Sigma would have smiled if he could. Optimism against all odds was a regular trait of his when he was younger. He'd judged Neffa to be an upstanding young man at their first meeting, and he still believed that - he knew how morally detestable it would have been to leave a suffering old man to die. His sentences are short now, he replies through staccato breaths as the poison flares up again. "You've done enough. You came for me. Now go win." Panem needed more honest men like him as their victors and mentors.

Sigma holds his breath as he feels his body's natural painkillers being taken away, and with the very last of his energy he kneels to his feet. He tries to rise, though his movements are jerky - his sight in his good eye explodes into nothing but white, and vision in his cynernetic eye flickers off and on though he desperately tries to keep it focused. He taps Neffa on the shoulder, intending it to be a push forward, hoping he would flee first. And Sigma is stable long enough to rush ahead a few paces as though they'd sprint together. He knew he wouldn't get far, but now Neffa had nothing to regret.