Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time it happens, its two days after the war.

Katniss walks quickly, easily dodging the occasional civilian with a practised ease. A hood is pulled low over her head, hiding her face from the cold breeze and the curious gazes of passers-by. She had just finished her weekly visit to Greasy Sae, making sure the elderly woman was adjusting to the new life that had befallen the survivors, and was heading back to the safety of her cold little house.

 ‘Nearly there, Katniss. Just a little bit further.’ She silently tells herself, and that’s when she sees her. It’s a faint glint of polished metal that catches her eye, first, before the ghost from her past properly registers.

 The knife is in a sheath strapped tight to her thigh, a second one on her belt. She wears green combats and a size too large zip up charcoal hoodie, a light blue t-shirt peeking out from where the zip is left open. Her dark hair is plaited over her left shoulder, a fading bruise decorating her right cheekbone.

 ‘Clove?’ Katniss dismisses the thought as quickly as it appears, shaking her head. ‘No, she’s dead. Just like everyone else. It’s just your minds playing tricks on you. Nothing else.’

 Katniss continues walking, but not before turning her neck to peer over her shoulder. She catches a glimpse of dark, calculating eyes analysing her every move, fingers twitching towards a knife handle, before the Career disappears out of her sight.

 When she gets home later that evening, a neatly folded note awaits her on the table. Every door and window to the house are still securely locked, with no evidence of being opened by someone other to herself.

 ‘What in the hell…’  Katniss cautiously picks up and unfolds the note, a shocked gasp is forced from her lips as she reads, and she drops the knife to flee the room.

 ‘Surprise, Fire Girl. I’m not dead. I’m right here, in District Twelve. The monster inside can not be killed, believe me. And that monster currently has a mission; you. We’ll talk again soon, but be careful, a great deal of people wish to see you dead.’

 The next morning, Katniss goes down the stairs to find the note missing.

 The next time it happens, it’s a week after the war ended.

Chapter Text

The second time it happens, it’s a week after the war ended.

 Katniss sits in the blooming meadow, a small picnic spread out on a worn blanket in front of her. Her bow and quiver are leaning against an old, weather log, her hunting jacket carefully folded up beside it.

 She’s enjoying a still warm roll with bacon layered on top of it, a tall glass of orange juice sitting beside her leg. The sun is warm on her face, a welcome change from the cold and constant breezes. Katniss can tell snow is on the way, she can feel it in the air.

 The archer hears a crack of a branch being broken, as if something had stepped on it. Her instincts taking over, she’s on her feet with a notched arrow aimed at the trees in seconds. She scans the treeline without moving her body, fingers twitching against the smooth wood. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees her.

 Clove is wearing black combat and a bordeaux hoodie today, a throwing knife twirling around her nimble fingers. A smirk curls the corner of her mouth up just slightly, her dark eyes trained intently on Katniss. The bruise on her cheekbone is fully healed, but her jaw had light bruising gracing the sharp edge of her jaw.

 Katniss feels herself begin to shake, a barrage of memories assaulting her brain, but she soldiers through. She adjusts her aim so that the arrowhead is ready to pierce Clove’s heart, forcing herself to focus on the mission.

 ‘She’s not real. She’s not real.’ Katniss chants, shaking her head against the nagging voice. ‘She died in the Games. You heard her cannon go off, I remember Cato’s screams. You watched her die. This isn’t real.’

 As if on cue, Katniss’s mind is bombarded with images. Images of that horrible day. Clove looking terrified as Thresh choked her and shouted in her face. The knife thrower frantically screaming for Cato while Thresh bet her head against the silver metal of the Cornucopia. The sickening crack when Thresh threw her against the Cornucopia for the final time. Clove’s fingers twitching as the life faded from her eyes and her blood coloured the grass red. Her unseeing eyes stitched into a mutt’s head.

 By the time the images cease, Clove is long gone. Katniss sighs softly in relief, lowering her bow and dropping it back beside the log. She turns back to her blanket to continue enjoying her picnic, only to nearly scream in shock and fear.

 A throwing knife juts out from beside her jacket, a torn and crumpled page pinned to the wood with the blade. There’s no signature or identifying marks, but it is clear who it is from.

 ‘You need to be more careful, Twelve. Start covering your tracks again and stay inside at night. People hate you for what you’ve done, people who would pay big money for you to die. The people trying to kill you are already here, but I’m handling them. I’ve killed plenty of people getting here, watched people I knew die, and I sure as hell can do without watching you die. I might go even crazier than I already am. Stay safe, Fire Girl. Try not to die on me.’

 Katniss grabs her jacket, bow and quiver before she sprints the entire way back to her house, abandoning her picnic. She spends an hour rigging traps around the house and surrounding area, before spending the night in front of her bedroom window. A combat knife is tucked under the cushion of her plush armchair, worn blanket pulled over herself.

 The next morning, Katniss finds her picnic basket sitting on her doorstop. The note, now folded over twice, is left on the lid, the knife keeping it from fluttering away with the wind.

The third time after it happens, it’s a month since the war ended.

Chapter Text

The third time it happens, it’s a month after the war ended.

 Pristine, white snow blankets every road and building, piled up high on the sides of well-worn paths. It is nearly as if someone pressed pause on a movie, and everything was frozen and silent. It is peaceful, but bitterly cold.

 A disgruntled postman knocks on the door three times in a row, pulling the edges of his coat tighter around his body. He casts a weary look behind him, breath forming a cloud of cold to puff into the air. The man turns back to the door when Katniss slowly opens it, forcing a smile at the woman.

 “Good day, Miss Everdeen. Have a few letters for ya here.” The postman reaches into his bag and withdraws a large hand of envelopes, a rubber band keeping them all together. “Have a nice day, Miss Everdeen. Weather is no good for anyone right now.” He tips his hat before hurrying down the path.

 Katniss stares down at the envelopes in her hand, shutting the door with an echoing slam. Feeling tired, she retires to the living room and perches herself on the couch, examining every letter and its sender carefully.

 ‘Mother, Plutarch, stupid fan mail, wrong address, Johanna, Annie, Cressida, Gale and … her.’ She picks out the fan mail and does not hesitate to throw them into the roaring fire, looking away while the edges curl up as they burn. The letter from Clove is opened first, Katniss tracing the heavy indents of a pen and the blood smeared across the page, obscuring some words.

 ‘Nice job, the last few weeks. Keep it up, Fire Girl. Stay vigilante though, the people who want you dead have sent assassins to aid the mercenaries after you. Landed two three days ago, staying in the Dark Inn St.’ The writing cuts of abruptly, the rest of the page nearly torn completely in half.

 Katniss checks the envelope for more pages, feeling strangely desperate, but finds nothing. ‘No, no, no. Where’s the rest? Where is it?’ She forces herself to stop, carefully placing Clove’s letter down. ‘No, Katniss. This isn’t real. Clove is dead, you watched her die. Just like how you watched Rue die. Watched Prim die.’

 Katniss slumps, hot tears etching a trail down her face. A heart-breaking sob falls from her mouth, but her sadness quickly changes to anger. She surges to her feet, grabs the mug sitting on her coffee table and hurls it across the room with all her strength. She screams and throws more items, letting her emotions out for the first time in too long.

 Hours later, her hands are bloodied messes and shards of glass litter the ground. An extravagant mirror smashed by her fists, lies by the marble fireplace.

 A gentle knock on the front door rouses Katniss from her darkening thoughts. She rises to her feet and nearly drags herself to the door, unlocking it with tired hands and pulling it open with some difficulty. Words freeze in her throat, and she stares dumbly at the sight in front of her.

 She is leaning against the gate, one hand tucked into her trouser and the other holding a gun. Blood drips from her face to splatter across her blue hoodie, several stray drops landing on her green combats. A small stream of blood runs down her forearm, pooling around the crease of her palm and the gun.

 Behind her, stands a nineteen-year-old that Katniss recognises all too well. The teenager is dressed in a dark grey sweater and black camo combats, a ragged hole ripping through the sweater’s right shoulder, and a bloodied gun in her hand. Katniss recognises her as Hunter Fenton, younger sister of Titus Fenton, the crazed cannibal. She had volunteered for the games after his death and won with brutal efficiency.

 Katniss slams the door shut and hurriedly locks it, racing up the stairs to barricade herself into her room.

 Hunter Fenton had been executed on live television, two months after the Quarter Quell. A Peacekeeper had put a bullet in her skull the day after being publicly tortured and whipped for three hours. Every single citizen of the districts and the Capitol had watched it happen.

 With her bow in her hands and an incendiary arrow notched, Katniss watches the dead pair from her window. She forces herself to breathe calmly, careful to remain out of their sight but still able to watch them.

 “She thinks we’re dead. That she’s finally lost the plot and hallucinating people she watched die.” Hunter states, reholstering her gun at her hip. “Maybe she’s right. We did die, after all.” She smiles darkly, eyes flicking to stare at Clove.

 Clove remains ever silent, dark eyes trained on the house. The gun remains by her side, blood now etching a path down the barrel of the weapon.

 Hunter reaches up to press a scarred hand to her right shoulder, grunting when her hands comes away, sticky with blood. “C’mon stalker, need help with the bullet. You and your knives will get it out no problem.”

 Katniss watches with bated breath as the duo turn and disappear, a few droplets of blood on the ground the only indication of someone at the gate. The archer stays awake half the night before collapsing into her bed, her bow and the largest knife she owns in arm’s reach.

The fourth time it happens, it is three months after the war ended.

Chapter Text

The fourth time it happens, it is three months after the war ended.

Katniss barely leaves the house anymore, unless it is absolutely necessary. Instead she chooses to remain in the safe isolation of her room, ears trained for the sound of minor traps being triggered.

 She spends her hours drawing, doing sketches of her fellow tributes. The sketches are frankly terrible, but Katniss takes great care with every movement of her pencil. Drawings of Rue peering out at her from the tree, drawings of the Careers asleep beneath her feet, drawings of a startled Fox staring at her and even drawings of Peeta decorating cakes or his arm.

 The letter from Plutarch had informed her that Peeta was dead. He had swallowed one of the few remaining Nightlock pills, died a quick and painless death. On her bad days, Katniss wonders if he deserved such a painless death.

 Plutarch had also told her of rumours circulating the Leeg twins. Rumours that they’d been pulled, alive, from the rubble by Peacekeepers so that they could be experimented on. Katniss thinks about them on her sleepless nights.

 Just as she’s adding the finishing touches to a rough sketch of Clove mid-knife throw, a note had appeared on the cutting board in the kitchen. It’s not from her, but from Hunter. The letters are messy, half formed, with random dots of blood smudging them even further. Tiny sketches of blood dripping off blades litter the page,

 ‘Everdeen, stalker ain’t sending you another weird lil’ note of hers, ‘cause she’s in hospital. Her head was givin her problem an she collapsed. She’ll be alright though, no worries about that. I heard about your Bread Boy, sorry for your loss. He was a good guy, just… too soft. He also tried to kill you, but then again, so did stalker, y’know. Ah well, see ya around, Everdeen – Hunter.’

 Katniss sees the two ghosts a short while later, while she wanders around the new Hob in search of that blasted cat. The duo are hanging around a stand that sells pieces of elegantly twisted metal, their backs to her.

 She wears a pair of navy combats and a dark leather jacket with it, the bottom of a white t-shirt peeking out. She has a large knife strapped to her thigh, the sheath of a second one on her belt at the small of her back. She’s slipping a howling metal wolf into her jacket pocket and is closely inspecting a second one.

 Hunter is dressed in black camo combats and a navy bomber jacket, with a dark red t-shirt underneath the jacket. A pistol is tucked in her belt, and she holds a folding knife in her right hand, a piece of wood in the process of being carved on in her left hand.

Katniss watches apprehensively as Hunter elbows her in the side, drawing her attention to the carving she is proudly showing off. Hunter pockets her knife just before her companion turns slowly to pin Katniss with a deep stare, murderous eyes looking into her soul.

 Katniss turns on her heel and flees the market, unable to bare the dark green eyes and greyish blue eyes watching her.

 ‘That blasted cat will be fine.’ Katniss chants, mentally, for her entire run back home. ‘He found his way home from Thirteen, he will damn well find his way home here.’ It keeps the guilt from soaring through her body like fire on a piece of bone dry timber.

 The next morning, Buttercup is perched on the kitchen table, battered head tucked between his paws as he dozes in the morning sun. Beside him lies a small howling wolf, an incredibly detailed and morbid sketch and a note.

 ‘Sorry about Hunter, she’s as crazy as her brother. The window over the sink is unlocked and opens silently, gives an intruder the perfect opportunity to sneak into your house undetected. Like us. You should fix that window before it is too late.’

 Hunter’s sketch shows Titus Fenton sitting cross legged on the ground, surrounded by half eaten bodies. Blood is smeared across his face and neck, chunks of flesh caught in his bloodstained teeth. A crushed heart with a large chunk torn out sits in his left palm, blood dripping from his hand. His teeth are bared in a cruel smirk.

 The fifth time it happens, it is five months after the war ended.

Chapter Text

The fifth time it happens, it’s five months since the war ended.

 Mrs. Everdeen bustles around the kitchen, making pancakes in a mildly wild frenzy. She had returned to District Twelve at Plutarch’s insistence, stepping through the door two weeks ago to find her only remaining daughter nearly completely non-verbal and hiding away in her room. Despite the situation, Mrs. Everdeen is doing well and seems happy enough.

 “Hey, mom.” Katniss rasps, wringing her hair with a warm towel, having finally beginning to hold conversations with her mother again. “What are you making?”

 “Making pancakes, want some?” Mrs. Everdeen offers, waving her spatula in the direction of the plate piled high with steaming pancakes. “We have maple syrup in the cupboard, I’m sure.”

 Katniss shrugs, loading up a plate for herself. She drowns them in maple syrup and eagerly helps herself to the offered breakfast, wasting no time. “These are… really good.” She moans, shuffling over to the table

 Mrs. Everdeen laughs, shaking her head, “I’m glad you like them. You got two letters this morning, the boy delivering them looked so familiar. I think he said his name was Hunter. Lovely boy, very quiet. The two of you would get along.”

 Hiding a frown, Katniss swipes the two letters from the table, opening the first one as soon as she sits. The edges of the paper are curled inwards, and it looks like someone dipped half of it into blood. The state of the letter and its contents have Katniss paling in seconds.

 ‘Everdeen, those lovely lads who want you dead are here. Well, the lovely lads who are paying for your death, are here. The mercenaries have been here a while already. Okay, I’m get distracted now, let me get back on track real quick. You need to be extra careful, now more than ever. And this isn’t just for yourself, this is for your mother and everyone else you care about. DON’T GO OUT ALONE. CHECK THE WINDOWS AND WHO’S THERE BEFORE ANSWERING THE DOOR. YOUR MOTHER CAN’T GO OUT ALONE, STAY WITH HER AT ALL TIMES OR CONVINCE HER TO STAY AT HOME. You’re the bloody Mockingjay, you’ll figure out something, I bet.  Stalker won’t admit it but she’s ecstatic that more people wanting you dead have arrived, we have plenty of people to take care of and bodies to dispose. They’re all idiots though, no idea what being subtle means. No fun hunting them, but killing them is great, because they think a dozen mercenaries can stop a Victor and a Career with an anger problem. Their stupidity means you won’t be getting a sketch from me, so if a payer turns up on your doorstep, please, but an arrow in some delicate part of their bodies. Later, Everdeen, have to go kill more people now.’

The second letter is from her and is less bloodied than Hunter’s. Masking tape keeps the page the page together, words hastily scrawled over the pieces of tape and dots of blood decorating the page. Unfortunately, the writing is more jumbled, difficult for Katniss to read but not impossible.

 ‘Guess what, Twelve. The people who want you dead are here. Here; in District Twelve. They are in your own district, waiting for the chance to land the killing blow to your body. And still, you refuse to listen to me! These mercenaries will attack you, torture you and kill you because they are being paid big money by people with an intense hatred for you. Your life is in danger, but you continue to walk around, completely defenceless. On your own! This isn’t some corny horror or a video game, when you die, you die. Game over, nothing else to it. No second chances for you, not like for me or Hunter, or those twins- if they did even survive. You will be dead and the people you care about left behind. How would your mother deal with that? She’s already lost a husband and a daughter, loosing her last family member will destroy her. She’d die, just like my mom.

 Look, the people here. They are being paid big money to kill you. Real big money. Hunter and I, we’re trying to protect your dumb ass, but you need to help us out here. Least you could do is make it harder for you to wind up dead. Because honestly? We can only protect you if you do that weird thing called helping. Do you understand what helping means? Hey, it can be your word of the day! H-E-L-P-I-N-G. Can you read that, pronounce that, write that? Can you?! Learn it, see you soon.’

 “Katniss, are you alright?” Mrs. Everdeen questions concerned as her daughter bursts out laughing for the first time since she’s arrived back home. Worry flairs as tears track down Katniss’s cheeks, though she does not react to her mother’s prodding.

 Really, it’s hilarious. All the real Clove had ever tried to do was kill Katniss, to cut her down and never showed any care for her wellbeing. She wanted to ‘put on a show for the Capitol’. Now this ghost of Clove is determined to protect Katniss, save her from harm?

 “I’m fine, mother.” Katniss laughs, tears beginning to fall from her eyes. Something dark filters through her eyes. “Everything’s great, nothing wrong at all.

 Mrs. Everdeen falters slightly, unnerved by her daughter’s strange behaviour. She casts a glance around the kitchen, feeling the need to get Katniss out of the house as fast as she possibly can. “Maybe you should go for a walk, dear? Pick up some milk, eggs and bread? We’re running a little low.

 Katniss shrugs, grabbing her leather jacket from the back of her chair at the kitchen table, pulling it on as she heads for the door. “I’ll be back later, enjoy your pancakes. They’re great.”

 Once her daughter is safely out of the house, Mrs. Everdeen takes the time to go through some breathing exercises recommended by her therapist. She pours herself a glass of water and gulps it down, worrying that the rumours may be actually true.

 Someone knocks on the door, a shaggy haired teenage boy immediately ambling inside. “Aye, Mrs. ‘Deen. You need anything?” He asks, an accent roughening the words despite his relatively soft voice.

 “I don’t think you can, Christopher. Something’s wrong with my Katniss. Her mind- it’s not what it used to be. She’s broken.” Mrs. Everdeen sighs, feeling tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

 “What? Something hit her in the head? Take her to the hospital then? Simple as that.”

 “No, I can’t. There’s nothing wrong physically, she’s broken physically. Like how I was after her father’s death. And it’s because of Snow, everything he did- it destroyed her. Coin was no help either.”

 “Sure I’ll keep an eye on her then. Make sure she stays safe, out of trouble. Never know, she could be on her period. Y’all get crazy on your period, don’t ye?” Christopher grins, shooting her a thumbs up and shuffling to the cupboard where she keeps the clementine oranges.

 Katniss is well aware that she’s being watched, but she stubbornly ignores it to get what her mother had requested. She knows full well that is was only an excuse to get her out of the house. ‘She surely thinks you’re crazy now, Katniss. Well done, maybe she’ll ship you off to the mental hospital. Where you belong.’

 As usual, a pair of dark green eyes follow her every movement. Clove’s fists clench as Katniss pays for a bowl of stew and finds an abandoned stall to perch on, feeling anger boiling through her blood. She won the Games, started a Revolution, singlehandedly destroyed an arena and caused the death of two Presidents, only to be stupid enough to disregard Clove’s warnings.

 Hunter’s hand snaps out and hits Clove in the shoulder, the Victor jerking her head to where a group of men and women are loitering by an empty stall still holding some sharp items. “You got them or do I?” She questions, taking a long drink from her freshly brewed cup of hot chocolate. “Or are you too busy staring at your girl to even notice them?”

 “Shut up and get rid of them.” Clove snaps, shrugging out of her blue flannel to tie it around her waist. “She’s too exposed and we need her out of here. The longer she’s here means the more danger she’s in.”

 “Yeah, I got it.” Hunter smirks and pushes away from the stall, winding through the small crowd to reach the poorly disguised group of mercenaries. Despite being at least a foot taller than Clove, she somehow makes herself look far smaller, just like how she had acted during the training for her Games.

 The group of six have picked the perfect spot for Hunter to kill them easily, secluded enough that no one will notice a thing unless they are watching like a hawk. And anyone watching would be a mercenary themselves.

 Hunter circles around to approach the group from behind, unsheathing her knife as she draws near. She grabs the mercenary at the back of the group and clamps a hand over his mouth, slitting his throat and lowering his body to the floor in seconds. Gleeful now, she continues, snapping the neck of one before stabbing another in the gut. A knife to the back, a knife pushed through an exposed throat and a head slammed into a counter multiple times takes care of the remaining three, not a single person taking any notice in Hunter’s actions, as predicted.

 She cleans her knife with the jacket of one of the mercenaries before walking towards Katniss, all too aware of the rage filled eyes of her companion watching her every movement. The Victor leans against the stall Katniss has claimed, arms crossed as she silently watches the girl finish her stew.

 “This is all in my head, isn’t it?” Katniss asks, stuffing another spoonful into her mouth as she gazes expectantly up at Hunter. “Because I know I watched you get a bullet put through your skull and I was there when Thresh split Clove’s skull open so this has to be in my head. Both of you are dead, it’s impossible for you to be here. I’m just talking to empty air.”

 “We’re real, Everdeen. Real and alive; trying to keep you alive.” Hunter shakes her head, scratching at the back of her neck. “You really shouldn’t be here, especially not on your own. It’s not safe and you should know that by now.”

 Katniss scoffs, stabbing a piece of lamb and shoving it in her mouth. “Nowhere is safe. Not since the Rebellion.  Anyways, I’m never alone. Someone’s always with me, even if they’re dead.”

 “A dead person can’t protect you.” Hunter deadpans, grabbing the bowl from Katniss’s hands and putting it aside. “Dead people can’t touch anything. Can’t pick up a knife, can’t shoot a gun. Stalker ain’t dead; she’s been throwing knives at me since we got here. I know I ain’t dead because my kill count has only climbed since some bastard with a gun put a bullet through my skull.”

 “Why are you even here, if you’re really alive? We never even met. Clove has only ever tried to kill me. Why would she suddenly care?”

 “Pretty sure stalker ain’t right in the head, Everdeen. And I’m just here because you’re the reason we’re free. And I was bored.” Hunter sighs, straightening up and fixing her leather jacket. “Get yourself home, kid; your ma must be getting worried.”

 The archer hops down off the stall, picking up her purchases and waving them in Hunter’s face. “Fine, I’ll go home. But I still think you’re just a figment of my imagination. Hydrogen peroxide gets blood out of clothes nicely, just so you know.”

 Hunter glances down at her clothes in confusion, only to curse once she notices the blood staining her grey t-shirt. Today would have been a great day to wear a black t-shirt, it even would have matched her black cargo trousers. She gives Katniss’s retreating back the middle finger, snickering once she realises that the girl is sprinting through the crowd, apparently she’s made a habit of running away from Clove and Hunter.

 A blunt metal object hits Hunter in the back of her head suddenly, and she falls to one knee, grunting as she spins to face her attacker. The blood rapidly drains from her face at the sight of Clove looming over her, a loaded handgun clutched in one hand.

 “I should just kill you right now, Fenton.” Clove growls, jabbing the barrel of the gun into Hunter’s chest and dimly aware of shoppers screaming and running away. Her finger hovers over the trigger, just itching to squeeze and kill Hunter Fenton once and for all. “You’re just an insufferable pain in the ass, always fucking teasing me about Fire Girl. Can’t mind your own business.”

 “C’mon now, don’t do something you’ll regret. We kill those mercenaries and I’m gone, you won’t have to deal with me anymore. I’ll be back in District Six, and I really don’t want to go back in some cold metal box. Not again. You know what that was like.” Hunter reasons, hands half raised and well aware of the fact that she may be bargaining for her life.

 Clove chuckles, something in her eyes fading. “If I kill you know, I don’t have to wait that long. You know I’m not patient, Fenton.” With a sick smirk, Clove squeezes the trigger.

The gunshot echoes throughout the Hob, sending the remaining shoppers and vendors running away as they scream. Hunter’s body slumps to the ground, blood gushing from the gunshot wound to her chest.

 Clove holsters her weapon, pulling her flannel back on walking away from her downed companion, humming a slight tune to herself.

 Once Katniss returns home, she locks herself into her room, heart pounding. As she had left the Hob there was a gunshot and screams, and a desperate stampede to get to safety. Escaping unscathed was exhausting, and she had dropped her purchases whilst avoiding being trampled.

 ‘What the hell happened?’ She thinks, curling into a small ball on top of her bed. ‘Is Clove okay? Hunter? Did they get hurt, or worse? Should I have gone back?’

 She questions herself for hours before finally surrendering to the welcome relief of unconsciousness, that night; her dreams are invaded by questioning eyes the most beautiful shade of green.

Chapter Text

Clove watches from her hiding place as two heavily armed mercenaries drag Hunter’s still body down a destroyed street towards a looming warehouse, struggling to keep a grip on Hunter’s jacket that is slick with still warm blood. The larger of the mercenaries is painfully familiar, but Clove is unable to figure out why. Where had she met them before?

 “Bullet, do you think the boss will be mad?” The smaller mercenary questions, the smile on Clove’s face slipping away at those words.

 Years ago some homeless kid managed to break into District Two’s Career facility. They were a dangerous fighter, skills honed from nearly a decade surviving on the streets, and fast. So fast that they were quickly nicknamed Bullet, with a punch that hurt likes a bullet adding to the nickname. Only a few months before Clove’s Games; a horrific accident nearly claimed Bullet’s life, an accident that changed them, for the worst.

 “Well, we only got one target and she’s dead. Do you think the boss will be very happy about that?” Bullet deadpans, shaking their head in annoyance. “He’s gonna kill us. Quickly, if we’re lucky.”

 “Oh, you won’t have to wait that long.” Clove whispers, pulling a grenade from the backpack she had grabbed from her hideout. She pulls the pin and throws it as hard as she can at the pair of mercenaries, clamping her hands over her ears as the device explodes.

 The smaller mercenary is lifted off his feet and flung into a nearby wall from the blast, his skull shattering with a sickening crack. Blood and brain matter paint the wall and concrete red, small fragments of body scattered throughout the area. Bullet is sent flying backwards, eventually landing face down where a pool of blood quickly gathers beneath their head. Hunter is the only one to remain unmoved by the blast, still lying where the mercenaries had dropped her to the ground.

 Clove steps out of her hiding place, pistol cocked and levelled at Bullet’s head. She walks at a brisk pace to the unnamed mercenary’s body, crouching beside him and pointlessly checking for a pulse, an unnecessary feat when half one’s skull is completely caved in, the brain damaged irreparably.

 A quiet groan splits the air and Bullet staggers to their feet, blood flowing freely from the deep lacerations adorning their face. They spit out a mouthful of blood as they glare at Clove, unbothered by the weapon still aimed at their head. “Why? He didn’t deserve to die. He was a good kid.”

 “Was he?” Clove chuckles, glancing down at his mangled body. “Last time I checked, he was trying to kill the Mockingjay. The woman who gave us our freedom. She freed us from Snow, and you idiots repay the favour by trying to kill her from some rich fucks who don’t care about us?”

 “You were hell bent on killing Katniss Everdeen during the Games. Hell, you died trying to carve her face like a block of wood.” Bullet retorts, fury churning in the depths of their eyes. “And don’t act like I didn’t watch you murder your buddy in cold blood, ‘cause her body is lying right there.”

 Clove discretely draws a throwing blade from her belt even as she tightens her grip on her pistol. “She hadn’t started a Rebellion then. I was trying to win. All I wanted was to make my family proud and go home.”

 “Now look at you, your life is on my hands. I can choose if you live or die, and I’m gonna enjoy killing you.” Bullet growls, unhooking a throwing axe from their belt and flinging it at Clove at the exact moment that she lets go of her blade.

 The axe head cuts into Clove’s shoulder, the force of the throw knocking her off her feet and onto her back. She grunts from the pain as she rises to her knees, ripping the axe head free as she stares up at Bullet, swallowing nervously at the sight of the mercenary clearly unaffected by the knife protruding from their shoulder. “You can’t kill me, B.” She says, whilst rotating her arm to check for mobility. “You  never could, never will.”

 “This time there isn’t any trainers to stop me.” Bullet tears the knife out of their shoulder and chucks it to the side, already slipping into a fighting stance. “Bring it.”

 Clove sighs, dropping her shoulders in feigned exhaustion. “Fine then.” She breaks into a full sprint, moving at full speed with every ounce of her adrenaline. At the last possible moment, she angles her body and slams her shoulder into Bullet’s gut with the force of a freight train. Her momentum sends her tumbling down atop Bullet, her elbow striking their throat and leaving them gasping for air.

 She rolls away from Bullet, all too aware of the fact that both of her shoulders are now throbbing something fierce. Her arms tremble as she pushes herself up, only to be knocked back down again by a brutal hook by a quickly recovered Bullet. She takes another hit before slipping away into unconsciousness; she notes slight movement at the corner of her eye and the unmistakable sound of someone coughing wetly.

Chapter Text

Loud footsteps. Heading directly towards her. The sound of a body being dragged over hard ground. A familiar voice, distant but there. Nearly like a voice echoing down a tunnel. The voice grows more distant as the footsteps stop. A gun cocks and all is silent for five seconds, before someone fires off a shot. Someone starts running, moving away from her body. The oddly comforting sound of knuckles striking flesh. A sound she grew up hearing.

 Her hearing is clearer now. Maybe soon she will be able to move, or at least open her eyes.

 Shouting. She can hear shouting, nearly like an argument. The voices are growing in louder volume at a steady pace, and she can begin to pick out some words. ‘Surprise attack. Diggs didn’t make it. Never stood a chance. I took her down. The other one; she tried to kill but I finished the job for her. Still alive.

 Everything comes rushing back. Katniss. Hunter. The mercenaries. Bullet. The fight. Bullet knocking her out, clearly winning the fight but leaving her alive for some reason. Why? Bullet would never let her live if they had beaten her in fight, and had been handed the chance to end their rivalry once and for all. Is she missing something?

 The footsteps are coming towards her again. Only two sets compared to the previous three, and without the sound of a body being dragged. The second set of footsteps must belong to someone injured; a wheeze noticeable to every second step. Perhaps someone had been injured by the gunshot?

 She’ll find out soon enough. Opening her eyes is a struggle, but it is a fight she’s winning. She can see flickering shadows, the shadows of two bodies falling over her as the footsteps begin to slow.

 Just a tiny bit more.

 A tiny bit-

 There.

 She can see the figures standing above her, the near blinding beam of a flashlight pointed to the ground. They mutter amongst themselves, paying her still body no regard. Perfect really. She can use that to her advantage.

 Allowing her head to loll, just slightly, she can see Hunter’s body, lying about an arm’s length away. Her knife still sitting in the holster strapped to the small of her back. Clove’s fingers are just millimetres away from the handle. If she just moves her hand-

 No.

 Patience is key; move too fast and it can all go wrong. She has to bid her time and wait for the perfect moment to strike. She can do it, she’s done it before.

 Last time she was messy, it cost her everything. She can’t afford to let that disaster happen again. Too much is at stake. Too many lives of the innocent are at stake.

 She flicks her eyes up observe the figures, tuning into the conversation at hand.

 “-Now, finish the job, so we can all go home.” The older of the two figures says, voice nearly cracking on the word home. She recognizes him as Joe Stirling, an alias used by the man in command of the current mercenaries trying to murder Katniss. “Pull the trigger and finish it, once and for all.” He pushes a pistol into Bullet’s hand, closing their fingers around the weapon, before he glances away to where the dead mercenary lies. “Do it for Diggs, son. Avenge the boy.”

 Bullet takes a small, nearly nervous step forward, holding the pistol in a light grip. “It’ll all be over?” They ask, and she remembers a cold, dark night, a broken window, a raging storm, and the glint of artificial lighting hitting off a jagged blade.

 “Yes, it will all be over, Bullet. You can do it, I believe in you.” Stirling encourages his mercenary, squeezing their shoulder before taking a step backwards. “Squeeze the trigger and we can all go home.”

 “Home. I haven’t had a home in a long time.” And her mind is flooded with memories of laughter, sparring, late night adventures, and haunting screams.

 “You’ll have a home soon, son.” Stirling whispers, staring down at Clove with his face set in an unreadable mask.

 Clove waits until she hears the hammer of the pistol being pulled back before she springs into action. She rolls to the side and pushes herself up with one hand, grabbing Hunter’s knife with her other hand. She slashes the back of Bullet’s knee open, forcing them down to her level. The knife thrower wrenches Bullet’s arm away before they can fire off a shot and she snaps their arm with a quick blow and a grimace pulling at her lips.

 Bullet screams, only to be cut short abruptly when Clove sinks the knife into their chest. They touch a hand to the wound, furrowing their eyebrows at Clove before they crumple to the ground, the pistol falling too before Clove dives to grab it.

 She squeezes the trigger until it clicks empty, ever bullet finding a home in Stirling’s torso.

 His body drops heavily into the dust, riddled with holes that blood flows freely from. The man gasps for breath, his lungs fighting to draw in oxygen that he does not have. His fingers twitch twice before stilling, the light fading from his eyes.

 “That was easier than expected.” Clove chuckles, tossing the gun aside and picking herself up off the ground. “I overestimated how dangerous the mercenaries are clearly, I would have gotten away without shooting Hunter, to be fair.” She grabs Stirling’s radio from his belt, clipping it onto her own as she heads back to her hideout to retrieve her bag. She takes note of another mercenary’s body, one that had not been there when she was conscious, suffering from a gunshot wound to the head.

 Clove changes quickly, replacing her flannel with a knife vest holding more knives then what should be possible. She redoes the laces of her boots, making sure the ends of her black cargo trousers are completely tucked in and not about to come loose anytime soon.

 She kneels beside Hunter and checks for a pulse, spying several fresh wounds adorning her companion’s face and torso. Finding a strong, steady pulse, she uses her flannel as padding to keep Hunter from bleeding out, patting her on the face gently before moving on to Bullet’s still moving body.

 There is a task that must be completed before she can continue, a task that contains some minor torture and disfigurement. Clove’s speciality.

 “I’m going to ask the questions,” Clove starts, unsheathing a small knife and twirling it around her finger. “You will answer them. Answer in a way that I like and I might just let you live. Or don’t and you’ll wish you died in that accident.”

 Bullet glares up at Clove, even as her left hand fists in the collar of their protective jacket, whilst the knife is pressed to the exposed flesh of her throat. The muscles in their jaw tighten as Clove presses down harder on the blade, anger still churning in the depths of their eyes.

 “How many mercenaries are in that warehouse? What are the patrol routes, typical positions, what not?” She questions, arching a brow at their continued silence. “You just have to want to do things the hard way, right Bullet? But don’t worry, I’ll enjoy carving up that handsome face of yours.”

 A sadistic smirk twists at her lips, her eyes darkening as she fantasies about the horrors that she is about to commit. She tosses the knife into her left hand and lashes out with her right fist, hitting Bullet square on the jaw and snapping their head to the side with a spray of blood.

 “I ain’t telling you shit.” Bullet snarls, baring blood stained teeth at their old friend.

 “Oh, you will. Sooner or later, you will break. They all do.” Clove feels a rush at the faintest hint of fear in Bullet’s eyes, relishing in the power it brings to her.

Chapter Text

Clove settles back on her haunches, wiping the blood from her hands with a rag pulled from her backpack. Getting Bullet to tell her what she needed to know had been somewhat of a struggle, but she is successful as always. It is likely that Bullet will be permanently blind in one eye, if they survive the blood loss.

“All that pain was so easily avoidable, Bullet.” She sighs, cleaning a streak of blood from her cheek. “If you had just talked when I asked, well, I wouldn’t have carved you up. Not like this, anyway.”

“I ain’t… a traitor… not like y-you.” Bullet has to force the words out, a harsh cough racking their body until blood falls from their mouth at an alarming rate. Clove can’t miss the strain audible in their voice.

“You murdered Davidson in cold blood.” Clove spits, leaning down close to Bullet. “Or did you forget that? You are a traitor. And you murdered a guard- no you slaughtered a guard, just so you could run like a coward.”

She waves a blood coated knife in Bullet’s face, outwardly delighted in the way that the mercenary flinches in fear, cowering away from the knife dripping with their own blood. On the inside, she feels anger towards herself, anger towards causing this pain, instilling this fear in her old friend.

Bullet looks away first, unable to meet Clove’s eyes. It’s clear that they are too exhausted to talk, that even staying conscious is a struggle, with agonising pain radiating from the countless injuries inflicted by Clove. Even someone who has dealt with pain most of their life has a tipping point. Everyone has a limit on how much pain and fear that can handle.

It isn’t a hard decision to punch Bullet hard enough to knock them right out, moving away as they slump back down to the ground, nearly completely lifeless and with the knife still imbedded in their chest, it would be easy to mistake them for a deceased victim.

Clove stands, eyes on the warehouse that nearly looks abandoned. She’s somewhat surprised that the other mercenaries haven’t investigated the gunshots or Bullet’s screams yet. Unprofessional, foolish, but a great advantage for Clove. They will be caught unaware when she attacks.

Of course, to attack, she needs weapons. And luckily she has two dead fully armed mercenaries, both of whom are even carrying explosives.

She goes to the body of the mercenary she had killed first, stripping the man of the weapons she can reach before laying him out flat on the ground. The gruesome damage done to his face is revealed and she has to swallow bile at the sight, refusing to look away.

The blast from the grenade ruined the left side of the mercenary’s face, leaving it completely unidentifiable. His eye was obliterated, his eye socket completely shattered. Flesh and muscle has been stripped away, leaving stark white bone exposed to the outside conditions. Even the right side of his face has not escaped unmarred; shrapnel having torn strips into his face, neck and chest. A medium sized piece of shrapnel is lodged into his right eye, and his nose has been left shattered into small pieces.

Somehow, it wasn’t the grenade that had killed him. No, his skull had fractured when he was flung into the wall, the small fragments entering his brain and killing him seconds after impact. The poor boy would have only survived for seconds after the grenade went off, possibly dying in absolute agony.

Clove removes the rest of the weapons from his body before flipping him over onto his stomach, her stomach loosening once she no longer has to look at such a ghastly sight. Half of his face was nearly caved in, other half torn to shreds. It would make even the strongest stomach turn.

“You made the wrong choice, kid.” Clove whispers, the corner of her mouth curling up slightly. “Instead of killing the woman who freed Panem, you died a horrible death. And all your fellow mercenaries will die too.” She picks up the AK-12 she took from his body, double checking that it is fully loaded before the slings the strap over her shoulder and across the chest. “And thanks for the weapons, they’ll be great for killing your friends.”

The boy’s Colt .45 is strapped to her right thigh, and his large knife is clipped to her belt whilst the handfuls of spare magazines are quickly shoved into her pockets. She then goes to the other mercenary’s body, retrieving all the ammo from the dead woman and shoving them into her pockets too. The grenade that both of the mercenaries carried go into a bag that she ties to her belt, making sure it secured close to her body so it can’t be grabbed by anyone.

Before Clove moves on, she taps a single finger against her chin as she gazes down at the mercenary’s still holstered pistol. With a moment’s hesitation she removes it from the holster and leaves it beside Hunter, along with a spare magazine and a throwing star.

Hunter will be needing it shortly.

Clove takes on last look at the bodies and wreckage she caused, before turning on her heel and starting to run towards the warehouse. It’s easy to avoid any possible vantage points after she and Hunter had scouted the place out months prior, knowing from experience that it would make a perfect headquarters. And knowing that a fire escape located at the back of the building is the perfect place to enter undetected and up high for the perfect vantage spot.

Once she reaches the warehouse, she flattens herself against the nearest wall before drawing her pistol, clicking the safety off. She keeps near the wall as she heads to the back of the warehouse, finger poised over the trigger and breathing eerily calm.

This. Hunting her prey. It’s who she is. What she was born for. Created for.

With a practiced ease she rounds the corner, gun raised and sweeping for threats. Her entry point is guarded by several mercenaries on different levels, all equipped with varying levels of armour and weapons. The window itself, at the top of the fire escape, is boarded up with four of the most equipped mercenaries stationed in front of it. She counts 10 mercenaries in total, just barely enough for some entertainment.

She places her pistol back into her holster before sprinting towards the fire escape, jumping up as high as she can to latch onto the railings. With a huff she hauls herself up, using a frightening amount of strength to pull herself up and over without an ounce of leverage and perching silently atop the railing.

A lone mercenary stands on the level above her head, carrying a heavily modified machine gun but without a sidearm. The foolish boy isn’t even wearing a simple Kevlar vest, a pair of gloves acting as the only form of protection on his body.

Clove braces her foot off the wall and uses it to boost herself up high enough to jump the railing, immediately sliding a simple blade through the side of the mercenary’s throat. She grabs his body before he can drop and carefully lowers it to the floor, removing the knife as soon as she lets go.

The next level contains two mercenaries, this time both carrying a sidearm alongside heavily modified machine guns. They are both wearing Kevlar vests, but their throats remain unprotected. Far better equipped than the first mercenary, and possibly more experienced.

Despite that, they will still be easy kills. Clove pulls two throwing stars from a pouch on her vest with a twisted smirk, for these kills she remains balanced on the railing and instead throws the stars with deadly precision, striking both of the mercenaries directly in their throats. She climbs up to the next level as their bodies slump against the wall, hands clenched around their throat as they bleed out in complete silence.

Heavily modified machine guns. One of the three mercenaries is even carrying an additional sniper rifle. A sidearm on the hip for each mercenary. Two of the them are on either side of the level, whilst the sniper stands in the middle and stares out across the woods.

Clove takes a risk and draws her pistol, carefully positioning herself to be directly underneath the sniper. She puts a bullet through the back of the sniper’s skull and holds her breath, fighting to keep her eyes open as the mercenary slumps forward over the railing, the sniper falling to the ground far below after a tense moment.

She hurries up to the railing as one of the mercenaries curses, grabbing them by the vest as they lean over the railing and pulling down with all her weight. They slam face first into the railing and stumble backwards, nose spewing blood in every direction. Clove follows them, vaulting over the railing and killing the two mercenaries with a knife through the eye and a slit throat.

Four mercenaries remain.

“Let’s do this.” Clove jumps up and grabs onto the railing for the final time, using the wall as leverage to get up high enough to just hurl herself over and onto three of the closest remaining mercenaries.

They go down in a flurry of limbs and shouts, Clove managing to catch herself before she joins them on the floor. She faces the last standing mercenaries, raising her fists as the man sneers at her with a filthy look in his eyes.

He lunges, aiming a nasty right hook to her temple. She ducks under his arm, nailing him in the ribs as she pops up behind him with a smirk. She rears back and kicks him in the spine before he can turn, knocking him towards the opposite railing and giving her more space.

“Do me a favour and try to make this a challenge. No need to go so easy.” Clove taunts, spinning in a tight circle and landing a solid kick to his stomach that sends him even further back.

“Oh, I’ll eat you for dinner, little girl.” The mercenary snarls, removing his weapons and tossing them to one side. “Might even fine some meat on those little bones of yours.” He strikes out, getting a hit on her jaw, a knee in her stomach and then a kick in her side in eerily quick succession, sending Clove flying into the wall.

“You made it weird.” Clove groans. “A challenge, but still weird.” She jumps to her feet and runs at him, planting one foot on the railing to propel herself high enough up into the air to kick him in the temple.

The man loses his balance and falls against the railing, eyes widening with fear when Clove jumps up again, but this time to dropkick him right in the chest. He flips right over the rail and plummets to his death, his screams ringing in her ears long after he hits the ground with a wet splat. His mangled body is sprawled out in the dust when she dares to look, every limb twisted in unnatural directions.

Her heart drops right to her boots when a pair of hands seizes the back of her vest and she is flung over the rail. She falls for several terrifying moments before she manages to latch onto a hard object, something in her right arm tearing when it is suddenly forced to take all of her weight.

A strap of a machine gun is what she owes her life to. It had been left dangling through the gaps, a mercenary’s body serving as the perfect anchor when Clove managed to grab onto it. With some difficulty, she brings her AK-12 around her body and fires at her attempted murderer before they can make a second attempt.

Clove pulls herself up with shaking arms, and climbs back to the top level, knowing full well that two of the mercenaries are still alive if unconscious. She hauls herself over the railing and lands on the pile of bodies, groaning when she feels her hand fall into the blood dripping through the grating.

One of the mercenaries regains consciousness with a start, fingers wrapping around the grip of their pistol before Clove rolls on top of them and stabs a knife through their vest, lightly placing her other hand on their delicate throat. “Try and shoot me and the next one goes through your throat.”

The mercenary swallows nervously and removes their hand from their pistol, moving their hands into Clove’s line of sight and far away from their own weapons.

“Smart choice,” Clove wrenches the knife free, smirking cruelly at the stifled whimper the mercenary can’t help but let out. “Aw, did that hurt you? I can do much worse.”

“Fuck. You.” The mercenary spits, and socks Clove right in the jaw.

Clove’s head snaps to the side and she snaps, slamming their head off the grating of the fire escape twice before freeing their pistol from the holster. She props the weapon under their chin, finger itching to squeeze the trigger and scatter the wall with their brain matter and skull fragments.

“Don’t think I won’t kill you, kid.” She says, through gritted teeth placing the tip of her knife against the mercenary’s jugular. If they try to move again, they’d impale themselves through the throat, just to make sure they realise, Clove puts pressure on the blade and watches as it breaks the skin. “Now, tell me your name.”

The mercenary only stares, eyes shifting down to knife pressed to their throat until Clove eases her weight off slightly. “Maze. My name’s Maze. Why does it matter, you’re gonna kill me anyway.”

She ignores the question, pulling a zip tie out of her pocket and fastening it around their wrists as she appraises the boarded up window. The kid looks stocky enough to break them down one way or another. It would work faster than beating them down either way. “Eh, you’ll do. Today’s your lucky day.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Maze snaps, hands clenching into fists as Clove hauls them up and towards the window. “Get off of me.”

Clove plants herself firmly and shoves Maze as hard as she can at the window. The boards hold firm at first, only to splinter when Maze is thrown head first at them again.

Unbeknownst to Clove, the glass of the window was never removed and it shatters too, catching the attention of the mercenary standing guard near the window. A knife buries itself into his eye before he can raise an alarm and he crumples to the floor, fingers twitching slightly.

“Sorry kid,” Clove sighs, patting Maze on the shoulder, “I forget the glass was still there.” She drags them off the windowsill and dumps them on the ground, climbing through the window to double check that the other mercenary is dead.

His radio cackles, a bored voice filtering through. “Yo, everything good up there? Heard the glass break.”

“All good here, one of the idiots outside must have hit the boards hard. Shattered the glass completely.” Clove replies, slitting the mercenary’s throat as she stands again. “I’ll get it cleaned up. Find out who did it later.”

“Sound.”

“Idiots,” Clove whispers. “You’re making this too easy.” She cleans her knife before sheathing it again, walking near the edge of the crates to survey the rest of the warehouse and make a plan.

The warehouse is filled with stacked crates and containers, wooden and metal alike. Several boards have been laid down to allow mercenaries to cross the gaps, presumably for patrols. In the centre of warehouse is the ‘command centre’ for the mercenaries, with a large table surrounded by chairs and various papers spread across the surface with a handful of mercenaries consulting holographic projections. Mercenaries roam the space, walking and sitting between crates as they wait to finish the job they were employed to fulfil. A makeshift armoury and canteen sit side by side, the armoury filled with an impressive array of weapons and explosive devices.

Clove whistles a merry tune as she climbs back through the window, staring at the two unconscious mercenaries with annoyance. Maze is bleeding from various wounds caused by the falling glass, and knocked out by hitting the boards twice headfirst. Their colleague is still unconscious from getting knocked down by Clove. Weak.

She grabs another zip tie from her pocket and zip ties the mercenary’s wrists together, making sure that the zip ties are only just loose enough to not cut off her blood circulation. If the mercenaries have any training they’ll be able to break free easily, but it will slow them down just enough for Clove to escape or kill them if she has to.

Instead of taking the glaringly obvious and easy route, Clove decides to have some fun with her hostages before she kills every single mercenary in the warehouse. She slaps Maze in the face and forces them upright, before shoving them through the window. The poor kid lands heavily on the shards of glass; cutting more gashes into their flesh. Clove quickly shoves Maze’s colleague through the window too, before climbing through herself.

“C’mon, Mazey.”  Clove grabs the shoulder of the vest and pulls them close, staring down their colleague as she whispers into their ear. “You’re my hostage. Play your cards right and you might just survive.” She pats them lightly on the back and starts walking back to the edge of the crates, unslinging her rifle and placing the barrel against Maze’s head.

“You’re going to die here.” Maze deadpans; eyes dead ahead and expression vacant. “I’m not threatening you, but you’ll never survive. There’s too many.”

“I’m saving Katniss Everdeen. No numbers of mercenaries are too many to save her.”

Maze scoffs, shaking their head. “You’re blinded by your love for her. They will never stop. Not until Everdeen is dead. Do you want to spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, killing anyone who even looks at her wrong?”

“I won’t have to, no one will dare try to harm her after I slaughter these mercenaries and the people who hired them.” Clove smiles slowly, jerking her chin at a stop a safe distance away from the edge. “Now sit, I’ll come for you in a minute.”

She walks up to the edge of the crates, alone, and lies down on her stomach, propping her rifle up beside her shoulder. She exhales, and opens fire.

Mercenaries fall to the ground in clouds of blood, some screaming out whilst others remain silent. The injured desperately attempt to drag themselves to cover, several brave but stupid survivors going to aid them only to be shot down by Clove. Bodies quickly pile up, the smarter mercenaries disappearing between crates where the bullets can’t reach them. Some fire back, but are quickly cut down by the hail of bullets.

By the time Clove is out of bullets, at least two dozen mercenaries have been slaughtered mercilessly, laid out on the ground in growing puddles of their own blood. Another dozen mercenaries are injured, most bleeding out from abdominal or chest wounds.

“Clove Fuhrman!” An unwounded mercenary yells, peeking out from her hiding spot. “You are outnumbered and outgunned; surrender now and you will die a painless death.”

“No thanks!” Clove yells back, tossing her rifle aside and grabbing Maze by their bonds. “Your leader is dead and your employer will be soon. I’ve killed more than half of your force and I have two hostages. If you surrender, they can live.”

“Prove it! Show your hostages!” The woman is clearly trying to gain some control over the situation, even while the other mercenaries mutter uneasily at the news that their leader is dead.

Clove walks Maze to the edge of the crates, making sure to stand behind them. She places her pistol at the back of their neck, finger poised over the trigger. “One wrong move, and they die.”

Maze’s jaw is clenched tightly, the mercenary all too aware of the amount of weapons aimed at them in this very moment. If it means stopping Clove, they’ll be killed in a heartbeat. Their comrades are ruthless like that. Voight, the one yelling, most of all.

“Where’s the other hostage, Fuhrman?” Voight yells, gesturing for the other mercenaries to spread out and try to get a clear shot on Clove. Most refuse to move, terrified they will be the next to die.

“Up here, obviously. Where else would she be?”

Voight snarls, shaking her head as she steps out from her hiding spot. She raises her sniper rifle to her shoulder and sets her sights on Maze’s head, knowing what she has to do. “Rest in peace, kid.” She whispers, and squeezes the trigger.

Clove is taken off guard when Maze throws themselves back, both of them falling as the bullet flies overhead. Maze lifts their arms above their head and snaps the zip tie off their hip with all their strength, before grabbing a large knife from Clove’s belt and taking off running to the left edge of the crates.

They drop down into a slide as more bullets fly overhead, going off the edge and into the wall in a somewhat controlled fall. Their momentum propels them into a forward shoulder roll, stopping in the middle of a container.

Four mercenaries are standing in front of the container, clearly moving to find a better vantage spot to take out Clove. Too bad Maze will no longer allow that to happen, not wanting to be one of the reasons for the death of the Mockingjay any longer. Call it a change of heart after a near death experience.

Maze takes a running leap off the container, crashing into one of the mercenaries and slitting her throat before she can so much as squeak. Blood splatters across their face as she topples to the ground, the mercenary closest turning around at the thud, gun swinging up. Nearly on autopilot, Maze ducks under the gun and stabs the mercenary in the stomach, ripping the knife up and through her chest to kill their former comrade.

The mercenary chokes out a gasp as his innards spill out from the gaping wound, collapsing to the ground as he stares up at Maze in betrayal. His facial muscles slacken and he falls back, the light quickly fading from his eyes.

“What the fuck has gotten into you, Maze?” The smaller of the remaining two says, shifting on her feet nervously. She fights the urge to aim her weapon at Maze, worried they’ll gut her next even if the knife is still in the chest of the other mercenary. “This isn’t like you man.”

The taller of the two mercenaries edges in front of her smaller companion, watching Maze carefully. She takes in the bloodied marks on their wrists, the deep wounds that cover their arms and parts of their torso from the falling glass, the blood splattered across their clothes and face from their kills. And most importantly, the dark frantic look in their eyes.

“You need to leave. Leave before you’re the next to die.” Maze warns, eyes darting between the two mercenaries. “It’s too dangerous for you here.”

Both of the mercenaries refuse to move, the taller still eyeing Maze with suspicion. Her hand drifts to the knife on her belt even as she slowly lowers her gun, the shorter of the two unaware of her slow movements. She doesn’t move slow enough.

Maze lunges for the taller mercenary, landing a solid punch to her abdomen and forcing her to double over with a grunt of pain. They grab the back of her head and force her head down, introducing her face to their knee. Her nose shatters and Maze swipes the knife from her belt before shoving her into the crates, raising the knife above their head before the smaller mercenary ploughs into them.

The tiny mercenary tries in vain to bring Maze down, only to be seized by her shoulders and have her legs kicked out from beneath her. She lands flat on her back, a cry of pain ripping free from her lips. The pain is the last thing she feels before Mack plunges the knife through her eye and deep into her brain.

“Clean up on aisle three, please. Clean up on aisle three.” Maze mutters, wiping some of the blood from their face. They quickly take the girl’s gun from its holster and shoots the final mercenary in the head as she attempts to stand, shoving the weapon into their own holster as the mercenary falls backwards into the crates.

Maze’s colleague jumps down from the crates as Maze rips their knife out of the first mercenary’s chest, zip ties still tightly fastened around her wrists. She looks less then pleased, reaching out to slap Maze over the head as soon as they cut them free from her restraints and hand her an assault rifle previously owned by one of the fallen.

A small explosion rocks the warehouse and Maze shoves their colleague out of the way as a tower of containers topple over, crushing the bodies of the deceased and narrowly avoiding the traitorous pair. Drawn by the crash, several mercenaries round the corner, quickly spotting their former comrades amongst the wreckage.

“And now it’s time to go.” Maze nods at their partner’s words, yelping as they are yanked away by their collar.

Clove leaps from container to container, occasionally tossing grenades to slow down the mercenaries who dare chase her. She jumps over the heads of a larger group of mercenaries, immediately skidding to a halt and running back towards the edge.  She empties a clip down on them before making a split second decision and jumping, landing on top of three of the mercenaries.

She’s immediately on her feet, stabbing one mercenary through the gut and using his body as a shield when his comrades open fire. His screams echo in her ears as his torso is shredded by bullets, his finger automatically squeezing the trigger and unleashing a hail of bullets on the survivors.

Those who avoid the bullets turn tail and run, only to be forced to stop when a large container falls and blocks their escape. One unlucky mercenary is crushed when the container falls, a second narrowly avoiding the same fate.

Clove quickly shoves the dead man away from her own body and hoists herself back up onto the containers, rolling out of view just as the mercenaries who were chasing Maze and their partner stumble upon the trapped survivors. They all look around in confusion, wondering where their prey have disappeared to, Clove holding her breath as she quietly reloads her gun.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” A mocking voice announces, Maze’s partner appearing on the fallen container. She smirks at them, casually aiming her rifle at them. “Y’all seem a little trapped.”

“Snap out of it, Riley. What the hell’s gotten into you?” One of the mercenaries snarls, jabbing a finger into Maze’s colleague- Riley’s direction. “Last I checked, we got a job to do.”

“We’ve had a change of heart.” Riley grins, her eyes shifting upwards to where Maze sits on the edge of a crate and holding a large machine gun. “Katniss Everdeen has our protection now I guess you could say.”

Before the mercenaries can say anything else, the traitors open fire. Their former comrades are slaughtered brutally, bullets shredding through their bodies and organs. Blood quickly sprays out across the surroundings, bullet riddled corpses littering the warehouse floor. One mercenary manages to drag himself out from under from a pile of bodies before he succumbs to his wounds, blood spewing from his mouth as he struggles to take in his last few breaths.

Maze’s lips twitch up into a smile at the bloodshed, visibly delighted in the agony they caused. They salute Clove before disappearing from her line of sight, sprinting over the planks and leaping from the containers and crates to reach the ground floor in a relatively safe manner. It’s time to get the hell out of there before reinforcements arrive.

Clove uses a crowbar to open one of the crates, clapping her hands in delight at the sight of numerous kinds of explosives just waiting to be used. She reaches in to grab a few when she freezes at the sound of an echoing gunshot and a long scream, before shrugging her shoulders and continuing to fill several bags. The scream doesn’t sound familiar, and is therefore unimportant to the mission.

It’s only when she hears Maze shouting and the sounds of a fight that she decides to investigate, leaving the bags down and drawing her pistol. She flicks the safety off before beginning to follow the enraged shouts, at the same time mentally marking possible areas to set up the explosives.

After five minutes of walking, she finds the reason for the shouting. Maze and Voight are engaged in a brutal brawl, clearly trying to bludgeon each other to death with their bare hands, whilst Riley’s cooling corpse lies several feet away. Neither of the mercenaries  notice Clove, and it is easy to edge past them and inspect the body on her own.

Voight must have caught Riley whilst she was trying to flee the warehouse, putting a bullet through her throat before she could lift a finger. A fitting punishment for betraying them. Clove would have done the same.

Maze manages to body slam Voight in an impressive display of strength, quickly straddling her body and pummelling her face and torso with rapid fire punches, not letting up for a moment. They show no signs of stopping, even as Voight twists and buckles, kicking at them and punching at whatever parts of their body she can reach from her position.

Clove aims her pistol at Maze’s head, knowing that if she allows them to continue her plan may very well be ruined. A small part of her wants to leave the kid alive though. She shakes her head and shifts the gun down and to the right slightly, squeezing the trigger twice and putting two bullets through Voight’s skull.

“Voight, back up is on the way. Hang in there.” A voice says through the radio clipped to the shoulder of Voight’s vest, a roaring engine audible in the background. “Voight, do you copy?”

Maze rips the radio off of the body’s vest, staring at nothing as they crush it in one hand, uncaring as their palm is sliced open by the sharp edges. “I’ll slow them down, give you enough time to save your girl. They’ll be sending people to kill her and her mother once they realise what happened here.”

The mercenary doesn’t wait for Clove to say anything, only stands up and walks away without another word. They step over bodies of their former friends without a care in the world, numb to everything now that Riley is dead. They ignore the pleas of the few slowly dying wounded, their mind focused on one thing and one thing only; making sure that Katniss Everdeen isn’t killed so that Riley didn’t die in vain.

Clove continues to set traps throughout the warehouse, intent on slowing down the backup even if Maze fails to do so alone. She rewires as many as the electronics as she can, briefly grateful for the electricians and technicians she had met during her training and during the war. The lights will slow down any reinforcements for long enough.

Five armoured trucks roll to a stop on the street in front of the warehouse, the mercenaries manning the turrets setting their sights on the buildings that still stand. A tall black man steps out of the middle truck, his dark clothing make him near invisible in the night. He clicks on a flashlight as more mercenaries get out of the trucks, all heavily armed and most masked in some way.

They take up defensive stances as a handful of mercenaries split off to clear the buildings, another handful checking on the four bodies that still remain on the street. Beams of light cut through the night, the only sound the crunch of debris underfoot for a brief moment.

“Both Voight and Stirling said Fenton was shot. Spread out, find her. Make sure she’s dead.” The man orders, hands braced on his hips. His voice is filed with authority, his eyes cold and calculating. “Danvers, Vasquez, I want both of you in the warehouse. Find Fuhrman and bring her to me with a bullet through her brain. Make it quick.”

The mercenaries are quick to spring into action, splitting off into groups without a word. A small group leave in search of Hunter, methodically sweeping through any possible hiding areas and being watchful for any fresh blood trails.

Danvers nods to Vasquez, communicating a plan through a series of looks and quick gestures, stealthy and efficient. Within seconds they are leading all but three of the remaining mercenaries towards the warehouse, turning off their flashlights as they draw closer. They stop in front of the giant rolling door, Danvers motioning for two mercenaries to open it.

Inside the warehouse is dark and all too quiet. Not even the wails of the dying fill the heavy air. The metallic tang of blood lingers in the air, so thick the mercenaries can taste it on their tongues and easily invading their other senses.

Vasquez places night vision goggles over her eyes and enters the warehouse, the other mercenaries quickly following her lead. Her finger inches towards the trigger as the first body comes into sight, a bullet riddled corpse lying face down in a pool of blood, streaks of blood on the concrete showing that the mercenary had tried to drag themselves to safety whilst they still had the strength to do so. She remains still as Danvers leads half of the group deeper into the warehouse, waiting until they are out of sight before turning to her group.

Before she can open her mouth, her vision goes white as the lights abruptly turn on at the exact same time. The building is flooded with blinding light, the rolling door slamming shut as the mercenaries rip their night vision goggles off.

Disorientated, the mercenaries do not notice when four grenades are thrown into the midst of Vasquez’s group. The explosions throw two thirds of the group into the crates, the remaining third scrambling for cover as more grenades rain down on them.

In the confusion, Clove joins the group undetected, a length of rope twisted around her hands. She wraps the rope around the neck of a deafened mercenary, easily flipping the mercenary over her back with just a bit of strength and the help of gravity. “You really shouldn’t have taken this job.” She whispers, releasing one end of the rope as another spots her and rushes towards her.

She ducks under a sloppy punch, driving the mercenary to the floor with a hard jab to the throat and quickly wrapping what’s left of the rope around his neck too, just loose enough to allow him enough air to breathe if he stays calm. She shoves the now restrained mercenaries away, smirking like a Cheshire cat when the surviving mercenaries finally notice her presence.

Those who can open fire, only succeeding in hitting the crates before their delicate organs are pierced by the blades of throwing knives, the force of the throws knocking them off their feet. They don’t get back up.

Clove draws her pistol and puts a bullet through the heart of the any mercenary who is injured but alive, watching the two restrained mercenaries struggle to free themselves. She reloads her pistol and shoots both of the mercenaries in the neck, right above the rope.

She takes a small remote out of her pocket and hits the largest button, breaking into a run as the warehouse is plunged back into darkness. The lights begin to flicker on and off once she returns to the top of the crates, staying on for irregular periods so that that the mercenaries can’t adjust and remain disorientated.

 She trails the group from above, watching as Danvers signs something she can’t make out and the mercenaries split off into pairs, heading down the numerous aisles. A shorter, muscular mercenary chases after Danvers, eyes continuously sweeping the area but still managing to miss catching a glimpse of Clove.

 Two of the pairs are moving towards one of the more brutal traps she had rigged. It’s the one she’s most proud of, and she easily decides to follow the four, letting the others wander off on their own. Most of them are heading into other traps anyway. Trouble is, she’s on the wrong side of the crates to get the best angle to watch the bloodshed.

 Clove mentally thanks Bullet for teaching her some parkour when they were still sane, and takes a running jump off the edge, right over the heads of the mercenaries. For one terrifying moment, she is suspended in mid-air, before she braces herself and hits the crates. Her momentum pulls her into a forward shoulder roll, but she is quick to stop herself before she can roll off the edge and miss all the action.

 “Stay sharp, the target could be anywhere.” One of the mercenaries warns, taking the lead. Despite his own advice, he doesn’t notice the tripwire two feet in front of him, so thin that not even the flashing lights can illuminate it. His next step triggers the tripwire, Clove holding her breath as the wire snaps and disappears from view completely.

 A barely audible ticking fills the air, the leading mercenary slowing to a halt in the middle of the trap when his ears pick up the irritating noise. He twists his torso to glance back at his comrades, two of them directly behind him.

 They stare at him with raised brows, before looking away to try and see over the tops of the crates without moving.

 “None of ye hear that?” He asks, shooting a look at the other mercenaries who remain just outside the trap. “Like a nonstop ticking or something? Doin’ my head in.”

 “I’m hearing nothing, dude. Just your mind messing with you, making you paranoid.” The mercenary clear of the trap says, moving closer but still just far enough away.

 “No, no, he’s right. I can hear some’hing alright.” One of the other mercenaries pipes up, looking around in search of the source of the noise. “Think it’s somehow getting faster. Can you hear it now?”

 ‘See you in hell.’ Clove thinks, her lips pulling up into a slow smirk as the ticking rises higher in volume before cutting out completely. 

 The leading mercenary opens his mouth to say something, just as a small boom sounds from above their heads. Makeshift darts fly out from all directions, too fast for the three caught in the trap to react. Five darts rip through one’s torso, another two tagging him in the throat and spurting blood everywhere. The one mercenary who remained silent is fortunate enough to be struck fatally in the temple at once, several more shredding her stomach once she’s dead. Unfortunately for the third mercenary, a handful of darts shred her lungs and heart, ripping her delicate organs to pieces within seconds. The last mercenary is struck in the knee by a wayward dart, falling to the floor with grunt of pain.

 Clove flings a throwing star at him before he can open his mouth, hitting his throat at such an angle that blood sprays several feet through the air and paints his surroundings a bright red. He keels over, landing face first on the concrete floor.

 She picks up her throwing star and starts running, climbing over crates to avoid alerting other mercenaries to her presence before they can fall into her traps. Her throwing star stays in her hand until a mercenary manages to see her and gives chase, but is quickly stopped when the star stabs through his eye.

 After a few minutes of running, she comes across her next victims; two mercenaries standing in front of a fallen crate. The male mercenary is struggling with his weapon, whilst the female mercenary is on the radio with another of her comrades.

 “Does anyone have eyes on Fuhrman?” The female mercenary questions, her hand falling to rest on the grip of her pistol as she waits for a response. She flinches at a sudden burst of static, before a voice comes online.

 “Negative, but it looks like Vasquez and her group were ambushed. A lot of them look like a grenade took them out. The rest have gunshot wounds. They never saw it coming.”

 “They weren’t the only ones who got ambushed.” Another mercenary joins in, audibly panting for breath. “I just found Taylor and he got a damn throwing star in his eye. And I found a few guys who got caught in a nasty trap a few minutes ago. Fuhrman is ruthless.”

 Clove smirks, crouching down to pick up a discarded crowbar. She wraps her fingers around it, slipping closer towards the male mercenary with silent footsteps. Her blood sings with excitement, having looked forward to a moment like this for so long.

 The female mercenary continues speaking on the radio, unaware of the growing danger. “Where did you find Taylor’s body? I swear he wasn’t far behind us.”

 “He was lying near an opened crate; looks like Fuhrman took everything that was in it.”

 “It was full of explosives.” Clove announces, loudly, and smashes the crowbar in the male mercenary’s ribs with every ounce of strength. She relishes in his screams as his ribs shatter completely, dropping to his knees only to have the crowbar slammed onto his shoulders.

 His partner drops the radio and spins around, shooting wildly at Clove. She fails to hit Clove and the crowbar slams into her temple, knocking her down and sending her skidding across the concrete floor by several feet.

 Clove allows the crowbar to drag along the floor as she walks towards the slowly dying mercenary, dropping into a crouch by her head and staring at her unfocused eyes. A small part of her wonders if this is what is was like for Katniss and Thresh. “Hurts, doesn’t it? There’s this immense, never ending pain. And you can’t do a single thing about it. Can’t move, can’t speak. Can’t beg them to stop as they rebuild your brain and you feel every excruciating second of it. All you can do is hope you die.”

 There’s a dent in the mercenary’s temple now, caused by Clove’s own hand. She’s caused devastating damage but there isn’t a single speck of blood.

 “All that pain, though, it was worth it. Because my plan worked. Draw Thresh out with Rue and have him kill me. Cato would be driven in a rampage and he’d hunt him down, they would have preferably fought until both of them died. Those mutts came at the wrong time though. Five more seconds and Cato would have been dead. If it came to it, I knew Lover Boy would try to sacrifice himself for Katniss, as if she needs saving.” Clove chuckles softly, broken memories filtering through her thoughts.

 A distressed whimper falls from the mercenary’s lips, a weak flex of her fingers on Clove’s arm telling her all she needs to know. The poor woman is begging for mercy, to be killed now instead of being left to die. Clove can’t even attempt to blame her, she wishes someone would have taken mercy on her.

 “Do you deserve mercy, though? Who knows how many people you’ve tortured or killed. Maybe you deserve a painful, drawn out death.” Clove muses, carefully removing the mercenary’s gun from its holster and placing it under her chin, clicking the safety off. “Of course, who am I to judge? I’ve killed people. Tortured a few too.”

 The muzzle of an assault rifle touches the back of her head, a voice dripping with loathing speaking up. “It’s over, Fuhrman, hands on your head. Comply and you might live long enough to say goodbye to your little girlfriend.”

 Clove doesn’t move from her crouched position, twisting her neck to glance back at the tall blonde with a gun to her head. “It’s nowhere near over, it’s just beginning.” She smirks, and twists her torso, firing two rounds into the blonde’s kneecaps.

 Blondie screams in pain, dropping her gun as she’s forced to fall to the ground. Despite the pain, she’s quick to unhook a knife from her belt and hurl it at Clove, managing to slice her bicep wide open.

 “Nice try, blondie. But it’s over.” Clove mocks, standing up with the crowbar in hand. “You should close your eyes for the next part. It won’t be pretty or painless. The choice is yours.” She arches an eyebrow as the mercenary choses to stare her down.

 She pulls her arm back and strikes the blonde across the face with the crowbar, laughing when the woman’s face whips to the side and blood sprays out of her mouth. “If you have any family; I will find them and hunt them down. And I’ll beat their faces in with this very crowbar, all while telling them how you died.” She promises, bringing her arm back again. “Every person you’ve ever hurt or tried to hurt will get their revenge today.”

 A heavy blow to the stomach. “For Katniss.”

 A bone shattering hit directly on her elbow. “For Hunter.”

 A quick succession of blows to her torso, cracking her ribs and sternum. “For every person you’ve hurt for fun.”

 One final hit on her spine, forcing a scream from the blonde. “That was for your family. Because they will die for the decisions you’ve made. I’ll hurt them because you went after someone I care about.”

 Clove walks back to the first female mercenary, somehow still clinging onto life. “Now, where were we?” She asks, tapping the crowbar against her jaw in thought. “Oh yes, who am I to judge?”

 The girl’s breathing stutters slightly as Clove raises the crowbar above her head. She struggles to close her eyes to no avail, tears spilling free until Clove decides to have some mercy and closes them for her.

 “Happy thoughts, kid.” Clove deadpans, and brings the crowbar down on her face. The first hit kill her, but Clove can’t stop from hitting her over and over again, bludgeoning her face into an unidentifiable mess. She hits her until she can’t lift the crowbar anymore, and then swaps it for her fists.

 That’s how the mercenaries find her; straddling a corpse and beating at is with her fists. Two of them grab her by the arms and drag her away, shoving her against a crate for Danvers to step in front of her. Her partner checks the blonde for a pulse, shaking their head when none is to be found.

 Danvers stares at her partner for a long moment, tears falling from her eyes, before she turns back to Clove, grabbing the former Career by the vest and pinning her against the crate. “I’m going to fucking kill you and there will be no one left to save Katniss Everdeen. The girl who destroyed us and couldn’t care less will get what’s coming for her. And you won’t be there to stop it.

 “Leave her alone!” Clove screams, managing to catch Danvers by surprise with a nasty right hook to the jaw. “Katniss never wanted any of this. She never wanted to start a rebellion or watch people die. She just wanted to protect her little sister! Do you have any idea how any kids she has watched die? How many of her friends she has watched die? A little girl died in her arms; tiny Rue from District 11 died in her arms. Then she had to watch her sister die, with all those innocent kids in the Capitol, when the war was already over. She has lost everything, she has felt enough pain. Don’t you dare hurt her.”

 “Why do you care, Fuhrman? You’ll be dead soon. Just like her. There will be no one to protect her.” Danvers smirks, entirely unbothered by her newly split lip and stinging jaw.

 “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, I don’t die easily. And I don’t stay dead either.” Clove’s eyes fall to the dead blonde, her torso and head now covered by a jacket. “That girl, she was family to you, wasn’t she? Before she died, I made a promise to her. I told her I’d kill any family she has and I hate breaking promises.”

 Danvers tightens her grip on Clove’s vest, her nostrils flaring at the mention of the dead woman. “Kill me and you’re dead in seconds. You stab me, shoot me, they start shooting. You’ll never leave this place alive.”

 Clove stares the redhead dead in the eye as her hand inches towards her pocket, smirking slowly as her fingers touch the edge of a detonator. “They can’t shoot if they’re dead, now can they? Who said anything about killing you first?” She hits the detonator at the same as she unhooks a grenade from Danvers’s vest, pulling the pin and throwing it.

 Small, controlled explosions take out all the lights of the warehouse, plunging the mercenaries back into complete darkness. With their sight gone, no one sees the grenade land in the middle of the group until it explodes, igniting a chain reaction that Clove had hoped for.

 Clove grabs Danvers by the neck and uses her body as a shield, managing to protect herself from the worst of the explosions and shrapnel. Even with her makeshift shield, Clove is still flung backwards over several crates, landing unconscious over fifty feet away from the initial explosion. Crates and containers fall over her, trapping her unconscious body in a tomb.

 The explosions continue until the warehouse begins to collapse, fires springing up in their absence. Any survivors are instantly trapped in the rubble, with what remains of the structure ready to come down at any moment.

 Clove awakens with a choked gasp, blinking rapidly to regain her vision until it registers that she is trapped in the darkness. She presses a hand to her temple, a warm liquid quickly covering her palm, the area throbbing something fierce. With only slight hesitation, she pats her body down in search of any injuries, crying out when she moves her right arm.

 No limbs were torn off in the explosion it seems, all fully intact if bruised and bloodied. The tendon in her bicep must have snapped when she caught herself on the machine gun, adrenaline and general excitement dulling the pain for some time. Every movement brings tears to her eyes and a scream threatening to escape, but she could still throw a knife with it if she has to. The only thing that worries her is the fact that her legs are numb and she can’t quite move them.

 “That worked a bit too well.” She sighs, searching the ground for something to cover her mouth to protect her lungs from the particles circulating throughout her tomb. “Everyone’s dead, and I’m trapped.” Her fingers find a sizeable scrap of cloth on the ground and she picks it up, covering her mouth without it and fumbling to tie a knot at the back of her head.

 A second piece of cloth would be perfect for the wound at her temple, but sadly she can’t have everything. Though she can have a flashlight she had looted off the body of the first mercenary she had killed on the street, one that somehow still works.

 She switches it on and tracks the beam over her surroundings, heart sinking at the wood and metal surrounding her, with rubble piled up over any gaps that could possibly be escape points. She is trapped completely and Katniss is out there somewhere, alone and without Clove to protect her.

 Her flashlight catches on a handful of cracks in the rubble, cracks that seem to be growing wider as she stares at them. When she hears muffled grunts and groans, she pulls herself near the cracks and begins digging at them as best as she can with her bare hands, wedging the flashlight at an angle under the shoulder of her vest.

 It takes about twenty minutes before the section of the rubble simply crumbles away, revealing the bloodied and badly injured mercenary who had decided to dig her out for some godforsaken reason. The mercenary looks moments away from keeling over but is still strong enough to drag Clove out of her prison, backing up far enough that it can collapse without harming either of them.

 “Thank you.” Clove nods her head to her saviour, yanking her makeshift facemask down so none of her words can be missed. “Thank you.” She uses a pile of rubble to stand, the mercenary grabbing her by the vest when her legs threaten to give out.

 The mercenary stands still and silent as she regains feeling and motion in her legs, unaware of their own gruesome injuries. Injuries that Clove had caused with her final trap. Ash and blood is streaked across the unburned patches of their face and neck, most of the right side of their body burnt red raw from what she can see. What is left of their right arm is a mangled mess, with a large gash tearing their side open and still bleeding despite being mostly burnt shut. A gaping wound sits on their left thigh, shrapnel still lodged in the torn flesh. How they survived and are still standing is a question that Clove nearly fears the answer to.

 “What’s your name?” Clove asks, trying to ignore the way her legs tremble like that of a new-born foal.

 Jax, the mercenary writes on a clear piece of concrete, using the blood that had gathered on their remaining hand as the ink. It’s always interesting to look at words written in blood, adds a cinematic feel to it and all.

 “Let’s get of here then, Jax.” Clove mutters, looking around the ruins to see the full extent of the damage.

 She’s unsurprised that at least half of the warehouse has collapsed, most of what remains held up by several stacks of containers that were unaffected by the explosions. Fires burn amongst the wreckage, showing no sign of extinguishing despite the fact that the explosions must have happened some time ago given by how long Clove was trapped for. Already the remaining structure shows signs of collapsing at any moment; the place is a death trap for the two survivors.

 For some strange reason, Clove wants to get her newest companion to safety. Perhaps because they had decided to save her despite watching their comrades be slaughtered by the dark haired girl. Maybe her little speech had changed the minds of some of those mercenaries.

 Clove wraps her arm around Jax’s shoulders, gently coaxing the mercenary into resting more of their weight against her body. She starts walking forward, keeping a watchful eye on what’s left of the warehouse and where she’s walking.

 Even if it’s still dark, Clove’s way is easily lit by the various fires, her flashlight guiding the rest of the way. The light of the moon casts a gentle glow over the wreckage, making it seem almost peaceful. It makes it feel like some of the calmer nights of the Games, when Clove would leave their camp to watch the stars, so beautiful despite being artificial.

 ‘Look at the damn stars when Katniss is safe, Fuhrman.’ Clove thinks, tightening her grip on Jax when they stumble slightly. Despite missing most of their arm, Jax is fast and allows Clove to keep a steady pace, something that she had to admit that she is grateful for.

 The duo occasionally step over the crushed body part of a mercenary, and with each pool of blood they must walk through, Clove’s hand hovers over a knife in case Jax changes their mind and attempts to kill her, to avenge their deceased comrades. Her vest and shirt may be soaked with their blood, but Clove doesn’t doubt that Jax could take her life even if it is the last thing they do.

 Clove looks up when she hears an ominous crack splitting the air, the crate above their heads begin to crumble, the debris caught atop it threatening to fall and crush their bodies. “Hey, Jax? We need to hurry, c’mon.” She mutters, adjusting her grip on their jacket. She takes a careful step forward, nerves scattered.

 She can only hope that outside is clear, that no one is waiting to kill her.

 Maybe for once she can have some luck and her plans will work out.

 Of course, that could never happen.

 The crate crumbles, the debris finally falling.

 Jax yells out as a piece of debris strikes Clove on the back of the head, driving her down to the ground. Her forehead hits the concrete hard and she can feel more pieces striking her body as she fights to stay conscious, her ears ringing and a galaxy swimming in front of her eyes. She blinks away the stars to find her companion, finding them lying motionless on the ground before she is struck in the head again and the world is plunged into darkness.

Chapter Text

Clove awakens with a choked gasp, blinking rapidly to regain her vision until it registers that she is trapped in the darkness. She presses a hand to her temple, a warm liquid quickly covering her palm, the area throbbing something fierce. With only slight hesitation, she pats her body down in search of any injuries, crying out when she moves her right arm.

 No limbs were torn off in the explosion it seems, all fully intact if bruised and bloodied. The tendon in her bicep must have snapped when she caught herself on the machine gun, adrenaline and general excitement dulling the pain for some time. Every movement brings tears to her eyes and a scream threatening to escape, but she could still throw a knife with it if she has to. The only thing that worries her is the fact that her legs are numb and she can’t quite move them.

 “That worked a bit too well.” She sighs, searching the ground for something to cover her mouth to protect her lungs from the particles circulating throughout her tomb. “Everyone’s dead, and I’m trapped.” Her fingers find a sizeable scrap of cloth on the ground and she picks it up, covering her mouth without it and fumbling to tie a knot at the back of her head.

 A second piece of cloth would be perfect for the wound at her temple, but sadly she can’t have everything. Though she can have a flashlight she had looted off the body of the first mercenary she had killed on the street, one that somehow still works.

 She switches it on and tracks the beam over her surroundings, heart sinking at the wood and metal surrounding her, with rubble piled up over any gaps that could possibly be escape points. She is trapped completely and Katniss is out there somewhere, alone and without Clove to protect her.

 Her flashlight catches on a handful of cracks in the rubble, cracks that seem to be growing wider as she stares at them. When she hears muffled grunts and groans, she pulls herself near the cracks and begins digging at them as best as she can with her bare hands, wedging the flashlight at an angle under the shoulder of her vest.

 It takes about twenty minutes before the section of the rubble simply crumbles away, revealing the bloodied and badly injured mercenary who had decided to dig her out for some godforsaken reason. The mercenary looks moments away from keeling over but is still strong enough to drag Clove out of her prison, backing up far enough that it can collapse without harming either of them.

 “Thank you.” Clove nods her head to her saviour, yanking her makeshift facemask down so none of her words can be missed. “Thank you.” She uses a pile of rubble to stand, the mercenary grabbing her by the vest when her legs threaten to give out.

 The mercenary stands still and silent as she regains feeling and motion in her legs, unaware of their own gruesome injuries. Injuries that Clove had caused with her final trap. Ash and blood is streaked across the unburned patches of their face and neck, most of the right side of their body burnt red raw from what she can see. What is left of their right arm is a mangled mess, with a large gash tearing their side open and still bleeding despite being mostly burnt shut. A gaping wound sits on their left thigh, shrapnel still lodged in the torn flesh. How they survived and are still standing is a question that Clove nearly fears the answer to.

 “What’s your name?” Clove asks, trying to ignore the way her legs tremble like that of a new-born foal.

 Jax, the mercenary writes on a clear piece of concrete, using the blood that had gathered on their remaining hand as the ink. It’s always interesting to look at words written in blood, adds a cinematic feel to it and all.

 “Let’s get of here then, Jax.” Clove mutters, looking around the ruins to see the full extent of the damage.

 She’s unsurprised that at least half of the warehouse has collapsed, most of what remains held up by several stacks of containers that were unaffected by the explosions. Fires burn amongst the wreckage, showing no sign of extinguishing despite the fact that the explosions must have happened some time ago given by how long Clove was trapped for. Already the remaining structure shows signs of collapsing at any moment; the place is a death trap for the two survivors.

 For some strange reason, Clove wants to get her newest companion to safety. Perhaps because they had decided to save her despite watching their comrades be slaughtered by the dark haired girl. Maybe her little speech had changed the minds of some of those mercenaries.

 Clove wraps her arm around Jax’s shoulders, gently coaxing the mercenary into resting more of their weight against her body. She starts walking forward, keeping a watchful eye on what’s left of the warehouse and where she’s walking.

 Even if it’s still dark, Clove’s way is easily lit by the various fires, her flashlight guiding the rest of the way. The light of the moon casts a gentle glow over the wreckage, making it seem almost peaceful. It makes it feel like some of the calmer nights of the Games, when Clove would leave their camp to watch the stars, so beautiful despite being artificial.

 ‘Look at the damn stars when Katniss is safe, Fuhrman.’ Clove thinks, tightening her grip on Jax when they stumble slightly. Despite missing most of their arm, Jax is fast and allows Clove to keep a steady pace, something that she had to admit that she is grateful for.

 The duo occasionally step over the crushed body part of a mercenary, and with each pool of blood they must walk through, Clove’s hand hovers over a knife in case Jax changes their mind and attempts to kill her, to avenge their deceased comrades. Her vest and shirt may be soaked with their blood, but Clove doesn’t doubt that Jax could take her life even if it is the last thing they do.

 Clove looks up when she hears an ominous crack splitting the air, the crate above their heads begin to crumble, the debris caught atop it threatening to fall and crush their bodies. “Hey, Jax? We need to hurry, c’mon.” She mutters, adjusting her grip on their jacket. She takes a careful step forward, nerves scattered.

 She can only hope that outside is clear, that no one is waiting to kill her.

 Maybe for once she can have some luck and her plans will work out.

 Of course, that could never happen.

 The crate crumbles, the debris finally falling.

 Jax yells out as a piece of debris strikes Clove on the back of the head, driving her down to the ground. Her forehead hits the concrete hard and she can feel more pieces striking her body as she fights to stay conscious, her ears ringing and a galaxy swimming in front of her eyes. She blinks away the stars to find her companion, finding them lying motionless on the ground before she is struck in the head again and the world is plunged into darkness.

Chapter Text

Katniss awakens to her mother knocking gently on her bedroom door, the woman’s voice nearly too quiet to be heard through the heavy door. “Darling, did you get what I asked you to?”

 “No, they were all out!” Katniss lies, thinking fast. If she goes back she can find out what happened, find out if Greasy Sae knows what saw or heard anything. “I’ll go now, there’s supposed to be a new shipment in today.” She stretches like a cat, looking around the room for her leather jacket.

 “Are you sure? Everyone’s saying that there was some kind of shooting? Something about a young man being killed and explosions? You’d be better off staying home.” Mrs Everdeen says, stepping back from the door as Katniss opens it with her jacket in hand.

 “Mom, it’s fine.  I’m pretty sure someone was setting off fireworks to celebrate something stupid.” Katniss replies readily, pulling her mother into a warm hug. “Nothing bad will happen.”

 “Well, if you insist.” Mrs Everdeen concedes, returning the hug with slight surprise. “But if you’re not back in one hour I will be going out after you.” She shoos Katniss down the stairs and out the door, her smile fading to a worried grimace. Her daughter has survived so much, too much for a young girl.

 A tall dark figure watches Katniss leave the house, enveloped in the darkness of the shadows. The figure is that of a man in jeans and a leather jacket, with a Glock 19 tucked into his waistband. He watches her walk, following silently at a distance. One hand never leaves the grip of his weapon.

 He waits until Katniss has nearly reached the edge of the town before he reveals himself, deftly unclipping the holster and drawing his weapon in one fluid movement.

 “Ms Everdeen,” Katniss freezes as the barrel of the gun is pressed to the small of her back, automatically raising her hands. “I am going to be frank with you. I am here to kill you and no amount of begging will change that. Now, if you wish to die painlessly, I suggest you remain silent and do exactly as I say. Keep walking.”

 “Why?” She asks quietly, internally cursing at herself for ignoring Clove’s warning. Whether she was a hallucination, ghost or real, Katniss shouldn’t have been a moron and should have listened.

 “Revenge, Ms Everdeen. You murdered my baby brother and sister that day in District 2. I had to listen to their screams as they were crushed by debris, and no one could save them. They were just children, forced to work in the Nut like so many of us.”

 “I never wanted to bomb that place. I was against it, but Coin didn’t care.” If she is going to die at the hands of this grieving man, then he deserves the truth. “I knew people were going to die, but no one listened.”

 “You were the Mockingjay, the face of the rebellion. If you wanted to you could have stopped them. You just didn’t care.” The man snarls, pressing his gun more firmly against her back. “Keep your apology, you don’t mean it.”

 “My sister died too. I know what it feels like. The never ending pain.”

 “Oh shut it, down that alley, now.” His finger tightens over the trigger, the thought of ending her right there running rampant through his broken mind.

 “Hey! Let her go!”

 Grey. Everything is grey.

 Weapons lie abandoned on the ground, bullet casings scattered around them. Vehicles sit forgotten, doors left open. Corpses are everywhere, clothes stained with blood and ash. Unseeing eyes stare at nothing, a thin layer of ash having settled over them.

 The warehouse has fully collapsed, the fires nearly completely extinguished. Only piles of rubble remain of the once looming building.

 A sun rises over the destruction, a new day beginning.

 Clove stirs, pieces of rubble falling from her body as she shifts from side to side. With ringing ears she forces herself up, wincing as newly cut and bruised skin is forced to stretch. She presses two fingers to her temple, and they come away dripping with blood.

 She retches violently, body trembling as she remains on her hands and knees. Her head is pounding, nausea swirling. Nothing comes up, and she falls into a coughing fit. Every gasped breath grates against her raw throat. Despite the pain, she pushes herself up, groaning as the rubble falls from her back, and surveys her surroundings.

 Jax is lying on their side, about eight feet away to Clove’s left. Blood is smeared across the nearby ground and debris, their chest still. A thin piece of metal juts out from below their ribs, and their clothes and flesh are more torn than before.  Their eyes are closed and their burns seemed to have worsened.

 When she checks, she finds no pulse.

 Clove leaves Jax’s body in the wreckage, slowly venturing out into the street. There are three new bodies in the street, and the bodies of Hunter and Bullet are nowhere to be seen.

 The first body belongs to a tall black man, and he is laid out on his back with a gunshot wound to his temple. His weapon lies beside his corpse, safety still on. Judging by his calculating expression, he had been taken out first, killed before he knew what was happening.

 A few small steps bring her to the body of a small white woman, lying on her side with a perfect hole between her eyebrows. Her face is frozen in an expression of shock. She must have watched the man die before she was killed.

 The last body seems to be the only mercenary who managed to open fire on the attacker, judging by the spent casings scattered around her body. The muscular black woman is on her back with her gun in hand, killed by gunshots to the chest and throat. Blood has pooled beneath her body.

 She turns away from the bodies, spotting a pair of relatively fresh tire marks on the ground near the abandoned vehicles. It looks like someone had sped off into the woods, boot prints imbedded in the dirt path showing they had been followed.

 Clove follows the tracks at a run, keeping one eye on her surroundings at all times. She sticks to the edge of the path, ready to live into the cover of the undergrowth at a moment’s notice.

 The tracks lead her to the site of what can only be a massacre. Bullet riddled bodies lie in the mud, surrounded by weapons and even more bullet casings. More tire marks show that the vehicle must have skidded to a stop in the middle of the clearing, where the occupants ambushed their pursuers before taking off again. Even more bodies are visible throughout the trees, but Clove ignores them.

 She breaks into a dead sprint at the sound of a scream, nearly flying over roots and downed trees. The knife thrower still has a job to do, one that she refuses to fail.

 Mrs Everdeen is lounging comfortably in an armchair in the living room, a novel in hand. She is enjoying the warmth of a roaring fire, whilst thoroughly engrossed in a story by a man named Steven King. It’s an incredibly gripping story, and Mrs Everdeen has been reading a few pages every day for the last few weeks.

 A steaming hot cup of tea is sitting on the table beside her chair, three precisely measured teaspoons of sugar and just a splash of milk stirred in counter clock wise. Just how she likes it. Three chocolate biscuits are neatly arranged on a plate near the cup, the warmth melting the chocolate just slightly.

 She turns the page excitedly, eyes roaming across the typed words as she reaches for a biscuit. Her hand knocks against the cup and it teeters for the faintest moment before falling, the hot liquid quickly spreading across the surface of the table and dripping down onto the soft carpet.

 Mrs Everdeen bolts upright, cursing quietly under her breath as she hurries to the kitchen to fetch a tea towel. She quickly mops up the tea with the navy towel, knowing from experience that it is much easier to get out straight away before it has a chance to stain too deeply.

 A heavy object crashes to the ground outside, causing Mrs Everdeen to flinch violently. She rises from the carpet, eyes glued to the window and hands shaking violently. “Who’s there?” She calls, straining her ears.

 Nothing. Only silence.

 She rushes back into the kitchen and grabs a kitchen knife from the block and a flashlight from the drawer, taking a brief moment to take a deep breath before she steels herself.

 With false confidence she marches to the door and rips it open, only to fall back with a scream at the sound of a gunshot.

 Clove loses her balance and slams into a tree, tumbling to the ground in a sprawl of limbs. She lies still for a moment, forcing the bile stuck in her throat back down.

 A gunshot tears through the air, spurring Clove to jump up into a crouch. Knife in hand she searches her surroundings for a threat, only to find none.

 Pushing past the exhaustion weighing her down, she gets to her feet, once again breaking into a sprint. She wills herself to go faster, faster than Cato had ran when he heard her screams. She can’t be late like he was, she just can’t.

Chapter Text

Katniss stares at the crumpled body of the elderly man, her body frozen in shock. Her eyes are focused on the handle of a knife protruding from his back, not a hint of blood in sight. She glances up at the District Two gunman, taking in his closed eyes and annoyed frown.

 “Tell me, Astro. Was that really necessary?” He questions, shifting his gaze to the shadows of the alley. “Please, do tell me if it was do explain your reasoning.”

 A tall, broad-shouldered woman melts away from the shadows, spinning a knife in her left hand. “Yeah, it was.” She smirks, arrogance laced through her thick accent. “You got a problem with that, Triton?”

 Triton- or so he’s called- shakes his head in announces, waving the hired killer away and back into the shadows. “Just keep watch while I deal with this one. Who knows if another would be saviour is coming.”

 “Forgive my sister.” A low voice drifts out from the shadows, with a similar accent to Astro. “She is an idiot.”

 “It’s fine, Dax.” Triton sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 Katniss finds her voice, and clears her throat to catch the gunman’s attention. “You- there was no need. To kill him. You could have spared him. He didn’t deserve to die.”

 “Sorry,” Triton shrugs, not an ounce of remorse audible in his tone. “Now, how about we finish this. For good, this time. There’s no one to save you. You’re all alone. No Fuhrman or Fenton to the rescue.” He aims the weapon at Katniss’s face, finger hovering over the trigger.

 A shadow shifts at the entrance to the alley, the light from the moon glinting off a flash of metal.

 Katniss chuckles, eyes shining with mirth. “I’ve fought mutts, I’ve won the Games, won a war. Do you really think one idiot with a gun and a godawful name could kill me?”

 “Weren’t you named after a plant?” Triton points out, furrowing his eyebrows at her. “And today is the day you die. There is no way out.”

 “Think again, Triton.”                                     

 A knife comes flying out from the shadows, barely missing Katniss’s ear and lodges into the frame of the window. Clove runs out of the shadows, throwing a knife into Triton’s shoulder. He drops his gun, and the Career drops into a slide as his accomplices burst out of the darkness, fists raised.

 They descend on Clove in a flurry of blows, working in tandem to deliver painful punches that even Clove struggles to block.

 Katniss wrenches the knife free of the frame and throws herself on Triton, tackling him to the ground. She rolls away from him, slashing at his stomach as she does so, skilfully evading any counter attacks. She smirks, jumping to her foot and waving the knife at him.

 He lunges forward, throwing a punch at her head. She dodges the hit, bringing her knife up and cutting deeply into his wrist, dancing out of his reach. They continue to trade blows, Triton desperate to land a hit as Katniss slashes and jabs at his delicate flesh. Both are tiring quickly, but he can feel himself lagging from the blood loss.

 In a desperate bid, he throws his entire body forward at the archer, taking her completely by surprise. He body slams her into the ground and quickly climbs atop her, pummelling her chest and face with unrelenting punches. She twists between him but he refuses to be dislodged, intent on taking revenge for those he has lost.

 Clove is not fairing much better with her own opponents, they are throwing punches faster than she can block and she is weak from previous injuries. She finds an opening when Astro makes the mistake of burying a knife in her thigh, and she grabs the hired killer by the wrist before she can rip the knife free again, yanking her forward only to stop her with an elbow to the face.

 Astro falls back and hits the ground hard, the breath knocked out of her.

 Without pause, Clove rips the knife out of her thigh and surges upwards; stabbing the knife deep is the sternum of Dax. She wrenches the knife from side to side, making sure to twist it right before she pulls it out. She drops the bloodied weapon as the man’s body crumples, blood gushing from the ravaged wounds at a nauseating speed.

 “No!” Astro screams at the sight of her brother falling, drawing her gun from its holster. She fires off three shots, one of the bullets managing to catch Clove in the side and sending her stumbling back into the wall.

 The sight fuels Katniss with renewed strength. Her knee flies upward to land a nasty blow to Triton’s crotch, her fist smashing into his jaw. She reaches for the fallen knife while he’s disoriented, her fingers managing to clasp the handle before he regains his composure.

 His hand fists in her collar and forces her head down to the ground, his other hand raising up into a punch.

 Katniss bares her teeth at him and brings her knife up, slashing his throat open before he can land another punch. She shoves his twitching body off and climbs to her feet, seeing Astro fighting Clove, who has a worrying sway to her stance.

 Triton’s gun lies only a foot away and Katniss dives for it as Astro raises her knife, shooting the large woman five times in the back and surely saving Clove’s life.

 Clove staggers to lean against the wall, pressing a hand to the wound on her side. Of course she had to get shot, karma for doing the same for Hunter. She doesn’t even notice Katniss getting up and coming closer until warm arms wind around her and she is guided to the ground with the upper half of her torso and head in Katniss’s lap.

 “You’re okay, Clove.” Katniss soothes, hearing concerned voices drawing nearer. “Just focus on my voice and stay awake, okay? Stay awake for me, please.”

 “No promises, Fire Girl.” Clove chuckles, cut short by a pained wheeze. She’s fighting a losing battle to stay conscious, but she has to listen to Katniss. She has to say her piece. “I’m sorry for I saw at the Cornucopia. It was cr-cruel. I know you tried to save Rue.”

 Katniss carefully brushes the hair away from Clove’s forehead, feeling her heart shatter at the mention of her District Eleven friend, Gods she misses the little girl every day. “You can apologise later, just keep fighting.”

 Footsteps draw nearer, the voices growing louder.

 “Just stay with me, please.”

 “Always.”

Chapter Text

Two months later

 Katniss stands in front of the polished headstone, hands buried in the pockets of her jacket. A bundle of freshly flowers are nestled in the crook of her arm, picked just this morning after Katniss had visited the hospital to spend time with all the patients. She visits every day, and normally spends hours talking to them while Mrs Everdeen works. Her eyes have reddened from recent tears, a few stubborn ones clinging to her jaw.

 “I’m going to the Capitol today, for a few days. Maybe more. Depends on how it goes, I guess.” She shakes her head with a laugh, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Her eyes wander to the newest headstones, the still fresh soil covering simple coffins. “They finally tracked down everyone who put out a hit on me. Everything’s finally settled. Now all I can think of is the people dead because of me. Good and bad people. Like you; all dead because of my actions.”

 She drops her head as someone walks slowly towards her, snow crunching under heavy boots. The archer fumbles with a ribbon tied around the stems of the flowers, waiting for the newcomer to speak.

 “We all made our own decisions, Everdeen.” A rough voice says, an undoubtedly painful rasp following the words. “And not everyone died. The stubborn survived and all that, including me.”

 Katniss huffs a laugh, lifting her head with a wide smile. “My mother is the only reason you survived, Hunter.”

 Hunter’s survival was a welcome relief to Katniss, and she heard at the hospital that the teenager had nearly given her a heart attack, turning up on her doorstep with a dead body and nearly bleeding out before help arrived. A piece of shrapnel lodged in Hunter’s chest had stopped the bullet after Clove shot her, all part of a risky plan to lure the mercenaries into a trap. She had killed the assassin sent after Mrs Everdeen, the Christopher boy who was supposed to gain her trust.

 “Well, you ain’t wrong.” Hunter cracks a smile, running a hand through her hair. “At least the plan worked and we managed to keep you and your mother safe.”

 “Thank you for that.” Katniss avoids Hunter’s eyes as she takes the bundle of flowers from her arm and gently lays it on the grave. She brushes some of the snow of the marble before she steps back, nodding her head.

 “Who is it?”

 “Someone who died helping me get out of the warehouse. They dug me out after I blew the whole place.” A new voice answers, the pair turning to see a tired looking Clove standing behind them. “Jax never made it out, died just before we could. Still don’t know why they decided to help me. Bullet wouldn’t explain why either.”

 “I think Bullet’s still pissed with you, knives. You’re the reason they only have one eye.” Hunter notes, gesturing to her own eye. “And you did nearly torture them to death. For information you already knew.”

 The pair start arguing as Katniss shakes her head, hearing them trot after her as she leaves the graveyard. Bullet’s survival was a big shock, one that Clove honestly didn’t expect. Maze, her temporary hostage, had managed to get them to a hospital in the nick of time. Not soon enough to save their eye, unfortunately.

 “You still haven’t told her about how many of us actually survived the Games!”

 Katniss stops in her tracks and she slowly turns to glare at the suddenly silent pair, eyebrow arched with disapproval. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that so you can explain yourself. And Clove, unless you want to sleep on the couch for at least a month, it better be you. Now, lets go, we have a train to catch.”

 It was time to say a proper goodbye to Prim, and Katniss decided that the memorial in front of the President’s mansion would be the perfect place to do so. She could interrogate her knife thrower and Hunter on the train too, she still had plenty of questions especially about the Games.