Our Love Could Be Lethal

Act II: We All Fall Down

"In-credible," says Caesar, nodding his head.

I nod, joining in on the conversation. "Absolutely. I mean, he's really put in the work. If you saw him on the training days he was down there first thing in the morning and was always one of the last to leave. He spent that time honing his sword skills which we saw really paid off for him in the fight against Thresh."

"Which is the best one-on-one fight we've seen in at least the past five years, if not more," Claudius adds quickly.

"Definitely, I mean, people have been calling it the fight that would determine the winner of the Games—being either Thresh or Cato—and I would have to agree. As we've seen, you know, Peeta is not doing too well. Even with the medicine they got at the Feast, he's got two, maybe three days left in him tops. So that leg is pretty much done for at this point."

Caesar nods, agreeing with my statement. "We had one of the leading orthopedic surgeons from the Capitol Memorial Hospital on the show the other day, and he said Peeta's leg would have to be amputated. Now, what do you think of the other half of 12?"

I take a deep breath. I don't even want to get started on Katniss. That's a lie. I totally do. "Cato has his arrow-proof armour, which Katniss and Peeta are unaware of being arrow proof, so I don't see how she can beat him. He's bigger and stronger, so if it were to come down to close-range fighting, I'd say it's no contest."

"Assuming he kills both Katniss and Peeta, he'll tie be in a three-way tie for the second-most kills in the history of the Hunger Games, coming in just under your record," says Caesar.

"Yes, but isn't there something to be said about the power of love?" interjects Claudius wistfully.

I shake my head. "Love and the Hunger Games don't mix. It's—it can't work out. I think we're going to see a rule reversal, and they're going to be split up," I say, not voicing the quiet part out loud; that of course being that I think Katniss would shoot Peeta as soon as the rules change.

"Such is the story of star-crossed lovers. But, speaking of lovers," says Caesar, waggling his blue eyebrows, "do you have any new flames to speak of?"

"I can't say that I do. But, as you can imagine, I've been a little bit busy," I joke.

"Yes, very busy. You've got Cato and—" Caesar cuts himself off and uses two fingers to press his earpiece into his ear—the producers are telling him something important. I ready myself to take off to my station, thinking it's a fight happening between Cato and the tributes from 12: the finale. "This just in folks, my producers are telling me we have some tragic news coming from here in the Capitol." The lights in the studio dim, as I try to glance around and make sense of what's going on. "Augustus Slayte, Victor of the 73rd Annual Hunger Games, passed away early this morning at nineteen. No official statement has been given by the coroner's office, though evidence suggests it was an accidental overdose. He will be missed."

Before I can really register what Caesar has just said, his voice switches back to normal and taps his cue card against the table. "When we come back, we will take a look at what some of our favourite underdog Victors have to say about the final three. This has been another 'Breakdown' powered by Champaide. Champaide, the official sports drink of the Hunger Games."

The producers backstage are scrambling, trying to put together a segment for tonight about Augustus, recapping his "greatest hits" and squeezing as much content out of him as he can. But within my mind and without a shadow of a doubt, I know that Augustus died because he met with the reporter. I think back to when he said that he had no family back home. There was nothing they could hold above his head. But I didn't think that they would kill their newest Victor. I don't know what I thought they would do, but it wasn't that.