A/N: I promise I never gave up on this story, life just kind of got in the way of my writing. Anyway, I saw Mockingjay yesterday and I was inspired to start back up on this again! Hopefully that inspiration will carry me through the rest of the story. Please enjoy! And your reviews are always appreciated :]

Brutus

His entire life had been leading up to this moment.

Brutus walked slowly across the icy plain, wind howling in his ear, snow falling heavily around him. All of the tributes had been given heavy jackets for the arena, but it was in the center of the Cornucopia that Brutus and his allies had found floor-length coats covered in synthetic, Capitol-engineered fur. They had made the icy taiga winds feel like nothing more than a cool breeze, which was almost necessary for survival in the arena: a flat, icy plain with a few scattered clumps of trees and a steep mountain in the distance.

There was a decent amount of wood to make fire, but not much cover. Many froze to death, not wanting to risk the fate that had befallen the tributes who left smoke trails that had been tracked by Brutus and his allies. For those who hadn't been killed by the freezing nights or the quick work of Brutus' spear, there were packs of wolves and even moose that were far too vicious to be anything less than Capitol muttations. It had only been seven days in the arena, but they were already down to the last two tributes: Brutus and the girl from District 1.

Brutus hated that the Games had gone by so quickly. Ever since he could remember, his whole world had revolved around the Hunger Games; the blood, the fight, the victory, and the glory had dominated the television screens of his childhood. He had been training for the games since he could walk, toting around swords, spears, and other deadly weapons until they became smooth extensions of his arm. Brutus didn't know what other districts taught their children in school, but his education had consisted of little more than combat training, the history of Panem, and, most importantly, the significance of the Hunger Games.

He knew that he was destined to be a Victor since his first day at the academy. He had planned to wait until he was 18 to volunteer, which was common practice among those from 2, but he just couldn't wait another year to go into the arena. So there he was, 17 and strong, with the highest odds of all the tributes to win the games due to his size and training score of 11. Not only were sponsors betting on him, but District 2 was counting on him to bring home the glory of the games after a five-year victory drought.

The wind burned, but Brutus didn't dare cover his face and risk obscuring his vision. He was on the hunt for his final kill, but the Gamemakers were making it surprisingly difficult: the snow swirled thickly around him, throwing off his sense of direction and causing him to walk slowly, blindly, through the arena. Brutus supposed it was the Gamemakers' weak attempt to prolong the games after they had dropped the temperature so greatly the night before, freezing two of the four remaining tributes to death.

Brutus growled. How did the Capitol expect him to give them a show if he couldn't even find the girl from 1? He already felt as though these games had deprived him of his deserved glory; only seven tributes had been killed in the Cornucopia bloodbath, most of them only skirting around the edges of the Cornucopia before fleeing in attempts to find some sort of cover in the icy wasteland. His allies from District 4 had been of little use in the freezing arena, both having come from the southernmost part of the district and being more adapted to the warm climate of the Panem shores. Brutus, his district partner, and the two from District 1 had made the decision to take them out early, spearing them as they slept while there were still thirteen other tributes in the arena.

This wasn't how Brutus had imagined his Hunger Games. He always thought that he would go down in Panem history as the Victor that had taken out the most tributes in his games. Instead, he was overshadowed by clueless Gamemakers that continued to take out tributes, Brutus' rightful kills, with freezing temperatures, avalanches, and vicious mutattions. The most historic thing Brutus had done was turn on his own district partner.

He hadn't meant to, really. District 1 and District 2 had split up near the end of the games, and he and Eris were camped in a small clump of spruce trees, with a large pile of supplies packed inside an insulated tent that stood up well to the furious winds. Usually one of them sat outside on watch, but Brutus had pulled Eris inside to figure out how they were going to hunt down the remaining tributes. Brutus almost hoped they would be attacked right then and there, either by the pair from District 1 or another group of allied tributes. Brutus had speared so many wolves and moose that he was sure the audience had gotten bored with him; he welcomed the idea of taking a life that would get him a little more screen time.

They had just decided to storm the mountain, expecting there to be at least a few tributes hiding near the base, when the ground beneath them began to shake violently. Brutus and Eris had stumbled out of the tent just in time to see the mountain in the distance, rumbling as snow fell at great speeds from the top to the base. The shaking seemed to stop as quickly as it had started and, in the silence that followed, Brutus heard the unmistakable blast of the cannon five times.

Five tributes gone in an instant. Five of his kills, taken by the Gamemakers' avalanche.

Brutus could hear his heart slamming in his chest and his fist clenched tightly enough to wear holes in the palms of his gloves. He turned sharply toward Eris, expecting her to be just as livid as he was, but she was smiling. She looked absolutely ecstatic that their plan to assault the mountain was now completely irrelevant; she even let out a bark of laughter.

"You're happy?" Brutus had growled, eyes narrowing threateningly at his district partner.

Eris turned to him, oblivious to the rage in his eyes. "Of course I'm happy! That avalanche just knocked out five people in one go. Now there's only seven of us left and much less work for us to do!"

Something had snapped inside of him then, as soon as he heard that Eris was happy to do less work, to make fewer kills. She was so caught up in her own excitement that she didn't see his hands reach for her until they were closed tightly around her throat.

Brutus had seen the shock and panic in her eyes as she clawed at him, trying to break free. She was strong, but Brutus was stronger and he brought her down and smashed her head against the icy ground. He held on, even after he knew she was dead, even after the cannon sounded in the distance. It wasn't until he heard the sound of the hovercraft approaching that he flung her body like a ragdoll into the clearing and retreated back into his tent.

That was two days ago.

As he searched for his final kill, the girl from District 1, he thought about what it would be like to go back to District 2 after he had knowingly killed Eris. Wouldn't they understand? Wouldn't they know that she would have died eventually? She would have been ripped to shreds by wolves or caught off-guard by another tribute or buried under a thick pile of snow until she suffocated or froze to death. If it hadn't been him, it would have been something else.

Would her family want him to apologize? Because he wouldn't apologize for something he wasn't sorry for. One person had to come out of the arena, and that person was him. It was what he was meant to do. If Eris wasn't willing to get her hands dirty for the honor of her family, for the glory of District 2, she deserved to die. He would win for District 2.

Victory was the only thing that mattered.

In an instant, the snow disappeared and the winds stilled. For the first time since the start of the Games, the arena was completely silent. Brutus turned around slowly, knowing exactly why the Gamemakers had stopped everything, and there she was: the girl from District 1, only about a hundred yards away from of him. She was still beautiful, even with her lips cracked and her cheeks rubbed raw by the freezing winds, and she still had an air of confidence about her that made Brutus grip his spear a little tighter.

They stood there for a moment, sizing up one another across snow. "It's been a while," the girl, Ruby, said, twisting her lips into a smirk. "Have you been having a good time without me? I've been having a blast, but this arena is a little warm for my liking."

Brutus scowled. Of course she was playing it up for the cameras; she was from 1 after all, and she probably thought that this would be her shining moment. Ruby was obviously delusional if she thought that she would be the one to leave this arena, that she would be able to distract him long enough to gain the upper hand. The viewers might have been fooled by her confident smirk and sarcastic tone, but Brutus had been trained to spot his enemies' weaknesses: her breath was ragged and there was a look of desperation in her eyes that she was fighting to conceal. She held herself differently than she had at the start of the Games, almost gingerly, and Brutus had the feeling that she was hiding a relatively serious injury somewhere under her large coat.

He almost wanted the winds to pick back up and the snow to blind them once again. He wanted Ruby to run from him and tend to her wounds before their final showdown, so he could prove his skills in a fair fight. What was the point of putting down someone who was already weak? Where was the glory in an easy kill? Brutus wanted a final battle that would be remembered for generations to come.

But the icy plain remained still and silent and it was clear that both the Gamemakers and Ruby wanted the Games to end sooner rather than later. If Brutus wanted to put on a show for the citizens of Panem, it would be up to him to make this fight last. Ruby's face hardened as she finally realized that Brutus wasn't going to play along with her banter, and she reached to unsheathe the sword at her waist. Brutus steadied himself and bent his knees slightly, readying himself for attack.

There was a moment of complete stillness before Ruby charged. She was fast, but he was ready for her, flipping the spear in his hand so as to throw it before she got close enough to use her sword. He lunged towards her, aiming to spear her in the stomach for a slow, painful death.

But something unexpected happened.

As Ruby ran across the snow covered plain, she hit a patch of ice and slipped. Her feet flew out from underneath her and she fell straight back, her head hitting the icy ground with a loud crack. Brutus, who realized what was happening far too late, tried to stop, but his momentum caused him to skid and trip over Ruby's feet. He landed on top of her and felt the unmistakable sensation of his spear sliding smoothly into flesh.

He pulled himself up quickly and realized that, as he fell, he had brought his spear down into her throat.

She laid on the snow in a daze, eyes wide and mouth open in shock. Brutus stood over her, not sure if it would be better to pull out his spear and end her life quickly or just leave it be. She made the decision for him quickly, frantically reaching for the spear and pulling it out. It left a jagged hole in her throat and she choked and sputtered for a moment before finally becoming very still. Her blood and her hair, both strikingly red against the white ground, fanned out around her.

The cannon sounded and Brutus could do nothing but stand and stare at his final kill. His victory felt hollow. He felt cheated. He had known that he would win the Games from the moment he volunteered, but he hadn't wanted to win this way. The Gamemakers had made it too easy. The other tributes hadn't fought hard enough. He had only been in the arena for seven days, and his final kill was an accident. Everything was wrong.

There's no way that his Games would be looked upon as something special. He had lost his chance to become the most vicious, powerful Victor in Panem's history. How long would it take his fans in the Capitol to forget about him? Would he even be remembered in District 2 in the years to come? He had ended their victory drought, of course, but surely that wouldn't earn him the glory and reverence that he truly deserved.

He wanted another shot. He wanted a do-over. He wanted a new arena and a whole new batch of tributes to destroy, one by one. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he would be the people's Victor for only a year before being tossed aside for a new set of tributes. He would be expected to step back from the spotlight and stay quiet, with all the other Victors who came before him. He wanted more than that.

He wanted a second chance.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victor of the Forty-eighth Hunger Games…"