I have ten seconds to decide whether to run or head for the Cornucopia. I glance at the other tributes, then at the swampy ground around me. The ground beside my platform is cracked and oozing with slime. The acrid smell of the bog fills my nostrils, making me want to gag. I resist the urge and continue observing the surroundings.

A few feet away, a slick, muddy patch of ground sits in the water. It's the plant growing there that has actually caught my interest. It's tall and woody with tiny clusters of green flowers. My gaze skids about the arena again, and I spot other useful plants. This place is an apothecary, useful for both healing and killing.

The timer blares, and my choice hasn't been made. I stand frozen for a moment, deciding, and then go for the nearest patch of semi-stable ground. I have to make it to the Cornucopia first if I want to get out.

The ground is slippery beneath my feet. As it begins to sink, I realize that it's not being supported by anything besides the thick mud of the swamp. It might not even be supported by that. Whatever is supporting it, this won't hold my weight for long.

My heart pounds as I push off the muddy island, my foot squishing in the sludge. I lose my traction and almost fall in.

I have to hurry. Acadia Hart from 12 is almost there.

She's marked me as an enemy since the start, and I know she'll try to attack me. Adrenaline courses through me, and the knowledge of her hatred spurs me forward. My resolve to make it solidifies as I gain speed.

My feet land on the stable ground around the Cornucopia just moments before Hart finishes crossing. We race to be the first to the center. With my few seconds' lead, I reach the center first. The first things I see are a green backpack, a small leather pouch, and a belt of knives.

There isn't enough time to search for other things. I have to leave, so I snatch them up and run.

There's no way of knowing what the first two items contain or if they'll be useful, but there's no time to question it. I have the knives, and that's the important thing at the moment.

I race towards the opposite end, trying to make it to the jungle before Hart can reach me. A whizzing sound cuts through the air, and blood trickles down my neck, hot and sticky.

Gritting my teeth, I glance back at Hart. She's grinning, but her eyes are hard.

The other tributes are nearly at the center. With a sigh, I shake my head. Does she want to get herself killed? It was just us, and I'm not attacking her. Just run.

She won't though.

Seriously, what's the point of being faster than everyone if you just slow yourself down trying to kill someone else? Just get what you need and get out. Unless you're suicidal. In which case, have at it.

I either have to kill her or risk getting hit with a blade because I'm running away. She's clearly determined to kill me. Then again, most people in this messed up game are. No one here wants to die, and I'm no exception.

I refuse to fight her here. It's too risky, even for someone who's supposedly a Career. That's another thing my mind can't wrap around. I've made it clear to everyone from day one that I'm not a Career and want nothing to do with them. What has to be done to convince them of it? Maybe killing a real Career would help?

I turn back around and run, keeping low and weaving to make myself a harder target. She isn't great at throwing, and she missed almost everything during training. She's deadly up close, though, and I do not want to end up like those dummies from the training center. That was horrifying.

Another knife flies past, just missing my shoulder. She's improved since the training session from the second day.

Elysia Ambrose from District 3 steps in the way. She raises her mace. Since we're both equally determined not to lose this fight, I'm going to have to go through her.

She has her mace swinging, and if I get hit with it, it'll kill me.

So when she swings, I duck.

Even the best of fighters makes mistakes, and Ambrose is no exception. She's left herself open. I don't think she was expecting me to evade her blow. My blade plunges into her gut. For extra measure, I stab her in the heart with a second knife before ripping both of them from her body. Her breathing comes in shallow gasps.

I know she'll die. Nothing can save her from a wound like that.

As I continue, I reach the edge of the stable ground. Jumping to the first island of earth, I begin to cross. It's difficult with someone following behind and chucking knives at me.

Why is it that I'm such a target? I never did anything to paint a big, red mark on my back... What is it about me that screams kill me?

I hear yelling all around as tributes fight, kill, and die. The noise of cannons going off marks each tribute's death. All of it has to be tuned out if I'm going to make it across the swamp. No one else matters unless they're trying to kill me.

The safe shore is mere feet away when it happens.

A knife finds its mark. Well, sort of. It slams into my backpack, and goes through just enough to nick my shoulder. The momentum of the blow throws me off the island of dirt I am precariously perched on. With a yell, I plunge into the freezing swamp.

Did I mention that this water is like swimming in a bucket of ice? I want to gasp, but I resist the urge. Going under with my mouth open is a bad idea. Swamp water is nasty and contains toxins. Water poisoning is horrid too, and should be avoided at all costs. I struggle up toward the surface and gulp in air.

Hart is fighting off another tribute to my left. It already looks as though she's losing. Since they're distracted, I use that to my advantage and swim for the shore.

With no way of knowing what's in the water, no one in their right mind would want to stay in this swamp for any longer than they have to. I so do not want to be eaten or drowned. Just as that thought occurs to me, something slithers past.

Using my feet to keep afloat, I tie the pouch I've been holding onto around my neck. Losing it seems like a bad idea. It could have dried food or something in it. Although, by the time I get out of this nasty bog, it might not be any good.

I kick out and slam my heel into something slimy. My foot slides off as it moves, circling around my legs. Panic grips me, squeezing my lungs and making my heart race. Suddenly, it wraps around my leg and yanks me under. A mouthful of the putrid water sluices down my throat as I lash out at the unseen beast. I manage to pull myself to the surface for a moment. I cough out the water and breathe. Then it pulls me beneath the water again.

For the first time since this whole thing started, there is more than just fury and bitterness within me. I haven't felt this sort of terror since the night my parents were killed by their best friend. It besets me with a vengeance, roaring through me with glee. It drags at my legs and arms, telling me to stop fighting. To give up and die here today.

Would it really be so bad? Death is a release... No one really escapes this arena without dying. It's the dead ones that are really free... Funny. Mom and dad named me after the angel of death, and here I am about to meet death in defeat. This thought galvanizes me.

My parents died, and I survived it. They kept me safe when their psychotic ex friend tried to kill me too. The next few years that I spent as an orphan on the street were hard, but I survived those too. I hungered for justice for my parents and spent every waking hour training. I killed their murderer for it years later. Then, I survived street fights and real fights in the ring.

I'm a survivor. After everything I've gone through and refused to be beaten by, dying now without a fight would be shameful.

No! I don't want to die. My knife jabs down into whatever is holding me under. Desperation fuels my movements, lending strength to the blow.

My lungs are empty. If this thing doesn't let go, I'll drown. I need air now.

Thankfully, the thing lets go, and I race for the surface. Its shriek vibrates through my body, and when my head breaks through the water, I see that the murky water is blackening around me. I shiver. That thing, whatever it is, must be some sort of mutt. I'm lucky I survived it.

Yet another high-pitched wail cuts through the screaming of the tributes, and a good chunk of the other tributes nearby stop what they're doing and glance over. Those who aren't fighting stare for a long while.

Do they want to die? I wonder. Staring at something is a good way to get killed.

I drag myself onto the shore and smile. With a jaunty wave, I stand up and survey the other tributes still here.

Makes perfect sense to wave... You nearly died in the swamp, and the first thing you do when people look is wave. What are you thinking, Thanatos? It would probably be better to ask why I'm not thinking. The reason? My brain is going into overload mode. I think shock is setting in. That's a bad thing, right? I resist the urge to laugh. Yeah, it's bad. I feel like I'm high, but it's just the adrenaline. Unless they drugged the swamp water I swallowed.

Wait, what am I doing? I can't just stand here like this! 12 is still trying to kill me, and I'm contemplating whether or not I'm in shock or high...

I snap out of it, and check my surroundings.

Many other tributes lie dead or dying on the edges of the Cornucopia or in the swamp, their blood forming a dark ring of red around them in the foul water. Unless I want to join them for good, I need to stay alert.

My eyes lock with Hart's as we both look up. She's downed her opponent and is racing towards me. This girl just doesn't give up.

Honestly, she has a death wish. Yes, she's dangerous up close with a blade. But does she honestly believe anyone is going to get that close? They'll just kill her from a distance. Plenty of us are able and willing.

I'm certainly not sticking around, so I head for the jungle at a sprint. She's only half way across the bog, so there's enough time.

A scream sounds behind me, and a splash secedes it.

More splashing follows, and I turn around. Hart is fighting off one of the monsters that reside in the swamp. It has a tentacle wrapped around her neck to yank her down into the water just as it did with me.

I don't bother to find out if she survives. She probably won't, but I don't care.

A mile and a whole lot of mosquito bites later, I run into another tribute.

It's Mae Foster from District 11. A knife is in her hand, and she's running my way. I don't think she's spotted me yet, but I don't have time to hide before she will.

I recall what I know about her fighting style. She's deadly with throwing knives, but she's not good with close up combat. When she trained up close, she was slow and awkward. While throwing the knives, however, she was fluid like quicksilver.

She stops abruptly and stares at me. "Why are you out here? Shouldn't you be back there killing someone?"

I face her and don't reply. Will she run or attack? We stand, frozen as we watch each other. Neither of us wants to kill anyone. That I'm certain of. However, she has people waiting back home. People who need her and love her. She's going to be desperate, and desperate people make mistakes.

I'm not desperate, and no one's waiting for me back home. Dreams are the only reason for winning. There's got to be something in the future, and to me, it looks bright. Getting through this is just one more step towards living happily and freely. Knowing this makes it easier to release my savage side. It makes it easy to kill the side of me that protests every time I kill someone else.

Seconds later, she attacks. We're too close for her to throw the knife, so she's forced into close range combat. Her movements are jerky and hesitant. She dances back and forth, afraid to get within range, but unwilling to run from me. She knows that if she turns her back on me, I'll kill her.

That's the difference. She's hesitant and scared. I'm not.

I duck under her second strike and slide the blade towards her abdomen. She doesn't move quite in time to avoid it completely, and the knife cuts into her. She whimpers.

This will be effortless. The predator in me takes over, and I no longer see a scared, desperate girl. I see only my prey.

Time slows, and the world goes silent.

Nothing permeates my cloak of concentration. There is only the steady thumping of my heart and the quick pace of my breathing.

This is the zone where I focus best. It's the place where nothing can distract me, and my inner beast emerges. My mind is on the goal, and I'm in control.

Spinning away from another clumsy strike, I surge forward, forcing her back.

She trips on a root and barely regains her footing. She stumbles away and pulls herself together, facing me again.

I'm not human anymore. I'm the knife in my hand. I tease her, moving in flickers, and making fluid slices. I don't feel the shallow cuts from her knife as mine stabs in and out. Blood pours from every surface of her body.

We're both covered. My blood mingles with hers, and swamp muck covers me. My hair sticks to my forehead, and my clothing clings to me. My knife gleams in the fading light, crimson with blood. My hand clenches on the hilt, and I roll my shoulders. Every muscle in my body is fluid and loose. My grin becomes wild, and I stalk forward.

She knows that I'm toying with her. The spark of defiance in her is all but dead.

I crouch under a clumsy swing and cut at her legs.

She jumps back just in time to avoid the strike.

Staying crouched, my body tenses to spring.

She circles, eyes narrowed and blade at the ready. I wonder why she isn't throwing it. I'm waiting for that to happen, but it doesn't. Maybe she can't throw it. The knife wouldn't work up much momentum, and I could evade it.

She can't run. I'd be on her in seconds if she did. I can't attack because she's too protected. So we're at an impasse.

The moment comes. She's not protecting her throat. I spring out of my crouch and swing my blade. She makes a vain attempt to stop the blade with hers, but she's too slow. It slices through her jugular. Blood spurts out, soaking my shirt.

She gurgles and drops to her knees. Her hands fly to her throat, and the look she gives me is an agonizing blend of terror and fury. Coughing wracks her slight frame, and blood sprays everywhere as I crouch in front of her.

The virulent flow has soaked her brown shirt, staining it red. Her hand trembles as it goes to her knife. She'll try to kill me one last time. They always do.

I lunge forward and grab her wrist, prying the knife from her fingers. I look her in the eye as I take her last hope of revenge. The need to apologize pushes through my barriers. The world comes crashing back as guilt rushes in. I just ensured someone's death. Her knife sits heavy in my and, so I sheath it in my belt.

Her eyes hold mine, their dark depths full of anguish. She's angry and scared.

All too soon it could be me bleeding to death on the ground. It would've been if I hadn't defended against her attack. Will I have the same look she does now? "I'm sorry."

She glares at me and forces words past her bloody lips. "They'll kill you." A cough wracks her body, and she spits blood into my face. "I hate you."

Regret fills me as I watch her die. But even that gets pushed away as the last light fades from her eyes. I stand up and gaze down at her crumpled body.

She's my first personal kill here, and she won't be my last. Ambrose was just in the way. Her death meant nothing. But Mae's strikes deep, rooting in my very soul. The guilt and sadness is crushing. I can't let myself feel it. It'll kill me.

The predator within me takes hold again. It's kill or be killed here, and losing is no longer an option.

I head deeper into the jungle, looking for a place to camp until it's safe to go back to the swamp. Once I find a good place, I scale a tree and settle in.

The sky is darkening above me, and stars start coming out. A damp, pervading chill comes with the night hours. Shivers assail me. I take the backpack off and open it. Please... Say they put a blanket in here. If they haven't, I'll die of hypothermia before anyone has to kill me. Okay, it's not quite that cold. Yet.

Opening the flap of the bag, I assess its contents. There's a bottle full of water. At least they had the kindness to fill it. In other games, tributes have gotten empty ones. It's depressing to watch, and worse to be the one in that position.

Next, I find a pair of gloves and a hat. If there isn't a blanket, these will keep at least my hands and head warm. Not that they're much use to me currently. They're soaked. Well, that's just wonderful.

There's a few tins full of dried fruits and jerky. They've stayed dry, at least. This gives me time to find food sources. Hunting takes a while. It also gives me time to find out what's safe before I'm starving and desperate.

Finally, there's a blow dart gun with several packs of long, sharp darts. Since I've never used one before, it's useless to me. Still, it's one more weapon that isn't available.

There's nothing left in the backpack, so my attention turns to the pouch. I take it off and open it.

A smile spreads over my lips. This makes up for potential hypothermia. Four vials and a tiny pot are nestled inside. It's a miracle none of them broke during the fighting I've done. Each is labeled in careful, neat handwriting.

Lavender. Peppermint. Water hemlock sap. I glance at the label of the fourth vial in surprise. This stuff is even better than hemlock. The label reads Botulinum. Just a few grains of this stuff dissolved into water would kill someone within days, and usually in a matter of hours. The tiny pot on the bottom contains a healing salve that smells of peppermint and rosemary. This'll be handy.

I start rubbing it into the wounds from my fight with Mae.

Noise filters through the trees, and I still, assessing the threat. The wait is short. Three of the other tributes break through the trees, laughing and passing around a plastic canteen of water. It's clear, and I can see that they've finished half of it.

Alistair Prague from 3 and the two tributes from 6 stand below my perch, oblivious to my presence. Quietly, I unscrew the lid of my water bottle and drink half of it while I wait. The tributes beneath me are settling in and making camp.

Well, don't make this easy.

But they do. Idiots... To be fair, they have no idea you're even here, Thanatos. I remind myself. The fact remains that leaving your water supply around invites trouble. What would possess them to do that? Maybe they just didn't think about it. None of us have needed to guard our water or food supplies before. Secondly, they're checking the area, so I'm sure they think it's safe.

They walk off with an empty bottle and a spigot in hand. The trees probably have a high water content. At the very least, the sap might be drinkable. If they're lucky. If they aren't, it'll be poisonous, and they'll die. Then I won't have to do anything.

Just in case, I shake several grains of the Botulinum into my water bottle and swirl it around. This is just laughable. No one should leave their camp unguarded. Only stupid or overly confident people do that here.

They've taken almost everything. Except that one, lone water bottle. I guess they left it to mark their campsite. It probably seems harmless enough to them or they wouldn't have left it.

I climb out of the tree and switch bottles. The two are close to identical. Both are clear and with white tops. I doubt they'll look close enough to notice that it isn't theirs. I still can't believe they didn't leave someone to guard this. No one shouts in alarm, and they aren't waiting for me.

I scale my tree again and settle back. I've made it up just in time because they come back seconds after. Their second bottle is full, and they're talking about their strategy.

Well, this should be good.

"So... What do you think about Thanatos?" Izé Locke settles against the trunk of a tree next to mine.

Prague rolls his eyes. "He wouldn't ally when I asked, and he's a jerk."

"He wouldn't ally? Why not?"

"How would I know?"

Vibia Lightwood clears her throat. "I know why."

"As I said, why?" Locke crosses his arms and looks at her.

She shrugs. "He doesn't want to be a Career."

Finally. Someone who gets it. I resist the urge to raise my arms and shout hallelujah.

"He's from District 1, Vibia." Prague laughs.

As if that means anything.

Lightwood glares at him. "Then what's your explanation, Alistair?"

A laugh bubbles within me, and I suppress it. She despises him, so why ally? Maybe it's because of Locke. They're from the same district. That doesn't explain why a tribute from 3 would hang with them. Usually, 3 is considered a Career District, and they rarely ally with lower districts.

"He's arrogant. He thinks he can win by himself. The girl who was reaped with him said he's sarcastic and difficult. She said he almost refused her..." Prague spits on the ground.

I'm a controversial topic, I guess.

"What's the deal with the whole poison thing? District 1 never goes for that sort of stuff. They're brutal. I doubt any of them know what's edible versus poison." Locke laughs.

Prague joins in. "Yeah, I doubt they do. Maybe he's bluffing?"

Seriously? Why would they even think that?

I feel like shouting at them. Drink the water, already! I have to head for the swamp by dawn, and if they stay here talking all night, I won't know if they died until tomorrow night.

The Wattpanem anthem begins playing as the faces of dead tributes start flashing across the sky. My first two kills are among them. The three below me look up at the sky, and I go still. No one sees me; the night is dark enough that my position should be well ensconced, but one never knows for sure.

"I say we avoid him until we meet up with our allies. Then we can hunt him down and kill him. He's only got Everest on his side, right?" Lightwood takes a swig from my bottle.

"As far as everyone knows, yeah." Prague grabs it from her.

Locke interrupts. "We should turn in for the night. We need to be well rested for tomorrow."

They finish off the water and settle in to sleep.

In a few hours, the symptoms should set in. Until then, I'll wait. I close my eyes and drift off.

A scream wakes me.

It's Lightwood. She's shaking Prague and crying. He and Locke are jerking around and screaming as well. Their ability to scream seems to be waning though, and they're making gurgling noises. The poison has started shutting down their lungs, and they probably can't breathe. It'll shut down their other internal organs as well. Once those fail, they'll die.

Their faces are contorted in grimaces, and Lightwood looks unsteady. She's struggling to keep her eyelids open, and her crying is becoming more of a noiseless attempt for air.

Five minutes later, Prague isn't moving. When she checks for a pulse, her shoulders shake with sobs, and she sits back on her heels. For a long while, she rocks back and forth on her knees, swaying in the soft breeze running through the trees.

Then, she throws up on the ground next to him. Her movements are jerky as she crawls to Locke and checks him. He's still breathing.

I can see the rise and fall of his chest from here, but it's rapid and sporadic. He doesn't have long. The neurotoxin set in at least an hour ago by my estimate. Lightwood struggles to move, and I hear wheezing as the poison takes its toll on her too.

Lightwood sits down next to Locke. Her arms can't hold her up any more, and she crashes to the ground beside him. None of them seem capable of movement, so I collect my things and climb down.

I keep my knives out. If they can still attack, I don't want to be caught off guard.

Lightwood catches my eye and tries to pull herself towards me. Her arms twitch, and she doesn't go anywhere. She struggles to form words, and I crouch next to her, waiting.

"You... How?" Her voice is scratchy and whispery.

"The water. I switched bottles and laced it with poison."

"Knew you were... dangerous." She gasps.

Her eyelids are drooping, and she can't keep her focus on me.

"Yeah..."

"Why? Why... no... alliances?" Tears drip down her cheeks, and she digs her nails into the dirt next to my feet.

I shrug. "I did ally. Just not with the Careers."

"Kill us," she rasps. "Kill us now."

I nod. "You were right, you know. I'm not a Career, and never will be."

She can't nod, but I know she understands. Her breathing is erratic and halting.

"Kill me."

With a nod, my knife is at her throat. With one quick movement, the blade ends her misery. Blood leaks into the dirt around her, and her eyes glaze over. A cannon fires.

I move to Locke and check on him. He's probably dead, but the need to be certain rises in me. It would be cruel to leave him to suffer like this. There's no pulse when I check, but just in case, I slit his throat too. Sometimes the poison doesn't shut everything down, and I don't want to leave him there to suffer a slow death.

Two cannons go off in the distance, and I'm positive Prague is dead too.

I confirm it. The poison took him before my blade could.

If a tribute wanders by, I don't want them to discover the evidence. Picking up the contaminated bottle of water, I throw it into the bushes surrounding the clearing to keep anyone from finding it.

Satisfied, I sheath my knife and take the full bottle of water. Then I traipse back towards the swamp. Dawn is lighting the sky, and it's time to get what I need from the bog.

Z'