A little hope is effective.

This is it.

I run with a purpose, run so fast I feel my shoes hit the floor at a thunderous speed. The lift isn't fast enough to bring me to our floor, the normally quick ride feels as if its dragging on my very soul; as if it knows that I am so very desperate to see the screen. I won't go back to the Hub, I won't watch on the main screen; they are gathered in the apartment and I too will sit and watch in the comfort of our own quarters, where we are at least slightly less destined to be spied upon. The doors upon with the silky smoothness that all corners of the Capital seem to possess.

'What's going on?' I ask, swinging off my black cape with little regard for where it falls, the heels on my feet seem to be aware of my urgency and the normal concentration I need for stumbling around in them is lost, to the dire need inside me to come face to face with the screen, and what is happening in the matrix that is the arena.

'They aren't that far away...' Johanna's voice sounds uncharacteristically soft. 'They are pushing them together...' She sighs.

As I look to the screen I see exactly what she means, the terrain is a fearsome collection of tortuous Game-maker creations that scatter the arena; that is being thoroughly, and horrifyingly battered by a thunderstorm of pounding rain, ear slitting cracks of thunder that are whipping through the sky, and a fearsome wind which is making the already deadly wheat fields slippery and unidentifiable to map. The whole screen is filled with a mix of both Cato and Thresh pushing their ways through the expanse of land, trying to search out one and other...the play is very easy to see, as a fork of lightening somehow manages to strike a patch of the wheat; starting a tongue of fire, that begins to caress the wheat and cleverly bring the two into closer proximity. The fire's path is all but natural; its lavishing tongue is weaving a dark magic over the weak; pushing the two closer and closer together so that a fight is undoubtedly going to take place; even with the heavy sheets of rain the fire is growing; becoming more and more fearsome and unholy.

I sit down, my legs just seeming to give way. I feel Axel sit beside me; but I dare not look in case I miss something on the screen. I doubt anyone would understand but I can't help but realise that for the Capital this will be nothing more than show; all smoke and mirrors. For them this will be the highest level of entertainment and they will be on the edge of their seats just like us; except where we are cringing and watching in personal pain; they are watching for amusement and entertainment.

The fires torture is weaving both Cato and Thresh closer and closer; they are mere metres from each other but even through the screen I know that neither know just how close the other is. The towering wheat is an ever-changing maze; all in a constant state of change and development. The smoke coming from the fire smothers the air; making both Cato and Thresh cough loudly; but the noise is merely lost in the whip of the wind; that howls in the air. A moment passes but its long enough for all hell to be broken lose. They stand frozen, framed in wheat strands; drenched by the rain and blinded by the wind. It's a standoff, neither moves; their weapons are tightly gripped in a white-knuckle grasp at their sides; they both have never looked more towering and fearsome but nor have they ever looked like what they are...children- children battling to survive. Cato takes a step forward, just a single step; that Thresh mirrors- it's a slow dance for a few moments- each peppering steps so that they are rounding upon each other in a tightened circle; the air clogged with the thick cloud of smoke, emitting itself from the flames; that have stopped short of the two; but have almost caged them in like animals. With bated breath, I know that the game makers will be gleeful at what they have produced, the two fighters, the two dominant males enclosed and ensured on battle.

'You killed her.' Cato's face is carried in the wind, but Thresh must hear; he lifts his head up more defiantly and glares through the lashings of rain; a definite smirk plays on his lips.