The 74th Annual Hunger Games: The ninth since Finnick Odair had fought to become victor; the ninth year he'd have to help mentor two children, knowing that only one, if not neither of them, could return.

He watched them at the Reaping. He guiltily discounted the girl only seconds after her name was called. She quivered as the peacekeepers lead her to the platform, sobbing quietly to herself as soon as she stood facing the people of District 4 and the cameras that would project her breakdown to all of Panem. That added to the fact that she looked smaller and scrawnier than the average sixteen year old wouldn't serve well for sponsors. The boy, however, caught his eye.

At no more than twelve years old, Louis McRae was two years younger than he'd been when he was reaped for the games. With a mass of curly hair, bright blue eyes filled with determination and the way he approached the platform without so much as a shudder, he might have a chance. He watched as the two Tributes shook hands and were shepherded away by the Peacekeepers, turning and heading for the train station, strategies already formulating.

"So how do we survive this?" Louis asked, leaning forward towards Finnick, elbows propped atop his knees.

"Water is the key," Finnick told him. "If you can find that, your chances are increasing by the second. Get people to like you and they'll be lining up to sponsor you. The second you step off this train at the Capitol, they'll judge you on every move you make. From now on, every waking moment is judgement day. Have you got that?"

"Yeah, I've got it," The boy nodded.

"Good," He gave the Tribute a half smile and glanced over at the girl. No, not the girl, Machara. Her name was Machara Llewellyn. She'd all but given up, curled in on herself in an armchair in the corner of the carriage, staring blankly at the swirls on the carpet.

"What about getting weapons from the Cornucopia?" Louis continued. "What's the best way to do that? Do we just go straight for it?"

"No, absolutely not," Finnick shook his head. "You're smaller than twenty two out of the twenty three other Tributes, and for all we know, that little girl from District 11 could be the most deadly of all of you. If you go for the Cornucopia, you won't survive long enough for me to try and get you sponsors."

"I could get past them when they're fighting the stronger Tributes. I could get in and get out before they've even noticed," Louis argued.

"Don't go for the cornucopia," Finnick repeated, turning to look at Machara as well. "Either of you. Just get away from there as fast as you can, okay?" Machara nodded sullenly and he gave her a sharp nod, switching back to stare at the twelve year old in front of him. "Okay?"

"Fine," The boy muttered, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning back.

"Excellent." Finnick gave the two one last look before getting to his feet and leaving the carriage, praying internally that he wouldn't have to lose either tribute to the bloodbath.

"You've got three days of training before your private session in front of the game makers," Finnick told the two as he paced in front of them. "What are you good at? What can you do?"

"I'm good with a trident," Louis piped up. "I'm not bad with a knife; I used to help with gutting the fish. It wasn't nice, but someone had to do it."

"Good, that's good," Finnick nodded, "Don't show too much in training; keep that a surprise for the arena. What about you?" Machara thought for a moment.

"I can use a bow," She shrugged, possibly the first words Finnick had heard her say. "I'm not great, but it's better than nothing."

"Great," Finnick clapped his hands together. "The both of you need to spend time on camouflage, knot tying, finding out which berries are edible, focus on the basics. Show your weapons skills in front of the Game Makers and nowhere else; build up to judgement day." Finnick didn't add that the basics would be unnecessary if they were killed before they had use for them. Maybe if he stayed positive, he might have a chance at returning to District 4 with a winner this year.

"But you said that every moment was judgement day," Louis pointed out.

"Well, I lied," Finnick smiled grimly.

"From District 1, Glimmer, with a score of ten and Marvel, with a score of nine," Caesar Flickerman read out as the haughty faces of the District 1 Tributes flashed on the screen.

"Keep out of their way," Finnick muttered to his own two Tributes; neither voiced a response.

"From District 2, Clove, with a score of ten and Cato, also with a score of ten."

"Shall we keep out of their way too?" Louis joked, glancing sideways to catch Finnick's eye. Finnick chewed on his bottom lip.

District 3 were both scored five, the average score for most of the Tributes. Finnick sat up a little straighter as the faces of District 4's Tributes appeared on the screen.

"From District 4, Machara, with a score of four, and Louis, with a score of six." Finnick let out the breath he'd been holding and turned to face them.

"That's fine, we can go with that," He nodded. Machara stood up, ducked her head and all but ran from the room.

"They're going to kill us," Louis mumbled. "District 1 or District 2, I bet. Neither of us have a chance."

"You don't if you go into the arena thinking like that," Finnick insisted. "You've got a six; that's not so as low to make you an easy target, not so high as to make you a threat. You can last it out, they might even forget about you."

"Do you really think I can do this?" The boy frowned.

"I think you've got a shot of getting back on that train with me and going back to District 4," Finnick nodded.

"And finally from District 12, Peeta, with a score of eight, and Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire, with a score of eleven." Caesar finished, his startlingly bright white teeth glinting on the television screen,

"They'll be the targets," Finnick continued. "You can stay out of the way. You can do this."

Finnick waited backstage with Louis as they both watched Machara's interview with Caesar. He was trying his best to get her to open up to him, helping her out in any way that he can. She still came across as uninteresting and uninviting. The buzzer sounded at the end of her three minutes, and Finnick patted Louis on the back, pushing him in the direction of the stage.

"Good luck," He called after him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage, the male tribute of District 4, Louis McRae!" Caesar's voice boomed out across the studio, instantly met with ominous applause from the audience. The noise, the lights, the crowd, the stage; all seemed to make the twelve year old seem even smaller than he already was, almost lost within the raucous. Caesar waited for the audience to settle before turning in his chair to face the boy.

"So Louis, how are you finding the Capitol?" He beamed.

"It's… different to back home," Louis answered after a moment's hesitation.

"In what way is it different?" Caesar prompted.

"It's so much bigger… the people are so different… and there are less fish," The boy finished with a small smile. Finnick clapped his hands together and grinned as the audience laughed. The boy knew how to play up to the sponsors. He was a natural.

"You heard it here first, ladies and gentlemen, we have less fish than District 4," Caesar laughed. "So, how do you feel about being reaped for the games at just twelve years old? It must seem almost unreal."

"I never thought it would be me," Louis answered slowly. "My name was only in there once… but I want to make my District proud. I want to get back to them."

"I'm sure you do," Caesar nodded solemnly. "Do you think you've got a chance at winning this?"

"I'm going to try my hardest. I just hope the odds are in my favour," The boy replied.

"Well, the best of luck to you. Ladies and Gentlemen, District 4 Tribute Louis McRae!" Louis bowed once for the audience before slipping offstage, quickly replaced by the female Tribute from District 5.

"Good job, kid," Finnick grinned. "The Capitol loves you."

"Are you sure? I was just trying not to offend anyone."

"No, I'm sure, that was perfect," Finnick assured him.

"Looks like I survived judgement day," Louis smirked. Finnick laughed.

"Just about," He agreed.

"So this is it then," Louis muttered, glancing from his mentor to the hovercraft waiting just a few metres away.

"Yeah, it is," Finnick replied. "Listen, remember what I told you. Keep out of the way. Stay hidden. Don't go for anything in the Cornucopia. You try your hardest to survive, and I'll make sure you get back home, okay kid?"

"I don't want to die, Finnick," The boy whispered.

"Then you fight to survive, okay? You can do this." Finnick ruffled Louis' hair and turned him towards the hovercraft. "Good luck."

Finnick watched the screen with anticipation, his heart nearly stopping every time the camera showed one of his Tributes. He begged them mentally to remember his advice, to turn around and run into the trees behind them. Three. Two. One. The gong sounds. And suddenly, everyone's moving.

The District 1 and District 2 Tributes sprinted towards the Cornucopia, hacking at the weaker Tributes as they passed. The boy from 12 and the little girl from 11 didn't stick around to find out the outcome; they'd turned and ran in the opposite direction. He squinted at the screen and caught sight of his two, of Machara and Louis, both of whom have, at the last second, decided to risk it all and try to grab a weapon. Finnick ground his teeth together and muttered encouragement that they couldn't hear. Louis managed to get inside the Cornucopia itself while the boy from 2 was distracted, killing someone else. Finnick watched as the boy got a hold of a knife and turned to run. Louis was fast. The boy from 2 was faster. The cameras showed a perfect shot of the District 2 boy as he slit the twelve year old's throat. Time seemed to slow down.

Finnick stared, unblinking, for as long as he could at the body of the boy he'd met a week ago. The boy who scored a six in training; twelve years old; somebody's son; Louis McRae.

I'm good with a trident.

Shall we keep out of their way too?

They're going to kill us.

I just hope the odds are in my favour.

I don't want to die, Finnick.

Less than an hour later, both of his tributes were dead. When the cannons finally began to sound, Finnick punched the wall.

Two more children dead.

Judgement day.