YES HELLO I'M STILL ALIVE! And I'm happy to say, despite my laptop having issues and breaking for a third time, nothing was lost. Now that I finally have been reunited with it, it's time for the last installment of the trilogy and time to say goodbye to our very first victor. This is either going to give you major feels or you're gonna think it's super corny.

To everyone who read and reviewed this far: thank you so much. This story wouldn't have made it this far if not for your support. I hope to continue to hear from you even if it's over! Feel free to shoot me a PM or check out one of my future stories. If not, have a nice life! It was fun.

~Channa~

Channa might have been the only victor to cry with relief when the Quarter Quell was announced.

All year, she had been plagued by nightmares. Every night she watched her twelve-year old son being reaped for the 75th Hunger Games. The Capitol loved to see victor's children enter the Games, but they often didn't make it out alive since they were reaped at a younger age.

Cashmere and Gloss were to be the tributes for the 75th Hunger Games. Channa was too relieved to feel sorry for them. She knew they were excited to get back in the arena, even if one of them would die. Meanwhile, she would follow them to the Capitol to hunt down sponsors during the Games.

Channa enjoyed working with Gloss over the years. He was respectful yet ruthless, and not to mention pretty easy on the eyes. Cashmere, on the other hand…she had always showed Channa kindness, but she could sense the shallowness of it all. The young victor had a haughty air about her and always jumped at the opportunity to speak unkindly behind other women's backs. Channa had no doubt she was one of these women.

Still, she supposed she should be somewhat grateful to Cashmere. Thanks to her, she was able to quietly cross into middle age without any hassle from the Capitol. They were too busy fussing over Cashmere to give her a second thought. Having done everything President Snow had asked until now, Channa was finally able to marry the man she had loved for so long: Rhutter.

He had never been the handsomest man in District 1, but he was genuine. He had shown Channa more kindness than others, who only tried to get to know her for her victor status. Rhutter never cared about fame. He only cared about her.

When she decided she wanted to have a child, Rhutter was full of misgivings. He pointed out that she was older now; pregnancy could pose health problems. And even if the baby were healthy, he would grow up in a dangerous world. He might have to face the Hunger Games one day.

Channa went through with it anyways, stubborn as always, and Rhutter supported her. The baby was delivered successfully and turned out to be a (mostly) healthy baby boy. They named him Hip…it was the only name they could agree on.

Hip had his mother's thick, chocolate-brown hair and his father's dark brown eyes. He grew up surrounded by wealth, but the dark cloud of his first Reaping hung over his parents' heads for his entire life. His health had never been the best. With weak lungs, he suffered from a number of asthma attacks and often struggled for breath during the colder months. He wouldn't last a day in the Games.

Thankfully, Hip was being granted another year to live. Channa couldn't have been happier. While everyone was rather somber at the 75th Reaping, sad to possibly be losing two of their most treasured victors, she was bursting with exuberance. She bid her family goodbye with a huge smile on her face.

"I'll be back before you know it," She said, giving both her husband and son a farewell hug.

"I hope Cashmere and Gloss die early so you can come home," Hip grumbled, a grumpy pout on his face.

"Don't say that!" Channa chided, glancing around to see if anyone had heard. "At least not out loud. We want one of our victors to come home."

Hip's only response was a skeptical sideways glance.

"We just want you to come home," Rhutter said, moving in to give Channa a kiss. "Stay safe, all right? I love you."

"I'll be fine!" Channa said, smiling. "And I love you too."

With one last farewell, she left to board the train alongside the other victors. Everyone was cheering Cashmere and Gloss's name. No one had eyes for Channa. She had gotten used to it over the years. After all, she was older now, and had gained some weight from her pregnancy. Even so, life was better than ever. Fame had been fun, but there was nothing like raising a family.

Right at the beginning of the Games, Gloss took an arrow to the calf from Katniss. Channa, who was enjoying herself as she socialized with other victors, had to get down to work right away and secure him a sponsor.

Luckily, it was an easy task. Countless Capitolites were jumping for a chance to sponsor one of their favorite victors. Since the Cornucopia only provided weapons, everyone wanted to make sure the tributes were hydrated, well fed, and ready to fight.

As soon as the Bloodbath was over, a parachute containing medical supplies was sent to the Careers. They speedily wrapped up Gloss's leg and went running off to hunt tributes. Gloss wound up chasing after Buck, a tribute she recognized due to the fact that he had won two years after her. Buck managed to outsmart Gloss and escape; Cashmere couldn't keep up with her prey as well. But neither seemed to mind so much. They were brimming with energy.

Their enthusiasm lit a spark within Channa. There were many fond moments she remembered from the 42nd Hunger Games. Exploring the arena's amusement park. Hunting down tributes with her allies by her side, adrenaline rushing through her system.

But then she brought a hand up to touch her eye, and the bad memories came rushing back as well. She pictured herself standing on that ravaged hill, blood pouring from her eye socket, and that dark tornado boring down on her…

A shudder passed up her spine. Even if she were young, she would not have returned to the arena. Let Cashmere and Gloss enjoy their second grab for glory.

Unfortunately, it was not meant to be.

Seated with the other District 1 victors, Channa watched the Careers close in on Katniss's alliance. Her hands tightly clutched the skirt she wore, wrinkling the fabric. No! Those reckless idiots! Now was a terrible time for a surprise attack. Everyone in the other alliance was together and armed. Night would have been the opportunistic time for a fight.

However, it was impossible to relay this information to them. Gloss got there first and decided to slit District 3's throat. District 3! That was the last one he should have gone for, but then again, she was separated from the pack.

Channa watched helplessly as Katniss shot an arrow at Gloss with lightning quickness. It found its mark and he went down. An instant later, his sister followed him—Johanna buried an axe into her chest.

Three cannons in a row.

It all happened so quickly. Channa's eyes were blurring with tears.

"Are you all right?" Spinel asked. Spinel was an old District 1 victor that had served as her mentor. He looked wholly unconcerned by the fact that they had just lost two of their own. He had always been a bit aloof.

"Fine," Channa muttered, stepping out of the room so everyone couldn't see her grieve. Most of the other victors were probably cheering inwardly. At least they had the decency to remain silent.

The door opened and Spinel stepped out after her.

Channa hastily wiped her face. "Where are you going?"

"Hm?" Spinel turned his gray eyes on hers. His brow creased slightly. "I'm catching the first train outta here and going home."

Channa was about to argue with him, thinking it disrespectful. For ages, he had ducked out early, as soon as the District 1 tributes were dead. Sometimes even earlier. Channa clearly remembered her first year as mentor—in a single battle, one of their tributes was killed and the other was wounded. Spinel had thrown in the towel and gone home before the latter had even died. Channa had been furious.

But for the first time in ages, she found herself agreeing with him. "I think I'll join you," She declared tiredly.

Spinel let out a gruff laugh. "That's the spirit."

Together, they left the other mentors behind and entered an elevator that would take them to the ground floor. Channa got out her phone to call home. Rhutter picked up after the third ring.

"I'm coming home," Channa said, trying to inject some happiness into her voice. She was still upset over the loss of her two tributes, but it was no use dwelling on it.

"Great!" Rhutter exclaimed.

"Yeah," Channa agreed, her voice slightly choked. She pressed a hand to her mouth.

"Honey, don't worry about Cashmere and Gloss," Rhutter said, his voice overflowing with concern. "It's not your fault at all. You tried your best, I know you did."

Channa nodded wordlessly.

Rhutter began talking about how much Hip missed her in an effort to distract her. He stayed shut in all day, watching the Games with a frown set on his face.

Channa forced a laugh and commented that he needed to get out and make some friends. Hip had always been antisocial and overly attached to his parents, ever since he was little. He rarely smiled in public too due to his shyness of strangers. It worried his mother to no end.

"He'll grow out of it," Rhutter always insisted.

At that moment, the elevator reached the ground floor and opened its doors. Channa followed Spinel out, saying hurriedly, "I'm going to catch the first train out of here. I'll be home before it's dark!"

"See you soon!" Rhutter said cheerfully and hung up.

Channa and Spinel stepped out of the building and were immediately assaulted by a small group of reporters, demanding to know their thoughts on the 75th's recent events. Spinel pushed through them as if they weren't even there. Channa, however, hesitated.

"Victor Bordeaux! An interview, please?" The reporters pleaded, looking to her for an answer. They still called her by her former last name, which she kept even after marriage. It had become her stage name, after all.

She let out a long sigh. "All right. One interview wouldn't hurt. Spinel, go on without me."

He already had.

Before allowing the interviewers to whisk her off, Channa placed another quick call to Rhutter. "I'm going to be a little late," She told him, "I might come home tomorrow, depending on how long this takes."

"Okay, that's fine," Rhutter said, unable to shield the disappointment in his voice. "Do what you need to do."

"She's not coming home?" Hip's voice sounded quietly in the background.

Channa hung up before she could change her mind. Hip was nearly a teenager. He needed to stop relying on his mother all the time.

So she spent the rest of the day answering questions from reporters. She wound up being taken to a studio, where she recounted her Hunger Games with an unknown host for a lesser-known channel. But she enjoyed herself nonetheless. By the time she left, it was getting dark.

Might as well stay one more night, Channa decided. The hotels were top quality, after all. And she was too tired to catch a train. So she stayed in for the night and watched the Hunger Games play out until she could no longer keep her eyes open.

Channa awoke to her phone going off. She sat there for a moment, blinking, trying to reenter reality. The room was dark except for the soft glow of the TV. It contained an image of Caesar, looking rather harried as he sputtered some kind of recap on the Games. The volume was turned down so she could barely hear what he was saying.

Yawning, Channa reached for her phone and picked it up. "Hello?" She said groggily.

"Channa," Rhutter's breathless voice answered.

Instantly, she was awake. She had been with Rhutter long enough to know something was wrong. "What is it? Is it Hip?" She said sharply, "Is he having an attack?"

"No, no, Hip is fine," Rhutter said, speaking very quickly. "We're both fine. Haven't you been watching the Games?"

Channa looked at the TV. It contained the same image of Caesar. "I fell asleep. What happened?"

Rhutter hurriedly explained the events leading up until now. The power had gone out and connections with the arena had been cut. The very last thing the nation saw was Katniss Everdeen, shooting a lightning-charged arrow at the force field that contained the arena. All sorts of rumors were flying, claiming that the tributes had escaped. The Capitol was in chaos—and so were the districts.

Channa rushed to her window, opened it, and looked down. Crowds of people flooded the street below. She could hear their voices, raised with questions. Some were joyous, others outraged. Their extreme emotions made it seem as if a riot would break out at any moment. Peacekeepers were beginning to appear, headed towards the rowdiest Capitolites.

"What's it like in the districts?" Channa asked quietly, unable to tear her gaze from the scene below her.

"Not good," Rhutter said. "A bunch of people broke into the Victor's Village, demanding answers. Peacekeepers came…I think they took Spinel. And some others. I don't know. Once the fighting started, I left with Hip."

"What about the rest of my family?" Channa asked, voice trembling. "And your parents?"

A long pause followed her words. She could hear Rhutter urging Hip along, telling him to breathe. Then he came back on, saying, "I don't know. I'm so sorry, Channa, I couldn't get to any of them in time."

Dionysus…Chardonnay… Channa thought tearfully. She shook off her fear and told her husband firmly, "It's okay. Just keep Hip safe. I'll come back as soon as I can."

"I have a bad feeling about all of this," Rhutter said. "Don't come back until everything settles down. Hide yourself in the Capitol somewhere, okay? Try to blend in. Don't board any trains; if they're after the victors, they'll be searching those."

Channa was nodding frantically, despite the fact that Rhutter couldn't see her. Faintly, she heard Hip ask, "Can I talk to her?" Rhutter obliged and passed the phone over.

"You're not coming home. Are you?" Hip asked between ragged panting.

Channa swallowed hard and replied, "Of course I'm coming home. It just might take me a little longer than I thought."

"You can tell me the truth. I'm not a kid anymore—I'm old enough to go into the Hunger Games." His voice became strained with emotion. It brought tears to Channa's eyes.

"Hip, I am most certainly coming home as soon as I can. Until then, you have to promise to stay safe. Can you do that?"

"Yeah, I promise." Hip said, choked with tears. "But you have to promise too! Promise you'll come home."

At that moment, someone knocked on the door. Channa froze where she was, the phone clutched tightly in her hand. Again, the knock came. As quietly as she could, she retreated to the far side of the room, putting as much distance between herself and the door as she could.

The window was still open. She could see even more people have taken to the streets. A cool breeze rustled her hair.

"…Mom?" Hip asked hoarsely.

Channa took a deep breath to steady herself. "Hip," She whispered. "I promise I'll try to come home."

"Trying's not good enough. You have to come home."

"Can you put your father back on, honey?" Channa said, trying to keep control of her voice. The knocking had evolved into fierce pounding. Someone was trying to break into the room. She didn't have much time.

Hip agreed without further argument. "Okay. Bye, Mom."

"Bye, sweetie. I love you," Channa murmured, tears beginning to run down her face. "I love you more than anything in the world."

"I love you too," Hip answered, his voice barely a whisper.

CRASH

The door to the hotel room flew open, revealing a small group of Peacekeepers standing there. Channa could only stare at them with wide eyes. She could hear Rhutter's voice in her ear, shouting something.

"What was that? Are you okay?!"

"…Rhutter, I don't…" A sob unwillingly broke from her throat. "…I don't think I'm going to be able to keep my promise to Hip."

The Peacekeepers surged forward.

Channa only had time to utter one last, "Goodbye. I love you."

She did not get to hear Rhutter's response.

Channa was captured along with most of the other Hunger Games victors and taken to an underground prison. Here, they were stripped of their fine clothes and their heads were shaved. They were tortured and interrogated for any information regarding the 75th Hunger Games. A few of the tributes had escaped after all, and President Snow was desperate to learn their whereabouts.

But Channa couldn't tell them what they wanted to hear. And so, she had to endure every form of torture they induced. Water-boarding, electrocution, serums that made her feel as though her veins were on fire…and finally, tracker jacker venom. It was the worst of all.

She would hallucinate terrifying images that usually involved the brutal deaths of her husband and child. That hurt more than anything else they could do to her.

Weeks passed. Channa's body and mind began to deteriorate. Whenever the Peacekeepers came to take her away for another questioning, she barely even had the strength to cry. It was becoming routine for her.

She had given up all hope of ever seeing her family again. Escape was impossible here. Only death would finally release her from this horrible, twisted world.

Fading in and out of consciousness, Channa could no longer tell the difference between dreams and reality. The area they had injected the venom had swollen to the size of an apple. She reached out to touch it and it dissolved between her fingers, turning her skin to mush. She tried to scream, but her vision tunneled and went black.

At some point, she woke up and saw someone else in the cell with her. It was a young man. He was sitting on the far end of the cell, observing her with wide eyes. "Are you a victor too?" She wanted to ask, but the floor tilted violently underneath her and she smashed her head into the bars of her cage. She blacked out once more. The next time she awoke, the boy was gone.

"The experimental dose on Victor Bordeaux was too much." She thought she could hear a man's voice, but it sounded strangely muffled. "We only want to inject a small amount into the bloodstream…not enough to evoke symptoms, but enough to tamper with the Mellark boy's memory."

Channa closed her eyes, listening to the strange conversation, wondering if it was real.

"What about her?" A new voice responded, closer. It was coming from a guard standing right next to her cell; she couldn't see him through the fog that had enveloped her vision.

"Victor Mellark is our main priority, along with the other two that were in the arena. I don't believe the other victors know anything…" The unknown man trailed off.

"Then they're just wasting space." Came the gruff voice of the guard.

"Right. We'll just have to kill them one by one, while the others watch. If that doesn't warrant a confession, then they can rot in hell for keeping secrets from the Capitol."

Channa lost her grip on reality once more and delved into a world of darkness. But her brain latched onto the thought that death was near. Her mind plagued her with nightmares. Repeatedly, the guards came for her and took her away to die. She was killed multiple times in horrifying, elaborate ways. She could see her husband and her son watching from afar. Sometimes they died with her.

Then she would wake up screaming, but there was no one there to comfort her. No one to wrap their arms around her and tell her that everything would be okay.

Days passed and the venom left her system. But she was steadily growing weaker, staying huddled in the same corner of the cell for hours on end. Guards shoved gruel through the bars, but she didn't touch it. They tried to force feed her, but her body would reject it every time. The acrid stench of vomit clung to the wall and floors of the cell, but she grew accustomed to it.

Screams from the torture chamber and neighboring cells often woke her up. Younger victors pleading to have their lives back. The dying wails of older victors who could no longer take these rotten conditions.

But she didn't have the strength to scream anymore. Every part of her body ached. Her naked body was covered with welts and a thick layer of grime. Her throat felt unbearably dry, but she couldn't even keep down water. And if she could…she didn't have the strength to retrieve it from the other side of the cell.

One morning, she opened her eyes and saw a blurry figure watching her through the bars of her confinement. She tried to focus on his image, but found that such a simple task had become impossible.

"Add this one to the list," The figure said, "She's just a raving lunatic now…she's no longer of use to us." The man turned and walked away, flanked by several others.

They were selecting those that would be put on death row. At first, Channa felt a sense of relief. She was ready for her suffering to be over. But then she slowly realized that it wouldn't be that easy. This would be the most brutal torture session of all…and all of the other victors they had deemed useless would have to watch her die.

She squeezed her eyes shut and began to cry. I just want to go home. She thought, clinging to the images of her family. Had they managed to escape? Or were they dead as well? I would give anything to see them one last time…!

"Hey."

A nearby voice caused Channa to open her eyes. But she was having a very hard time keeping them open. She could barely make out someone on the other side of her cell, watching her. She blinked a few times, trying to clear her vision.

"Aw, man…you're a wreck. What've they done to you?"

Channa thought that was a strange question, considering this newcomer was most likely a captured victor as well. She tried to clear her throat to answer, but all that came out was a weak rasp.

The boy moved cautiously across the cell. As he approached, his image came into focus. He had messy dark hair and clean skin, unmarred by a single scar. His golden-brown eyes shone with health. There was no way he could be a victor. He was just another hallucination.

For a long moment, he just sat there, crouching next to Channa and observing her. She thought she saw a spark of grief in his eyes. But it was quickly replaced with determination.

"Come on," He said, reaching out and gently grabbing her arm. "Let's get you out of here."

"Can't…" Channa wheezed, but it barely even sounded like a word. She wanted to convey that she was too weak to even stand.

The boy grinned at her. His smile was a bit lopsided and vaguely familiar. "Of course you can," he said, hoisting her up. "See?"

Amazingly, her two bone-thin legs were able to support her. She stood there in astonishment, her breath coming in short gasps.

"Lean on me if you need support," the boy said, steadying her. "Now let's go."

"But how are we going to get out?" Channa asked, surprised to find that she had regained her voice.

"Duh. We use the door." The boy's smirk broadened. Taking a step forward, he lightly pushed at the barred door. It swung open with a long, drawn-out creak.

Channa winced slightly, expecting the guards to come running. But no one did. Taking slow steps, the dark-haired boy guided her out into the dank hallway. He put a finger to his lips, his eyes alive with excitement. Channa could feel a certain energy stirring within her as well as he led her down the corridor.

On their way, they passed by multiple cells with suffering victors inside of them. Most of them were curled in a sorry heap, sobbing. Others were completely silent; somehow, that was more disturbing. One victor appeared to be staring straight through Channa, but she didn't acknowledge her presence.

"We have to help them," Channa said, motioning to the people that seemed to be blind to their escape.

The boy smiled sadly. "There's nothing we can do for them. Look—those stairs lead to freedom."

His words distracted Channa. She looked ahead to see a door propped wide open. It concealed steps that lead straight up; light filtered down from above. Even from this distance, she could feel warmth emanating from the exit.

The two of them approached the stairs. As they began their slow ascension, Channa's eyes fell upon what lay ahead. It was an unnaturally bright light that didn't even hurt to look at. It was as if this underground torture chamber led directly to the outside world. Or…

"…Am I dead?" Channa whispered. She stopped and let go of the boy's hand, looking down at her body for the first time. Her scars and welts had disappeared. Her hands were clean and milky white, appearing as they did 30 years ago. She felt the back of her head. Her hair had grown back, and it was thick and lustrous as it had been during her youth. She was no longer naked, either. A soft white dress enveloped her body and rustled comfortingly against her skin. Despite all of this, tears formed in her eyes.

It all made sense now. Suddenly having the strength to escape, breaking out of her jail so easily…

She glanced up at what lay ahead—the bright light at the top of the staircase. Then she looked at the boy in front of her, who had a patient smile on his face. He seemed so familiar, but she couldn't seem to remember his name.

"Um…who…who are you?" She choked out, wiping her face.

A lopsided smirk weaved its way across the boy's face once more. "Channa, I'm disappointed in you…thought you'd at least remember the guy you named your kid after."

"Oh my God, Hip!" Channa cried out, throwing herself at him.

He caught her in his arms and they embraced for the first time in years.

"I'm so sorry…I can't believe I forgot…" Channa said, releasing him. The tears were flowing freely now, but she had stopped caring.

"It's all right," Hip shrugged. "It's been a while."

"Is…Is Rhutter with you? And Hip?" She asked, referring to her son.

Hip shook his head.

Channa gave a cry of relief and broke down into more tears. Thank God! Her heart swelled with joy. "Oh, thank God…I was so worried…thank God," she sobbed, burying her face in her hands.

Hip reached up and gently removed them. His features were soft. "They're going to be fine, Channa. I promise. They have many years ahead of them and they won't soon forget you. But it's time we left. Are you ready?"

Channa smiled through her tears and nodded. Hip offered her his hand and she took it. Together, they ascended to the top of the steps. At the top, they were faced with a door. It was closed, but the light that flooded from around it was magnificent.

Joy stirred in Channa's chest. A wide grin was nearly bursting her cheeks. She had a feeling that what lay beyond this door was wonderful. She could picture everyone waiting for her—her parents, her siblings, tributes she had mentored, and tributes she had competed alongside as well. They were waiting to welcome her, all sins forgiven, all grudges fallen away.

Hip traded a knowing smile with Channa and reached to open the door. "Let's not keep them waiting, shall we?"

Channa nodded, too overcome with emotion to respond. The door swung open, flooding the staircase with light, chasing out every last shadow. Channa's body lay forgotten in her cell, observed by curious guards who could not understand why she was smiling. She did not look back towards her final resting place, instead taking Hip's hand in her own and facing forward.

Together, they stepped into the light.

~The End~