Since Sartan was voted off in the task six voting, I decided I'm going to write his death. The Gamemakers said no one really knew what happened, so I decided to write what really happened. Enjoy!

Sartan tried to get a sense of his bearings. His wrists were still chained to the chair, but his head pounded. His feet felt as if they were high in the air, so he guessed the blast had knocked the chair over. Other than being slightly uncomfortable, he felt fine. 

I have to find a way out of here, he thought. His weapons had been taken, and he didn't have anything with him to free himself. Calming his racing heart, and clearing his mind, he ran through possibilities of what he had, and what he could do with what he had. 

Static cut in, making Sartan's ears ring. He cursed; he needed to be able to hear. Where was the static coming from? 

A voice cut in. "You will never get away with what you did."

Sartan frowned. Now what had the Gamemakers planned for him? And what was the voice talking about? What had he done? 

Suddenly, another cold blast of air shot out at him. He shivered, and his teeth chattered. Temperatures dropped, and only continued declining. Sartan wasn't sure how long he stay like that, chained to the toppled over chair, slowly freezing to death. The cuff on his wrist clanked against the arm of the chair as his arms shook uncontrollably. 

His head swam, and breathing became difficult. 

What is... happening... to me...? His thoughts were slow and lethargic. He suddenly couldn't remember where he was... or why he felt so cold. Icicles formed on his hair and face. 

Eventually, his body became numb. He could no longer feel anything. It was quiet in the room - too quiet. He had no idea where he was, but he had no way of finding out. With his blindness, he relied on his other four senses. Now, two of them had been taken away. He couldn't feel anything around him, and now there was no noise at all. 

Panic settled in his chest, twisting his stomach into knots. Fear clawed at him, and dug its hooks deep inside him. I don't want to die... He was supposed to fight, to kill and win the Games. But you don't want to kill anymore... so how could you have possibly won the Games?

Sadness settled over him like a dark cloud. It weighed heavily on his shoulders. Numbness turned into agony, pure and utter agony. It swelled in his stomach, slithering up into his chest until it wrapped around his heart and squeezed.

He shivered, and became cold...so cold. His world became as it always had been... dark and cold. His breathing slowed, until it became a few gasps every minute. 

Sleep... It was the one thought he could fully process. His body was so exhausted and oh, so tired, desperately longing for sleep. He closed his eyes, and his thoughts drifted into nothingness and blackness.

Pain, cold and darkness became everything.

One, two, three, four, five six, seven, eight, nine ten...

His chest heaved, and a slow exhale escaped. 

... fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three....

Another breath.

His heartbeat slowed.

....thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty-forty-one, forty-two, forty-three, forty-four, forty-five...

He exhaled.

...Fifty-two... Until it stopped altogether.

Death came for him.

There was a white flash, and then nothing.