The first zone collapsed at dawn.
Not through Capitol design—but by neglect.
Without proper management, the artificial environments began to decay. Simulated weather patterns buckled. Code meant to simulate fog instead dumped black mist through four zones at once. Jungle floors cracked, revealing seams, wires, the underbones of illusion.
The Arena wasn't a forest anymore.
It was a dying machine.
And Goo was steering its collapse.
He and Rue reached the power trench—an exposed network of control conduits beneath Zone 9. It was dangerous territory. Unmapped. Off-limits even to Gamemakers unless something broke.
Now, everything was broken.
He crouched beside a hatch, pried it open, and began threading wire from the drone core into the conduit.
Rue knelt beside him, watching. "What is this going to do?"
"Trigger a cascade," he said simply.
"A trap?"
"No. A truth."
He twisted two wires. Sparks jumped. The air buzzed.
"By the time the Capitol sees what I've done," Goo muttered, "they'll already be watching it happen on screen."
Meanwhile, Cassia watched the Arena fall apart.
She'd found the edges—the illusions ending abruptly in concrete corridors and walls of dead light. The line between "wild" and "stage."
She wasn't angry.
She was quiet.
Focused.
Tracking.
She saw the flare. The footprints. The flickers in dead cameras. She saw the system stuttering.
And she felt it—like a predator feels a storm coming.
She wasn't the apex anymore.
By midday, the countdown reached zero.
Every monitor in the Capitol flashed white.
Then—static.
Not silence. Not black.
Static.
A hundred different feeds broadcasting the same corrupted signal.
Then it resolved into a looped clip, over and over again:
Rue's first day in the Arena. Smiling. Laughing. Picking up a leaf.
The version of her before the Capitol forced a story on her.
Not the scripted "lost girl."
Not the scared tribute.
Just a child.
A child in an artificial world, watched like prey.
Then came Goo's voice.
Not loud.
Not shouting.
Just flat.
Measured.
"This is the truth."
"You wanted death."
"We gave you mirrors."
In the underground of District 13, the response was instant.
A beacon on their deepest console turned green.
A general turned to a technician and said, "It's time."
Aboveground, in the Capitol, the Games had finally cracked.
People screamed.
Not from fear—but confusion.
The illusion had broken.
And once that happens—it never comes back.
Cassia reached the trench by sunset.
She saw Goo before he saw her.
He stood with Rue near the final terminal—wires exposed, power conduits flickering.
Cassia stepped into view.
No weapons drawn.
No smile.
Just clarity.
"You burned it," she said quietly.
Goo turned.
"Yes."
"And now what?" she asked. "No winner? No glory?"
"No games," he replied.
For a long moment, the three of them stood in silence.
Cassia looked down at the exposed terminal.
Then at Rue.
Then back at Goo.
And for the first time in her life—she didn't attack.
She sat.
And waited.