... we offer you a gun."

For a brief moment, Nico's only emotion was surprise. A gun? In all twenty-three of the previous games, there had never been a gun in the arena, and he thought there never would be. It granted too much of an advantage, and it wasn't great for entertainment since it killed so quickly.

And then came a second surprise: a parachute. Inside was a white pill with a snowflake etched into it. For treating hypothermia, he guessed. It was almost like his sponsors were encouraging him.

Venus continued in that sickeningly sweet voice of hers: "It fires real bullets just like any gun. It's fully-loaded with a very simple design. All one has to do is pull the trigger, and put a bullet in when it runs out."

Nico squared himself and looked towards the centre of the arena. He vowed to kill Bryce, and he bet everything that the Career was going to the Cornucopia. It was his last chance to force the odds to finally be in his favour.

"Hurry, tributes," Venus chirped. "If you are the first one there, the gun is yours."

Yes, it will be.

◼▲◼

Bryce was chasing mirages. He shattered one after another until he found a real one. The acid rain was coming, but he needed a kill.

It was the girl who had set off the bomb just before the bloodbath. Calypso, wasn't it? Honestly, mad respect to her, but now she had to die.

Her eyes widened when she saw him coming, and she sprinted away. He thought she'd be starving and slow, but she was obviously neither. He could barely keep up, but luckily the meadows seemed to be guiding him by bending the grass in her direction.

Swinging weapons was the one thing he was good at, and it would kill him if it failed him. The grass moved on its own, entangling their legs. The acid rain was getting louder. Either it was getting close on its own or they were running right to it.

Bryce swung his axe too far, but he managed to snag the side of her ribs and yank her back.

Calypso tripped and fell. She was quickly on her feet, but Bryce had both his axe and dagger to her throat.

Calypso held up her hands, one with a hunting knife in it. "Let me talk," she blurted, cheeks flushed with exertion. "Before you kill me, let me talk."

Bryce frowned. That was a strange request. He kept careful watch of the knife she held, but his curiosity was brimming, and it would be nice to catch his breath before he properly killed her. "Drop your weapon first."

Calypso swallowed, and she slowly put the blade in her belt.

"No. On the floor."

She looked around once and then did as he asked, and he jutted his chin at her.

"Well?"

She breathed hard, staring at him. Her gaze flicked around again and it was clear that she was only buying time.

Oh, this was good. With seven players left and the bets getting extreme, every fight would be broadcast live. The grass had already sunk into ground, anticipating her death.

Bryce grinned, "You have five seconds."

Calypso stood up straight, radiating defiance. Then she blinked rapidly, overcome with sudden tears. "I have something to say," she said, voice breaking. "To Odysseus and Drake. My two greatest loves. And to Leo."

He lowered the axe. He recognized the second name. Drake was a tribute from the last Games who had a lot of promise, but died suddenly from infection. He had made a big deal about how he wanted to go back to his girlfriend.

Bryce raised his eyebrows. "Let's hear it. But make it dramatic."

And Calypso did. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she doubled over as if her heart was burning. Then she raised her eyes, but what she proclaimed on live television had nothing to do with love.

"Fuck the Capitol," she spat. "And fuck the president who kills twenty-three kids on live television to keep us in line — but nobody up there gives a shit, do they?"

Horror stabbed him, and he stood there in shock. This was forbidden. The Games had no rules, but you weren't supposed to ever make it more than a game.

Calypso started laughing. "They automatically cut out swear words, but no, a twelve-year-old throwing himself off a roof is allowed. You can chop my head off and they'd keep it in! Just don't eat me!"

Bryce managed to find his voice. "Hey, listen —"

"Drake died and they filmed my reaction live. My breakdown was entertainment! All of them up in their mansions watching us die — how is it possible that the Capitol's bloody hands are the cleanest?"

As she ranted, the grass ensnared her legs until she couldn't move. There was no way the cameras were on her anymore, and no reason for Bryce to put on a show.

The acid rain rushed towards them at a speed tenfold, and he knew that her fate was sealed.

Her words rung in his head, and he left her as fast as he could. Calypso laughed and screamed until the acid killed her.

◼▲◼

Nico saw the gun sitting on the table. A paper box was next to it, likely the ammunition.

Another shape was darting out of the meadow. Bryce was here, and he didn't look good. Brown blood was crusted around one swollen eye, and red-soaked bandages were wrapped around his shoulder and one hand.

They were the only ones racing to the Cornucopia. Bryce saw him and threw off his backpack and axe, leaping forward with a burst of speed.

Bryce was injured and tired, but then so was he. And Nico didn't have the benefit of years of Games training.

But he could make it. He knew he had a chance. But the closer he got to the gun, the less great he felt about his chances. How could he trust a weapon like that? He'd never held a gun before, let alone knew how to fire one.

Venus had said to"put a bullet in when it runs out." Did it only shoot one at a time?

Nico changed course, heading for the backpack Bryce dropped.

The odds weighed on a scale in his mind. A gun in the Games was ridiculous. It had to be another trick. It was another promise that the Capitol would only deliver halfway.

Bryce had the gun now, and he aimed it at him without missing a beat.

What were the chances that Bryce had ever shot a gun? Between that, his injuries, and exhaustion, Bryce would miss.

And so Nico made the gamble of a lifetime. He picked up the axe and ran towards Bryce.

Blood roared in Nico's ears, his adrenaline kicking in tenfold. Every detail was clear — Bryce closing one eye and squaring his shoulders, sweat and blood dripping off his cheek.

Bryce pulled the trigger, and the gun went off with a deafening bang. The bullet shot past him, too quick to see where. Nico only knew it hadn't hit him.

The recoil made Bryce drop the gun. While he grasped his hand in pain, Nico's throwing knife nicked him in the arm.

Bryce yelped and looked at him in disbelief, and Nico knew he had to throw something else before Bryce grabbed a weapon from his belt.

Here goes nothing. Nico found the toy figurine in his pocket and threw it. At first glance it would look like another throwing knife.

Bryce dodged to the side, face twisted with fear as Nico got closer. He had a short dagger in his hand now, but Nico swung first.

Bryce tried to twist away, but the axe bit into his already hurt shoulder. The wide-eyed Career stumbled, tripped, and collapsed sideways onto the grass. The knife fell from his hand and he cradled his wound. "Stop! Don't —"

"You killed two people I cared about," Nico said, deliberately and slowly. "The only two I care about. And who knows how many others?"

"I — I didn't! I —"

Nico kicked him in the face. Blood gushed out of Bryce's broken nose and he croaked, "Please!"

That word didn't make sense to Nico. He could only feel justice.

Nico lifted the axe again and slammed it into his chest. Bryce gagged and coughed, splattering Nico's clothes with red.

"No..." Bryce lay broken on the ground and reached towards Nico. "Let me win," he gasped.

When Nico said nothing and backed away, Bryce stretched his hand to the sky. "Don't...let me...die..."

But the Capitol didn't care, and the cannon fired. Bryce's hand fell.

Then Nico fell down too, the exhaustion of the last two weeks catching up to him. His chest ached from hunger and grief.

His fingers found the figurine on the ground. He had wondered why a total stranger from the Hob had gone out of their way to give it to him, just because he had admired it.

Maybe it wasn't out of pity. He had no one back home, and she was giving him something to live for. Something to tell him that he wasn't alone, and that there were people who would care about him if he let them.

Bianca was gone, but she'd told him about her rebel friends in the woods. Their hopes about salvaging from District 13. Their long-term plans of a revolution. Will and Bianca wouldn't want him to give up when he was so close. He had more to live for than avenging them. The Capitol had failed them, and he could bring justice.

The strength came back to him all at once, and now he wanted to survive.

Then he felt the prick of a dart in his neck.

◼▲◼

"Ready?" Annabeth asked.

Percy didn't feel like it. He was shivering from more than the cold, and he stared at the floor of the tundra as if the thick ice would break open under his feet. But he nodded. "Yeah, I'm ready."

The roasted lion meat lay on a plate of leaves on the ground, stained purple and green from berries and grass but looking like poison.

Percy took a chunk with a stick and remarked innocently. "Do you think the meat was poisoned from the stinger?"

Annabeth shook her head. "It's just the grass. We used it to get the blood off, remember?"

"Yeah." He took a bite. "Tastes okay. I don't know what I expected."

He swallowed. That was a good enough act, right?

They ate enough to easily last them a week, and they were just as indulging with water. The two made their movements sluggish and their words slurred.

Eventually it was time to go to sleep. They lay on their sides, jackets thrown over them.

It wasn't enough to fight the cold, which was the idea. Percy pressed himself harder into the ice. The hypothermia was quickly slowing their heartbeats.

They clutched their trackers in their hands, facing each other. Because of the slash in his arm, Percy's was easy to take out. He had to cut out Annabeth's under a blanket while she bit down on a rope to keep herself quiet.

She shivered and smiled. "By the way, Percy... my favourite animal is the owl."

He stretched out his hand, and she took it. Together they let their eyes fall closed.

Percy kept what he prayed wasn't his last image of Annabeth in his mind.

◼▲◼

Travis lowered the blowgun and scoped out his next victim. There was no one around, but he stayed for a few hours, watching the mouth of the Cornucopia.

Two more cannons boomed, and he knew there was only one other player left.

It surprising him how suddenly the number of players dropped. There must have been some confrontation that caused the two quick deaths. Or maybe they got caught in the acid rain. He could hear it now, raging through all four areas and no doubt pushing his last opponent towards the centre.

Travis debated taking the gun for himself, even though he wouldn't use it over his blowgun, and going in the Cornucopia. But he had to trust that the person would go for it eventually, and then Travis could shoot them with a dart.

If he revealed himself by running to the centre, he'd lose the advantage of a surprise shot. And after what happened with Clarisse, he really didn't want a tribute to come into the Cornucopia and kill him before the poison took effect. Distance was the best plan, especially if it was Percy or Luke who made it.

Then a figure appeared right by the mouth of the Cornucopia, having snuck along the side, out of view.

Finally, it was going to be over. Travis aimed at the neck and fired.

The little dart bounced off their clothes and plunked into the grass. Dread latched its claws into Travis when he realized that the guy was wearing armour under his clothes, complete with a helmet.

He cursed and wracked his brain, taking in his situation.

Luke had the gun now and was hidden in the shadows of the Cornucopia. The acid rain was coming, and Travis had just revealed his location.

Travis was not feeling great about his odds.

A fight in close combat would not be in his favour, so that was out of the question. Should he keep shooting and pray that he'll get a chink in his armour?

He didn't want to make the same mistake he made with Clarisse. He needed to guarantee his own win, not leave his fate up to chance.

The acid rain had made it to the plain. He could hear the change in noise as it neared them.

Travis ran around the edge of the plain, through the tundra, shoes digging into the ice. Then he ran straight across the grass and stopped by the side of the Cornucopia.

Panic threatened to paralyze him, until he put his hand on the gold horn and saw his chance.

The sun had softened the horn, and when he stabbed it with his spear the tip went in an inch. He twisted the base, and red electricity blasted across the metal surface in a split-second wave.

And Luke, covered in metal and sweat inside, screamed in pain.

Travis left the spear and picked up Bryce's axe from the lifeless boy from 12.

Luke was gasping on the floor, covering his neck and reaching for his sword. Travis slammed the axe into his underarm, the only uncovered part. Luke fell back and screamed, but he was still very much alive.

Travis dropped the axe and grabbed the sword — the last weapon he hadn't taken from the Careers — and drove it through the gap in the armour at the throat.

Luke's face was hard to see under the helmet, and Travis didn't want to look anyway.

He left the sword in and leaned against the wall, wiping blood off his hands and waiting. And waiting.

The rain shut off and the cannon fired. Trumpets blared as Travis walked out of the Cornucopia and stood by the corpse of the boy from 12. The kid's face was a mess of red eyes and purple veins.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Venus exclaimed. "I am pleased to present the victor of the Twenty-fourth Hunger Games, Travis Stoll! I give you — the tribute of District Six!"

The live celebrations of the Capitol crowd roared through speakers set up around the field, and Travis stepped over the body.

The hovercraft appeared to take him home, back to Connor. If only he could get his old self back, too.