Test6

Welcome everyone to my twelfth ever Hunger Games! While this will indeed be apart of my series, they are also somewhat of a reboot, so if you haven’t read any of my prior Games you’ll still be able to understand the story! These will also function differently than most of my Games, so continue reading to learn more!
==Introduction==
First off, these are the 24th Games, which take place after the conclusion of War of the Hunger Games and are set in a world that is different than the usual Panem most Games take place in. The country is now called New Panem, and is lead by President Jacquelyn Price, a self-styled champion of fairness. The Capitol no longer exists; District 14 now leads the country. 
==Rules==
1) Unlike in other Games, the users will not be creating their own tributes from scratch. Instead they will choose from a template of tributes with some pre-defined information and then finish that tribute however they wish. For a list of available tributes, check below!
2) You may have up to two Tributes (this is subject to change)
3) Each Tribute starts with $150 in sponsor money for their mentor (creator) to use as they see fit.
4) I will write Reapings, Group Training, and of course the actual Games. 
==Tributes==
District	Gender	Name 	Age	Height	Weapon 	User
0 	Male 	Tempest Galveston	16 	5'8 	TBD 	Philosophical Msft
0 	Female	Halley Vega 	15 	5'4 	TBD 	TBD
1 	Male 	Ardor Prodigy 	18 	6'1 	TBD 	TBD
1 	Female	Citrine Gleame 	18 	5'5 	TBD 	PoisonedPoetry
2 	Male 	Brick Slayte 	18 	6'2 	TBD 	TBD
2 	Female	Alexis Ryker 	18 	5'8 	TBD 	AerialChinook
3 	Male 	Vizio Byte 	16 	5'7 	TBD 	PoisonedPoetry
3 	Female	Techna Vision 	15 	5'2 	TBD 	Tehblakdeath
4 	Male 	Tidus Flow 	18 	5'11 	TBD 	SpiritStormGamer
4 	Female	Penelope Finbar 	18 	5'4 	TBD 	MistyMolla
5 	Male 	Edison Burn 	14 	5'5 	TBD 	MistyMolla
5 	Female	Tesla Wattson 	15 	5'3 	TBD 	TBA
6 	Male 	Autus Spanner 	17 	5'10 	TBD 	Utkar22
6 	Female	Reiko Sonatas 	16 	5'6 	TBD 	Eternalluna
7 	Male 	Barker Caspum 	16 	5'9 	TBD 	Mechonyx
7 	Female	Thistle Hesmin 	17 	5'5 	Axe 	Philosophical Msft
8 	Male 	Theodore Drest 	16 	5'8 	TBD 	Utkar22
8 	Female	Taylor Musslin 	16 	5'6 	TBD 	TBA
9 	Male 	Brann Garner 	17 	6'0 	TBD 	Enraptured Misfit
9 	Female	Mazie Sunnoria 	16 	5'5 	TBD 	FrostyFire
10 	Male 	Baron Bludd 	18 	6'11 	TBD 	Mechonyx
10 	Female	Viscera Clomp 	16 	5'9 	TBD 	FrostyFire
11 	Male 	Lartius Fallows 	16 	5'9 	TBD 	TBA
11 	Female	Peppa Trails 	13 	5'0 	TBD 	AerialChinook
12 	Male 	Rooker Irone 	16 	5'8 	TBD 	Enraptured Misfit
12 	Female	Ash Carrow 	16 	5'3 	TBD 	SpiritStormGamer
13 	Male 	Easton Harlow  	18 	5'10 	TBD 	Tehblakdeath
13 	Female	Kessie Barnes 	15 	5'2 	TBD 	TBD
14 	Male 	Scyler Meios 	16 	5'11 	Sword, Spear	N/A
14 	Female	Meta Chron 	15 	5'2 	Knife 	N/A
==Alliances==
Careers: Ardor (1), Citrine (1), Brick (2), Alexis (2), Penelope (4), & Tidus (4)
District 3 & 13 Alliance: Vizio (3), Autus (6), & Easton (13)
Theodore’s Group: Theodore (8), Lartius (11), & Scyler (14)
District 10 & 11 Alliance: Baron (10), Viscera (10), & Peppa (11)
Three Amigos: Tempest (0), Edison (5), & Rooker (12)
District 9 & 14 Alliance: Brann (9), Mazie (9), & Meta (14)
District 7 Pair: Barker (7) & Thistle (7)
Loners: Reiko (6)
Undecided: Halley (0), Techna (3), Tesla (5), Taylor (8), Ash (12), & Kessie (13)
Italics mean they have yet to be accepted by the alliance, or alliance members are requesting them.
Bold means they are the alliance's co-leader.
==Sponsoring==
===Sponsor Table===
User 	T1	T2
Aesthetic.cat 	
Taylor Musslin (8)
$150	
AerialChinook 	
Alexis Ryker (2)
$150	
Peppa Trails (11)
$150
A Happy Bee 	
Kessie Barnes (13)
$150	
Anoymous2400 	
Tesla Wattson (5)
$150	
Artpro09 	
Lartius Fallows (11)
$150	
ArtofBeingANerd 	
Ardor Prodigy (1)
$150	
Eternalluna 	
Reiko Sonatas (6)
$150	
Enraptured Misfit 	
Brann Garner (9)
$150	
Rooker Irone (12)
$150
FrostyFire 	
Mazie Sunnoria (9)
$150	
Viscera Clomp (10)
$150
Mechonyx 	
Barker Caspum (7)
$150	
Baron Bludd (10)
$150
MistyMolla 	
Penelope Finbar (4)
$150	
Edison Burn (5)
$150
Mulopisthebest 	
Halley Vega (0)
$150	
Poisoned Poetry 	
Citrine Gleam (1)
$150	
Vizio Byte (3)
$150
Philosophical Msft	
Tempest Galveston (0)
$150	
Thistle Hesmin (7)
$150
SpiritStormGamer 	
Tidus Flow (4)
$150	
Ash Callow (12)
$150
Sindowne 	
Techna Vision (3)
$150	
Easton Harlow (13)
$150
Utkar22 	
Autus Spanner (6)
$150	
Theodore Drest (8)
$150
VDiablino 	
Brick Slayte (2)
$150	
Items
Antidote (cures poison): $150
Anti-Infection: $125
Awl: $50
Alcohol: $50
Axe: $150
Ball and Chain: $125
Baton: $75
Blanket: $50
Blowgun: $150
Bow: $150
Bread: $50
Burn Cream: $125
Canteen: $75
Camouflage Paints: $75
Chakram: $175
Chlorine: $25
Cookies: $25
Crossbow: $175
Crackers: $15
Dagger: $100
Darts (12): $25
Dried Meat: $50
Dried Fruit: $50
Flail: $125
Flares x3: $125
Flashlight: $100
Iodine: $100
Knife: $50
Knife Glove: $100
Mace: $150
Machete: $125
Matches: $100
Metal Ball Bearings x25 (for slingshot): $75
Morning Star: $175
Gasoline $150
Hatchet: $125
Needles (3): $125
Net: $75
Net Trap: $125
Night-Vision Glasses: $150
Piece of Plastic: $15
Painkillers: $75
Poison: $150
Quiver of Arrows (12): $75
Raft: $100
Rocks: $15
Rope: $25
Scythe: $150
Shield: $125
Shield (Spiked): $150
Shurikens (5): $150
Sickle: $125
Sleeping Bag: $50
Sleep Syrup: $125
Slingshot: $75
Soup: $75
Spear: $125
Spike Trap: $200
Spile: $50
Sword: $150
Throwing Axes (3): $200
Throwing Knives (3): $200
Trident: $225
Water: $100
Whip: $75
Warhammer: $125
Wire: $75
Wooden Club: $100
Wooden Club (Spiked): $150
==Reapings==
===District 0: Tempest Galveston===
A sharp, howling wind races outside as I wake up from my slumber. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I roll out of bed and gaze out the window. I am greeted with the sight of whipping wind and swirling snow. A blizzard has snuck up on us.
I suppose that I am not too surprised. District Zero has always been plagued with snowstorms and sudden squalls. My sixteen years of existence have been spent almost perpetually in the grip of some sort of cold wind. What matter is one more day?
I cross my thickly carpeted floor to the large wooden armoire set in the corner of my room, next to the door. I quickly dress myself in several layers of clothing, including both a sweatshirt and jacket. I will be forced to go outside today, after all.
Because it's Reaping Day.
I try not to let the thought disturb me, but it does. Many years ago the Games were supposedly stopped. The Capitol had fallen. The District's had finally triumphed and the Hunger Games were nothing but bad memories. Yet...
After a period of turmoil and war, a new government rose to power. One that prided itself on equality and fairness. Everyone in every District had been responsible for the war, they said. Everyone ought to share in the repercussions of it, they told us. Repercussions? What would those repercussions be? Well, it turned out to be the Hunger Games.
History books and stories have told us that the Games were meant to be a punishment for the District's that dare rose up against the Capitol. Yet these Games, the 24th Games, as they've gone on to be called, are not a punishment. The Capitol is gone, a remnant of history never again to be brought back. Our esteemed leader, President Price, has declared that the Games are no longer a punishment, but a penace. One meant to be shared by everyone equally.
Every District, including President Price’s own District 14, supplies two tributes to the Games. For equality's sake, everyone's name is in the bowl just once. No one has a better chance to be Reaped than anyone else. It is the perfect penace. Dispassionate, fair.
It is also, unfortunately, a pack of lies.
No one, at least in District Zero, truly believes any of the diatribe sprouted by our government. Their own District is much better off than any other. Their wealth vastly outweighs ours. Where is the "equality" in that? And why does District 14 always have tributes that are so well prepared? Why does it seem like their own Reaping is not so random?
Just thinking about this makes the gears inside my head churn, but I best not let it show. The Peacekeepers do not like troublemakers. Or those who question the status quo.
Finally finished dressing, I exit my room and make my way down the staircase to the kitchen. Father is up and dressed, drinking coffee at the table. 
"Already dressed, Tempest?" He raises an eyebrow at me.
"Yes," I reply. Father always wakes up at the crack of dawn even, apparently, during snowstorms.
Father nods, sipping his coffee. Uneasy I drift across the marbled tiles of our kitchen and over to the window. The wind is still racing, but it seems to have died down from the earlier galeforce. Father interrupts my thoughts by asking if I want any breakfast. I decline. I've never been one for eating in the morning, and especially not on Reaping Day.
Soon the two of us are exiting our house, heads down as the wind whips at us. 
Luckily the Reaping Square is downwind, so we won't have to deal with the wind the whole way. Our house is in a small neighborhood on the very edge of the city square. It's mostly a middle-class affair, set apart from the ghettos and more affluent abodes. A vast majority of houses belong to families with several children. Father and I are an abnormality. Mother used to live with us, but…
It was an illness that took her away. She was a doctor in our District’s hospital and contacted the disease when a patient was wrongly diagnosed.
That in itself is infuriating. How could the hospital mess up so badly? But that wasn’t the worst. Mistakes happen. No. It’s fact that District 14 didn’t lift a finger to help her. 
I cannot help but wonder if things would have been different if we lived in District 14. I've seen their skyscrapers on the television. Seen how they live. They have so much that we don't. They had a cure for Mother. I know they did.
I overheard a conversation between hospital staff members back when Mother was sick. They didn’t have the resources necessary to help her. Only District 14 did, and they were withholding aid because there was a waitlist and other Districts “needed it more” than she did.
My blood boils even thinking of this. That’s not how equality works. It’s not supposed to be like this. But when did the government ever care about that? It’s all words to them, and nothing more. I tried explaining, pleading, did everything I could I do, but to no avail. 
They just didn’t care.
I'm lost in my thoughts as Father leads the way down the snow laden sidewalks. 
Several other families have joined and Father starts up a conversation with some men. I remain silent. Social interactions are not my...strongest point. I don't have any friends at school, I don't see the purpose. We're there to learn, not make friends. And outside of school...Well, I spend all of my free time either at Father’s Academy or home.
The Reaping Square comes into view. A large fountain, fed by heated pumps that keep the water unfrozen at all times, sits in the center of the wide cobblestone square. Festive shops and bakeries form the edge of the square, surrounding a rectangular stage that has been assembled before the fountain.
“Will any of your students volunteer?” I ask quietly as we stop to take in the scene.
Father shakes his head. “No. Most of them are waiting until they turn eighteen, and the few who are old enough don’t actually want to compete.”
Father is an instructor at one of District Zero’s two Academies. He trains his students to prepare for the Games, giving them knowledge necessary to win. Not that any of them ever have won. Still, that’s not Father’s fault. He is a fine teacher. 
I’ve learned much about the art of combat from watching him train his students. Though I never participated directly in those sessions, I didn’t need to. I’ve always been a visual learner, someone who picks up more information and knowledge from merely watching others work. 
“Good luck, Tempest,” Father sets a hand on my shoulder and gives it an affectionate squeeze. “I’ll see you after the Reaping. Maybe I’ll try to make your Mother’s casserole for dinner. I promise it’ll be better this time.”
I allow myself a small smile. The last time he tried to replicate Mother’s recipe had been a disaster. “I hope you’re right about that.”
Father and I part here. Him headed for general assembly and me towards the pens that contain the children between the ages of twelve to eighteen. Each and every person here has their name in that bowl exactly one time. My odds of being selected are just as high as everyone elses.
Lucky me.
A Peacekeeper halts me and does some simple blood collecting. Odd, I think as he finishes and lets me into line, how that despite our government's hatred of the defunct Capitol that they still kept the Peacekeepers name and function. I suppose that they did change the uniform at least. Instead of wearing the pure white spoken about in history books, our Peacekeepers wear a blue and black uniform.
All of the other teenagers around me are huddled close together, for both warmth and protection from the wind. Freezing temperatures, a hallmark of District 0. Aren’t we just the luckiest?
A few of the other kids throw me a cautious glance. They probably heard about what transpired at the Academy, and the beating I gave those boys. It was more than deserved, but I am sure that the rumors which spread have exaggerated things immensely. 
So I stand alone as I gaze up on stage, where the Mayor and other District officials are gathered as they go through the preparations for the Reaping. One particular man sticks out to me. 
Albert Westcott, our District Representative. 
He is a tall, physically imposing man with jet black hair that has gone gray at the temples. Even with the weather as it is, he is dressed in an impeccable suit and top hat, and he carries a long cane topped with a crystalline figure. 
I hate him. I hate him and everything he represents. He’s the most important District 14 official here, and was the one I personally pled with to save Mother. His job as Representative means he’s the liaison between us and the leaders of New Panem. He is meant to protect and safeguard us from dangers and tribulations. To ensure everyone is treated equally.
That’s all a lie. Westcott doesn’t care about us in the slightest. The only thing which matters to him is lining his own pockets. I still remember his words to me when I was begging for my Mother’s life.
“Listen to yourself, boy. I’ve already told you that there’s a waitlist. What do you expect from me? To give you favorable treatment? That’s not how equality works. It seems you still have a lot to learn.”
Westcott is the closest I’ll ever get to the President or her trusted advisors. He is the living embodiment of District 14’s hypocrisy. I despise him and all he stands for. 
Gritting my teeth, I force my gaze away from the man and onto the others assembled on stage. The Mayor is giving a speech. I don’t listen. It’s just more propaganda. Why willingly ingest any of that?
Our lone Victor is also on stage. He wasn’t a member of Father’s school, because he won almost twenty years ago. Since then we’ve been caught in the doldrums, without so much as a runner-up to our name. 
“It is time to find our female tribute!” Westcott has taken over the microphone as the first bowl is rolled out. It’s so windy that it takes two men to hold it in place. “She shall undertake her penance in the arena and, if she emerges, she will be cleansed and reborn!”
More likely she’ll wind up a corpse. Still, I’ll be rooting for her. The Victor’s District receives a yearlong benefit of extra money and resources. Father and I could use that.
Westcott reaches a hand into the bowl and removes a slip of paper. Though the wind rips at it, he holds firm and reads the name aloud. “Halley Vega!”
The name hangs over the crowd, followed by the howling wind. I recognize the name, though I’ve never spoken with the person it belongs to. Halley Vega is a girl at my school. She’s quiet and rarely speaks; in fact, I am not sure if I’ve ever heard her voice before.
Halley slowly makes her way towards the stage. The falling snow collects in her auburn hair as she ascends, face expressionless as her eyes gaze out at everyone watching her. 
Poor girl. I wish there was something that could be done for her, but…her fate lies in the arena now.
“Ah! You must be our tribute!” Westcott offers a hand to the girl and she hesitantly takes it. An awkward handshake ensues. “Very nice to see you! I am sure you will fare well in the arena!”
Halley’s only response is to blink and shake her head before stepping aside. Westcott frowns and then snaps his fingers for the next bowl to be brought forth. 
I tense up as Westcott reaches a hand into the bowl. Though only one of those slips has my name printed on it, anything is possible. Who’s to say my name won’t be drawn?
“And the male tribute for the 24th Games is…” Westcott pauses as he pulls a slip out and reads the name. “Tempest Galveston!”
I forget to breathe. For a moment I think that this is fake, that my imagination is just running in overdrive, but I soon realize that this is all too real.
I have been Reaped.
I slowly make my way through the crowd. The other children step aside as I head for the stage, quietly murmuring to themselves as they watch me walk past. None of them will mourn me. They will not bemoan my absence. They couldn’t care less.
Westcott greets me with a smile as I finally climb the stage. A cold, chill wind tugs at his scarf and sends it billowing out behind him. I focus on it so I don’t have to see the arrogant it’s face. “And you must be Tempest! What a brave boy!” 
Westcott doesn’t recognize me. I stay silent as he prattles on. It isn’t too surprising. Why would he waste brain power remembering something as insignificant as me? I am about to step aside when something stops me. 
A scream rises up from the crowd. I glance out at them and wince as I spot the familiar figure on the edge of the square, hands held to his head as he screams and howls in fear and anguish.
Father.
“Looks like he isn’t taking this so well,” Westcott smirks as he hands the microphone off to the mayor. “You should be thankful, Tempest. How would your mother have reacted if she were here to see this?”
I nearly choke on my gasp of anger and surprise. He did remember! Westcott hasn’t forgotten me! I stare at the man in disbelief, unable to comprehend his words. Why would he…
My hands clench into fists and it takes all my willpower to prevent myself from striking him here and now. Monster! 
Westcott smiles at me and then departs in a swishing of coats and scarves. I watch him go in a silent fury. The desire to smash his pompous face into a bloody pulp is raging through me like a fire. I could do it. He wouldn’t be able to stop me. I could turn him into—
I squeeze my eyes shut and listen to the howling of the wind and my father. No. What am I thinking? Westcott is a District 14 official. I’d be executed the moment I laid a hand on him. And that’s not a hypothetical. A few years ago the boy who was Reaped snapped and attacked everyone on stage with a knife, fighting like a desperate animal as he attempted to escape his fate. 
Eventually he was captured by some Peacekeepers and publicly executed right there on stage. Then they just chose a new slip from the bowl and went on like nothing even happened. 
That’s the truth of District 14. They pretend to care about everyone and preach about their “equality” but when push comes to shove they’re just a bunch of petty bullies. I hate them. I loathe them and everything they stand for. 
I open my eyes and watch my father in the crowd. He is still crying out for me. 
There should be sorrow in me. Fear, anguish. But all I can manage is anger and hatred. District 14 will pay. I don’t care what I have to do, what I must sacrifice, I will make them pay. 
As I stand here powerless, the cold wind continues to swirl around the square, snatching up my father’s cries and taking them far away into the uncaring gray sky.
===District 1: Citrine Gleam===
“You look beautiful!”
I spin around in my silken citrine dress, reveling in my family’s attention. My Mother is snapping pictures and laughing as my Father stands in the corner, nodding in approval.
Only my sister Glitzi, standing off to the side with her young child in her arms, seems disapproving. “That’s an ugly color,” She says with a shrug. 
On the inside I feel everything crash down around me. Today has gone so well. Mother and Father had nothing but praise for me. For once their biting remarks and scathing comments were absent. I was doing everything right. I was going to volunteer and enter the Games. They loved me.
Feeling inadequate, I do what I always do when my back is against the wall.
I lash out.
"I make it a pretty color," I say with a smirk, batting my eyelashes. "I think someone's just envious." 
Glitzi’s only response is a roll of her eyes. 
Father frowns and I fear I’ve made a mistake. Glitzi has always been his favorite daughter. Especially after Ritzy’s death in the Games and Phenakite…
“That wasn’t very nice, Citrine,” It is Mother who speaks. She lowers the camera and gives me a disapproving look. “You don’t need to take your nervousness out on your sister!”
I am more nervous about the presence of the child in my sister’s arms than the thought of the Games. At least those I’ve prepared for, spent long, hard day’s training in anticipation for. But children…I can’t so much as stand the sight of them. 
Why did Glitzi need to show up today of all days?
I eye her child through the sides of my eyes. At least it just lies there silently. It’s too young to do much of anything else. The crying and messiness most children make…just the thought of it makes me want to gag.
“Remember to play to the cameras when you volunteer,” Father takes the conversation in a new direction. “Even though you’ll be in the Careers, you will want sponsors, and that’s the best way to get them.”
“Of course!" I smile once more, running a slender hand through my long flowing blonde hair. Why must he treat me like a child? I know this! I’ve spent years preparing for this very moment! “I will win the Games, you’ll see!”
Failure isn’t an option. I’ve come so far, done so much, that anything sort of winning the Crown would be a complete and utter waste of my time and effort. And yet…
Am I good enough? Even after all these years of practice and training, can I do what Ritzy failed to? What Phenakite couldn’t even bring herself to attempt? Do I truly have what it takes to win? Can I finally gain my parents approval? 
“The other tributes won’t have a chance!” I toss my hair over my shoulder and flash my winningest smile. “Not when they have me to contend with!”
Confidence. That’s what my parents want. What they’ve bred into me. I need to appear confident and in control at all times. That way they will—
Father checks his watch and frowns. “We should head to the plaza. We don’t want to be late for the Reaping.”
The four of us all file out of the house in an orderly fashion. Glitzi splits up with us at the driveway—she’ll make her way to the plaza with her husband and child—but the rest of us start down the road, leaving our house behind.
I almost consider taking one last look at the place, but I resist the urge. I will be back here in a little over a month, with the Victor’s Crown and all my winnings. Then I can buy us a house twice as big. Expand the vineyard until we're the richest family in the District.
At least that’s what my parents expect. They’ll want me to use my success and prestige to help them. We earned it, they’ll tell me. We were the ones who put you into Bloodstone Academy, who pushed you beyond your boundaries. Without us you’d have been nothing more than a bloodbath death.
A part of me fears that they are right. 
I stew in these dark thoughts as my family makes its way into the deepest portion of the District, towards the plaza where the Reaping is being held. Large crowds of people gather around us as we go. Even though District 14 claims that the Games are a penance designed to make us reflect on our sins and misdeeds, most people in District 1 still treat the Reaping and the Games themselves as something to celebrate and anticipate. 
People fill the streets, laughing and clapping as they flow towards the plaza like the tide of a river. Stalls line the sidewalks, merchants hawking their wares to the cheery passersby’s. I see more than a few food stalls and am tempted to stop and check them out before I remember that my parents are present. Though street food is one of my greatest passions, I know that they look down on such things.
It’s uncouth, they’d tell me. Food like that is beneath you. Eating that slop will only make you weaker. I feel my teeth begin to grind at the unfairness of it all, but I force the matter out of my mind and continue onwards, trying not to let the sights and smells of the stalls tempt me anymore than they already have. 
Thankfully my parents head off on their own once we reach the plaza itself. They’re not eligible for the Reaping, thus they don’t need to get in line with me. Instead they depart with a stern “Don’t disappoint us again!” and make their way into the crowd.
They’re not gone for more than a few moments when I spot him. Leaning against a nearby lamppost with a corndog stick in his hand, he casually waves when he spots me watching him.
Halo Opulence. My boyfriend—no. He’s more than that. He’s my partner in life. Someone I can confide in without any fear or worry. The only person I can confide in, ever since Phenakite…
Halo tosses the stick aside and makes his towards me, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “Those stalls have some pretty good food,” He says when he reaches me, setting a hand atop my shoulder. 
I swat at his arm. “You know my parents wouldn’t have let me eat a thing!” They don’t even know that I am still seeing him. Though they initially greatly approved of him, their feelings turned negative when I told them he didn’t want children, and they ordered me to get rid of him. 
That wasn’t a new experience. I’ve had many boyfriends driven off by my parents over the years. Few people are willing to put up with their impossibly high standards and expectations. Though, of course, it wasn’t Halo who doesn’t want children…
“Are you going to volunteer?” Halo turns serious. His eyes study mine and I look away. 
“I am.” He knows this. We’ve spent the last few weeks talking about it.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” His voice is quiet, full of concern. We stand in the middle of the road like a pair of stones in a river, the crowd forking around us as they flow into the plaza. “They don’t control you, Citrine. You’re your own person.”
“I know! I’m not being forced to volunteer! I want to!” I have to. My parents will be so proud when I win the Games. They’ll finally have a Victor for a daughter.
“It’ll never be enough,” Halo touches the back of his hand against my cheek. “You know that. Deep down inside your heart, you know it’s true.”
“Victors are the best. Everyone loves and respects them.” I’ve never been the best. No matter how hard I try, or how much I sabotage the others, it’s never enough. There’s always someone better. Someone who is a little faster, slightly stronger, inherently smarter. But if I win the Games…
There’ll be no one better than me.
Halo sighs and pulls away. “I’m not going to stop you. Just…make sure this is what you really want, okay?”
“It is.” Phenakite was once in this same position. She couldn’t go through with it and backed out at the last moment. My parents were furious. Kicked her out of the house and broke off all contact with her. I always thought she was at peace with that decision, but then one day…
I remember knocking on her door and not receiving a response. When I tried the knob, I learned it was unlocked. Curious and only a little concerned, I walked inside the darkened house and…
I can still hear the creaking of the rope. The gentle swaying of her body as she hung there from the ceiling, dead at her own hand.
Phenakite, my beloved sister, had killed herself.
I blanche away from these thoughts and stare at my feet. Glitzi was a twin. She volunteered the same year as our sister Ritzy, who was chosen for the Games. Ritzy managed to make it all the way into the top ten before she was torn apart by a flock of mutts. So in the end, she and Phenakite both took different paths but wound up at the same result regardless.
Sometimes I wonder which one had more regrets. 
“Citrine?” Halo glances at me. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” I brush his concerns away. “Will Aitken Academy have any volunteers?” Though I attend Bloodstone Academy, District 1 has more than one academy. Halo is a top student at Aitken Academy, and though he isn’t volunteering himself, he should know if anyone else is. 
Halo purses his lips. At first I don’t think he’s going to respond, but eventually he just shakes his head. “No female volunteers, at least. There will be a male, though. He’s…you won’t have any competition for the female slot.”
That’s both reassuring and disheartening. While I do intend to compete, some part of me was hoping that I’d get passed over for another volunteer. That happened with Glitzi, and my parents still adore her. The simple act of trying to volunteer was enough for them to overlook her failure to compete. 
“Looks like things are getting underway,” Halo glances at the plaza, where we can just see the top of the stage. There’s a bustle of movement as people begin to take their positions. “If you truly want to participate in the Games…well, you have my support.” 
I go through the short process of getting my name marked down and enter into the plaza itself. The moment I do a flock of girls break away from the crowd and come rushing right for me. They all circle around, giggling and squawking like a flock of birds.
"You look so pretty in that dress!"
"I wish I had hair like that..."
"I'm rooting for you!"
"Are you going to volunteer?"
I laugh lightly, amused by their excitement. "Of course I'm going to volunteer!" I tell them. "And I'm going to win, too."
Most of my friends do not attend any of the Academies, and the ones who do can have their skills described as incompetent at best. None of them can hold a candle to my skills and abilities. 
“If you make it into the Games, you'll  definitely be the star of the show!" One of the girls, a brunette named Sapphire, a close friend of mine, says. "You're just so beautiful."
"Well, I won't argue with that!" I smirk and toss my luscious hair over my shoulder, eliciting gasps of excitement from the assembled group. 
I feel cold. Why can’t my parents be so easily impressed?
I order my friends out of the way as I take my place in line, swiftly followed by them and few other hanger-ons. People are jostled out of my path as I push through the crowd, approaching the front of the stage. Up there, our Mayor and District 14 Representative are just beginning the opening ceremony.
My friends continue to chatter like magpies as I stare impatiently at the Representative. A short, pallid woman with dark ginger hair and a bright yellow sundress, she may be a government official, but she clearly has no fashion sense. 
Every District has its own Representative assigned to it. The Representative is someone from District 14, part politician and part social worker, and their job is to act as a liaison between the capital of our country and the district they’ve been assigned. Nominally they help sort out issues that arise between our government and other agencies, but they also have taken the role that used to belong to something called an ‘escort’. 
“District 1, I welcome you to the Reaping for the 24th Games!” The woman—Sabina Aldrin, I think her name was—finally turns to address the crowd. “Today we shall discover which two brave children will undertake their penitence and strive to become better human beings!”
“She sure likes to hear the sound of her own voice,” I say loudly. The remark draws big laughs from my friends and a few curious stares from those too far away to hear what was said. 
Sabina herself doesn’t notice, of course, and continues to drone on about boring stuff no one cares about. The War of the Hunger Games took place ages ago, and that ‘civil war’ barely had any fighting beyond District 14 itself. Why should any of us here in District 1 pay attention to this? It doesn’t affect us at all!
Eventually she gets to the part where the bowl is wheeled out and I find my impatience replaced with trepidation. This is it. There will be no turning back from here. Once I volunteer, I am committed to the Games. I either win…or I die.
I feel doubt mixed with frustration. Am I good enough? Have I trained hard enough? I’m top three in almost every class at the Academy, but is that enough to win? So much uncertainty…
Is this how Phenakite felt?
“We shall start with the female tribute!” Sabina sticks a hand into the bowl to select a name even though we all know there’s going to a volunteer. District 1 has seemingly had a volunteer every year. 
This year it’s my turn.
“I volunteer!”
My friends break into a round of raucous cheering as I depart the group and head for the stage. There are no other shouts. No volunteers beyond myself. There are at least five serious Academy’s in District 1, yet I am the only female volunteer.
I don’t know what to make of that.
Sabina smiles vapidly at me as I finally make my way atop the stage. A few other District officials watch me with curious eyes. Our most recent Victor and a trainer at Bloodstone Academy, Gossamer Sheer, gives me a wide smile. She’s always liked me, even if she has the constant urge to remind me I am not as skilled as she was.
Once I am in the arena, I’ll show her how wrong she is. 
“What’s your name, sweetie?” Sabina turns the microphone on me.
“I am Citrine Gleam, and I’m your next Victor!”
Thunderous applause greets my words. The crowd goes wild with their pent-up energy. Even with all my doubts, I can’t resist the smile which crosses my face. 
This is what it’s like to be the best. To be respected for all your skills and hard work! As I curtsy and wave to the crowd, I search for my parents. I find them on the edge of the right hand side. Father is nodding in approval as Mother beams with happiness. 
Tension leaves my body and I breathe a sigh of relief. I was worried they’d find another flaw in me and somehow still be disapproving. 
“And now for the male tribute!” Sabina moves for the next bowl but she doesn’t get more than a few steps before a voice rings out over the plaza.
“I volunteer!”
When I turn and see who it is, all my emotions are replaced with dread.
Ardor Prodigy. 
A tall, muscular boy comes out of the eighteen year-olds line. He takes the stage with a wide smile, eyes flashing as his hair gleams in the sunlight. I know him. More importantly, I know his reputation. Ardor Prodigy is the best athlete in District 1. The most skilled student at any of the academies. He is the best. It doesn’t matter what the subject is; he’s the best at it. 
I feel inferior just watching him ascend the stage. Ardor has never been so much as second best in anything. My parents could only wish to have a child as skilled as him.
“What a brave volunteer!” Sabina gushes as he joins us on stage. “You clearly are more than willing to undertake your penance!”
Ardor raises a single eyebrow. “I certainly do not intend to repent for anything.”
Sabina doesn’t quite have a response for that, so she just asks Ardor for his name. When he supplies it, she repeats it for the crowd and they erupt with cheers. 
Ardor steps back beside me. “So, Citrine, is it? It appears that you will be one of my competitors in the Games.”
Despite knowing his reputation, I’ve never personally interacted with Ardor before. Halo certainly has. Both of them attend Aitken Academy. “I’m not just a competitor,” I say with a smirk. “I am the future Victor of these Games.”
Ardor frowns. “I think not. I’ve seen your body of work and, while it is certainly capable, it is most definitely inferior to mine own. I imagine you do not have what it takes to match me.”
Anger tinged with despair fills me at those words. He’s not wrong. No matter how hard I tried, I could never match his own level of skill. 
Yet I will hardly let him know that. 
“Overconfidence is a slow and insidious killer,” I tell him with a smug toss of my hair. 
“I would hesitate to call me overconfident. I have not written off the entire field, of course,” Ardor keeps his eyes on Sabina as she wraps up the Reaping. “It’s just that I know you and your skill level, and have accurately surmised that you aren’t a threat to me.”
There is no malice in his voice. No anger. He isn’t trying to belittle or provoke me. He just genuinely does not think I can match him in any way, shape, or form. 
The simple honesty in his words stabs me like a knife. 
As Sabina brings the Reaping to a close, I let my eyes drift over the crowd. My parents are still watching appreciably, the presence of Ardor has not noticeably swayed their opinion. But my eyes glide off them and search for Halo, finding him in the back of the plaza. Though there is a smile on his face, I can’t help but notice the shadows in his expression.
Sabina repeats our names to the crowd one last time and I feel an icicle of dread slowly making its way down my chest. Ardor is only one of the twenty-nine other tributes I will face in the arena. And yet his presence alone has filled me with such fear.
Being the best tribute the 24th Games has to offer is already going to be a lot harder than I’d hoped.
===District 2: Alexis Ryker===
I’ve been pacing back and forth for so long that I am surprised that I haven’t worn a hole in the floor. 
Today is Reaping Day. But it’s not just something as simple as that, no. Today is my Reaping Day. The moment I’ve been training literally my entire life for. 
There is a floor-length mirror set up in the center of our living room, so I pause my pacing and gaze into it. A lovely woman with wavy, dark brown hair stares back at me. My smooth, caramel skin seems to glisten in the light. I am beautiful. I know that. I’ve been told so my entire life. But that’s not what matters. Not in the arena. All that matters is whether I am strong.
I am not so sure. The trainers at the Academy seem to think so. I’ve been chosen as the District 2 female, one of the most competitive slots in all of New Panem, for a reason. And yet…
I do not feel strong.
“Alexis, are you ready?” Mother walks into the room. A tall, stately woman who looks much like myself, she is the reason I have trained so long and hard for the Games. It isn’t hyperbole to say that my entire life has been constant training. 
It was hard, sure, but it is all I’ve ever known. Other girls at the Academy talk about their days off, and how they go shopping or visit parks, but I’ve never done any of that. Even in days when the Academy was closed, Mother made us train. Morning, noon, and night. There was never a moments rest.
“I am ready.” I stare at my mother with disguised disgust as she adjusts her earrings. Her relentless training and merciless insults are the reason Abigail had her mental breakdown.
Except Mother wasn’t the only reason…
I am also responsible. My behavior towards my own twin sister was unacceptable. How would things be different had I offered her a kind word instead of a snide insult? A helping hand in place of a mocking taunt? Would her psyche have been better? Would she never have broken down? 
Was it all my fault?
“Come along, Alexis, we mustn’t be late to your big day!” Mother finally finishes with her preparations and pushes past me on her way to the front door. 
My mother’s obsession with the Games has existed her entire life. I reflect on this as I follow her out into the street. Her grandfather had taken part in the War of the Hunger Games and supposedly did something impressive enough to receive a letter from the then President of Panem himself. This letter forever changed him, and though he was executed after the fall of the Capitol, his letter was passed on through his family.
I’ve seen the letter myself. Mother used to show me it all the time before Abigail destroyed it, and it definitely looked like the real deal. At the same time, I don’t care about it. What is the use of words on paper written by a long dead man? I never understood why Mother put so much stock into it, or even why she’s so obsessed with gaining our family prestige and power. 
Two letters, and two sons, away from greatness.
Mother has never hidden her feelings. Long has she made it known that she wished me and Abigail had been her sons instead of her daughters. As for the letters, Mother dearest wish is that she’d been born into the Stryker family.
A foolish wish, to be sure. The Stryker’s are all dead, and the very name itself is anathema to our current President and her ruling party. But Mother has never had the most stable of minds, and with Abigail’s recent mental breakdown I’ve begun to think perhaps mental instability is genetic in our family.
My greatest fear is that I will also someday have a mental collapse.
The road to the District square is a long and winding one. Mother and I do not speak as we walk. I am still furious over her treatment of Abigail, while she is probably too busy thinking about how she’ll soon have a Victor for a daughter.
I keep my eyes on the throngs of people which build up alongside us. Is Abigail among them? She is somewhere out there in the streets. After that fateful day where Abigail’s mind finally snapped and she cut her own hand off, she was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. Mother refused to pay for her treatments at the hospital and as Abigail was eighteen, Mother was no longer required to care for her.
So Mother just let Abigail out into the streets.
Fear and anger boil over inside me. How dare she? Abigail’s whole life was nothing but brutal training at mothers hands, and once she was no longer useful, she was simply cast aside. 
I can do nothing for my twin. I do not know where she is, and even if I did, I have nothing to my name. No money, resources, or even a place to call home. Everything I have is given to me by Mother, so what could I do to help? 
The only thing I could think of was to win the Games.
Victors are granted unlimited wealth and fame, especially here in District 2. I could afford to shelter Abigail and pay for her treatments. I could finally begin repaying her for my terrible behavior. Yet if I fail…
Death. 
The word has become so powerful suddenly. Even when I watched my fellow Academy students enter the Games and fight, more often than naught to their untimely deaths, the large screen of our television made it feel so distant and unreal. I watched people I’d spent year’s training alongside die and felt nothing more than simple indifference. 
But now the reality of the situation is setting in. Death is a real possibility inside the Games. If I die in the arena, then what will become of Abigail?
The more I think about this, the more fear and doubt seeps into my very being. The fear is fine. Our trainers have often spoken of the power of fear. For some it renders them frozen and incompetent, but for others it spurs their efforts. We were trained to harness the fear and use it to our advantage. No, the fear does not bother me.
But the doubt does. 
I spot no sign of my sister as we draw near to the square. The streets widen out and the air is filled with the sound of trumpets and celebratory shouts. Large banners hang over head, flapping in the wind. The faces of District 2’s previous Victors adorn them.
We’ve had four Victors, the most of any District. I stare at their faces as I pause at the end of the entrance line.
Kane Slayte was our first Victor, the winner of the 2nd ever Games. The Careers didn’t exist at the time he competed, so he carved out a Victory all on his own. He is also the oldest Victor of them all. Just last week District 2 celebrated his fortieth birthday bash. 
His future wife, Hera, won the 4th Games. She married Kane soon after and the two of them have a son, Brick, who is my age. I have seen the boy often at the Academy, and he is tremendously strong and talented. The son my mother never had. He has been chosen as the destined volunteer for the 24th Games and will be competing alongside me.
I don’t know how to feel about that.
The line inches forward at a snails pace. Mother begins to complain about the speed to anyone who is willing to listen. I am not, so I return to studying the faces of our Victors.
Gunner Ganbold won the 14th Games a full decade ago. His group of Careers ran roughshod over the arena and all six of them made it to the final day, where they promptly turned on one another. Gunner was the survivor or their melee, and thus the Victor.
The fourth and final banner features the face of a girl I’ve personally met. Athena Honorius. She is only two years older than me and won the 22nd Games back when I was sixteen. Though she was frequently in different classes than myself, I did train alongside her for a time at the Academy.
I find myself scowling at her face. Athena was always cordial, even friendly, during our encounters, but it was her Victory that put mother into a rage and propelled her to make my and Abigail’s training sessions longer and more intense. Mother had always claimed that either Abigail or myself would become District 2’s first Victor this decade, and thus our Victory would be even more significant, but then Athena came along and ruined that. 
So Mother took her anger out on us.
The day after Athena’s Crowning Mother put us through our most brutal training regiment yet. And that night was the first time where I learned Abigail heard voices in her head. My hands clench into fists as I stare at the banner. Though I blame Athena, I know that it is truly my own fault. How did I not see the signs? I should’ve noticed Abigail’s mental health was failing and done something, anything, to try and help. Instead…I did nothing. 
We finally reach the front of the line and I am forced to bury my emotions as the group of Peacekeepers and the Agent in charge of them come up to sort me. “Make me proud, Alexis!” Mother says as she slips into the spectator line.
“I will, Aurelie.” I use my mother’s first name and feel glee at the sight of her anger and confusion. 
Still, it doesn’t last long. Mother walks away, head held high and back stiff, as I am sorted into the proper line and herded toward the square. 
District 2’s square is built right in front of our mayor’s manor, which is set into the side of a nearby mountain. The manor looms over the cobblestone square as hundreds upon hundreds of people pack themselves inside, all eager to witness the Reaping for yet another Games.
“Hello, District 2!” The voice of our Representative, Silenus Morton, booms through loudspeakers set throughout the square. “Welcome to the Reaping for the 24th Games!”
Raucous cheers greet his words. I know from watching the televised Reapings that many of the other DIstrict’s don’t seem to be as excited for the Games as my fellow citizens are, but that’s understandable. We’ve had much more success inside the arena than any other district. Besides for us, District 14 itself is the only one to have more than two Victors.
Silenus’ next words aren’t so warmly greeted. Some prattle about the importance of penance and whatnot. No one here really cares about that stuff, but I find myself transfixed on his words for the first time in my life. The Games are meant to wipe away your guilt. Winning them erases your sins. 
Will winning make up for what I have done to Abigail?
“Introducing our past Victors, who sought their penance and found it inside the arena!” Silenus gestures at the four people beside him, and I grimace at the sight of Athena’s beaming face. “Hopefully the two brave tributes we discover today will be just as successful!”
Oh, I will be. I must. If I fail, I die, then so does Abigail. I am the only hope left for my sister. 
“First, the female tribute!” Unlike in other districts, no bowl is brought out. Everyone knows there will be a volunteer, and most people even know it’ll be me. The Academy always decides the volunteer months in advance. 
“I volunteer!” My shoutout is perfunctory. I am pretty sure the District has already filed all the relevant paperwork and proclaimed me as tribute. 
The crowd parts like a school of fish before a shark as I approach the stage. Once upon it, I stand beside the previous Victors as Silenus announces my presence to the crowd. Kane and Hera watch me with cool, calm expressions as Athena cheerfully waves and smiles at me. Gunner, meanwhile, practically ignores my existence. 
Silenus sets the microphone before me. “Your name?” 
“Alexis Ryker. I am your next Victor.”
While the crowd goes crazy for that, I can’t help but notice Kane and Hera’s expressions twitch. Neither one will be keen to see me succeed. Not with their precious son competing in the arena alongside me.
Silenus asks for a male volunteer and it’s not long before I hear their son, Brick, calling out his intentions, before making his way towards the stage.
Brick is a tall guy, standing several inches over six feet and he possesses an impressively muscular build. His blond hair is somewhat shaggy looking, but his eyes more than make up for that. One of them is the brightest of blue, while the other is a deep green. Many girls at the Academy have made mention of his handsome appearance.
“Brick Slayte! What an absolute honor!” Silenus gushes over the boy as he stops beside him. The crowd goes nuts with cheering. Not surprising. Being a child of the District’s two biggest celebrities has its perks, and being beloved by the masses is one of them. 
Brick nods. He looks decidedly disinterested, despite all the pomp and circumstance surrounding him. That’s been his standard behavior for his entire time at the Academy. Even though Brick has always been the best at practically every thing he’s attempted, he’s never been one for boasting. 
I feel uneasy as I watch him exchange words with his parents. Brick is undoubtedly the best student at the Academy. While I’ve always been the strongest and most skilled female attendant—no one else even comes close to me—Brick himself has always held more raw power than I do. And it’s not as if there’s anything I could do to rectify that. No matter how long or hard I train, I will never be able to match his size or strength. Simple genetics have put him in a league above.
It’s not fair, but I’ve long since learned there is nothing to be gained in whining about things you cannot change. 
Silenus has me shake hands with Brick and I stare into his mismatched eyes as we do. There is no emotion to be seen. Just two blank orbs of differing colors. I wonder what he sees in my own eyes. Guilt? Fear? I hope not. I cannot afford to show weakness to anyone, least of all someone who will start out as one of the odds-on favorite to win.
The ceremony continues on, but my part in it is over. Silenus and other officials speak as I spend all my time scanning the crowd, hoping beyond hope to spot a sign of Abigail. Surely she’d have been drawn to the crowds. Actually, now that I think about it, she has to be here. It is mandatory for every Reaping age child to attend. 
Yet I’ve only just begun my search of the eighteen year-olds line when the Reaping finally comes to an end and I find myself led off the stage and into the mayoral mansion behind me. I am led through posh  sitting rooms and wide hallways until I am eventually deposited in a small study. The room smells strongly of oak and sawdust as I am told to wait for my final visitors before being sent off to District 14. 
The door opens only a few minutes later. I spin toward it, somehow thinking it’s Abigail come to visit me, but my hopes die when I see her walk into the room.
Aurelie. My mother.
“What do you want?” I snap, anger getting the best of me.
Aurelie sets both hands on her hips and glowers at me. “That is no way to speak to your mother! Have you forgotten who it was that put you in this position? Do you think for one moment that you’d ever have become tribute if not for me?”
She’s delusional. She not only thinks that her training from hell was a good thing, but that I should be thankful for it! “What about how you helped Abigail?” I demand. “You just abandoned her when she needed you most!”
Aurelie sniffs and adjusts her shawl. “Your sister was weak. You heard the doctors. Her mind was shattered. What was I to do? Spend a fortune on useless treatment? Preposterous! Better to focus on my true daughter than that failure.”
My anger boils over into a rage. For a moment it feels like the world is spinning and I grip the edge of the desk so hard my knuckles begin to hurt. Abigail was no good at training, that’s true. She was too kind and soft-hearted for the Games, but to call her useless? A failure? 
Mother apparently takes my silence for agreement, for she continues. “All our family’s hopes now rely on you, Alexis! You will win these Games and finally bring the Ryker family the honor it deserves! No longer will we be two letters away from greatness!”
Does she think me a fool? I know better than anyone that she wishes she had Brick for a son rather than me. 
“I will not win these Games for you,” I say quietly.
“Pardon?” Mother narrows her eyes at me.
“I am not doing this for you,” I raise my voice and stand. She instinctively shrinks away. “I am going to win for Abigail. I will become Victor and give her the life she deserves, the one you stole from her. I will have absolutely nothing to do with you. I shall win for Abigail, and Abigail alone.”
Mother begins to protest, to scream and complain, but I don’t listen. She sounds so shrill and weak. It’s hard to imagine that this is the same woman who made my and Abigail’s lives nothing but a constant struggle. Was there really a time when I feared her? Foolish. 
And yet…
I can feel the expectations and worries pressing down on me, threatening to crush my very being. What if I fail? What happens to Abigail then? What if she is already dead? What if I am too late? There’s already a mountain of pressure atop me, and the Games haven’t even begun.
===District 3: Techna Vision===
“Every day, it gets a little easier. But you gotta do it every day. That's the hard part. But it does get easier.”
I repeat this mantra to myself as I dress in my finest outfit. Today is Reaping Day, and that means Mom, Dad, and me will be trotted out into the District Square so that our tyrannical government can abduct two children and force them to play a deadly game under the pretense they can atone for their “sins” and serve their “penance”.
What a great country we live in.
When I finish getting dressed I find a ribbon in my desk drawer and debate tying it into my hair. Its pure white color would stand out against my black hair and dark skin, but do I really want to stand out? What would be the point? To draw attention to how unspectacular I am?
I sigh and tuck the ribbon away into my pocket. There I go, getting swept up by negative thoughts again. My psychologist told me to avoid doing that, but did note it’d be a constant struggle. 
Trying to ignore these despondent thoughts, I step up to the mirror and smile into it. It looks fake. Well, it’s not. I mean, it is right now, but it won’t be fake when I see my friends at the Reaping. No matter how I feel on the inside, I always manage a genuine smile for my friends. Seeing them succeed has been a consistent source of happiness for myself. 
Even if it kills me that I can’t mimic that success.
I finish with my preparations and head out into the living room, where Mom and Dad await. Normally I’d have some sweet and bubbly comment to make, but today I stay silent. Reaping Day is especially difficult around my house for the absence it creates. The one who was stolen from us.
I glance at her picture on the wall.
My sister, Julia. 
I was only three when she was Reaped. She competed in the 12th Games, where she’d been almost immediately written off by the experts as a bloodbath death. But she was more than that. Julia was a fighter who didn’t know the meaning of the word quit. She fought and survived all the way to the top three, where she was then slain by the eventual Victor and District 14 champion, Vector Niddick.
A burning rage stirs in my chest at these thoughts. Vector was an expert on poisons. Though he’d laid low for majority of the Games, he’d already killed a pair of tributes with poisoned weapons. When he and Julia met in combat…
I didn’t see the Games live, or at least I don’t remember seeing them live. But I’ve seen the repeats. The 12th are one of the most popular iterations of the Games, and it’s rebroadcast in its entirety several times a year. So I’ve seen Julia’s journey through the arena. I saw every little detail.
Even her death.
Vector stabbed Julia with a poisoned blade and fled from the girl. Badly wounded, my sister sought shelter and eventually collapsed in the hollow of a tree. That’s when the poison kicked in. It was not a fast-acting one.
Julia’s death was slow and painful. 
“You ready, Techna?” Mom gives me a quick glance over as I stride into the room. “We’re pretty late as is.”
“Does it matter if we are on time or not?” Dad grumbles as he pulls on his jacket. Like myself, he has hated District 14 ever since they took Julia from us. “It’s not as if they’ll postpone the thing just because we’re not there.”
I break into a round of laughter at this, drawing a disapproving look from Mom and a hearty slap on the back from Dad. “Looks like Techna gets it,” He says with a smile. 
I appreciate his willingness to take my side in things. I mean, he should. He was more-or-less the one to raise me to hate District 14 so much. 
There’s some more conversation, but it’s just boring, normal stuff, so I only pay minimal attention until we’re heading outside and setting off down the road. We have to pass through the factory district on our way to the Square, and I find myself staring sullenly at the hi-tech, modular buildings.
So many of my peers either work or study at these factories. They’re all intelligent, incredibly gifted individuals. But as for myself? I’m nothing. Just an average girl who couldn’t hope to ever match the level of skill they possess. Sometimes I have this tiny voice in the back of my head that goes, ‘Hey, everyone hates you! And they're not wrong to feel that way!’
I know it’s not true, of course, but it can feel true. At times it is hard to convince myself otherwise. 
We leave the factories behind and emerge into the downtown streets. This is where we first encounter other people. The stragglers who, like us, are showing up at the very last minute.
An entire squadron of Agents sit outside the small fence assembled before the square. They wear their trademark black body armor and beetle-like helmets. I’ve always hated the way it seems to give them mandibles. 
“Name and occupation?” Their leader asks Dad as we draw near. 
“Rexx Vision. I work in tech support at Martel Incorporated.” Dad hands him his identification card and the Agent runs it through a scanner on his datapad. They repeat the process for me and Mom, then wave us on into the square.
“Stupid bug heads,” Dad mutters once we’re out of earshot. 
Security has always been tighter in District 3 than most of the other Districts. It’s our factories and facilities which produce the technology and weapons that keep our government in power, so it only makes sense for them to have a strong military presence here. 
Because that’s what the Agents are. Military soldiers. The Peacekeepers are our country’s policing force, and the Agents are a grade way above them. The Agents carry literal weapons of war around with them, and their presence alone would probably deter any kind of aggression on part of the citizenry. 
I eye the long, smooth object hanging from an Agent’s waist as we enter the square. A Killswitch. 
Those weapons were actually created right here in District 3 by a company known as MegaByte Industries™. Yes, the “™” is part of its name. I don’t know why. Legal reasons, maybe. Anyway, the Killswitch is a versatile melee weapon which can transform itself between a sword, axe, spear and more with just the flick of a button. Though it’s never been officially confirmed, I suspect that the variation the Agents carry is even more impressive than the ones we send to the Academies. They’re soldiers of destruction, so I very much doubt they are carrying simple swords and axes with them. 
“There’s that boys face again,” Dad grumbles.
A large billboard overlooks the square, one with a youth’s familiar face plastered on it. Vizio Byte. He’s a household name here in District 3, known for his incredible intelligence and business acumen. His family is actually the founders of MegaByte Industries™, and it was Vizio himself who created the Killswitches, among other inventions. 
I look away from the billboard and focus on the upcoming crowd. I don’t like being reminded of Vizio’s greatness. He’s just sixteen, only a year older than I am, yet he has already accomplished so much. It makes me feel…inferior. 
When I split with my parents, I wind up in the crowd assembled before the stage, my group of friends jostling around me and chattering excitedly. None of them seem overly worried about the possibility of being Reaped, and I definitely am not about to bring up the fact. 
So I just join them, laughing and cajoling as the proceedings begin on stage. Our District Representative, Lyla Higgins, is the first to take the mic. “Hello, dearest District 3!” The young woman waves to the crowd, a bright smile on her perky face. “Welcome to the Reaping for the 24th Games! I know it has been a long wait, but I feel like this year will finally be the one where we find poor Dysc a fellow Victor!”
‘Poor Dysc’ is the short, thin man standing to her right. Dysc Packard is District 3’s first and only Victor in the Games. And he wasn’t just our first; Dysc won the very 1st Games, a full twenty-four years ago, making him New Panem’s first ever Victor. Though he is treated as a hero by majority of the populace, I can’t say I’ve ever been a fan of the man. 
As Dysc competed in the first Games, no one, including the tributes, really knew how it worked. There were no Careers, and very few mutts and Gamemaker traps. A full third of the tributes died in the bloodbath. Afterwards most of the tributes ran about aimlessly. Dysc, however, had a strategy. He recruited a large number of tributes and brought them into his alliance, saying that he had a plan that would ensure they all could live. 
When his entire alliance wound up being the only remaining tributes, Dysc told them he knew how to escape the arena and led his friends into a clearing, where he then activated the electrical trap he’d set up days ago and killed them all. 
I will never be able to cheer for a man like that.
“Well, I don’t want to keep you all here any longer than necessary!” Lyla giggles to herself as she snaps her fingers and has a bowl brought to her. She sticks a hand inside and fishes out a slip of paper. “Let’s see if your twenty year wait is over, shall we?”
Probably not. What’re the odds we finally get a Victor again this year? Not very high, I am sure.
Lyla scans the slip. “And your female tribute for the 24th Games is…Techna Vision!”
Oh. Oh no. Me. My name was just drawn. The odds were so low…how could this happen?
My feet begin to move on their own accord, taking me through the crowd and towards the stage. My friends have fallen uncharacteristically silent as I part. They too are stunned. 
“Why hello there!” Lyla gives me a cheery smile as I join her on stage. The crowd of people, almost the entirety of District 3, looks so small from up here. “You must be Techna!”
Despite all the fear and worry which has sprung up inside me, I force a smile onto my face. I need to look strong for the cameras. And besides such…
I spot my friends in the crowd. They all stare back at me in odd silence. I can tell they don’t know how to respond. They want to cheer for me and show their support, but at the same time they realize the awful truth facing me. I will likely die inside that arena. 
Still, I smile. I smile and wave at my friends. Even now, with my own life in the balance, I am compelled to support others. They needn’t be so despondent. After all, it’s not completely impossible for me to win the Games. There’s a chance I will survive.
Right? 
“Let’s find out who will be brave Techna’s partner!” Lyla steps past me on her way to the next bowl. I stand with my arms hanging uselessly at my side. What am I supposed to do now? Lyla removes a slip. “And the boy who will compete in the 24th Games is…Vizio Byte!” 
A hush goes over the crowd. Everyone knows that name. Vizio is one of the biggest celebrities in District 3. An extraordinary philomath who’d come up with dozens of inventions which have completely changed our way of life. And he hadn’t even begun to reach his prime. Who knows what he’d accomplish over his lifetime?
Now we may never find out.
Vizio himself emerges from the crowd after an extended period of silence. A thin boy with wide glasses, he has black hair which falls to his neck in messy curls. A common joke around District 3 is that the one thing he can’t invent is a way to tame his hair. 
Vizio looks remarkably unperturbed as he ascends the stage. A stoic expression of boredom across his face, he approaches Lyla with arms folded behind his back. “Well,” he says, voice low and emotionless. “I most certainly didn’t predict this.”
The crowd breaks into a round of laughter, and the boy nods to himself, as if he’d been counting on that very reaction. 
“It’s quite an honor to see one such as yourself compete in the Games!” Lyla offers him a smile and a handshake. 
“It will definitely be interesting, to say the least.” Vizio shakes the woman’s hand and step back, his movements stiff and precise. I find myself confused by his nonchalance. Vizio has practically everything you’d ever want in life, but now that he’s being thrust into the Games, he’s not the slightest bit worried that he’ll lose it all? 
As Lyla begins to wrap up the proceedings, I notice that Vizio himself is staring at me. “Do you need something?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
“Hmm…” He stares straight through me, mouth twisted into something of a pout. 
“Hello? Earth to Vizio!” I resist the urge to slap him. That definitely wouldn’t go down well with the crowd or the cameras.
“Pardon?” He shakes his head. “Oh. No. I need nothing. I was merely attempting to analyze how well you will fare in the Games.”
Everyone thought Julia would be nothing more than a bloodbath death. What about me? “And what did your analysis find?” I ask aloud.
Vizio shakes his head again. “Oh, it was inconclusive. There are far too many unknown variables at this point to make any accurate assessment.”
I would think he was trolling me if not for the fact Vizio is well-known as a remarkable analyst who can accurately predict both the marketplace and future innovations. If he makes any sort of prediction about my chances, I am going to listen. 
Yet Vizio remains silent. His eyes drift away from me and towards the crowd. I still can’t fathom how he’s so calm. My insides feel like they’re being twisted in a vise. First the Games claim my sisters’ life, now they make a stake on my own? And Dad…
I hope he doesn’t do anything foolish. He already hates District 14 so much that if something happens to me in the arena….
I worry about him. I am worried about my Mom too. And my friends. But most of all, I am worried about myself. Only one person survives the arena. Only one person comes back home. They’re always either the smartest and strongest tribute, or they possess some kind of remarkable skill that sets them apart from everyone else. Vizio fits that description perfectly. But myself…?
I fear the odds are not in my favor.
===District 4: Tidus Flow===
The brisk morning air awakens me from sleep. My eyes flicker open and the sound of nature fills my ears. Seagulls are calling, and the waves of District 4 are lapping on the shore. I smile and breathe in the air. Today may be the Reaping, but why let that spoil what looks to be a great day? 
I roll out of bed and my bare feet feel cool against the wooden boards beneath me. My house—if you want to call it that—isn’t anything more than a one room shack that I built myself. It’s a little ways apart from the beach, set in the shade offered by the trees which grow on its edge. 
“More than enough for me!” I grin to myself as I walk over to the small chest—just a wooden box I carved into shape—and begin to rummage inside for my clothes. Today is Reaping Day, so I opt for something a little more formal than I’d usually wear; a white button down shirt and a pair of navy slacks. One of the few outfits I took with me when I left District 14. 
I don’t spend much time thinking about District 14. Life here on the beaches of District 4 is good enough for me, so why dwell on the past? Still, Reaping Day always makes me feel a little melancholic. 
Wonder what Mom and Dad are up to? Probably focused on their research. Even though they never really went above and beyond, the two of them were usually successful in their endeavors. Huh. Maybe I should visit someday…
Finally dressed, I slip on my sandals—yeah, I am wearing sandals with my fancy outfit, whatever—and pull open my shacks door as I step out onto the beach. 
Brilliant morning light shines down from the sky and bathes the soft sand of the beach in a warm glow. Gentle waves wash against the shore, the horizon gleaming with a tantalizing sparkle. I can already tell that today will offer some excellent surfing. 
“Gotta hit the Reaping first,” I remind myself. 
The sound of my voice brings the barking of a dog and I turn to spot Rocky scrabbling out of his doghouse as he rushes over to me. 
“There you are, boy!” I drop to my knees and ruffle his ears as he wags his tail excitedly. Rocky is a mottled, red-fur cattle dog who has been adopted by us beach dwellers. I am not the only person who lives on this beach. There are over a dozen of us here, all immigrants from other parts of the country who’ve moved to District 4 for one reason or another. “Who’s a good boy? You are! Yes you are!”
I spend some time showering Rocky in much deserved affection before standing and gazing out at the picturesque beach behind me. The waves lapping at the shore, the sun as it shines overhead, and the glistening sand…this is the perfect life.
What more could I ever ask for?
Some of the other residents have begun to emerge from their houses along the beach. Most of them are on the edge of the tree line, but a few of us built our homes deeper into the woods. I know that Fennel was a carpenter back in District 7, so he built his own home somewhere in the middle of the forest. His house looks like a mansion compared to my humble shack. 
Not that I mind. The simple things in life are best. I’ve never regretted leaving District 14 and the possibility of fame behind. All I want, all I need, is somewhere quiet where I can live life doing what I love. Nothing else matters. 
Go with the flow.
That’s my family’s motto, and it’s one I’ve always aspired to. The world would be a much more peaceful place if everyone just stopped stressing about the future and enjoyed the present.
“Good morning, Tidus!” A dark-haired woman sends me a greeting as she sets up a foldable chair on the beach and begins to knit. 
“Hello, Mrs. Marple!” I incline my head in greeting. 
“Headed to the Reaping, are you?”
“Yeah, unfortunately. Can’t just skip it like you can.” Though some of the beaches’ residents, like myself, immigrated here legally and came through the proper government channels, many of the others…didn’t. They’re more of the undocumented variety, and aren’t on any of the official government registers. Meaning they can skip events like the Reaping with impunity. 
“Well, have fun!” Mrs. Marple returns to her knitting and I head further down the beach. I am about to turn off onto the path leading to the District proper when Rocky rushes ahead and starts dancing around two kids who’ve just exited a shack.
“Mornin’ Sola and Helios!” I wave at the pair. The two of them are among the youngest citizens of the beach, and I know that neither of them came here legally. 
“Oh. Hello, Tidus.” Helios is a smaller boy, with wild, unruly red hair and a tendency to glance over his shoulder. It’s a trait he shares with Sola, a holdover from…less fortunate days, I imagine.
“How’s it going?” I make small talk. “Got any plans for today?”
Helios shakes his head. “No. We’re just going to sit here and…enjoy the day.” 
I expected as much. The two of them seemingly never leave the beach, or at least when they do, they never enter the District proper. 
“Reaping Day reminds me of him…” Sola says softly, still petting Rocky. “All the death and killing…”
I wait, expecting her to elaborate, but she never does. Instead of pressing the matter I just laugh and tell them I’m headed out now, so they should keep an eye on Rocky. As I walk away, I see Helios whispering to Sola. 
I wonder what their deal is? Still, I’ve never been one to pry into others personal business, so I turn my attention to the gravel path which crisscrosses through the forest and eventually leads out into District 4. A short jog later and I find myself emerging from the woods and onto a dirt road which cuts through the forest. A wooden signboard hangs over a crossroads, and a tall teenager waits underneath it.
Cray. My friend from the Academy.
Though I attend the Academy, I do not and never have had any intention of volunteering. The prospect of fame has never enticed me, and the fact death is very possible, if not plausible, in the arena has always turned me off of the idea. So why do I attend the Academy at all? Simple.
Exercise and socialization.
The Academy itself is a great way to stay in shape, offering tons of ways to hone your body and just practice calisthenics. As for socialization…
The beach is great and has tons of awesome people living there, but none of them are exactly my peer group. Most of them are older adults, and a few are younger teenagers like Helios and Sola. There isn’t a single person there who is my own age. The Academy, however, is a great place to meet people my own age who share similar interests and values. 
Cray walks up and gives me an enthusiastic slap on the back. “Last year our names are in that fishbowl, eh?”
“Yep! I can’t wait for it to be over.” Though it’ll also mean the end of my tenure at the Academy, I honestly haven’t spent much time there in recent months. I’ve kinda just been blowing classes off to chill on the ocean.
Cray laughs. “Oh yeah! It’ll mean we’re finally actual adults! I might even try to get my boating license!”
We fall into a pattern of easy conversation as we head off down the path and towards the harbor. That’s where District 4 holds its Reaping every year. “You ready for the party tonight?” Cray asks as we walk.
“Party?”
He gives me a look of annoyance. “Bro! Our post-reaping party! We’ve been planning it for months!”
It takes me a few seconds, but I eventually remember what he’s talking about. Of course, saying that we’ve been planning it is bit of a stretch. The truth is that Cray has been planning this party for months, while periodically telling me how insanely awesome it’s going to be. And, in all fairness, it does sound super awesome. 
Cray’s family owns a huge house right on the oceanfront. I mean, the thing is practically a mansion. It has a swimming pool, in-house theater, and everything! The best part is that every year Cray’s parents hop on a train after the Reaping and take a weeklong vacation in District 14. Meaning Cray has the house all to himself. 
So for months now he’s been plotting this big blowout party. The “party to end all parties” as he’s taken to calling it. It’s meant to be a celebration of the fact that after this Reaping we’re no longer eligible for the Games, and thus are true adults in the eyes of New Panem’s government. Cray has stocked up on food, drinks, alcohol, and every other party favor you can imagine. He’s even hinted at the possibility of fireworks.
“I remember,” I say as the path transitions from a dirt road to a cobblestone one. The harbor is just up ahead. “It’s gonna be the party to end all parties, yeah?”
“You know it!” Cray laughs and slaps my shoulder. “Hey! Maybe we’ll even find you your first girlfriend!”
“You say that as if you’ve ever had a girlfriend of your own!”
He shrugs. “Fair enough. Maybe we’ll both get our first girlfriend!”
The harbor looms ahead. The buildings are short and long, carved from solid stone and decorated with embedded shells and coral. Several marble statues line the boardwalk, glistening in the sun. District 4 had been badly damaged in the War, so when rebuilding efforts began there was a focus on making the new buildings sturdy, yet beautiful. By all accounts they succeeded.
“Dude! Look!” Cray nudges me with an elbow. I tear my eyes away from the stonework to see what he wants. “It’s her! Bro, we gotta ask her to come to the party!”
I stop and stare at the throng of people as they approach the harbor from the path opposite ours. There, followed by a crowd of her friends and admirers, I spot the most beautiful girl in District 4.
Penelope Finbar.
Her beauty rivals that of the statues and buildings. It’s something that can’t easily be described, yet I strive to do so anyway. Her wild, curly, sun-bleached blonde hair is easily her most defining feature, and I find myself staring at it as it flows over her shoulders and halfway down her back.
“Bro, you should ask her if she wants to come to the party!” Cray snaps me out of my stupor by nudging me with another elbow.
“What? Why me?”
“Dude, she’ll be more likely to accept if you ask her!”
I don’t know if that’s true. I mean, yeah, I’ve been called handsome and charismatic by a few people now and then, but this is Penelope Finbar we’re talking about! The girl every guy wants and every other girl wants to be! She’s rejected pretty much everyone who’s ever had the guts to ask her out. Why does Cray think this will be any different?
Penelope and her entourage draw closer. From this distance I can make out the freckles on her soft face. The small, upturned nose and that prominent cupid-bow on those heart-shaped lips…As she gets closer, Penelope happens to glance my way and our eyes meet. I find myself staring into the endless void of beauty. Those gray eyes are like a gateway to heaven itself. 
“Now’s your chance!” Cray whispers into my ear and pushes me forward. I feel my heart drop as Penelope and everyone else turns their gaze on me. Oh boy. Well, nothing to be done now. I might as well ask her. What’s the worse that could happen?
I mean, other than total public humiliation?
I begin to approach. At first I adopt a swaggering stride, but I quickly realize it just makes me look like an idiot so I drop back into my normal gait. While I can see looks of amusement on the faces of the girls behind her, Penelope herself hasn’t reacted. 
I hope that’s a good sign. 
“Hey, Penelope!” I give a little wave as her group pauses. Keep it casual. 
“Oh, hello there!” She smiles warmly at me, her soft voice ringing out like musical chimes. “You’re Tidus, right?”
She knows my name? She knows my name! Excitement rises in me only to be quashed immediately. Penelope also attends the Academy. Of course she knows my name. But then, I have been absent quite often…
“Yep! I’m Tidus, and that’s Cray,” I motion at my pal, who gives a little wave. “The two of us are hosting a party at Cray’s house tonight, and we were wondering if you wanted to attend it? We’re celebrating the fact today will be the last time we’re eligible for the Reaping!”
Penelope smiles. It’s such a small thing, but it seems to radiate warmth. “Well, I think that is a pow’fully kind offer, but I am afraid I must decline. I have…other plans for tonight.”
Annnd that’s a rejection. Ouch. Hurts even more than I thought it would. 
“Other plans, huh?” Cray doesn’t seem to mind, though, for he keeps the conversation rolling. “Like what? Gonna meet up with a guy tonight?”
Penelope smiles again, but there’s something different about it this time. A kind of…sadness in her eyes. Sadness? That doesn’t make sense. What would the girl with everything have to be sad about? 
“I…suppose you could say that.”
Her words open a floodgate. All the girls behind her immediately begin to “ooh” and “aah”, bowing their heads together as they chatter like excited sparrows. Every guy in the vicinity stops and stares at another, wondering if he, perhaps, is the one lucky enough to be going out with Penelope Finbar. 
I am the only one to see it. The sadness behind those gray eyes. Everyone else just sees the surface. Her happy voice and cheerful smile. But underneath all that…
Penelope is a girl like any other. One with a wide range of emotions and troubles. 
“Dude.” Cray stands still as Penelope and her entourage start moving once more. My eyes remain focused on Penelope as she leads the way into the harbor. “Who do you think the lucky son of a bitch is?”
“I don’t know.” There’s a twinge of jealousy  in me, though I can’t understand why. I don’t know Penelope all that well, or at all, actually. “I suppose it’s not really our business.”
“Guess so.” Cray sounds disappointed. I guess he really thought we had a chance of getting Penelope to attend the party. “Oh well. Let’s get this final Reaping over with, yeah?”
It doesn’t take long for us to reach the harbor and file into the groups of teenagers assembled before the stage. The stage itself is suspended over the water, and is made of a silver crystalline-like substance which sparkles in the sun and creates a marvelous spectacle of light. 
Cray strikes up a conversation with some other guys as we settle in and wait for the District Representative to begin the proceedings. Sounds like he’s trying to recruit more people to his party. Figures. 
“Hello, District 4! Are you ready for your 24th Reaping?” Wyalla Steffens takes the stage with a smile and wave. After a few introductions, she begins to give a rundown on what the Games are. Wyalla is somehow always out of breath when she talks, and her speech is punctuated by little gasps. Eventually she gets to the important part and two bowls are brought forth.
“Boy’s first!” Wyalla says cheerfully.
“Looks like it’ll be Denner’s time to shine,” Cray whispers to me. 
I nod. Denner is the top student at the Academy and the one chosen to be this year’s tribute. Though I don’t personally know the guy—I’ve spent hardly any time at all in the Academy these past two years—I suspect he has the skills to go far in the Games.
“And your male tribute for the 24th Games is…” Wyalla reaches a hand into the bowl. “Tidus Flow!”
A sense of fear and panic grips me before I remember that there’s going to be a volunteer. Cray chuckles from beside me. “Looks like Denner wants to drag his big moment out.”
A few seconds tick away and there still is no volunteer. The boys around me begin to glance toward the back of the crowd, where Denner stands with his head down and eyes closed. 
Real despair has begun to stir in me. Denner clearly has no intention of volunteering. And if he doesn’t, that means…The boys around me begin to whisper. 
“What’s going on?”
“Why isn’t Denner volunteering?”
The joyous expression on Cray’s face drops as he realizes just what this entails. He begins to push past the other kids as he makes his way towards Denner. Apparently he still thinks this situation can be salvaged. 
I know better.
I move through the crowd and approach the stage as Wyalla repeats my name once more. There’s an expectant hush over the crowd as I ascend the crystalline steps, conscious of the water below me. My freedom to live life as I see fit…torn away just like this. 
“Tidus Flow, I presume?” Wyalla asks, the bells tied in her hair tinkling. 
I nod, then force the trepidation away and speak. “Yup! That’s me! Guess I’m going to be our tribute this year, huh?”
In the crowd I can see Cray arguing with Denner near the back of the harbor. My friend still hasn’t given up on me, so I shouldn’t either. Being Reaped isn’t the end of the world. I can win, can’t I? I’ve been trained in two Academies inside two different Districts. That should give me some kind of advantage.
Wyalla has the next bowl brought to her as I desperately try to recall everything my training has taught me about this moment. Looking strong is important. The Reaping is when the bettors and sponsors first get a view of the tributes, and first impressions are everything. 
“And Tidus’ district partner is…” Wyalla has begun to open a slip.
“I volunteer!”
Well, at least the girls still have a volunteer. I try not to feel bitter about that as I wait for her to make an appearance. Clearly whatever gave Denner cold feet isn’t bothering this—
My train of thought derails as I see the girl ascending the steps towards me.
Penelope Finbar.
What? I stare at the girl in absolute shock as she reaches the microphone and offers Wyalla a small smile. Penelope had everything in life. Why would…? 
The crowd itself is stunned silent. You could hear a pin drop as Penelope pauses beside Wyalla and gives a curtsy. “My name is Penelope Finbar. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Why? It’s the word that’s in everyone’s head. Why would she volunteer? What does she have to gain? Fame? Fortune? Surely she’d be able to get either of those here, without risking her life. Why would…
I stare at Penelope’s eyes. Past the fake cheerfulness and beauty. I see the truth buried beneath. She is afraid and worried. Of what? The Games? Impossible. She’d never have volunteered otherwise. But then why did she?
I have…other plans for tonight. 
Penelope knew all along that she was going to volunteer. That’s why she rejected our offer to come to the party. Still, it doesn’t make sense.
Wyalla introduces Penelope to the crowd, then has her shake hands with me. I force a small smile as we do. “Guess I was that the guy you were meeting with tonight after all, huh?” Clearly she was referencing the male tribute when she said that. 
“I suppose so.” Penelope gives another tight smile. I can’t tell if anyone else sees how upset she is. It doesn’t seem like it. 
Yet that is hardly the most important thing right now. I’ve been Reaped. I am being shipped off into the arena and forced to fight for my survival. I have training, sure, but I never expected to actually have to put it to use. And the other Careers have all been trained as well—not to mention the possibility of there being tributes from Academy’s outside the Careers. 
No. These Games will not be easy. If I want to win, to survive, then I will have to give it everything I have. To regain my freedom of choice, I will need to take all my skills and talents, and use them to the best of my ability. I must be willing kill all twenty-nine of the other competitors. Well, if that’s what it takes to get my life back…
So be it.
===District 5: Edison Burn===
The room is dim and smoky. There are only two overhead lights, and one of them constantly flickers. A bedraggled wooden table is set up in the center of the room, beneath the good light, and a group of men sit around it, laughing and talking loudly. Cigarette smoke rises from the group. I wrinkle my nose. I hate the smell. It reminds me of that old hag who raised me when I was a child.
I am the youngest person present. I sit on a stool in a darkened corner of the room, using a knife to clean my fingernails as I stare at the small cell across from me. The bars are old and rusted. It wouldn’t take much effort to break them down. But the guy inside, lying in a huddled ball on the stone floor, is in no condition to even try. It is currently my job to keep an eye on him, though I am spending most of my attention on the conversation happening at the table. 
“We’re brought in a good haul today!” A wide, heavy-set man guffaws as he lights up yet another cigarette. “Them morons who asked us for Reaping protection all hadda pay up!”
Henke, our gang’s second-in-command, doesn’t respond. He sits hunched over at the table, hands folded as he stares at the wooden graining. He seems to be deep in thought, and that brings the rest of the room to silence. 
Normally we’d be discussing this with our leader, Pike, but he’s away on a “business trip”, so it lands on Henke to run today’s tasks. In some gangs people would try and take advantage of Pike’s absence to wrest control for themselves, but not here. Pike is the most dangerous man in District 5—perhaps even all of New Panem—and no one would dare cross him.
I ain’t afraid of the man—Edison Burn don’t fear anything!—but you don’t have to be afraid of a predator to realize it’s safer to stay out of its way and avoid antagonizing it. 
“That’s good, Doc, that’s good,” Henke finally raises his head, his gravely voice rumbling through the room. “After all, those people owe us for the favor we did them, don’t they?”
Reaping protection. It’s one of our gangs best paying scams. There are hundreds of worried parents who’d do anything to prevent their precious child from being Reaped….which includes paying boatloads of money to Pike. 
The scam works like this; Pike finds the worried parents and tells them that he has a connection with District officials and can “pull some strings” to ensure that their child’s name isn’t the one drawn from the bowl. Naturally this doesn’t come cheap, and Pike demands a price ranging from relatively low—for the poorest people in the District—to exorbitant—which is for the rich morons who live in the Heights. The worried parents almost always pay the price. They’d do just about anything to spare their child the horror of the arena. 
‘Course, Pike doesn’t actually have any connections with District officials—or if he does—he doesn’t use it to prevent anyone’s name from being drawn. There are thousands of Reaping age children in the District and only one of them gets picked per year, so odds are those idiotic parents never realize they’re even being scammed.
But if one of those morons’ kid does get Reaped? What then? Well, it doesn’t matter. What’re they going to do? Find Pike and demand their money back? Fat chance. 
“Reaping Day is my favorite holiday!” Tipsy Dan chortles into his mug. “Always such an easy payday!”
I concur. It beats having to sneak into some traitors house and slit his throat while they’re sleeping. That’s a common task Pike gives me, and it’s one I excel greatly at. 
Are you happy to be Pike’s little personal assassin? 
I nearly fall off my stool. The voice in my head is one I haven’t heard in awhile. Not since they betrayed me and the gang both. I thought the days of that weak-hearted fool menacing me were over!
“You okay over there, Eddy?” A bushy bearded man named Vargas looks up from the table and gives me a searching look. “Them ghosts ain’t hurting you too bad, are they?”
A few of the other men join in laughing as I spit out a curse and rebalance myself on the stool. Little does Vargas know that the voice of a ghost does haunt my thoughts…though this particular “ghost” ain’t dead. 
“Reckon I’d leave him alone if I were you, Vargas,” Tipsy Dan takes another pull of his drink. “That boy may be young, but he’s Pike’s favorite blade, sure enough.”
I let their raucous dialogue fade from my ears and lean back against the wall. They should all know my skill by the scars on my body alone. And the biggest indicator of all…my missing eye. 
I shove down the familiar pangs of anger  and disgust which pop up whenever I see or think about that wound. Unlike some people, I don’t wear an eye patch. In the underground any scar or wound is a badge to be worn with honor, a mark of strength showing what you survived. It’s serious enough of an issue that some fools even harm themselves or wear fake eye patches in an effort to appear stronger than they are. 
Morons.
I lost my eye to someone I used to trust. Someone I even thought was a friend, or at least the closest thing to it. Sola. She and Helios had been together with me since childhood, when that old hag taught us how to run the streets. Never did I expect her to betray me…
I’ll never make that mistake again. I learns a valuable lesson that day. Anyone will betray you for any reason. Never put your full trust into anybody. 
I stew in my thoughts of Sola and Helios—mostly daydreams of me killing the rat bastards—while the others in the gang go over the plan for the rest of the week. Apparently Pike ain’t getting back for a day or two more. Wonder what he’s doing in District 4 that’s important enough for him to be gone on Reaping Day? 
Guess it don’t matter. I’m not gonna be here forever. Already got big plans to strike out on my own and create a new gang, one where I’m the leader. I’ll run away to some far off District where no one will ever think to look—somewhere in the eastern side, maybe, like 13 or 12—then use all of the skills and knowledge Pike gave me and create a whole new empire. 
Then someday I’ll retire and live out the rest of my days like a king in District 14. No one will—
Sola and Helios faces burn into my mind.
I grit my teeth and nearly choke on my rage. Those damn bastards! How can I just go on, knowing that they took my eye and turned me into a disfigured freak? They’re probably living their lives in peace, laughing at how they maimed little Edison. 
I will kill them!
Yet I already done tried that. They fled to District 4. I know that because Pike’s informants peeped their travel plans. The two rats stole from Pike, then booked a passage to District 4. When the gang learned of this, I was the one sent to eliminate them. 
My eye socket begins to burn with a maddening itch. Those filthy little bastards! How dare they lay a finger on me! Did they forget whose skill it was that brought them into the fold? Which kept their bellies full and put a roof over their head? If it wasn’t for me they’d have died in the streets like the rats they are!
I tried to find them. Oh, I tried. Pike brought me with on one of his little business trips to District 4, and I spent the entirety of my time there desperately searching for the two. But they had become ghosts. No matter where I looked, or how hard, I couldn’t find a single trace. 
Now they just haunt my mind with their prying little eyes. 
The other gang members rising from the table snaps me out of my thoughts. Time for the Reaping, then. I slip off the stool and stretch my arms. Was getting tired of sitting in the dark. 
The men file out of the room, laughing and talking about the bets they plan to place on the Games. I drift across to the cell in the corner and peer through the bars. Gotta make sure the prisoner stays put. 
The man inside—almost a boy, really—wearily raises his head as I approach. “P-please! You h-have to help me!”
“I don’t gotta do nothing,” I say and lean against the bars. The other members have left, leaving me alone with the man. 
“I-I can get the money! J-just let me out and I’ll g-get it, I swear!” 
So this guy is a victim of Pike’s loanshark schemes. All the pity I didn’t have continues to not exist. What kind of moron borrows money from Pike? Anyone with a brain can see he’s a dangerous man at first sight. 
The man pulls himself to his knees and scoots towards the bars. I warily step back, one hand curled around the hilt of my knife. “Please! You’re just a child! Surely you don’t approve of what these awful men do! They’ll kill me!”
This guy ain’t never lived on the streets if he thinks young age is an indicator of goodness and purity. “You ain’t mean shit to me,” I tell the man with a shrug. “So why’d I care if Pike comes and guts ya?”
The man lets out a desperate sob as I turn and stride toward the exit. Sola’s eyes flash in my mind and I nearly lose my footing. Always had a bleeding heart, she did. Wouldn’t have been able to stand aside and leave that man be. Fool. What she expect? Me to risk my own life for some idiot who threw his away? I don’t owe anyone in this world anything, and make no mistake. 
——
The crowd is loud and annoying as I stand out in the hot sun, one eye blinking as it shines down over the stage and makes the bloody thing almost impossible to look at. 
The kids around me are a pathetic sort. Mewling, feckless quim who wouldn’t be able to stand up for themselves if their life depended on it. Half of them probably still need their mommy to tuck them in at night. Whichever one of them is Reaped will die a forgettable death.
“The 24th Games will serve as yet another example of how we must strive towards penance and look forward to happier days ahead,” Our Representative, Deoxy Cordova, intones listlessly into the microphone as we wait for her to shut the hell up.  
Despite Pike’s best attempts, he’s never been able to buy the woman off. She’s just too damned straitlaced for that. His efforts to blackmail her have also failed; apparently the woman’s life is just as boring and uneventful as her speech.
So there’s nothing to be done as we all melt in the sun and hope the woman will eventually just get tired of the sound of her own voice. 
By the time she does, I am sweating profusely and my anger has risen to a dangerous level. If there weren’t so many Peacekeepers around, I’d probably stick a knife into Deoxy and do us all a favor. 
“It is time to Reap the male tribute for the 24th Games!” Deoxy has a bowl brought before her and she reaches a gloved hand inside. A moment later it emerges with a piece of paper. “And the boy who will seek his penance inside the arena is…Edison Burn!”
All my plans go up in smoke. I glance around the crowd, looking for an escape route, and find nothing but people and Peacekeepers. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Shit! 
I glower at my feet as I push through the crowd and approach the stage. I hafta play the Games. The Games. I never thought this would be possible. They weren’t nothing but a distraction to me before. But now…
“You are Edison Burn?” Deoxy, a caramel-skinned woman with long dark hair, asks as I climb the stage. It’s much cooler up here. The bastards even have a fan! 
I spit at her feet. “What’d ya think, huh?”
The woman blinks, obviously too stupid to figure out something this simple. No wonder she never took Pike’s bribes. “What a…charming lad.”
I cross my arms and glare into the crowd as the proceedings continue on and another name is eventually drawn. I don’t recognize it. 
“Tesla Wattson!”
There’s a brief pause of silence over the crowd as everyone waits for the girl to show her face. I begin to suspect that no one will ever appear when the girl herself pushes through some kids and marches up the stairs.
She’s short, with long, straight brown hair that falls all the way to her stomach. Despite her fancy clothing and name, she is surprisingly skinny. All angles and points, her limbs seem even smaller than mine.  
“There must be some mistake!” The girl storms over to Deoxy and pokes the woman in the shoulder. “It is impossible for me to be Reaped!”
“You are Tesla Wattson?” Deoxy frowns. 
“Of course I am! Are you daft, woman?”
From the look on Deoxy’s face I can tell she’s not having a good day. Tesla reaches out and rips the slip of paper out from her hand. “Obviously you can’t read, because there is no way my name was…” She trails off as she reads the slip. 
What an idiot. How dumb do you have to be to make yourself look this stupid in front of the entire District?
Tesla rips the slip into pieces and throws them into the air. “Take it back! Pick someone else!”
“I’m afraid that’s not how it works…” Deoxy tries to say as Tesla huffs and makes a feeble attempt to shove the bowl over. It doesn’t so much as wobble. Eventually she gives up and steps aside, muttering to herself.
An easy kill. She won’t last more than a few seconds in the arena. 
As Deoxy tries to regain some semblance of control over the Reaping, Tesla turns and spots me watching her. “What are you looking at, heathen?”
I don’t got a clue what “heathen” means, but I know an insult when I hear one. “Think you’re better than me, do ya? Well, well, well.”
She sniffs haughtily. “Of course I am better than you! You’re nothing more than a disgusting, one-eyed pauper!”
Today is not the day to push me over the edge. Wrestling my rage into control, I resist the urge to step forward and stab Tesla with the knife hidden in my sleeve. If it weren’t for those Peacekeepers…
“Your precious money won’t save you in the arena!” I snarl at the girl. “Them Careers won’t refuse to cut ya up just because you throw a fistful of coins at ‘em!”
Tesla falls silent. The anger fades from her face. I see the first sign of fear in her disturbing, bulbous eyes. I recognize that look, I’ve seen it before. The frightened gaze of an animal that knows it’s about to die.
I spin away from her and stare into the crowd. I don’t see any sign of the other gang members. What’ll Pike think of this? Whatever. This may be a good thing in the long run. Leaving the gang on my own terms was always going to be hard, but being Reaped probably helped. Now I have an excuse for leaving that won’t have Pike chasing me down. And when I win…
My dream already was to live like a king in District 14, and becoming Victor will only make that easier. 
So that’s it. To make my dream come true, I will win these Games and kill anyone and everyone who tries to stop me.
===District 6: Autus Spanner===
Mist swirls around me, gathering at my feet and billowing in the air, tugged by an unseen wind as it drifts across the rugged, remarkable landscape. 
My mind is filled with the images of the past tributes I’ve conversed with. This place…what is it? Some sort of spirit realm? Those people are all long gone, dead in the past iteration of the Games, and yet I have found them here, in this place.
Why is that?
During my journey across this ethereal location, I haven’t put any thought into why I am here. I know that, prior to my awakening, I had been back in District 6. Worry and fear had been plaguing my mind, despair over the upcoming Reaping. Pushed beyond my limits, I had sought out the solace of the drugs I so often smuggled into the District and…
Has this all just been a drug fueled hallucination? 
No. 
Of course not. The people I’ve met, the tributes I’ve conversed with, they’re all real. The encounters I experienced were tangible, offering me insights and connections to the spirits of those who had fallen in the Hunger Games, an old relic of history. This isn’t just some hallucination, though the drugs undoubtedly led me here. This place is different. It’s…
A chill wind blows past. The fog, which up until now has been thick and heavy, is diffused as the wind whips it away. Faint footsteps resound in the distance. Something about that feels odd. The landscape around me is wide open, with a rippling floor reminiscent of water, and a large, unending horizon of clouds and starlight. Why do those footsteps sound so…enclosed?
Three figures emerge from the mist. I watch as they approach, a mixed emotion of hesitance and doubt creeping in. Something is off about this trio. They are not like the others I have seen. Wolbert, Luna, Eleith, Train, Illegal…
No. These three don’t seem nearly as friendly. Two of them appear unhinged, their eyes filled with a wildness that sends a shiver down my spine. In contrast, the third emanates an aura of calm and collectedness. A smug smile plays on his lips, wild red hair flapping in the faint wind.
I do not know what they want from me, but I know that it is nothing good. I begin to retreat backwards, feet slipping on the smooth floor, when a whistling sound emanates from behind me.
Three red-tipped arrows sail over my head and strike the figures before me. Bizarrely, each one shatters on impact, their forms dissipating into a prismatic mist which ascends into the sky. For a moment I simply gape at the empty ground where they once stood.
Then I turn around.
I have seen red-tipped arrows before. Once, when I was smuggling contraband into District 0, I was set upon by a group of bandits. I thought for sure that I was going to die, but then those arrows had appeared and dispatched my attackers. Despite searching, I never found the archer who saved me. 
But now those arrows have appeared once more.
And this time I find the man who launched them.
He stands a dozen or so yards behind me, holding a slim bow which he casually loops around his shoulder. His clothing is nondescript, simple brown hunting leathers, and a veil which he wears up to conceal his face. I have seen this man before. He was the one who first contacted me about smuggling, who got me into the business and gave me the jobs. 
But what is he doing here of all places?
I am halfway through asking that question when the words die on my lips. The man lifts a single hand to his veil and, in one smooth motion, pulls it down.
Shockwaves travel through me. I find it hard to breathe. I’ve seen that face before. Hundreds of times. I’ve spent hours staring at his photograph, the one and only memento of my parents. It was a picture of my father, the man who disappeared when I was only two years old. 
And now he’s standing right here.
The face that had only existed as a faded photograph has suddenly become a tangible reality before me. My heart races with a mix of emotions—astonishment, confusion, and a glimmer of hope. I’ve long believed my father to be lost, his whereabouts unknown, if not dead. Yet here he stands, a figure both familiar and foreign at the same time.
There is no sound. We stare at one another over the vast, endless space of the ground beneath us, eyes locked firmly onto the other’s. What is he doing here? How is he here? Where is here? So many questions swirl within, eager to spill forth and unravel the mysteries that had plagued me for so long. But for now, in this moment, our reunion transcends words. It is a recognition of shared blood, a spark of understanding that goes beyond the confines of this spirit land. 
Disbelief fills me as I stand here, my body quivering as I finally force myself to ask the question that had lingered in my heart for so long. "Are you my father?" Even to my own ears my voice seems laced with a mix of hope and trepidation.
"Yes, Autus. I am your father," The man’s voice is loud and clear. I detect no sign of subterfuge or betrayal. He seems to be telling the truth. Still, there’s a sense of…regret around him. 
I don’t know how to respond. The fact I am not even clear in where I currently am lends more confusion to the matter. 
"But...are you dead?" I hesitantly ask, searching for an explanation to reconcile the presence of my supposed father and the strange realm around me. What if we’re in the afterlife? 
What if I’m dead?
The man—my father—meets my tepid gaze with his own. A steely, unflinching sight. "No, Autus. I am not dead," A small smile plays on his lips. “And, for that matter, neither are you.”
Well, that’s a relief.  I can’t think of much worse than finally reuniting with my father only to learn it was happening in the afterlife. Of course, that only opens a dozen more possibilities. I have so many questions that I can barely keep them straight in my own head. I want to ask them all at once, to demand answers for everything which has transpired around me. 
My Father nods. “Yes, it is time to explain.”
Can he read my mind? Or is it just that obvious I would want answers? Either way, I am overwhelmed by the situation. I stare around me at the mist which swirls through the air. Earlier it was all grey and featureless, but now there’s a sense of color to it. A prismatic sheen which shines with an inner glow. The floor beneath our feet—which is completely solid despite looking and moving like liquid—seems to reflect the night sky, shining with hundreds of stars. Yet when I look up there is no sky at all. Just more of that strange mist. 
I voice my thoughts aloud. “How is this possible? How are we here?"  
My father makes a soft breathing sound and sits down on a round, flat rock. He pats another nearby. “Sit, Autus. I will explain.”
I do a double take. Where those rocks here before? I could’ve sworn they weren’t…I slowly sit down and try not to think of the ramifications of that. 
“Do you know what Life Models are, Autus?” Father asks once I am settled.
“Yes. They were clones of past tributes created by the Capitol.” Even if I hadn’t learned more about them through my experience in the spirit realm, I still would have known of their existence. Being a smuggler gets you the privilege of learning certain things. 
Father nods. “Well, that’ll make things easier. You see, you and I are descendants  of Life Models.”
That takes a while to sink in. Descendants…of Life Models? Former tributes in the arena? Is that why I’ve seen so many past tributes in this realm? “Is this true?” I ask, voice hushed. 
Father nods, his expression filled with a sense of both pride and concern. "Yes, Autus. Our lineage traces back to those brave souls who were created by the Capitol as clones for the Hunger Games. Some of them managed to escape the horrors of the 400th Hunger Games, and we are their descendants." 
There wasn’t that many who escaped the arena, and even fewer who survived the war. Though they teach history at school, my smuggling jobs often kept me out of class, so I am woefully unprepared for this revelation. 
Yet still…
My mind races, connecting the dots between the mysteries of my heritage and the extraordinary experiences I have encountered. “So what is this place? Why do I have access to the memories of these tributes? How does…” I trail off as Father holds up his hands. 
“This realm is…well, it’s a sharing of our genetic memory. That is why you have witnessed and interacted with those other tributes. All Life Models have their memories stored here, and due to your heritage and the radiation which has long called District 6 home, you can access this plane at will.”
I digest this information silently. Then I let out a chuckle. “To be honest, I was worried this was all just some drug fueled hallucination. Not sure it still isn’t, to be honest.”
“Autus, this is no hallucination.” Father shakes his head and reaches out to pat me on the knee. “The radiation in District 6 awakened the dormant potential within you, while the drugs acted as a catalyst to unlock the depths of your genetic memory. It was your pathway to accessing this plane, where the memories and experiences of the Life Models reside."
So it was the drugs, in a way. Still doesn’t erase the guilt I feel for falling under that temptation to begin with. And yet, I feel more at peace now than I have in years. This information Father is giving me has done much to explain things which have long grated at me. I take a deep breath, absorbing the weight of the knowledge bestowed upon me. "And you, Father... all these years, you have been watching over me, guiding me from the shadows.”
He was the veiled man. The one who led me into smuggling and protected me from those bandits. Though I never knew anything about him beyond for a simple photograph, he’s been around me all along. 
“Yes, Autus. I have been with you every step of the way, ensuring your safety and survival. I provided you with the contraband tasks, indirectly supporting you and your grandfather. But I needed you to go through hardships, to grow stronger and discover your true potential." 
There should be some resentment in me, anger that I was forced to go through so much, suffer so mightily, just because he felt I needed to grow stronger. But I don’t feel any of that. There is no anger. No fear. Just a newfound understanding of myself and my heritage.
I am merely grateful I get the chance to speak with my father.
Father smiles at me. “I will make my way to you as soon as possible, within a few days at most. But remember, even when physically apart, we can now communicate through this plane. You have the power to access it through meditation and concentration. You don't need the drugs anymore."
That is good to know. The last thing I want is to mistakenly overdose while trying to access this realm. 
There is a sense of liberation within me. A sense of belonging in knowing that I can now communicate with Father whenever I wish, and can continue to build our bond. 
I now hold a responsibility to my lineage and a newfound purpose in my journey. With the guidance and support of my father, I can and will navigate the challenges that await me, armed with the wisdom and strength of the Life Models that came before me. 
“Thank you, Father,” I whisper the words as the mist around me begins to shimmer and go transparent. “Thank you for everything.”
The world goes black. 
——
Everything is dark.
The world around me is explored through my fingertips, soft fabric beneath my hands. Almost velvet like. The air is quiet and still, but I can hear a song. Melodic and simple classical music plays.
Where am I?
Carefully, cautiously, I open my eyes. I find myself staring at a ceiling. Plain white and nondescript. I lift my head and am almost instantly greeted with the sight of a leathery old man, his face creased with wrinkles. His eyes, still bright and sharp despite his age, stretch wide.
“Autus! You’re awake!”
Grandfather. So I am home, then. Memories of that other world and my father still play in my head, demanding attention. I am so much more than I thought. 
I take this opportunity to look around the room. It’s my bedroom, seemingly unchanged from how I’ve kept it, beyond for the small phonograph set up in the corner that is playing the classical music. Grandfathers work, no doubt. He always did love that phonograph.
“Oh, Autus, I was so worried about you. You've been asleep for four days. I thought you might have overdosed," Grandfather fixes me with a concerned gaze, and I become aware of the small man standing behind him. A medical professional, no doubt. Grandfather wouldn’t have been able to afford an extended stay in a hospital, but he  clearly brought in a doctor for home visits.
I sit up, feeling a surge of energy coursing through my veins. My history and lineage gives me strength. "Grandfather, I'm perfectly fine. I've awakened to a new understanding, a purpose that drives me forward. I'm ready for the reaping, and I'm not scared anymore." 
Grandfather is clearly surprised and confused, but he only nods and laughs, saying he knew I’d be fine. The doctor, however, merely frowns and begins to ask me a series of questions.
I answer them the best I can, omitting anything to do with the Spiritual Plane and my father. I know that this simpleminded man wouldn’t believe any of it and merely think I am crazy. Afterwords, he runs a few tests on me and concludes with an air of surprise that I am completely healthy. 
I resist the urge to smile. I have finally found what I’ve long sought.
When the doctor departs, I quickly clamber out of bed and start getting dressed. Grandfather is confused but doesn’t try to stop me. “Today is Reaping day, right?” I ask as I pull on a new shirt. If four days have truly passed, then it must be. 
Grandfather nods. “Yes. I thought we’d have to skip the Reaping, considering your condition, but now…”
“I am fine.” Better than fine. I’ve never felt so refreshed and energized. I throw a jacket on and head for the door. “Let’s go.”
——
The murmurs and whispers of the crowd are distant echoes in my ears as I walk into the Reaping Square. The fear and worry which have so long festered inside me are gone. I know that my name will be drawn from the bowl, that I will be Reaped, but I have no fear. There is a greater purpose awaiting me now, a reason to fight and come back home. 
I stand calmly in the crowd, hands held folded behind my back as I watch the District Representative and Northern Governor take the stage and begin their yearly speeches. I am surrounded by scared and nervous people, yet I feel none of it myself. What will be, will be. I have the knowledge of past tributes living inside my dna. There is nothing to fear. 
Though I know the speech typically takes half an hour, it feels like only minutes pass before the Representative is digging a hand into the bowl and removing a slip of paper. I feel no shock when the name is read. 
“Autus Spanner!”
I step forward with unwavering resolve. I stand tall as I approach the stage, intending to be a symbol of strength and determination. The whispers that follow me are no longer fueled by pity or fear but tinged with curiosity and respect.
My mind is filled with thoughts of my newfound connection to my father, the legacy of the Life Models, and the determination I hold to preserve their memory. Winning the Games is more than just a means of survival; it is a testament to the resilience and strength of my lineage.
With each step I take, I held my head high, ready to face the challenges that await me in the arena. I know that I have a purpose to fulfill, a legacy to protect, and a reunion with my father to look forward to. This is not the end.
Far from it.
“Ah! You must be Autus!” Tirol Warwick, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a ruddy face, claps me on the shoulder as I take my place beside him. “What a brave lad!”
He is the current Northern Governor of New Panem, a post originally held by Kennedy Marks, a remarkable woman who had once competed in the 400th Hunger Games alongside many of the Life Models whose memories reside within me. 
Though Tirol is undoubtedly one of the most important men in the country, he is an affable and jolly sort, cracking jokes and wishing me luck as the Representative heads for the female bowl. I find myself appreciative of the man. After all, it is not his fault our President has become a tyrant.
“I volunteer.” A calm, collected voice rings out over the crowd before the Representative even reads a name.
Tirol laughs. “Well! Ain’t that a surprise? Wasn’t expecting a volunteer this year!”
I remain silent as I watch the volunteer ascend the stage. She is a curious sight. The young woman’s slender form is concealed beneath a cloak, and she wears a dark veil over her face, leaving only her strangely crimson eyes visible. 
I find myself staring at the veil as she steps up beside Tirol and the Representative. It is quite similar to the one my father wore. 
“And what is your name, you stupendous lass?” 
“Reiko Sonatas. I intend to win the Games on behalf of the Temple of the Demon.”
Ah. I do know that name. The crowd stirs with quiet murmurs as Tirol lets out another laugh and claps Reiko on the shoulder. From the way her eyes tighten, I do not think she appreciated it. 
Temple of the Demon is a cult that resides here in District 6. Much of their history and culture is unknown to me, but I am aware of their existence and the fact that many of their members are among those few people who are brave enough to enter the abandoned, radiated portions of District 6. 
As Tirol begins to wrap up the Reaping, I step beside Reiko. “An Acolyte in the Temple of the Demon, I see. Interesting.”
The girl’s crimson eyes flicker towards me, but she does not speak. I notice the necklace around her neck. A vial and some kind of charm lie attached. “What exactly do you mean, when you say you intend to win on behalf of your Temple?”
At first I don’t think the girl will respond, but after a few moments she does, though it’s not the answer I expected. “I wish to spread our message and make the Veiled Demon’s name known to all.”
Veiled Demon…now that’s a familiar name. Didn’t I hear it mentioned in the Spirit Realm? Yes. I am sure of it. That was the title given to a past tribute who competed in the Hunger Games. Is it a coincidence that the cult’s object of idolization shares the same name?
“You’re a smuggler.” Reiko speaks before I can. It is not a question.
Just a few days ago I’d have panicked and denied everything. Being outed as a smuggler would lead to my death or worse. But I’ve grown during my time in the Spirit Realm, and I no longer have such small concerns. “Guilty as charged!” I laugh and take a small bow. “Though I suspect my smuggling days are long behind me. My new occupation, as well as yours, is tribute.”
“Only until I win the Games.” The girl does not laugh, or even so much as modulate her voice. It’s still oddly monotone. 
We can’t both win, so that means she’s intending for me to die. Not really surprising in any way. I am sure all the other tributes will be thinking the same. 
With this in my mind, I let my gaze sweep across the crowd. I can feel the weight of their expectations, but it no longer overwhelms me. My heart has swelled with determination, fueled by the knowledge that I am not alone. The spirits of the past tributes and the guidance of my father resonate within me, providing an inner strength that can not be shaken. 
I will not surrender. I will fight with everything I have and survive the arena. Not just for myself, but for the honor and memory of those who came before me. The Games have taken so much from our lineage, but now I will turn the tide. 
I will become Victor and carve out my own future.
===District 7: Thistle Hesmin===
My eyes snap open.
It is hard to breathe. Thick, dark smoke wafts in the air, choking my lungs and burning my eyes. I can’t hear. There’s a loud ringing sound that engulfs everything. 
My fingers, numb and cold, fumble with my seatbelt and I unlatch myself. I hit the ground with a thump. Everyone else in the car—Barker, Ferric, and our parents—is still unconscious. 
What happened?
My ears begin to recover as I unbuckle Barker and pull him free from the fiery car. Screams and shouts fill the air, punctuated by gunshots. An attack. We’ve been attacked!
I drag Barker’s unconscious body away from the car then go running back for Ferric. People rush past me, guns in hand, as bullets zip through the air. Peacekeepers are here. Fighting civilians? No. The Whispers. 
“Help!” I scream at a nearby person as they run past. “Please help me! My parents are trapped in the car!”
No one so much as looks at me. They keep fighting, ignoring my pleas. Tears pouring from my eyes, I grab Ferric and begin to pull him away from car. The flames are spreading fast. Soon…
“Help me!” I grab at a passerby. They halt and meet my eyes, then turn and sprint away. I deflate. No one is coming to help. I am on my own.
I turn back to the car. My parents. Barker’s parents. I need to save them. The car is on fire. Burning. Smoke rises into the air. I sprint towards the car…
And it explodes.
——
My eyes snap open.
My back is slick with sweat. It pours down my face in bullets. I sit up and take a deep, calming breath. Another nightmare. I was back there, at the accident. I saw them die again. How many times have I had this nightmare?
Too many times.
I roll out of bed. My room is small and nondescript. The walls are a slate gray and the floor is brown tile, with a small rug covering the center. A desk is set in the corner, with a wooden chair beside it. That’s all. No frills, no unnecessary amenities. The Whispers aren’t in the habit of surrounding themselves with pointless luxury. 
There’s an attached bathroom, however. A benefit for me being one of the Whispers most skilled soldiers. Soldiers. They think we can compete with District 14. Foolish. We’re nothing to them. If the government truly wanted, they could stomp us out of existence.
A depressing thought.
I start doing some yoga and light exercises to clear my head. Images from the dream are still too fresh. My parents and Ferric…Their faces are burned into my brain. It’s been years since the incident, when District 14 forces attacked our families and killed mine and Barker’s parents, along with his younger brother Ferric. Years since our adoption into the Whispers.
The Whispers…
It is a rebel group that our parents had belonged to. One devoted to fighting the inequality propagated by District 14. It is a dangerous task, fighting against the government which controls the country. District 14 is deadly and strong. Strong enough to have defeated the Capitol they are slowly becoming. Their technology is leaps and bounds beyond what they allow the lesser districts to possess. For us to fight them…it is immensely dangerous.
One need only look at my parents for proof of that. They and Barker’s family died because of this rebellion. Was it worth it? I always wanted to ask them. Was losing their life and leaving their children on their own worth the effort? 
My own parents probably would’ve said yes. They never particularly cared for me. To them, the cause was their child. I just happened to coexist with it. But as for Barker’s…sometimes I wonder if they would have chosen a different path, had they the opportunity.
I stop my exercises with a shake of my head. This isn’t working. Those thoughts aren’t going away. So I drop my efforts and take a quick shower, then dress in some simple, comfortable clothing. Something that’s easy to move around in. Working as a Whisper, you never know when you’ll be forced to fight, so it’s best to always be prepared. I don’t wear fancy outfits or dresses…unless it’s required for the mission. 
There was that one time when the Whispers sent me and Barker to infiltrate a  governmental party being held here in District 7. I wore a dress that night, though it was one designed to be ripped away and reveal a more practical combat outfit underneath. Which, of course, ended up being necessary. 
I sigh as I sit on the edge of my bed and brush my hair. Barker and I are always being given the most difficult missions. That’s what happens when you make yourself among the best soldiers in a rebellion, I suppose. I’ve never wanted to be a soldier, but Barker…
I understand his zeal. I know exactly why he wants to destroy District 14 so badly. They stole his family from him. Murdered his parents and brother. And yet, those are also reasons for giving up the fight. There is nothing to be gained from this pointless forever war. Nothing but more loss. 
I toss my brush aside and check the time. Still several hours before the Reaping is set to begin. Even I feel a tingle of anger at that thought. Reapings. The Games. They were supposed to be over. Wasn’t that one of the primary reasons why we overthrew the Capitol? And yet here we are, about to commence the 24th version of these new Games. 
Supposedly it was the civil war twenty-five years ago that propelled President Price to bring the Games back. Though the government calls it a “civil war” it wasn’t much more than a localized conflict between President Jacquelyn Price and her brother, Azathoth. The fighting only lasted a few months, and it never spilled outside of District 14 itself. Of course, most of New Panem probably doesn’t know much about it, since the propaganda machine our government runs won’t tell them. 
The hallways are empty as I exit my room and make for the cafeteria. The walls and floors are muted colors, brown or gray, and have no adornments. The whole place feels sterile. Lifeless. Supposedly The Whispers are fighting for a better life for us all, and yet they seem to show precious little of it in their own headquarters. 
There’s irony to be found in that.
Eventually I encounter some people as I draw closer to the cafeteria and the more densely populated sections of HQ. They dip their head in recognition and offer some words of greeting. 
I am respected by most of the others because I am one of our strongest assets. It wasn’t really by design. Barker will never stop training and fighting. It’s all that’s left for him. So I need to train and fight just as hard. I need to stay by his side. I refuse to let him be sent off on his own. That’s all there is to it. 
“I’m worried about how he’ll react without her.”
I pull to a halt in the middle of the hallway. A voice drifts from around the corner, one I recognize as belonging to Sparrow, one of the Whispers top strategists. He’s not really a man of action; Sparrow rarely leaves headquarters and usually just helps Ivy, our leader, come up with the plans and missions.
“I’m more worried about her influencing his thoughts.” I also recognize this second speaker. Tomas. He’s one of our more skilled warriors, though he’s not as good as me or Barker—
Wait.
Are they talking about us? It sure sounds like it. I inch closer to the wall, careful to keep my footsteps light. Yet even as I get nearer to the speakers their voices begin to fade. They must be walking the opposite direction. 
“She’s not completely…can’t depend on…”
Only faint snippets of the conversation drift to me, but they’re enough to get my hackles up. They don’t trust me? After everything I have done for them? All the blood, sweat, and tears? My hands curl into fists and I resist the urge to punch a wall. 
“She may try to…need his resolve…”
The voices fade and I am left standing in an empty hall. They’re not wrong. I don’t fully have faith in the Whispers. It’s not because I don’t sufficiently believe in the cause, or because I am secretly a District 14 loyalist. No. I don’t trust them because when I needed them most, when my family was trapped dying in that car, they refused to help. They were more focused on destroying District 14 than saving lives.
And that’s all I ever needed to see to know their true character.
I turn away in disgust and head for the cafeteria. When I fling the doors open I stride past all the people and tables and snatch up a tray. Getting in line, I fill up on food and then stomp across the circular room until I reach the table in the far corner, where Barker and I always take our meals. He’s already present, which isn’t a surprise. Barker typically wakes up earlier than I do.
I slam my tray down with a rattle of the ceramic plates. “I just want to live in peace.”
Barker looks up from his tray and frowns. At first glance you’d be forgiven for thinking he’s just an average guy. He has short brown hair and dark blue eyes, with an unremarkable face. But his nondescript appearance hides the toned body underneath. Barker has spent countless hours working on his skills and training, and while he doesn’t have the physique of a bodybuilder, he has the endurance of a marathon runner. 
“That won’t be possible until District 14 is destroyed.”
Oh, Barker. He used to be such a sweet boy. So bright and joyful. He could light up a room with his mere presence. But ever since the incident he’s been cold and aloof. There is an emptiness in his eyes. One that is only ever replaced when he is fighting. 
“We could just run away into the deep woods,” I say lightly, forcing a jovial smile. “District 14 would never find us, so we could just live peacefully.”
This is my dearest wish. For me and Barker to leave all the death and killing behind, and find somewhere safe to live. Such a simple desire. And yet, it seems so impossible. 
“And let District 14 win?” Barker narrows his eyes. “Let them keep oppressing people and spreading their lies?”
Barker will never consent to giving up the fight. He will use every last breath in his body to take down District 14 or die trying. And since he will never stop fighting, neither can I. I refuse to leave Barker on his own. He’s already suffered far too much. 
Conscious of Barker’s stare, I make an effort to indicate I was joking, then he turns back to his meal. Plain oatmeal. Barker never eats anything special or involved. Always keeps it simple. That’s different from me. Though I also eat oatmeal this morning, I have a myriad of fruits and spices mixed into it. 
Our breakfast passes with easy conversation. Barker and I have been a team our entire lives. He is like a brother to me. Though we don’t discuss anything of importance—just past missions and the merits of orange juice over milk—I find myself loving every second. This is what life should be. Idle, peaceful existence with the people you care about. Not endless fighting against an unstoppable enemy.
Of course, this moment doesn’t last long.
“There you two are!”
A cool, crisp voice greets us. I look up and stare into the face of the Whispers leader herself. Ivy Fellows.
Ivy is a stern woman with her dark hair tied back in a practical ponytail. Though she will never be called beautiful, her face would be pretty if not for the long scar that crosses it. She was the one who first offered us a place in the organization. 
“Good morning, Ivy,” I greet the woman with a dip of my head. Unlike in District 14, we don’t use titles when addressing the higher levels of our group. I am pretty sure that’s meant to be a dig at their claim of “equality” and how we showcase more of it then they do. 
Barker only grunts. Ivy doesn’t mind. Barker has been…asocial like this ever since the incident. The only person he ever gives more than a few words of response to is myself. Everyone else is stuck with one word replies and grunts, even Ivy.
“You two will be attending the Reaping this morning,” Ivy says it as a statement, not a question. “Afterwards you will have free time until eight. That’s when we’re holding our next strategy meeting.”
Sounds good. Was basically what I expected anyway. Barker and I always attend the Reaping, even though we technically could skip it. It’s not as if District 14 would find us out here at headquarters. But that’s the thing. If we did skip it, they would begin searching for us. Right now we’re nobodies to them, just two teenagers. They don’t know we’re with the Whispers. But if we skipped the Reaping…
Ivy walks away and leaves us in silence. Barker finishes his meal first, but he sits and waits for me to do so as well before rising from the table and depositing his tray. “Wonder what this meeting will be about,” I say as we exit the cafeteria and emerge into the bland hallways. 
Barker gives me a sidelong glance but doesn’t answer. His hands are rubbing the handles of the twin katanas at his side, a surefire sign that something is troubling him.
“Something up?” I ask as we walk. 
“No.” He keeps rubbing his swords. Doubt and Clarity, as he’s named them. They’re not the same swords he’s always had; the swords have broken or gotten lost on missions before, but he always gets new blades and names them the same thing. I’ve asked him which is which, but he told me that he only knows the difference during the heat of battle. 
I don’t push the subject. If something is troubling Barker, he will tell me. We’ve always been close enough that there is no secrets between us. Except for…
I never told Barker about how the Whispers refused to help me save our parents. He’s already been hurt so much that I could never bring myself to let him know that the people he relies on so much were too busy fighting a meaningless battle to help save his family. If he found out…
I don’t even want to imagine what may happen.
The hallways are long and winding. The Whispers headquarters used to be an old Capitol facility hidden deep in the woods of District 7. Our new government never found it after the war, so it was abandoned when the Whispers discovered the place and retrofitted it into a new headquarters. The facility has over a dozen different exits, making it difficult for anyone to ever trap us inside. Barker and I make our way towards one of the exits nearest the District itself.
The earthy scent of dirt washes over me as we head up a long staircase and emerge into a sun-dappled forest. Voluminous rays of sunlight shine down through a thick canopy of leafy green trees. Barker squints as he looks upward. “Too sunny,” He mutters. 
We travel through the forest until we reach the outskirts of the settlement, where Barker hides his swords in a supply cache the Whispers have nearby. Taking weapons into the District is strictly prohibited. Of course, that doesn’t stop both me and Barker from carrying several different types of knives with us. Only a fool walks around unarmed.
We don’t have to travel far into District 7 before we find crowds of people. The Reaping stage is set up in a clearing on the edge of the forest, pushed right against the boundary of the District itself. 
We pause on a grassy knoll, watching as throngs of people are herded into the clearing by groups of Peacekeepers and Agents. 
“Look at all the good little sheep,” Barker says.
“They just want to live peaceful lives,” I feel defensive and I don’t exactly know why. “Not everyone has the courage to risk their life against superior force.”
Barker snorts. “People who aren’t willing to fight for their freedom don’t deserve any.”
I remain silent, troubled by this statement. Barker’s extremism seems to be gaining by the day. I am worried where it’ll take him. Eventually all that rage will burn him up. There must be a way to get him to stop this endless crusade.
But how?
Barker crouches down and plucks a blade of grass free from the knoll. His eyes are focused on the squad of Agents which stand at attention near the clearing. 
The Agents are among the biggest problems facing the Whispers. For hundreds of years the Capitol had ruled over Panem with an iron fist…then the Agents arrived on the continent with their advanced technology. 
Lending their aid to Jac Price, the Founding President, they overthrew the tyrannical Capitol and set up a different form of government, creating New Panem. The modern incarnation of the Agents are—for the most part—the descendants of those who came from outside of Panem and defeated the Capitol. They possess a level of skill and ability far beyond that of the average Peacekeeper, and the technology they wield is among the most advanced the world has ever seen. 
And for some unknowable reason they fully support President Jacquelyn Price and her increasingly despotic government.
The Agents had sat out most of the civil war between Jacquelyn and her brother Azathoth. They stayed inside the Tower and took no part in the fighting. Why? Unclear. The Whispers never found an answer. But they didn’t remain neutral forever. One day they emerged from their Tower and began fighting on behalf of Jacquelyn. 
The civil war came to an end the very next day.
As Barker and I watch, the Agents gathered below us suddenly stand straighter. They snap off a crisp salute as a brilliant figure dressed in pure white approaches them.
A Card.
The Cards form the top hierarchy of the Agents. There are fifteen of them, one for each District, and they all share a name with a playing card. While the Agents wear black body armor and helmets, the cards wear white. Their armor is trimmed with gold and instead of a helmet they wear a form-fitting mask that completely obscures their face. It makes them stand out on a battlefield, true, but that’s the point. They want to stand out. 
In battle the Cards are beings of pure destruction.
The Card below exchanges a few words with the Agents and then enters the clearing. Even from this distance I can see the gold “7” emblazoned on his mask. I have encountered this particular man on missions for the Whispers before. Each time the mission came to an abrupt end and we were forced to flee for our lives. 
The Cards have some sort of pulseshield surrounding their person. It seems to be nigh indestructible to anything we can throw at it, far beyond the type which protects the Agents. And the weapons they wield are even more dangerous. One particular example is a type of laser-like blade they wield which can toggle between a sword and whip at the press of a button. And though I have no solid proof, I swear that I’ve seen the whip change its form mid-battle.
Barker drops the piece of grass and slowly makes his way down the hill. I follow him. It doesn’t matter what Ivy thinks or wants, no one will ever be capable of overthrowing District 14 until they find a way to deal with the Agents and Cards. 
Easier said than done.
Barker and I are forced to part ways once we make it into the clearing. Boys and girls are held in separate lines, and even if they weren’t we’re a year apart in age, so we’d still be separated. 
That’s how I find myself standing alone in the crowd, underneath the sweltering sun and swatting away flies as I listen to the girls near me chatter about their uneventful but peaceful lives. I try not to feel envious. What would it be like for my biggest worry to be whether my dress and shoes matched? For my most pressing concern to be the fact that soccer practice was canceled? Normal. That’s what it would be. 
“District 7, may I have your attention, please!” A youthful voice calls out from atop the stage and I look up as our District Representative, Christof Linz, takes up the mic. “It is now time to commence the, uh, 24th Reaping for the Games!”
He then presses a button and a video begins to play on the screens set up around us. The video is mostly just propaganda, reiterating the reason for the Games and the importance of penance. I am pretty sure the reason we have a video say this instead of Christof Linz himself is because he’s relatively new to the job. He’s only been our Representative for a few weeks now, since his predecessor…
Well, no point in beating around the bush. The Whispers assassinated his predecessor. 
He was corrupt. Constantly used his power to manipulate the system and find ways to benefit himself and his cronies. The final straw was when he arbitrated a case involving a claim of Peacekeeper brutality and found all of them innocent. The Whispers killed him the very next day in a car bombing. 
I wasn’t involved in that operation, thankfully. Seeing a car explode would have…brought back terrible memories. 
Ferric’s face flashes in my mind.
“I think we all understand what happens next,” Christof says as the video comes to an end. “It is time to find our two tributes. Girls first!”
I watch the large fishbowl as Christof approaches it. So many slips of white paper float around inside. Thousands of girls have their names in there exactly once. 
Christof pulls out one of the slips. “And the female tribute for the 24th Games is…Thistle Hesmin!”
I stare blankly at the stage for several long moments. Is this real? Could this actually be happening? Me being Reaped? I find it hard to believe. I never thought such a thing could happen. 
The girls around me begin to cast their heads around in search of the tribute, unaware that it’s just me. They don’t know me. Hardly anyone outside the Whispers does. Could I make a run for it?
No. 
I notice the Agents forming a cordon around the clearing, cutting off any line of escape. And then there’s Seven, standing near the bottom of the stage’s staircase with a hand on his belt. Any attempt at escape would send that beast into a frenzy. Escape is impossible.
So into the arena I will go.
I keep my eyes open for Barker as I ascend the stairs. It’d be just like him to let this situation force him into action. What if he tries to free me? Attacks the Peacekeepers or Agents? I can’t allow that. There’s too many people here for him to win. He’d be annihilated. 
“Oh! Welcome!” Christof offers me a handshake but belatedly realizes he is still holding the mic. He tries to swap it into his other hand, but he has the slip with my name in it, so he just awkwardly shuffles his feet. “Uh, hey, you’re…you are Thistle?”
“Yes.” I finally spot Barker in the crowd. He’s staring at the stage with an all-too familiar stoic expression. But his eyes…I can see the anger and fear in his eyes.
“Well, it’s nice to have you here!” Christof slaps me on the shoulder and heads for the next bowl. I keep my eyes on Barker. We don’t need words to communicate. I can understand what he’s saying as if he’s shouting. 
And I’m terrified.
I begin shaking my head and mouthing “no”. Barker can’t do this. It’d be even worse than him starting to attack. What he’s proposing…
Christof has begun to unfurl the slip. Soon he will read the name and Barker…
He intends to volunteer. 
“Please don’t!” I whisper the words, knowing Barker will pick up my meaning even if he can’t hear me. I make eye contact with him. “Don’t do it!”
Barker stares straight ahead. His face is blank. Expressionless. My pleas seem to be sounding on deaf ears. 
Christof unwraps the slip and scans its contents. “And Thistle’s district partner is…Barker Caspum!”
I choke back my cry of surprise. Barker has been Reaped! 
Barker wastes no time in approaching the stage. He shoves his way past the boys in his way and climbs the stairs with a blank expression. I stare into his eyes and am surprised by what I see. 
Satisfaction.
“You didn’t want me to be in the arena alone,” I whisper as he stops beside me. 
He gives me a glance but doesn’t respond. I never expected him to. Not in front of a crowd this large.
Christof introduces us both to the crowd to minimal reaction. I grab Barker’s hand and give it a squeeze. “Thank you,” I whisper. “For wanting to protect me.” I can take care of myself, but it is a welcome feeling to know Barker has my back. He will always be at my side. 
“You shouldn’t be here,” He mutters. 
The Reaping slowly but surely comes to a close. Afterwards District officials wave us off the stage and a group of Peacekeepers lead us into the Justice Building, where we are set in separate rooms and told to wait for our guests. 
I spend most of my time pacing back and forth, desperately wracking my brain for an escape plan. There has to be a way to get out of the arena. The Whispers have told me its happened before. But how to do it? I am too panicked to think clearly right now. Maybe I can ask Ivy or one of the others when they come to visit.
But they don’t come to visit. The time ticks away and I receive no visitors. I don’t understand. Do they not care? I put so much effort and energy into their cause, for their missions, and they can’t be bothered to even visit me? 
When the door does eventually open, it’s just the Peacekeepers come to collect me for the train. It is a short, uneventful walk to the station. When we arrive, there is a long, silver bullet train waiting for us. 
And a squad of Agents.
My heart stops as I notice Seven among them. Tall and imperious, he stands before the train with his arms clasped behind his back, his bizarre masked face focused on me. 
They know. They know I work for the Whispers! My hand drops to my belt and the knife hidden there when I remember that the Card’s always return to District 14 after the Reaping. Usually the individual members remain in their own District, but twice a year they return home and hold a meeting in the Tower. It’s one of the few things that the Whispers have learned about the mysterious order. 
I slowly lower my hand and allow myself to be led into the train. Seven does not react as I walk past him. Evidently he doesn’t recognize me.
Still, I don’t breathe easy until I am deposited in a dining room and told to wait for my mentors arrival. 
Barker arrives before they do. 
“Barker!” I rush forward and wrap him in a hug. His hands hang limply at the side. “I am so glad you’re okay!”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” He untangles himself from me and glances about the room. We are alone. Seven and the Agents are somewhere else on the train. 
“They didn’t come visit me,” I lower my voice. “Ivy and the others…they didn’t even see me off.”
“They didn’t?” Barker sounds uncharacteristically confused.
I look up sharply. “Did they visit you?”
He blinks slowly. “No. They didn’t come.”
It feels like I’ve been punched. I step back and stare at Barker, at the boy who’s practically a brother to me, and find it hard to breathe. 
Barker is lying.
Barker is lying to me. No. No, no, no. Not you. Not you, Barker! He’s never lied to me. Not once. He’s always had my back, let me know everything that ever mattered to him, but now…
“They didn’t come?” I ask again. Maybe I was mistaken. Maybe I misread him. “No one came?”
“That’s what I said, wasn’t it?” Barker glances over his shoulder at the doorway. “It was just like with you. No one came.”
I don’t understand. Why would he lie about this? What would be the point? To spare my feelings? It’s so ridiculous that I want to think I made a mistake, but I know I didn’t. I can read Barker’s emotional state too well for that. The Whispers came to see Barker, but not me. 
And for some reason Barker is lying about it. 
“You don’t need to be so worried,” Barker crosses his arms and sits down on a couch. 
“How can you say that?” I give him an incredulous look. “People die in the arena! There can only be one survivor! At least one of us will have to die and—"
“Neither of us will die.” Barker says calmly. His face is still as stoic and blank as ever. 
“What…? Why would you…”
“Thistle, do you trust me?” 
“With my life.” Barker is the only person left in the world who I have absolute faith in. I don’t care if he lied. He’s still a brother to me.
“Then believe me when I say this,” Barker stands and walks over to me. He sets a hand on my shoulder. “Neither one of us is going to die in that arena. I guarantee it.”
===District 8: Taylor Musslin===
I stand before a mirror, gazing at the sleek blue dress that I wear. I put it together myself. Years spent working with my mother as a seamstress has honed my skills to the point where I can finally create my own outfits. But this one is special. It’s not an ordinary dress.
It’s my Reaping Day dress. 
I try and fail to avoid feeling fearful at the thought. The Games are dangerous. Beyond dangerous. People die all the time in them. Yet…there is no guarantee I will be Reaped. I have gone four years without being picked yet, so why do I feel so much worry today?
I sigh and run a hand through my hair. It is dark and relatively short, only going down to my neck. I inherited the color—along with much of my features—from my mother. The only thing that sets us apart are our eyes. Mine are a dark blue, the same as Dad’s. 
I carefully set a flower in my hair and smooth my dress. According to Mom, it is apart of our cultural heritage. She calls it a cheongsam, but Grandma calls it a qipao. I should probably know why, but I never really put much thought or effort into trying to find out. 
Anyway, my particular dress is a long, figure-fitting, one piece garment with a standing collar, an asymmetric, left-over-right opening and two side slits, and embellished with frog fasteners on the lapel and the collar. The color is dark blue, like my eyes, and decorated with a parsley pattern. I think it looks very pretty, but since I created it, that’s only to be expected.
I take one last look at myself in the mirror then exit the room. The hallway is old, with creaky wooden floors and a patched ceiling. I frown at a dark spot as I descend the rickety steps to the first floor.
We could afford a better house. We make enough money for it. But Mom and Dad don’t want to. They think our house is fine, and that’s there’s more important things to spend their money on. Like trying to start their own business. 
Mom has spent years working as a seamstress in one of the District’s many textile factories. Grandma spent her whole life working in one. So did her mother. And since I’ve been trained in the art of weaving and tailoring since I was a small child…well, there seems to be only one fate for me. 
Breakfast has just finished as I walk into the kitchen. Mom and Grandma are cleaning up as Dad reads the morning paper. The headline reads “Terrorism on the Rise!” and has a big picture of New Panem’s top military commander, Cypher Meios beneath it. I don’t like him. Always thought he looked like such a stern man.
“Good morning, Taylor,” Dad greets me without looking up from his paper. 
Immediately Mom and Grandma stop what they’re doing to rush up to me, pawing at my dress as they take it in. “You look amazing!” Mom beams happily as she adjusts my fasteners.
“Stitching is good,” Grandma says with a nod of her head. “The seams could be flatter, but this is good work for one so young.”
I accept their compliments and criticisms with a demure smile. Mom and Grandma have forgotten more about dressmaking than I’ve ever learned, so it is important for me to listen.
“You have such a bright future, Taylor!” Mom returns to finishing up cleaning the kitchen. “In just a few more years we will find you a good husband and you can start your own business!”
I smile, though I do not feel happy at that. Creating outfits for myself is fun and something I enjoy, but creating outfits for others? That…I do not think I’d enjoy that. I don’t know what I want to do in life. I haven’t put any thought into it, and why should I? It won’t matter. My future is already laid out before me; I will become a seamstress.
Dad finally lays his paper aside and smiles at me. If it weren’t for me having his eyes, we’d look nothing alike. He has blond hair and a wispy beard, with softer, rounder features. “You did a very good job, Taylor.”
“Thank you.” Dad works as a shift manager at the same factory as Mom. One of Drest Textiles many facilities they have throughout the District. Odds are that, one day, I too will work there as well.
I retreat into my thoughts as we slowly go about gathering our things and getting ready for the Reaping. Dad begins to talk about the newspaper as we do. Apparently terrorist activity has been picking up in the western Districts, and that worries Mom and Dad.
Unlike some kids at school, my parents are supporters of President Price and her government. Apparently things used to be a lot worse when the Capitol was in charge. Grandma used to tell me horror stories about the sixteen hour shifts her mother had to work, and how Peacekeepers routinely abused their powers and harmed citizens. None of that is prevalent in today’s society. 
Still, my history teacher likes to talk about the “democratic backsliding” our country is experiencing under President Price. Or at least used to talk about it. Mr. Banner retired a few months ago. I actually haven’t seen him since, which is disappointing. Mr. Banner was a nice man, and back when he taught at my school I’d regularly see him at a cafe I frequently visited with my friends. 
Maybe he moved to a different District. Lots of retirees seem to do that. 
My family eventually heads out into the streets. Our house is nestled in a small corner of the District where the skyline isn’t completely dominated by towering buildings or dark factory smoke. But even without any of that, I still can’t see the sky. A thick layer of clouds linger overhead.
Dad frowns. “Looks like it’ll rain later tonight.”
Large buildings begin to spring up around us as we head deeper into the District. Factories with the telltale crest of the Drest family bunch up near each other. Though many of them are dark and dreary looking, a handful carry a more modern aesthetic, with sweeping curves and wide glass windows. Drest Textiles is the main producer of Peacekeeper uniforms, so they’re rich enough to afford practically anything they want.
I can’t help but imagine what my life would be like if I was part of that Drest family. I could just lounge around and do whatever I wanted all day. That would be fun, wouldn’t it?
Too bad such a thing will never happen to me.
The District square is surrounded with barricades and checkpoints as we approach. Dense crowds of people wait to be processed. Dozens of Peacekeepers walk around, ensuring the line remains orderly, and a handful of Agents stand nearby to observe. I shudder when one looks my way. Their beetle-like helmets have always creeped me out. 
So I spend most of my time in line staring at my feet, dreading the thought of having to interact with one of them. Everything about the Agents and their history is just too…otherworldly. Everyone knows the original Agents came from outside of New Panem, but no one seems to know the specifics. For so many years we were told that there were no countries outside of ours left, but then they showed up and…
What else is out there? 
Dad starts up a jovial conversation with a Peacekeeper as we slowly shuffle forward. He’s always been on friendly terms with them. Not so much with the Agents. They don’t tend to socialize with ordinary citizens. I’ve never even seen one without their helmet. Dad has, though, and he assures me that they’re just regular people, but still…
When we reach the front of the line Mom, Dad, and Grandma are sorted into general assembly as I am escorted into the crowd of Reaping eligible children. I keep an eye on the eighteen year-olds group as I do. District 8 has an Academy, and though they’ve never won, we’ve had a few volunteers from there over the years. Maybe we will have one today. 
Hopefully a female one.
“Today District 8 will partake in penance as it offers up two brave teenagers to the Games,” A sonorous voice intones from atop the stage as I settle into place. The stage itself is set against the foundation of a nearby building, with a large factory looming in the distance. The Drest family crest is highly visible atop one its many smokestacks. “These two brave tributes will face the consequences of their sins and, if they win, will emerge cleansed and reborn.”
Bernadette Vimes, our District Representative, has always been one for grand proclamations and overly flowery statements. An older woman with steel grey hair and a stern face, she goes on at length about the importance of the Games and the forgiveness it provides. I can’t say I really understand most of the things she’s trying to say. 
So I spend most of her speech gazing at the two people standing to her side. Lycra Poplin and Luke Luger, District 8’s only two Victors.
I don’t like Lycra. She won a long time ago,  the 6th Games, but she’s still relatively young. Lycra is in her early thirties, and has long blonde hair and a smattering of freckles on her face. The smile she gives to the crowd is one that is bound to stop many a man’s heart. That very same charm is what she used to win her Games.
She went into the arena as a loner, without any allies of her own, but a few days into the Games she met another alliance and used her charming personality to join them. Then, just a day later…
She killed them all.
Lycra didn’t show any kind of distress before or after their murders. She just collected their supplies and went off on her merry way. A couple of days later she met another alliance and repeated the process. Lycra won the Games by killing everyone who trusted her.
She frightens me. 
The man beside her, an average guy with brown hair and a pale complexion, is very much Lycra’s opposite. The Victor of the 13th Games Lucky Luger, as he’s become known as, only won his Games through sheer luck. Anytime it seemed he was about to die some contrived sequence of events saved him, and he even benefited from lucky incidents that took place nowhere near him. Half of the Careers in his Games were taken out at the bloodbath, when a tribute dropping their token inadvertently set off a chain reaction of the land mines placed around their platforms. His last opponent tripped and accidentally stabbed herself in the throat. 
I can only hope to have even a smidgen of his luck.
“It is now time to commence with the Reaping for the 24th Games!” Bernadette approaches the large bowl and carefully removes a single piece of paper. It’s not until she’s opening it do I realize I don’t even know which slot she’s picking. “And the female tribute is Taylor Musslin!”
I should feel some sort of shock or fear, I think, but all I can muster is a faint sense of disappointment. I don’t have any of Lucky Luger’s luck after all. 
The girls around me whisper encouragement and pat me on the shoulder as I begin to move. The wind picks up as I reach the stage, becoming a terrible thin wail. I like to think of it as the world lamenting my fate. 
I suppose I won’t become a seamstress after all.
I bow as Bernadette greets me. “Hello. I am Taylor Musslin, your…your tribute.”
The woman gives me a stiff nod and gestures for me to stand to her left. I do so without hesitation. My legs have begun to feel weak. You have to kill in the Games. I can’t kill. Can’t even stomach the thought. No one deserves to die, especially not at my hand. 
“And Taylor’s district partner will be Theodore Drest!”
Oh! 
The crowd begins to murmur quietly as the name floats in the air. Everyone in District 8 knows the Drest family. They own too much of our most important factories and businesses to be anonymous. And Theodore isn’t just a random Drest. He’s the heir apparent to the family fortune.
There’s a sense of anticipation in the air as we wait for him to make his appearance. I instinctively stand on my tiptoes to try and see over the crowd, but then realize I am on stage and can already see over them. Face reddening, I lower myself back to the stage. 
Theodore finally arrives. 
He stands on stage with a commanding presence, icy blue eyes calm as he slowly surveys the scene before him. His hair is dark, short and slicked back, and he wears a black tracksuit adorned with the Drest family emblem. 
I feel breathless as Theodore walks up to Bernadette and calmly acknowledges his presence. He isn’t tall—he just stands a few inches taller than I am—but he is very muscular. His chiseled physique is visible through his clothes and I find myself enthralled with his face in particular. That strong jawline and high cheekbones…
I idly entertain the notion of marrying him and becoming heiress to the Drest family empire. Suddenly I would own the factory where my parents work. I would never have to sew another dress for someone else. I could do whatever I wanted!
“Please give a round of applause to your two tributes for the 24th Games, Taylor Musslin and Theodore Drest!”
My daydream shatters at the sound of Bernadette’s voice. Both Theodore and myself are being sent into the arena to die. There will be no fairytale ending. Just death and misery. 
Theodore, seemingly completely self-assured, turns to the crowd and just stares out at the sea of people. The handsome boy has shown no real sense of urgency or fear this entire time. How does he do it? I wish could rid myself of this icy pit of dread forming in my stomach. 
The arena is often the final resting place for the weak and unprepared…and I currently feel very weak and very unprepared.  
===District 9: Mazie Sunnoria===
I've made it a habit to wake up before the sun rises on Reaping Day.
Normally, I'd climb the huge oak tree in our backyard, sitting on its uppermost branches and staring at the horizon. It was peaceful up there, watching the sun rise, and the view helped calm my nerves. Because I'm not like some other teenagers in the higher District's, fighting over who will get to volunteer. I'm not as strong, as experienced in the art of combat, or as charismatic as my future opponents. They were raised soley to win glory for themselves.
But I was raised to work, and help support my struggling family.
But this morning, the morning of my fifth Reaping, I didn't climb our oak tree because I am frightened of being Reaped, of leaving everyone and everything I ever knew behind. No, I've climbed the tree because I know that this may be my last chance to ever do so. Because this year, I'm volunteering for the Games.
 
Not for the glory, and not for the fame. But so I can heal my blind sister. My family does not make enough money to heal her, and we never will. But the massive sum of money granted to the Victor of the Games is more than enough to pay for District 14’s revolutionary surgery.
Then Winnow can finally see the world again.
But despite this positive thinking, despite all of my constant reminders that this is the right thing to do, I…can't help but think that this will be my last day in District 9. That this will likely be a one way trip. 
Perhaps that is what I deserve. 
I rest my back against the rough bark of the oak, squinting as the first fingers of sunlight inch their way across the sky, feeling a gust of wind rustle my hair. From my perch, I can see the earliest of risers stepping out from their homes, collecting the morning paper or just enjoying their day off from work. They all look so carefree and happy compared to me, stewing in misery as I try to drown the guilt I feel for what I’ve done.
The Incident. 
I close my eyes and breathe softly. It all happened a few years ago. I was young and stupid. I never understood why my parents were so complacent in life, why they never sought to improve their situation and were just content to work the fields of District 9. 
Somehow I got it in my head that the best way to make them try and change their minds would be if they could no longer work in the fields. I believed that my parents would have to seek other opportunities if the fields of District Nine could no longer support vegetation. So in my foolish, naive thoughts, I decided that I would burn down the fields.
Stupid. So, so stupid. What was I thinking? Even with all my preparation, all the forethought and attention I put into this plan, things still went horribly wrong. When I set that fire after the end of the work shift, I never anticipated that my family would still be working…
There's a telltale squeak of my family's backdoor opening up. A quick glance from my perch shows me that it's my dad stepping out. He looks exhausted; his black hair hanging around his face, his back hunched slightly from years of work in the grain fields, and I can just make out the twin dark hoods beneath his eyes. My dad is a hard-working, determined man…and I feel so much remorse for not realizing it earlier. 
For so long I thought of him as weak and complacent. He never sought to improve his station in life and didn’t try for anything more. If only I’d seen that complacency didn’t mean he wasn’t a good man. If only…
There is no point in dwelling on it now. I have already decided that I am going to fix everything. When I win the Games, not only will I be able to return Winnow’s eyesight, but I will earn enough money that my parents will never have to work again. Everything will be as it was. No, it will better. So there won’t be any need for guilt or despair. No need at all. 
Dad leans against the wooden doorframe, gazing up at the leafy branches of the oak. "Hey, Mazie!" He shouts into the tree. "Come on down. They want everyone in attendance for the Reaping in little over an hour." 
So it's time. The life that I knew before this, a life where I had to work for everything, is coming to an end. Ahead of me is either death or eternal happiness. I know that it’s likely I’m not coming back, but I couldn't live with myself if I didn't even try.
I slowly climb down the tree, feeling the coarse veins etched into the bark beneath my fingertips. I want to remember this moment; the smell of the oak, the chirping of the birds, the feel of the bark. I won't get another moment like this before I face the frenetic fury of the arena.
I finally let go of my tree, feeling the cold dew and wet blades of grass against my bare feet. Slowly, I saunter away from the oak, trying to feel calm and collected. I am not completely unprepared for the Games. I’ve spent hundreds of hour’s training with Mr. Gravio in his preparation workshop. It’s not exactly an Academy—Mr. Gravio doesn’t really have too much knowledge or skill—but it’s taught me how to throw a javelin and given me several survival techniques. 
That’s better than nothing.
Dad and I enter into the house. While he goes to get things ready for our departure, I take the time to quickly get dressed. Though I don’t really care about looking fancy, Mr. Gravio has stressed the importance of appearance for sponsors and bettors. The more impressive you look, the more likely people will bet on you. The more people who bet on you, the higher your chances of receiving sponsor items. And the more sponsor items you receive, the better your odds of surviving. 
So I dress myself in my best outfit. It's incredibly simplistic; no jewels or gaudy accessories, just a piece of black silk wrapping around down to my knees. I am sure that it won’t compare to the girls from other, richer districts, but it should at least make me stand out from among the poorer ones. 
When I exit into our living room, Mom and Dad are still running around doing last minute preparations. Funny how he hurried me out of the tree, and yet I am still ready before he is. 
“Did you put a dress on?” A soft voice calls from my left and I turn to see my little sister Winnow.
She wears black sunglasses over her eyes, concealing the burns which stole her sight, and her hair is merely a few centimeters long—the burn scars along her scalp prevent it from growing any further. 
I nearly cry at the sight of her. My fault. My poor sister has been maimed and robbed of her sight because of my idiocy. And yet no one knows. They never found out that I was the cause of the fire. Winnow doesn’t know that her own sister is the reason she has suffered so much. 
“Yes,” I force my voice to remain calm. I haven’t told my family that I’m volunteering. I fear they’d try to stop me. “I have put on a dress. It’s black.”
“I’m sure you look amazing!” Winnow chirps excitedly from her spot on the couch. 
Once again I must fight back tears. Winnow is the reason I am going to compete in the Games. There’s a surgery in District 14 that can fix her sight, but there’s a caveat. The surgery sees its highest success rate in patients who are still undergoing puberty, as their bodies are better able to recuperate from the intense procedure. And Winnow is now fourteen and has recently hit a growth spurt. I fear that my time is running out.
I need to win this years Games, or else I will forever lose my chance to right my wrongs. 
“Can you help me with my sandals?” Winnow wiggles her feet at me. “I mean, I could do it myself, but—”
“Of course." This is the least of what I am willing to do to help her. I grab her sandals and kneel down. “I’ll always be here to help you.”
"Mazie?" My sister asks as she squeezes her foot into the sandal. "We're going to be okay. I bet that even if one of us is Reaped, there'll be a volunteer. Some girls at school were talking about it. So, there really isn't any chance that we go into the Games."
I let the straps of Winnow’s sandals fall to the side, her words digging into my head. If I don't get ahold of myself, my stoic facade will break, and I'll be an emotional wreck. Just have to keep this act going for a bit longer…but I need something to help keep me going. Anything.
"Hey, Winnow?" I ask, trying desperately to keep my voice level. "Can I borrow your necklace?"
"For what?" She sounds confused.
"I just…I just want something to give me good luck at the Reaping. Kinda like a charm or something."
"Yeah, of course!" Winnow is excited as she shakily reaches her hands behind her neck, clumsily undoing the metal clasp. I slowly take the piece of jewellery from her hands, holding the stone lightly in my hand. 
The necklace was a gift that my Dad bought for her after The Incident, a dazzling blue sapphire hanging from a simple black chain. One of the few expensive items our family ever bought. He got me an almost identical necklace, only it had a simple piece of rock instead of a sapphire. He didn't have enough money for two jewels.
"Umm…Mazie?"
I glance up from the necklace, placing a hand on my sister's knee. "Yes?"
"Would you mind if I held onto your necklace? That way we can both have good luck, and neither of us will be Reaped!"
"Definitely," I offer a weak smile, unclasping my own necklace and placing it into her hands. "Do you think you can clasp your own necklace?"
"I think so." Winnow slides the necklace over her head and begins to fiddle with the clasp for a few moments before clicking it in place. "Thank you, Mazie."
I smile and pull my sister in for a hug. "We're both going to be fine," I whisper as tears slide down my cheeks. "We're both going to be just fine."
——
My family follows a dirt path that runs between two fields full of tall golden wheat as we make our way to the Reaping. The early morning sun shines lazily overhead, a faint wind bringing scents of wildflowers and honey. 
“Both your father and I have work off because of the Reaping,” Mom says as we walk. “So we'll have a picnic out under the oak when we get back, all right?" 
I take a sharp inhale of breath. I won’t be back. Not for awhile, in the best case scenario. Not ever, in the worst. This could very well be the last time I ever look upon my home. 
The dirt path widens to our left, merging into a cobblestone road which leads to a large, low rectangular building. It’s built sturdy enough to withstand tornadoes, and I’ve spent many hours inside it. District 9’s public library.
It’s the only place in the district where I can access a computer. I spent a lot of time there after The Incident, when I was drowning in my guilt. The people I met online helped me through the worst of it, even though I didn’t tell them the specifics of The Incident and what transpired. Eventually I was even invited into a private forum where people from across the country gathered together to just talk and share their experiences.
That’s where I learned about the surgery which could fix Winnow’s sight. One of the forum users told me about the process, and I knew immediately that the only way I’d ever be able to afford such a thing would be by winning the Games. And yet…I still don’t even know if the surgery is real. 
The forum and the user who told me about it are my only source for its existence. I tried finding more information, by reading every book I could and asking anyone who would know. I even tried requesting a meeting with our District Representative, but every effort I made on that front has hit a stonewall. Apparently Azazel Price is too busy for it. 
The library fades into the distance as we walk past. My worry and fear begin to compound on themselves. What if the surgery doesn’t exist? I will be risking my life for nothing. No. Not nothing. Even if the surgery is fake, winning will still grant me fortune and fame. Winnow and my parents will be able to live happy, comfortable lives. 
When we reach the checkpoint for the Reaping, our parents give Winnow and I one last hug and send us into line. I try to keep my breathing steady I as I take my place in the crowd. The stage up ahead is assembled in front of the Price Family Museum, and the large building serves as a spectacular backdrop. 
“Today we once again convene for the annual Reaping of District 9!” Our mayor steps aside to reveal the District Representative himself, Azazel Price. The nephew of President Price, he doesn’t resemble her much at all, with pale skin and honey-blond hair. “In accordance with our government’s time honored tradition, the two brave children selected will enter into the arena and serve their penance in an effort to cleanse themselves of past misdeeds.”
That statement has never been more true. Everything I will do in the arena will be at the behest of assuaging my guilt. Of making things right. Winnow did not deserve her fate, so I will fix it. 
Azazel continues speaking at length. The Price Family has a long history with District 9, and one of their members has served as our Representative since the position existed. The Founding President himself was born and raised in District 9, and that grants us a token of respect in the eyes of the government. 
Azazel pauses when he reaches the part of his speech about Victors. District 9 has never won the new iteration of the Games. The legend goes that we were cursed when a woman named Hazel Dyer killed a member of the Price family on her way to becoming Victor of an old Hunger Games. Yet no one really believes that tale anymore. Records show that Hazel herself was forgiven by the Founding President and absolved of all crimes for her help in defeating the Capitol, and she even holds a place in the Hall of Heroes. 
So it’s not a curse which prevents us from winning the Games. It’s just plain bad luck. 
“We shall start with the boys,” Azazel walks towards a large bowl set up on the edge of the stage. His footsteps make a gentle thumping with each step. “And today we shall hopefully find someone who will live up to the standards of the Founding President!”
So I will have to wait just a bit longer. There’s a hesitant silence over the crowd as Azazel plucks a name from the bowl and carefully unwraps it. Whoever’s name was just chosen will be my district partner.
“Brann Garner!”
I do not recognize the name. There’s a brief pause as the name settles on the crowd, then they begin to shift as the boy himself heads for the stage.
He stands taller than most of the others around him, with a lean frame that belies the toned muscles of his body. That physique combined with his sun-tanned skin is enough to let me know he works in the fields. 
Brann takes slow, measured steps as he ascends the stage. His halo of golden blond hair almost exactly matches the shade of freshly ripe wheat. His eyes flit back and forth as he takes his place beside Azazel. 
“And you are Brann Garner?” The man asks him with a smile. As if anyone else would climb the stage. 
“Yes.”
“Very good. Very good, indeed.” Azazel pats the boy on the shoulder and repeats his name to the crowd. There’s scattered applause, of which I join in. Already I can tell that Brann is the kind of person I want by my side in the arena. “Now let us discover your district partner!”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. This is it. Once I shout out my intentions, there is no going back. My path is set. I either die in the arena or emerge as Victor. My death would devastate my parents and Winnow, I know that, but sitting on my hands and not even attempting to make amends for The Incident would devastate me even more. 
I need to serve my penance. That’s what the Games are for.
“I volunteer!”
A hush falls over the crowd. Azazel lowers the slip he’d just taken out of the bowl. Even he seems surprised by this turn of events. “Did I just hear a volunteer?”
My legs feel weak as I jerk into motion. A few of the other girls quickly step aside as I head for the stage. I will not falter. I must push forward and grab my future. Hesitancy can only hurt me. 
“What a brave child,” Azazel offers me a small clap. My eyes drift to the white-clad masked figure standing at his side. Who is that? “I am sure you will perform splendidly in the Games. May I know your name?”
“Mazie Sunnoria.” I do not stutter. I say my name firmly and loudly. My actions are all in service to my family. 
I resist the urge to find them in the crowd. 
“It’s been quite some time since District 9 last had a volunteer,” Azazel says conversationally. “You no doubt caught many people off guard…bettors included.”
Is that a good thing? I pray that’s a good thing. Maybe it means the bettors will place their money on me. That can only help with sponsorship. Azazel waves me aside and I step back towards the tall blond boy. What was his name again? Brann? 
Yes. I watch him as he stares out into the crowd, brown eyes swiveling as if he’s trying to keep track of everything at once. His muscles are even more prominent this close up. He would make a fine ally. 
Brann’s searching gaze settles on me. “Why’d you volunteer?” He asks softly.
“I had to,” I say quietly. “I have to give my sister a better life. The life she deserves.” The one I stole from her. 
He nods. “I understand that feeling. I have my own brothers to protect and nurture.”
It feels like a weight has been lifted off my chest. For some reason I had feared he would judge me. Berate my reason for volunteering. Maybe call me an idiot. But he hasn’t. Brann understands.
“We should ally together.” The words escape my lips before I even realize it.
Brann starts in surprise, but then slowly nods. “Yes. I would like that. District 9 has to stick together. Our bonds are what gives us strength.”
He accepts. A sense of relief fills me. For some reason I was afraid he’d decline. “You’re right,” I tell him. “Our bonds are strength. Our connections to others…they’re what will give us the confidence to fight on.”
And fight on I will. I will become Victor. Winnow will finally be able to see again, and the deep, pervasive guilt which eats me alive will finally go away.
===District 10: Viscera Clomp===
Gentle rain drums against the roof and spatters against the windows as I stand in the center of our living room, in front of the roaring fireplace as Mother brushes my hair. 
“Go away, you stupid thing!” Mother mutters to herself as the comb meets resistance.
“Are you talking to me, or the hair?” I ask quietly.
“The hair, of course, sweetie. I would never  say such things to you.”
That’s not true. Mother has spoken harshly to me many times. She’s even beaten me, though she doesn’t always remember doing so. One time she beat me so hard with the brush that I was left covered in bruises, but the next day she didn’t understand where they came from. She was so angry that she threatened violence against whomever it was that dare lay a hand on her darling daughter.
I didn’t tell her the truth. I didn’t think it was necessary.
Mother continues to brush my hair in silence as I gaze out the window. The raindrops make little patterns as they inch their way down the window. Some of them form into the shapes of icicles. 
Cold…snow…what is The Author trying to tell me? That I will soon find myself in a cold, snowy place? The arena, maybe?
“What’s that about snow?” Mother continues to brush my hair. I spoke aloud again. I had to. How else would The Author know my thoughts?
“There is snow on the window.”
“Hmm? No. That is just rain.” Mother pauses her strokes and falls silent. For a moment there is no sound except for the pattering of the rain. “District 10 doesn’t have snow. Not like District 14. Snow always fell there. The mountaintops would be coated in the stuff.”
Mother often speaks about District 14. It was her original home, before she was sent off here. I think she misses the place. 
“Wintertime was wonderful in District 14,” Mother speaks quietly. “The snow…the trees. When the first snowfall of the season arrived, District 14 became the most beautiful place in the world. There was a big tree in the plaza, Viscera. You’d love it. It was so bright and colorful. They decorated it, you see. It was some kind of holiday. They’d put up this huge tree and decorate it with lights and baubles. It was so beautiful.”
It does sound beautiful. I’ve always liked colors. It’s hard for The Misery Man to find me when I am surrounded by bright colors. That’s why I dyed my hair. 
“Today is the big day!” Mother speaks in a sing-song voice as she stands and walks over to the closet. “You will enter the Games and meet your fate! My penance will finally be over!”
I’ve been dreading today for a long time. It was meant to be the beginning of my sacrifice to The Misery Man. He’s been haunting my footsteps for years and years. As long as I can remember. Today was supposed to be when I get sent into the arena to die at his hands, but…
Mother is talking to herself as she goes through the closet, digging out the outfits and throwing them on the sofa. They’re all bright and colorful, nothing like the drab clothing those other kids in the District wear. 
“This one!” Mother grabs a particular dress and holds it out for me to see. I run a hand along the blue garment. It’s soft. “I wore this dress back when I was sixteen! It…was close to the time of my sin.”
I look up and glance over my Mother’s shoulder at the doorway behind her. There’s a cloud of darkness there. Lurking. Waiting. The Misery Man is somewhere in that cloud. Sometimes he appears himself. Other times he sends a monster to torment me. But he’s always there. Watching.
“Now you’ll wear the dress!” Mother adjusts her position and blocks out the doorway. “It’s the perfect time! After all, you are heading into the Games to complete my penance. When you die, I will finally be forgiven for my sins. Maybe District 14 will take me back. I do so want to see those mountains again…”
Mother was sixteen when she sinned, so it only stood to reason that I die for her penance at the same age. I don’t like to think about that. I’ve always known that my story would end with my sacrifice to The Misery Man, but recently things have become…muddled. He’s not all-powerful. People can beat him. I know someone who has.
Mother makes me put on the dress and she squeals with delight when I do so. Soon enough she is herding me towards the front door, telling me that we mustn’t be late for the Reaping, otherwise the penitence would be ruined. 
The rain has gotten stronger, and it’s practically falling in sheets as we shuffle out onto the porch. A row of houses sit across from ours, with a small cobblestone street running between them. Flowing water pulls a lone twig towards a nearby drain. What does it symbolize?
The Misery Man is working hard to swallow me. That’s what The Author is trying to say. I must be careful. One wrong step could see me swept away. 
“Oh, this rain is no good!” Mother shakes her head and slips back inside. She returns a moment later with her parasol. “Here, hold this. We mustn’t let the rain ruin your dress. You must look pristine for your moment of penitence!”
I hesitantly take the parasol. Though it looks and functions much like an umbrella, I know they are different. Parasols are meant to protect you from the sun, while umbrella’s are for rain. I once made the mistake of calling Mother’s parasol an umbrella and she got so mad that she beat me with the thing. 
I eye the crooked top of the parasol as we step off the porch. It got all twisted like that when Mother smacked me over the head hard enough to make me bleed. Despite the pain, I didn’t mind it so much, because the blood helped dye my hair. 
Our feet splash into cold puddles as we head down the quiet streets. Few people are out and about. Most are probably at the town square, where we hold the Reaping. I try not to look at the people who are around. Some of them might’ve been sent by The Misery Man, and I don’t want them to notice me.
Large crowds of people, their voices an undefinable hum, come into view as we draw nearer to the square. I take a deep breath. Not good. Any one of them could be a tool for The Misery Man.
“Goodbye, my sweet!” Mother kisses my forehead as we approach the marker separating the adults from the Reaping age children. “Remember, you can’t just volunteer, you must die in the arena for the penance to be complete. Do try and have the District 14 tributes finish you!”
I nod silently and join the line of unrecognizable people as we slowly are filed into the square itself. I stay silent and try not to draw any attention to myself until I reach the front, where a squad of Peacekeepers are writing down everyone’s name. 
“Viscera!” One of them, a young man with blue-rimmed glasses, waves at me. “How’s it going? Life treating you well?”
Corporal Knott. I know him. His glasses are very pretty. He’s usually patrolling the streets and is often working when school lets out for the day. I don’t know why, but he seems to enjoy talking to me. 
“Oh…hello.” 
He makes some sort of hand gesture. “You look very pretty today. Get all dolled up for the Reaping?”
“Mother dressed me.” I don’t think he’s working for The Misery Man. He hasn’t done anything suspicious yet, at least. “She wants me to look special today.”
Knott nods. “Understandable. Everyone wants to look good on Reaping Day!”
“Yes. Mother wants me to volunteer so that I can serve her penance.”
He makes an odd noise, one I remember Mother making when she gets upset. “Uh, that’s…do you want to volunteer, Viscera?”
“It doesn’t matter. The Misery Man will look for me either way.” I can beat him, though. I know it’s possible. Baron did it. And if he did it, then why can’t I do it?
Knott says something I don’t catch and waves me onwards. I stare at my feet as I enter the crowd of children, aware of their eyes on me. Any one of them could be working for The Misery Man. More than a few of my classmates at school are. They think they can fool me, but they can’t.
Voices, loud and intrusive, emanate from the large speakers set up haphazardly on the sides of the square. They broadcast the voices of the people on stage, whom I don’t know. There’s lots of them, though. 
As I look up and stare at the stage, something off in the crowd catches my eye. A person. He stands almost a full head taller than anyone else and there’s a pocket of open space around him, as if no one wanted to be near him.
But I know the truth. It’s not that they don’t want to be near him, it’s that they can’t be near him.
Baron Bludd is immune to The Misery Man’s influence.
Baron’s entire face is obscured by a plain, brown leather mask. His eyes are the only thing which looks out into the world. He is staring straight ahead, focused on the stage and its people. He doesn’t seem to notice me.
He hasn’t ever done so yet. Though I am working to change that. We have an indisputable connection. He is immune to The Misery Man, while I am the target of his ire. Clearly The Author intended for us to meet one another. 
His family owns a large workshop in the District. They spend all their time butchering and skinning animals, then selling their meat to other people. Baron is very good at it. I’ve watched him work many, many times. I thought maybe it’s his skills which keeps The Misery Man away, so I replicated what he did and taught myself how to do it. I’m not as good at it as he is, but my skill at skinning small animals is almost there.
More proof of our connection. 
Voices up on stage draw my attention away from Baron and I realize that they are about to select a name from the bowl. I know that means it’s time to volunteer. 
Even though I don’t really want to go into the arena, I can’t refuse. Mother will be angry and take that anger out on me. And it doesn’t matter where I am. Not to The Misery Man. Inside the Games or outside, he will find me. 
So I may as well enter the Games. 
“I volunteer.” I say the words so softly that I don’t think anyone hears. No one looks at me, so I raise my voice and try again. “I volunteer!”
This time I draw attention. Everyone’s head swivels to face me, their eyes shining with a predatory light. I feel weak. Scared. The Misery Man has his full attention on me. What if he decides he doesn’t want to wait until the Game? What if he tries to eliminate me now?
No. Baron hasn’t done anything yet. The Author wouldn’t have put him in the story if he wasn’t going to interact with me. I am safe.
For now.
I approach the stage, gaze firmly planted on my feet. Don’t wanna look at their faces. Those horrid, evil faces…
“Why, hello there!” A cheery, elderly voice greets me as I reach the stage top. “You must be our brave volunteer!”
“Yes. I had to.” I don’t look at the speaker. What if he’s an agent for The Misery Man? “There was no other choice. Not really.”
The crowd is hushed. There’s not much noise beyond the gentle plip-plop of the rain. When did the rain die down? When I volunteered? Yes. The Author is giving me a sign that volunteering was good. It gives me a chance to win. To defeat The Misery Man.
They ask for my name. I don’t respond at first, because I am looking out at the crowd and Mother. She seems so happy. She thinks I’ll die. But I can’t. I won’t. For so long I thought my story would end here in the Games. But now…
“Viscera Clomp,” I whisper my name. 
“Ladies and gentlemen, meet your female tribute from District 10, Viscera Clomp!”
No applause. Not a surprise. The Misery Man wouldn’t celebrate this, so neither will his agents. 
“Now let’s find out who her partner will be!” A second bowl is brought out. It’s been sitting in the rain, so half the bowl is filled with water and many of the slips of paper are ruined. It takes a while before they finally find a dry one. When they do, a familiar name is read. “Baron Bludd!”
My gaze snaps onto him as he starts to move toward the stage. Everyone shies away as he passes through the crowd. The Misery Man is repelled by his mere presence. I reach a trembling hand into the hidden pocket of my dress, where the mask resides. Both of us are being entered into the Games. 
Our connection is now painfully obvious.
Baron towers over everyone else on stage as he approaches the man with the microphone. He seems nervous as Baron steps closer. “Oh, uh, hello. I…suppose you are Baron Bludd?”
Baron slowly nods.
I stifle a small giggle. “It’s you.” I breathe the words as I stare at his smooth, brown face. His mask is the ward. It keeps away The Misery Man and his influence. 
Baron’s eyes shift towards me. There is a spark of recognition in them. I feel a blossom of joy at this revelation. He knows me!
“We’re one and the same,” I say quietly as I hold up my mask. It’s been designed in the form of a white hare. I slip it onto my face and step closer. “We were meant to be together. A team.”
Baron’s gaze flickers to the crowd and then back to me. The others on stage only stare at us. They don’t understand. They are all under the thrall of The Misery Man. 
Baron reaches out and grabs my arm, then turns to face the crowd assembled before us. There, with everyone watching, he raises our arms into the sky and we spit in the eye of The Misery Man. Baron is immune to his reach. His evil cannot touch him. And if Baron is immune, the that means The Misery Man isn’t all-powerful. He isn’t unstoppable.
I can beat him.
For so long I thought that the Games would be the end of my story. That The Author was building towards its conclusion. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe my story isn’t over.
Maybe its just reached the climax.
===District 11: Lartius Fallow===
I hate life. I hate life. I hate life. I. Hate. Life.
These are the only thoughts that course through my head as I pull the weeds from around the summer crops. They don't give us gloves, so my hands are blistered and bleeding and I can hardly remember how long I've been out in this sweltering sun. My back hurts, my hands hurt, and sweat pours off my head. If I don't get water soon, I just might pass out. 
As I yank another weed, I can't help but go back to thinking of my hatred for life. Not only do I hate having to work and not being privileged enough like the rich kids to go to school and learn, but I hate my drunk and abusive father, I hate my overbearing and delusional mother, and I definitely hate our hypocritical government.
And just when I think I'm going to keel over and vomit, a loud horn is blown. End of work day. The one good thing about this damn Reaping is that work ends early. Instead of working for twelve-hours straight in the sun, we only have to work four. 
How lucky we are. 
I wipe the sweat from my forehead and stand up straight, squaring my shoulders to ease the tension from my back. A patrolling Peacekeeper gives me a suspicious look as he walks by. I flip him off when he looks away. Stupid government brute.
People are always telling me how much better the country is under District 14. How worse things were when the Capitol was in charge. Well, from where I'm sitting things don’t look so rosy. How awful was life back then that people think this is an improvement?
As I finish thinking, I spot my youngest sister, Jasmine, rushing towards me with flowers weaved into the dark locks of her hair. She works in the division where they climb trees and pick the fruit from the branches. 
Not everyone in District 11 has to work in the fields. Some people—the rich, mostly—have cushy indoor jobs or attend school. Only the people who are poor like my family have to toil in the blazing sun all day. 
Maybe that’s what people mean when they say this government is better. Better for the rich.
“Lartius!" Jasmine runs into my arms. She pulls away immediately. "Ew, you stink."
"You would stink too if you were sweating for hours straight!” I snap at her. I immediately regret it. It’s not Jasmine who I’m mad at. “How was work?”
She shrugs and skips around me. “It was okay. I snuck a peach when no one was looking.”
I grunt. Stealing from the orchards is strictly prohibited, but the Peacekeepers seem to overlook it when kids as young as Jasmine do it. If I tried to do the same, however…
“You seem upset, Lartius,” Jasmine peers at me with her wide, luminous eyes. “Did something happen?”
“No.” I push past her and make my way onto the dirt path leading away from orchards. Dozens of other workers crowd me. “I’m just always upset.”
Our house is situated out in the middle of nowhere, halfway between the district center and the orchards. It’s not a long walk, but it’s a hot and dusty one. We meet up with three more of my sisters as we go. Emry, Gardenia, and Bryony. 
At fourteen Emry is the second youngest—two years older than Jasmine—and she has the same dark hair as our youngest sister. Gardenia is fifteen, and she works in the fields with me. Bryony does so as well—she’s my fraternal twin.
“Having fun, Lartius?” She waggles her eyebrows at me as she and the others join us. 
“Shut up.” Don’t know why she always asks that. It’s bloody infuriating. 
“You gotta lighten up, Lartius.” Bryony laughs and slaps me on the shoulder. 
Why the hell is she so jovial? It’s a recurring trait in my younger sisters. All of them fail to see how much our lives absolutely suck. Despite being my twin, Bryony and I aren’t much alike in personality. Or at all. 
I choose to ignore her jabber as we approach our home. It is a small house with only two bedrooms, a sitting area and a kitchen. We have to use the bathroom outside, in an outhouse shared by two other households. My parents have one room, while the rest of us share the other. The girls sleep in the bed while I make do with the floor. 
It’s a horrid living situation, and yet my sisters can still be positive. Something must be wrong in their heads. 
The girls run off chattering like birds when we reach the house, saying something about taking a bath, I think. I just walk up to the front door and go inside. The moment I do I step on a discarded liquor bottle and lose my footing. 
I hit the floor hard, my head bouncing off the rotting floorboards. Everything is blurry. I stare up at the spinning ceiling and wish that the fall could have just killed me instead. Life would be a lot funner if I didn’t have to live it. 
I slowly lift myself off the ground and curse my father. It’s his stupid bottles that he keeps lying around. Where is he anyway? I look around but find no trace of him. Then I remember: he has the day off from work, so he’s probably out getting drunk.
“Hopefully he doesn’t show up to the Reaping,” I grumble to myself as I make my way into the small room I share with my sisters. Father’s execution wouldn’t be a bad thing. Even though all us kids work to help the family, he usually confiscates most of our money to spend on booze. And if he doesn’t, then mother does. That idiot loves buying new trinkets and useless bits of jewelry. 
Stupid fools.
Our clothing is stored in a bin on the ground, so I rummage around inside until I find something that’s suitable for the Reaping. I don’t care at all about looking good for it, but Mother will throw a fit if we’re not all dressed up, so it’s better to just play along. 
The best outfit I can find is a pair of black pants and a brown shirt—dark colors are the best, because it’s less likely for dirt to show. I put the clothes on right away. There won’t be any time for me to bathe, not with all the girl’s going first. 
When I get back outside Jasmine comes running up to. She’s already finished bathing and is wear a sky blue dress with a floral print. “Lartius! Mom said she’ll give me a snack if I braid my hair!”
“Is she home?” I haven’t seen her yet.
“Yup! She’s helping Emry and Gardenia!” Jasmine giggles and hands me a blue ribbon. “You’ll help me, won’t you?”
I sigh. I know how to braid hair. It's simple, and I learned it pretty easy living in a house full of women. And it's not as if there is anything else to do in my free time, so I thought I might as well learn something helpful to the girls. “Fine. I’ll help.”
“Yay!” Jasmine gives me a hug then goes and sits for me to get working. It’s a quick job, and when I finish I tie the ribbon into her hair.
“There,” I step back and wipe the sweat from my forehead. “Now you can show mother and get your snack.”
Jasmine lets out another laugh and scampers away. When I turn I spot Gardenia—freshly bathed and dressed—watching me with a grin. “You’re such a softie!”
“Shut up or I’ll punch your lights out!” I stalk over to the little fence around our property and lean against it, gazing at the tree-line in the distance. I don’t know what lies outside of our country’s borders, but it has to be something better than the hell we have here. 
I don’t know how long I spend staring at the trees, but it’s long enough that Mother comes walking up with all my younger sisters in tow. “Keep up, Lartius!” She snaps at me as I come out of my thoughts. “Or we’ll leave you behind!”
I notice Father isn’t with them. “Where’s the old man?”
“Your father will meet us at the Reaping,” Mother sniffs. 
Unlikely. He might be at the Reaping, but he sure the hell won’t come talk to us. Instead of saying this I just stick my hands into my pockets and fall in line. 
Someone we will see at the Reaping is my older sister, Golda. She works as an administrative assistant in the mayor’s office and is going to be on stage. Golda often sends us money, but usually it just falls into father’s hands and feeds his alcohol addiction.
“Don’t worry, Lartius!” Jasmine appears on my side as we walk. The other girls aren’t really paying attention. Gardenia watches the sky, Emry doodles in her sketchbook, and Bryony makes a show of counting the passerby’s. 
“I’m never worried,” I reply. Everything in life already sucks, so how could things get any worse?
——
The square is dry and dusty. The overhead sun beats against our necks. My teeth grind together as I stare up at the stage and the people who occupy it. The Mayor is there, along with Golda and a few other assistants. I don’t mind them too much, but the other people on stage burn my biscuits. 
Our District Representative Calker Rouen and the Governor of Southern Panem, Miribelle Cross. 
Miribelle is one of the most important members of our country’s government and couldn’t make her distaste for us common-folk anymore well known if she tried. Today she stands with an imperious expression, blonde ringlets extending down her back as she holds a gloved hand to her face, watching our assembled community with ill-disguised disgust. Despite the heat, she wears an elaborate multi-tiered dress and a fur scarf around her neck. 
Miribelle is the definition of ostentatious waste.
“District 11.” Calker’s deep voice resonates through the speaks set up haphazardly around the stage. “It is once again time for you to send two tributes to serve their penance in the arena.”
Calker is a tall man with a thick, close-cropped beard. As our Representative, he is in charge of monitoring our workplace conditions and making sure they meet the “high standards” of District 14. Considering we often have people drop dead from heat exhaustion, I don’t think he particularly cares about that part of his job description. 
A video begins to play on the lone screen over the stage, but the audio cuts out and the screen itself is so fuzzy you can barely see anything. Since it’s all just propaganda, I doubt anyone cares, but it goes to show how little our government thinks about us. 
“To begin, we shall Reap our female tribute,” Calker is already at the first bowl. “We shall find out which child shall have the task of—”
“I volunteer!”
Calker falls silent. The crowd, already still and lifeless, seems to become even more so. A volunteer? Here in District 11? It’s a rare occurrence. We do not have a good history in the Games. District 11 has never had a Victor, and rarely even makes it to the final day. It’s been more than a decade since we’ve had someone last past the halfway point. 
“A volunteer?” Calker taps his chin. “Come on up, then.”
I don’t know who or what I expected this mysterious volunteer to be, but it wasn’t the girl who appears on stage. She’s young, barely taller than five feet, if that, and has the pale skin which is a rarity here in Eleven. Her hair is dark lavender in color and falls to her back in waves. Despite her lean, almost emaciated frame, her emerald green eyes seem to shine with an inner light. 
Miribelle sniffs disdainfully at the girl and whispers something to the man behind her. My eyes zero in on him. A Card. One of those bastards who directly serves the President. 
“And what is your name, brave volunteer?” Calker asks the girl. 
The girl pulls herself to her full height—definitely just five feet at the most—and puffs out her chest. “I am Peppa Trails!”
The girl is so young and innocent looking that the crowd is already murmuring in disappointment. They don’t like seeing a young girl march to her own death. I don’t mind, though. This fool volunteering just means that all my sisters are safe for another year. 
“You are a brave girl, Peppa,” Calker says with a nod. “Very brave indeed.” He knows she’s going to die in the Games. You can tell by his pacifying tone and the look in his eyes. Peppa’s tomb will be the arena. She probably won’t even last beyond the bloodbath.
When Calker is done extolling the virtues of the girls bravery, he approaches the next bowl. I tense up as he sticks a hand inside. “And Peppa’s district partner is…Lartius Fallow!”
Of course. Of course it’s my name which is drawn. Why wouldn’t it be? Boiling with rage and unable to see straight, I fumble my way through the crowd. Reaped. Sent to my death. Of bloody course!
Golda’s eyes widen as I step on the stage. The horror on her face is probably identical to the looks on my other sisters right about now. Calker says something to me. I don’t know what. I’m not paying attention. Just when I thought life couldn’t get worse…
“What a pitiful specimen.” 
A haughty voice snaps me out of my fugue. Miribelle is watching me with narrowed eyes as she uses a little handheld fan to cool herself. 
“What did you just say?” I growl.
“Ohhoho!” The obnoxious woman laughs. “This one has spunk. Too bad that won’t save its life in the arena.”
It. So I’m not even human to her. I’m disgusted but not surprised. Always knew our Southern Governor was pure trash. “You better shut your mouth before I—”
I only take two steps before the white-clad figure behind her intercepts me. Strong hands wrap around my arm and haul me backwards. I struggle uselessly against the man, snarling in rage as I swat at his head. A laughing clown adorns his mask. The Joker. 
“Should I have him beaten, Madame Governor?” His voice has the slightest of distortion to it.
Miribelle peers over her fan at me. “I think not. A simple blow to the head should suffice in teaching this cretin manners.”
What? I just barely have time to register those words before a white fist slams into my head. 
Everything goes dark. When I come to I find myself lying on the stage and staring into a cloudless blue sky. Calker’s voice drifts through the air. He has kept on with the Reaping. 
“Are you okay?” A small lavender head appears over me. Peppa.
“Get the hell out of my face!” I try to stand and stumble as the world begins to spin. Sharp pain burns behind my eyelids and I slump to my knees.
I hate life. I hate life. I hate life. I. Hate. Life.
===District 12: Rooker Irone===
With a basket clutched firmly in hand, I walk through the chill morning air in quiet solitude.
Miners are already at work, but the merchants have yet to set up their wares. No one is on the streets. That makes this moment of time, when the sun wavers in the air, as if uncertain on whether it wants to rise, my favorite moment to gather plants.
Nobody is around to see me.
Kneeling beside a patch of wild grass, I deftly pluck a few shoots of meadowsweet, neatly lying them in my basket. Once finished, I cross the streets to another patch. I produce a small awl from my pockets, digging into the ground and pulling out several pale vegetables. I set the parsnips alongside the meadowsweet and continue with my search.
My movements are mechanical, second nature. I've done this every day for so long that everything just happens. It's normal. I take a look around, ensuring that I am alone, before approaching tree-line and slipping into the woods with nary a sound.
I enter the forest with a benign smile. Many people disregard trees, overlook their medicinal properties, their ability to create more then they are.
I slip my awl against the gap of a tree, loosening the bark and carefully prying it away from the trees. Aspen trees. Willow. A bunch of belladonna blossoms. All this and more find their way into my basket.
I harvest nature's power from the forest. The flora and fauna, ferns and tree barks, mushrooms and just about every other single item I believe that we need. I like plants. Plants are uncomplicated. Plants don’t mind how you use them. 
As I return through to the District, the sun has risen. It hangs in the air, a large yellow orb shining far too cheerfully down on me. My grip tightens around the basket as I remember that today is the Reaping. People have risen now, but the streets are still empty.
“Hey, Rooker.”
A lazy, drifting voice hails me as I reach the beginning of the buildings. I grit my teeth together, slowly turning around and facing the speaker, a tall, stout boy about my age.
I give him a nod. "Hey, Garza." 
The boy steps forward and places a hand on my shoulder. I watch it warily. Garza just made a mistake. No one touches me. 
"Got anything for me?" His unpleasant face twitches only slightly.
My eyes flicker around the street. We're alone. “You know you’re not supposed to contact me like this.” My voice is cold. Quiet. Threatening. “Breaking the order of things won’t benefit you.”
Uncertainty crosses the boys face. He did not expect the conversation to go down like this. “I had to,” He says softly. “I need some…I don’t have anymore. You’re the best supplier in the District. I just thought—”
“You didn’t think.” I reach up and remove his hand from my shoulder. I have half a mind to just twist his wrist and break it. “If you had actually used that brain of yours, you’d have realized that contacting me like this could only end badly for you.”
There is panic on his face. My words are churning through his head. Garza is worried about all the things which could happen to him. Good. Let him dwell on the possibilities. Supplies have been short recently, and the forest only holds so much belladonna and poppy. I need to either start venturing even further into the woods or hire some people to collect the materials for me. Neither option is truly appealing. 
“Look, I’m sorry, it’s just…” Garza shifts from foot to foot. “Do you have any of the…stuff?”
“Production is a long process.” Can’t let Mother catch me crafting the goods. Who knows what she’d do? “But I do have some in stock…though I don’t see why I should sell you anything after this little stunt.”
“I need some tonight.” There’s a haze in his eyes. A sign of addiction. Garza would do anything to get his fix. "You know what day it is, right?"
I nod, subtly shifting one foot backward so that I'm further from the large boy. If this fool thinks to get violent, then I’ll have no choice but to defend myself. 
"Yeah?" His face twitches. "Well, if I don't get Reaped tonight, then I need to celebrate. I need to—I need to celebrate that. You get me?" 
“I do.” Garza wishes to be under the thrall of the belladonna blossoms. Many people do. The euphoric experience they provide is one that is highly addictive and very enthralling. People are willing to pay out the nose for the stuff, as the stash of coins I have hidden away in my room can attest. 
“So do—do you have some?”
“I do.” Enough for his needs, at least. Most of my stock has already been sold to others who would rather face Reaping Day inebriated. “But I am rather busy, so I’ll get you some after the Reaping.”
Garza’s relief is palpable. “Oh, good. I can get you the money, I swear.”
“About that…” I pick up a meadowsweet root from my basket and twirl it around my finger. “Since you contacted me outside the proper channel, I will have to charge you double.”
The color drains from his face. Garza had not seen this coming. “Double? But that’s…double is a lot. I don’t have…”
“You should have thought of that before disturbing my morning.” Yes. I will definitely need to start employing people. Having to deal with idiots like this personally is exhausting. 
Doubt flickers in Garza’s eyes. He’s worried. Doesn’t have enough money for it. I’m not too concerned. People like him always find a way to pay in the end. The lure of the blossoms is just too strong. “What you do is illegal, right?”
“What?” I don’t like the smug look which crosses his face. 
“This—all this is illegal?” He gestures his hands in the air. “So how about…what if I told the Peacekeepers? Reported you for this? They wouldn’t like that.”
Oh, Garza. Garza, Garza, Garza. Does he really think threatening me will work? Is he truly dumb enough to believe he is the first to try it? I shake my head and let out a low chuckle. “You think the Peacekeepers would ever act against me?”
He frowns. Doesn’t yet know where I am going with this. He will. “The Peacekeepers won’t lift a finger to stop me. Not with the connections I have.” I pause, as if thinking. “You live with your grandmother, yes?”
Garza pales. I see the fear in his eyes now. Good. 
“Perhaps I should have the Peacekeepers visit her,” I continue playing with the meadowsweet in my hand. “A few words from me and they’ll believe she’s been the one peddling to the district. They won’t like that. Maybe—”
“I’m sorry!” Garza throws his hands up and drops to his knees. “I’m not going to report you! That was—it was a joke. I’m not…I didn’t mean it.”
I nod. Inwardly I breathe a sigh of relief. Not everyone is tricked so easily. “Very well. If that’s all then—”
“Wait!” Garza climbs to his feet. “The blossom! I’ll…I still want some!”
That’s how strong the addiction is. Even after all that, he’s still begging me for some. I would feel bad that I’m pumping this stuff into the district, but I can’t afford to show weakness. I have a dream that needs to be reached. People I love who must be taken care of. If idiots like Garza wish to use themselves to fuel my dreams, what does it matter?
“Very well.” I give him a stiff nod. “But it’ll cost triple for that little stunt you pulled.”
Garza nods and tearfully tells me he’ll have the money. I just nod again and disengage myself from the situation. There is no concern to be had about payment. Garza will find a way to get me the money. People like him always do. 
I head back towards the District, mind buzzing with thoughts and plans to try and think of a way to make sure a situation like this never occurs again. As I move through the streets, I notice that they have begun to fill up and the air trembles with emotion. I notice slips being passed between people. The betting has already begun. On what child will be Reaped, their age, whether or not they'll cry. 
There must be a way for me to get in on that action. Not as a bettor, for that is fraught with perils, but as a bookkeeper. The house always wins. 
I slip past the miners and their anxious children, then pass into the warehouse that is made of thick, solid stone. When New Panem rebuilt the District after the war they made sure to make every building stone or marble, and even the roads are mostly cold cobblestone. District 12 will never burn again. 
The usual typical hustle and bustle has increased due to Reaping day. There's a cacophony of sound, footsteps, clattering pans, and endless conversations. I slip through the throng, seeking my Mother out.
I'm used to the noise, but that doesn't mean that I like it. 
Mother has set up shop in the corner of the warehouse, near the far exit. Close enough for her stall to be prominent to the eyes of passerby’s, but far enough away to be out of earshot of the Peacekeepers which preside over the market. Though I have a friendly, cordial relationship with our local security, it’s not anywhere near the extent to which I led Garza to believe. 
I spot Mother immediately. She’s clapping her hands and calling out to some people walking past. Friends of hers, most likely. 
“Hello, Mother.” I deposit my basket on the stall counter. 
“Rooker, shouldn't you be getting to the registrations? Oh! And look, you've gotten dirt on your nice shirt—" She leans across the counter of dried herbs and bottled medicines, brushing tiny, brown flecks of dirt from my cotton shirt. I don’t know where it came from. Garza, probably. 
I mustn’t let her know what transpired. My mother is lenient in many things, but even she wouldn’t accept my…business dealings.
I smile calmly, disguising my worry. "Don't worry, Mom. I will be at the registrations soon. There's just a few things I wanted to bring you."
I hand her the basket and she smiles before counting the objects, rattling off their names and uses like only an expert could. 
“Rooky! Look! Mom is letting me help her!” A small voice squeals in delight as my little sister Rosemary comes running around the counter. 
I drop to my knees and ruffle her hair, which is dark like mine. “She did? Wow! I bet you’re doing a great job!”
Rosemary’s smile widens and she pokes me in the shoulder. “I am! Two people gave mom a tip because I am the darn cutest thing they ever saw!”
Rosemary is nine, making her seven years younger than I am. She’s technically my half-sister—we both have different fathers, though I never met either one—but that doesn’t matter to me. Rosemary is the thing I cherish most in this world and the reason why I don’t care what harm my drugs cause. How many lives they ruin or how many people overdose on them. If it all serves to give Rosemary a better life, then I don’t care.
I watch her as she dances about, grabbing herbs and showing me which ones she helped mother sell. I will do whatever it takes to ensure Rosemary and my mother get the best out of life. No one else will ever stop and do their best to help me, so why should I stop and care about them? Family. That’s all what matters.
I spend some time playing with Rosemary and watching Mother work. There’s not many customers. Not much people need herbs on Reaping day. At least not the legal ones. Still, Mother is an expert at her craft. I have never seen anyone else as skilled with plants as she is, myself included. Everything I know I learned from her. 
I’ll repay her for all she’s done for me someday, preferably with a great deal of interest.
Eventually I must part ways. District 12 always takes forever to sort the Reaping age children in line, and the last thing I want is for Peacekeepers to begin studying me and my habits too closely. 
My skin tingles pleasantly in the warm rays of sunlight that shine down outside the market. Such a pleasant day. Yet the sight of District 14’s camera crew, set up near the District center, brings a frown to my face.
Appearance wise they don’t look too dissimilar from anyone local. The only real difference is the clothing. Most people from District 12 have dirty or threadbare clothes, even when dressed in their Reaping Day best. In comparison the people from District 14 are immaculate, with nary a spot of dirt to be seen. 
I skirt around the camera crew on my way to the square. They have a reporter lady with them, asking people questions about the Reaping. I do not want my face to be plastered on television across the country. 
The Reaping’s never worried me. I’ve survived five so far with no repercussions and I don’t see the point in worrying about something that hasn’t happened yet. But three years from now, when Rosemary will become eligible, I know I’ll feel differently. Those seven years will be the hardest of my life.
There’s not many people at the square when I arrive. Just a few teenagers being sorted and the two dozen or so Peacekeepers who are in charge of the process. Oh, and the Card. He stands atop the stage, hands folded behind his back as he watches the proceedings go down with that smooth, masked face of his. The Jack, I believe he’s called.
There are no Agents in District 12. Our government thought posting any here would be in poor taste, considering it was their forebears who razed District 12 to the ground all those years ago. So our only policing force are the Peacekeepers and The Jack himself. 
I don’t mind the Peacekeepers. Though they are a threat to my operations, they are generally a cordial lot. Some of them even purchase my product when off-duty—I am especially careful to keep my identity hidden during those transactions. But The Jack? I’m not dumb enough to willingly interact with him. 
What kind of man wears a mask twenty-four seven? Who is willing to live among people who all fear him? Is he even a man? For all I know he is some sort of automaton or machine. The one certainty about him is that he’s dangerous. Just a few months ago a group of human traffickers were busted, and it was The Jack who saw to them. 
When he was finished there was hardly anything left to bury. 
I act casual and mind my own business as I am sorted into the proper line. Slowly the crowd begins to fill in around me. Mother and Rosemary won’t be among them, because they typically don’t show up until the very last minute. Watching the stage, I see our mayor and District Representative arrive. 
A short, peppy blonde woman, Lena Klitzke waves to the crowd and begins the usual speech, even though the entire District isn’t here yet. Perhaps that is for the best. No one truly cares about the speech anyways. 
Commotion at the back of the square draws my attention midway through the speech. A group of Peacekeepers are making their way into the square. At first I think that maybe there’s some kind of arrest being made, or they uncovered a planned attack, but then I spot the girl in the center of the group and everything makes sense. 
They’re escorting a prisoner.
The prisoner is not at all what you would expect. She isn’t a dreadful killer or imposing man. Not a scarred maniac or hulking monstrosity. She’s just a small, underfed girl with short red hair. Despite her situation, surrounded by armed guards and wearing a pair of electromagnetic handcuffs, she doesn’t seem the slightest bit perturbed. She walks with her back straight, head held high, and blazing tawny eyes staring out at the world, just daring anyone to meet her gaze.
Ashlyn Carrow. Domestic terrorist.
It hasn’t yet been a year since she firebombed and destroyed our new Peacekeeper Operations Center before it even opened. A literal fortune had been funneled into that project, money which had been supplied by the overtaxed District population. Needless to say, there weren’t many people happy to see that building go up in flames. 
Carrow may just be a fifteen year-old girl, but she is already District 12’s most notorious citizen. 
The Reaping continues on. Lena pays no attention to the arrival and continues her speech, patiently waiting for everyone to file in. Once The Jack gives her a thumbs up and makes his way to the stage, Lena finally turns to the bowl placed on her right. “Let’s see who our female tribute is, shall we?” I watch her dip a hand into the bowl, grateful that Rosemary is still exempt for a few more years. “And the tribute is…Ashlyn Carrow!”
Well, what are the odds of that?
I watch in silence as the Peacekeepers match the captive up to the stage and pass her off to The Jack. Lena seems disgruntled to see that the tribute is a prisoner, but I find the coincidence amusing. After all, the Games are meant as penance, are they not? 
Ashlyn, for her part, shows no real outward reaction. She stands with her head in the air, a cool, impetuous expression on her face. No. She does not fear the arena. If anything, she is looking forward to it.
Lena seems to be in a hurry to move on, perhaps because she doesn’t want to dwell on Ashlyn any longer than she has to. Approaching the next bowl, she quickly plucks a paper out and reads it. 
“Rooker Irone!”
No.
Cold, quiet horror closes in on me. My name. That was my name. A lump forms in my throat and I feel the desire to retch. Me. 
I was Reaped.
A soft wail goes up somewhere in the crowd. I recognize my mother’s voice. My eyes slide shut and I breathe out through my nose. An icicle of dread is slithering its way down my spine, carving a path to my heart. All my dreams, my hopes, my aspirations. I had worked so hard for them.
A sound much like shattering glass reverberates inside my head. 
It feels like my body moves on its own as I ascend the stage and take my spot beside Lena and Ashlyn. The girl scowls at me and steps aside while the blonde woman chatters away mindlessly and introduces me to the crowd. My eyes seek out Mother in the crowd. She is crying. Rosemary hugs her skirts, looking both confused and saddened. She is old enough to understand what being Reaped entails.
Yet even now, in the the face of the hand which I’ve been dealt, my mind races, mapping out strategies to survive, seeking knowledge on how best to navigate these treacherous waters. Though no one from District 12 has ever won the Games before, it is not impossible. People weaker and dumber than I have survived the arena. I can win. I know I can. 
I just need to figure out how.
——
Mother hugs me close, weeping profusely. Our allotted time is quickly slipping away. Soon I will be led onto a train and taken to District 14, where I will meet my competitors and learn how best to defeat them. 
Rosemary sits on the ground, one hand clasped around my knee. She is subdued and quiet, not at all like her usual self. I want to say something which will comfort her, but I can’t think of anything. 
“Rooker.” Her soft voices breaks the sound of sobbing.
I look down. “I’m here, Rosemary.”
“I…want to lend you something.” She reaches into her hair and removes the ornate hair clip nestled there. I recognize it as the one she wears almost constantly. “I want you to have this while you’re in the arena.”
“Of course.” I take the clip from her small fingers and set it in my own hair. I am sure it looks ridiculous, but I couldn’t care less. 
“You’re only borrowing it,” Rosemary sounds surprisingly indignant. “So you need to return it when you get back. You can’t keep it forever!”
I smile softly. “Of course. I’ll return before the month ends, then I’ll give it back.”
Mother stirs, wiping tears from her cheeks. “Sometimes the Games last longer than a month.”
That’s true. The 3rd Games had lasted two and a half months before Hocker Maddox from District 10 was Crowned. But those were a very long time ago, and Games typically don’t last anywhere near that amount of time nowadays. “These won’t last the month,” I tell them quietly. “I guarantee that.”
Mother only nods and hugs me tighter. Rosemary doesn’t look up. Despite her vigor, she must know that the odds of me returning her hair clip aren’t the highest. But that doesn’t matter. Not to me. I’ve never let something as simple as odds stop me before, and I sure the hell aren’t about to start now.
===District 13: Easton Harlow===
I pace back and forth along the shadow of a stained-glass window, a prismatic mix of colors shining down on the floor in a ray of sunlight. The room in which I find myself is one where everything is too big and too elaborate. A huge, intricate window dominates one wood-panelled wall, offering a view over the well-tended gardens in the courtyard below. An equally huge and ornate desk stood in the center of a richly colored carpet.
Father’s desk. 
No. It is not his desk any longer, and hasn’t been for some time. It is my desk. 
I sigh and pause in the center of the room, atop the plush carpet. So many problems, so little time. I pinch the bridge of my nose and turn to the man in the corner of the room. “Ruben, how many letters have I received this morning?”
Ruben steps forward smoothly. A tall, austere man with a wrinkled face and thinning hair, he has worked within the Harlow Family for many years, being a strong supporter of my Father before his untimely murder. “You have received twelve letters, sir.”
Twelve. I resist the urge to sigh again and instead run a hand through my hair. “Twelve, is it? Well, let’s have it. Who’re the letters from, and what do they wish of us?”
Us. The Harlow’s. New Panem’s most recently minted Great Family. 
“Three of them are from recently arrested criminals,” Ruben says drily, reading from the envelopes in his hand. “They seek clemency, begging you to intervene in the judicial proceedings on their behalf.”
I frown. Judicial authority lies in the hands of the District Representative and the Eastern Governor, though it would be entirely possible for a Great Family to…sway any judgement. “We decline,” I say softly. “I’d hate to step on Governor Lysander’s toes in this matter.”
Ruben nods and sets the three letters down upon the desk. “A prudent decision, sir. Your status as a Great Family is far too new to be intervening in such matters.”
We’ve only had Great Family status for less than a year, when the last surviving member of the House Noble died without any eligible heirs of his own. As a branch family, it fell to us to inherit their place in the order. The wealth and fame. Property and titles. Even the grandeur that came with possessing the title of Great Family. We inherited it all.
Even the target on our heads.
My own back tingles with an insatiable itch as I think of my father, murdered by someone whose family had been passed over in the proceedings. With his death, the position of Head of the House fell to me, his eldest son. And with that position, comes the power and influence it entails. So much now rests on my shoulders. A veritable mountain of responsibility. A lesser man would be crushed by it.
Fortunately, I am not a lesser man.
“What of the other nine letters?” I drum my fingers along the desk and gaze up at the stained-glass window. It is meant to be the Harlow Family crest displayed in a multitude of colors. Unfortunately I find the resemblance rather lacking. 
Ruben clears his throat. “Six of them are invitations from different Great Families for you to attend either a luncheon or dinner with them in District 14.”
“District 14?”
“Yes. Looking at the dates listed—which are all separate days, I may add—I do believe that these gatherings would be a watch party for the Games.”
Of course. That would explain why they’re all in District 14. Everyone of any true importance converges upon District 14 during Games season. That is where all the power lays, after all, and where the power is, so too are politicians. 
“Please respond to these requests with an affirmative,” I turn back towards Ruben. The thin, leathery man hasn’t so much as twitched since I last lay eyes upon him. “It would do us no good to snub the invites of our fellow Great Families.”
“Very wise, sir. No doubt your late Father would have chosen the same.” 
Indeed. Father would have hesitated to turn down any offer until he knew who were his friends and who were his foes. He had made precious little inroads on that matter before his assassination, and I have been far too busy seeing to the fine details of our Family’s operations to do any real politicking yet. 
“That leaves three more letters, yes?”
“Indeed, sir.” Ruben gently lays the six letters upon the table and holds up two more in a gloved hand. “These two are invitations to private luncheons with daughters of families held in high esteem. Halstaff Valii would like you to dine with his daughter Celestia upon the twelfth.”
The Valii Family has been one of the most powerful and influential families to ever trod upon this continent. Extremely important back when the Capitol ran the country, they somehow managed to survive their collapse and have continued to thrive under the Price family’s rule. It would do me and my fledging Great Family no benefit to make such a prestigious house our enemy. 
“Send an acceptance letter,” I begin, then pause as a thought strikes me. “Hold one moment. Why a private luncheon with his daughter of all people?”
Ruben gives me a flat stare. This, apparently, is something I should have figured out on my own. “You are a young, unconnected bachelor who has recently become head of a Great Family, sir.”
“Indeed.” I still haven’t the foggiest where he is going with this. 
“As such,” Ruben continues, “Many people, most notably the ones who have something to gain, would very much like to see you wedded. Preferably to one of their own kin.”
I snap my fingers. “Of course! They seek my hand in marriage to better their own ambitions!”
“Indubitably.”
“So Halstaff Valii would like to see me marry his daughter, would he?” His second youngest, as it happened. All of his elder daughters have already been married off to other profitable ventures. 
“Indeed. There is much profit to be gained in marrying you, sir. Any child you produce will become the heir to the family, and all the wealth and power which comes with such.”
As it currently stands, the family heir is my younger brother, Cronus. He is only thirteen, a boy still, yet he would become so much more than that were something unfortunate to befall me. Though I myself am only eighteen, not yet exempt from the Reaping, it would stand to reason that I should produce a child before much longer. A long line of succession is a secure line of succession.
“Send the acceptance letter,” I tell Ruben. “I shall dine with Halstaff’s daughter.” I do hope she isn’t a drab one. There isn’t much worse than a boring conversationalist. 
“Very well. And what of the second request?”
“Whom is it from?”
“Belius Rosenberg. He wishes for you to hold a private luncheon with his daughter, Lyudmila.” 
I frown. “His daughter is almost old enough to be my mother.”
“Quite so. However, he writes here that she is, I quote, still capable of bearing children, end quote. Rosenberg must think a child high on your list of priorities.”
It isn’t and, if it was, I very much doubt I’d choose an older woman to be the mother of my child. Too much doubt there. Still, I dare say that isn’t really on old Rosenberg’s mind.
The Rosenbergs are not a Great Family, though that does not mean they aren’t politically powerful. A merchant family by trade, they shot up the ranks once New Panem made such an ascension possible, and they now hold a sizable stake in all of the country’s banks. The Rosenbergs are a family of money, and a great deal of it at that. 
“What date did he request?” 
“The twelfth. Which, as it so happens, is the day you agreed to meet with Celestia.”
“Perfect. Tell old Rosenberg that I am otherwise engaged that day, so I must humbly decline his most generous offer.” I glance at the clock on the wall as Ruben sets the letters upon the desk. Still plenty of time before I must be off to the Reaping. “What is the last letter about?”
“It is from Xander Hartford. He is, among other things, requesting that you lend your support to his political ambitions.”
I pinch my nose and let out a slow breath. Ruben saved the most important letter for last, it seems. “Hartford would have me align with the Freedomist Society?”
“So it seems.”
The Freedomist Society is New Panem’s largest opposition party to the Price family. Though they’ve never won a federal election, they have come closer than anyone else to doing so. As such, they’ve been under heavy scrutiny from both the public and our government for years now. 
“I hardly think such a partnership would be ideal for us,” I say with another frown. “The Freedomist Society is all in on causing a change and upending the country’s standards, a stark contrast to our own stabilist ideology. To be perfectly frank, I don’t believe Xander Hartford has ever clearly laid out a true plan of action were he to gain office.”
“As you say, sir.”
"Quite so. The rule of law must be upheld, you see, or else chaos will reign. Chaos breeds disunity, destruction. History has shown that the bloodiest periods of our country have occurred during times of political upheaval.”
“You needn’t convince me, sir.”
“Indeed.” I tap my chin, thinking. “What else does he ask of us?”
“Partnership on charitable efforts, sir. Mr. Hartford is very high on ensuring the common man is treated with respect and dignity.”
“Now that, I can get behind. After all, treat a man like a dog and sooner or later he’ll bite you, it’s a simple fact.”
“Very true, sir. Very true.”
“Will Hartford be at the Reaping? I have half a mind to discuss these matters with him in person.” Much better than through these dry, lifeless letters, at any rate. 
Ruben clears his throat. “Unfortunately he will not. I believe he has chosen to spend Reaping Day in District 14.”
Well, there it is. Hartford spends so much time speaking on the plight of the common man, and yet when given the choice he chooses to spend his day hobnobbing with the rich and powerful in our government center instead of in his home district. 
I sigh. “I suppose our talk will have to wait until the Games begin.” Hartford will still be there by the time I make my way to District 14, no doubt. Most likely attempting to ingratiate himself to other Great Families while—intentionally or not—stoking anti-government sensibilities in the general populace. Half of these recent terrorist incidents were likely committed by men and woman radicalized by Hartford and his ilks fear-mongering. 
There is a soft knock at the door. I incline my head to Ruben and the old man gently sets the last letter upon the desk before crossing the room and pulling the door open. 
My little brother Cronus steps inside, bowing slightly to me. “I am ready for the Reaping, brother.”
Cronus is the perfect picture of a gentleman. He wears a finely tailored suit, has his hair smoothly combed and pulled back, and a teal flower pokes out from his lapel. Clearly the maids have taken the task of dressing him seriously.
I smile and approach, dropping to a knee as I lay a hand on his shoulder. “Indeed you are, Cronus. You shall represent the Harlow Family with dignity and pride, as befits our station.”
Cronus’ smile is tight and nervous. Our family’s new position has him unsettled, as it should. We have many enemies, both weak and powerful. You need only look at Father’s fate to ascertain the harsh truth of it. 
Yet be that as it may, I shall do everything in my power to ensure Cronus himself comes to no harm. My brother shall be protected from any and all threats, seen and unseen, political or physical. 
I swear it by the Harlow name.
——
The sun is a faint smudge in the sky as I step out of the limousine and give it a doleful gaze. Overcast, with a thin fog that clings to the skin, today’s weather is not what I would’ve hoped. 
Our limousine has pulled right up on the edge of the square itself. There is no need to brave the crowds when you’re a Harlow. Indeed, we had a Peacekeeper escort the entire way from our mansion. “My thanks, captain,” I shake hands with their squad leader as Cronus and I step into the square. 
No one stops us. We do not need to register. What would be the purpose? Everyone knows we are who we claim to be. Only a scant fool would think otherwise. 
The stage is not far away. I bid Cronus farewell—despite our lineage, we need still be separated by age—and take my place in the front of the line. Up above stands the district officials and other important individuals who call District 13 home. I myself would be up there if it weren’t for the pesky frivolity of me still being eligible for the Reaping. 
Three people catch my eye. The first is our District Representative, a wide, paunchy man by the name of Esteban Glock. He has been associated with our District for years now, and he had been a close friend of my Father’s. Though I have yet to have more than a passing conversation with him, I hope to continue that friendship. 
The next man reminds me of a waiting vulture. Tall, with an angular build, his fine chestnut hair is very short and worn in a practical, precise style that suits his role as Eastern Governor of New Panem. Arthur Lysander, grand-nephew of the famed geneticist and proclaimed Father of Muttations, Altur Lysander. 
Lysander peers over his prominent nose, smoke-colored eyes drifting across the crowd as he smiles lazily. Lysander is a staunch supporter of our President, and a strong ally of mine as we fight together against the political power which Hartford and his Freedomist Society attempt to exert over District 13. 
My eyes hover over the third individual. The most mysterious of them all, and undoubtedly the most powerful. One of the fourteen Cards which represent the Agents leadership. The Queen. 
Dressed in a pure white uniform with a smooth, form-fitting mask that conceals her face, it is hard to discern much information about the woman. Gold tassels hang off her elbows and shoulders, with similar gilded lines making their way down her uniform. Though much about her is hidden, the way her uniform clings to her shows that she is obviously—even abundantly—female. 
I don’t know much about the Cards or how they function—hardly anyone does, from what I can tell—yet I know that this woman hasn’t held the title of Queen for long. Though I’d never met the woman before our ascension to Great Family status, Father had. If he is to be believed—and I see no reason why he shouldn’t be—then the woman who currently bears the title of Queen is not the same woman he’d previously known. 
“Hello, hello, hello!” Esteban speaks into the microphone and draws my attention back to center stage. “It is now time to begin the Reapings for the 24th Games! But first, let me introduce District 13’s previous Victors!”
He gestures at two people who stand beside him. I know them well from sight, yet I haven’t ever spoken to either one before. “First off, the Victor of the 20th Games, Sena Sawa!”
Sena is a short, dark-haired girl with a bright smile and twinkling green eyes that seem to promise mischief. The youngest Victor, she won her Games when she was just thirteen and now, four years later, is still just seventeen, a year younger than I am. “Let’s go, District 13!” She pumps her fists into the air. “What-what!”
Ah, a bit…overly enthusiastic, I think. Still, her energy is sure to get the crowd excited, which is good for the District as a whole.
“And last years Victor, the winner of the 23rd Games, Hadrian Finnegan!”
Hadrian calmly waves to the crowd as a chorus of cheers greet him. The young man was seventeen when he won, so despite being the most recent Victor he’s actually older than Sena is. Hadrian is very average, as far as looks go. Dark hair, pale skin, and a middling build do not help him stand out in a crowd. Indeed, he was overlooked in his Games, managing to skirt under the radar for vast majority of his time in the arena. 
“Perhaps we shall Reap another Victor this year?” Esteban laughs heartily. “If so, it would be the first time a District has back-to-back Victors!”
Quite right. No District has ever won two Games in a row. At least, not in New Panem’s variation of the Games. I don’t rightly know about older iterations. 
“Well, enough prattle! Let us find out who our tributes shall be!” A bowl is brought forth and Esteban places a reaching hand inside. It takes a moment before his fingers snatch one out. “And the brave boy who will serve his penance inside the arena is…”
A pause. A flash of some unknowable emotion crosses Esteban’s face as he reads the slip. “The tribute is…it’s Cronus Harlow.”
An icy wave of shock shatters my resolve. Cronus has been Reaped. Cronus. My little brother. This is unthinkable. I fail to recall a single instance of a member of a Great Family being unceremoniously Reaped. They’ve competed in the Games before, yes, but they were always volunteers. For Cronus to have been Reaped…
There is murmuring among the crowd. The masses know of my family and our recent ascent. There will be much discussion about this event. A spectacle. That’s all it’ll be to them. But for me, it’s different. Cronus is my brother. I swore to protect him.
He will not survive the arena. Cronus is physically weak, and young. He has no experience with weaponry or survival skills. If he steps inside the arena, he will not come back out.
My lips begin to tremble, the foundation of words forming upon them. “I volunteer as tribute.”
Heads turn to gaze upon me. A sea of eyes stare at me. I swallow my fear and nerves, and step forward with head held high. No weakness. No insecurity. I am the head of the Harlow Family, and that means I am a step above. 
I know the risks this entails. If I die in the arena, it is entirely possible we lose our place as a Great Family. Cronus, just thirteen, would be left as sole heir and surrounded by ravenous enemies. It wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine they’d pull him down. And yet, that is still safer than sending him into the arena untrained.
I am not untrained. Back when my Father was still alive and before we gained our status, I spent years living in District 14. I studied at the Academy there and learned the art of combat. I have no real experience with actual fighting, true, but I possess a level of skill that should set me apart from others…in theory.
“Oh.” It is impossible to miss the disappointment in Esteban’s eyes when he sees me stop upon the stage. When he heard a volunteer, he was probably expecting it to be someone else. “Easton, I…I’m sorry.”
I wave him off. “You needn’t apologize. This…unfortunate situation is hardly your doing.” 
As Esteban introduces me to the crowd—somewhat pointlessly, as they all know who I am—I turn my attention to the others onstage. Lysander is obviously displeased, one hand held to his head as he looks at me with pity. Queen is watching me with that expressionless mask of hers, and Hadrian is more interested in studying his shoes than paying attention to the proceedings.
“Hiya!” Sena walks up to me, a lopsided smile on her face. 
Conscious of the cameras and the crowd, I manage a polite smile. Must always appear poised and in control. “Hello there. You are Sena Sawa, yes? Well met. My name is Easton Harlow, though I suppose you already know that.”
“Yup!” She takes another step, coming uncomfortably close. Her nose is practically touching my chin. “You’re real famous! Everyone just loves talking about you!”
“Is that so?” Entirely expected, given the circumstances. “And what, pray tell, do they say about me?” 
She reaches up and pokes me in the forehead. “Lotsa stuff. Most of it is real boring, but they like mentioning how you’ll need to find yourself a wife and start making some babies.”
That’s…not how I would phrase it, but the idea isn’t entirely wrong. “Do they now.”
Sena bobs her head up and down. “Uh-huh! So, you found one yet?”
“Found what?”
“A wife!” Her eyes sparkle playfully. “No? Well, if you can’t find one, don’t forget about me! I’ll be able to give you lots of babies!” This is most certainly not a conversation fit for this situation. I open my mouth to tell her such, but she just rolls on. “Don’t worry! If you choose me, then I can guarantee you’ll absolutely enjoy the process!”
I tug at my collar, lost for words. Never before have I been confronted with such a blatant and outrageous proposition. And on national television, no less! I can only hope that the cameras can’t hear! Mercifully they seem to be focused on Esteban, who’s still giving a long and winding speech on my family and the work they’ve done to improve the country. 
“No response for me?” Sena laughs, then winks. “That’s alright. Since I’m going to be your mentor, we’ll have plenty of time to chat later. See ya!” She pats my cheek then slowly pirouettes away, giggling to herself.
What a peculiar girl.
“It is now time to find out who will be Easton’s district partner!” Esteban has finally finished extolling my virtues and reaches a hand into the next bowl. The slip he removes is slightly crumpled as he reads it. “Kessie Barnes!”
The name hangs over the crowd for but a moment before movement catches my eye. Kessie, it appears, is wasting no time in making herself known. 
“Hi! Hello! Hey there!” The girl has a wide smile on her face as she joins us on stage. She is most certainly an…interesting sight. Her dark skin is covered in whiteish splotches, her hair worn up in an afro, and her head literally doesn’t stop moving as she rotates it to take everything in. She laughs as Esteban offers her the microphone. “Looks like I got Reaped, huh? Sucks, but whatcha gonna do, amirite?”
I offer the girl a polite smile as we shake hands. “You’re that real famous guy, yeah?” Kessie grins at me. “The one everyone just loves to talk about?”
“I assume so, yes.” She is certainly taking this in stride. “My name is Easton Harlow, and I am the son—”
“Great! Cool! I’m Kessie! My dad is an archeologist and he always finds these really awesome things like paintings and stuff! He usually brings them home and—” The girl just keeps talking and talking, often interrupting herself as she jumps from one topic to the next, never pausing to let me get a word in edgewise. I just stand there, nodding as I hold a calm smile on my face, silently hoping that someone, anyone, will step in and save me from this girl.
“—and this one time I, like, tripped or something, and busted up my ankle real good! Well, not good. More of real bad, but you know what I mean, yeah?”
“I do believe—”
“I had to wear a walking boot for a week! Or was it two? I don’t really remember. Anyway, I have a pet goldfish named Nancy! Several, actually. Goldfish don’t live that long so I get a new one every so often, but I always name them Nancy. This one time Nancy escaped from her bowl and—”
Esteban is wrapping up the Reaping and no one else onstage appears to be in any hurry to save me. Indeed, Lysander and the two Victors have already departed. My back begins to itch. Cronus…
“—and I know the Games are scary and all, but I gots a plan!”
I turn my gaze back onto Kessie. Somehow she has managed to divert her attention onto the actual subject at hand. “Do you now?”
She nods, perky face suddenly calm and serious. “I do. You see, I’m going to make an alliance!”
Interesting. Though I have no intention of joining with this girl, I am intrigued by this sudden display of strategy. “Indeed? What manner of alliance do you intend to form? Perhaps—”
“You can’t join, sorry!” Kessie flashes a warm smile at me to take the sting out of the words. “It’s going to be girls only! We’ll win without any guys messing us up! It’ll be totally awesome, you’ll see!”
Peacekeepers choose this moment to step onto stage and escort us off to the Justice Building behind us. I can’t say that I’m sorry to be parted from Kessie. The girl is certainly earnest and true to herself, but she’s a bit much. Hopefully the other tributes won’t be so…high-energy. 
——
I pace back and forth in front of the desk, calmly and quietly giving out the last of my wishes to my staff. Ruben stands among them, hands folded stiffly behind his back as he takes his instructions. Cronus sits on the lone chair, face crestfallen.
My heart swells with pity at the miserable sight. My brother should not be faced with such a dire situation. 
“I am sorry, Cronus.” I pause before him and lay a hand upon his shoulder. “I didn’t intend to burden you with so much responsibility, but believe me when I tell you it’s temporary. When I win the Games and become Victor our family will become even more respected than before.”
“I understand, Easton. I believe you.” Cronus gives me a small smile. It does not appear to be genuine. 
It is unfortunate, but I have nothing but words with which I can reassure him. I turn back to my attendants. “My Father had many friends in District 14, people who may be willing to be my friend. I doubt I will have time to meet with them—I am fairly certain us tributes are kept on a short leash—yet I will do my utmost to try and contact them. They may be able to provide me some assistance, no matter how small.”
There is a soft knock at the door. I frown. Everyone who I expected to visit has either already done so, or they are currently present. Who could this be? “Come in.”
The door swings open and a masked figure dressed in white and gold enters the room. Queen.
I blink, surprised but struggling to not let it show. Whatever would a Card pay me a visit for? “Greetings and salutations, ma’am!” Only now do I realize I don’t know the proper way to address a Card. “What brings you to my farewell?”
I wish the woman didn’t wear a mask. The blasted thing makes it impossible to get a grasp on her frame of mind. She steps forward, hands clasped behind her back. “I would like to speak with you alone, if that is possible.”
I raise an eyebrow. A solitary conversation? Interesting indeed. “Give us the room, please,” I wave my attendants off and give Cronus a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder. “This isn’t a goodbye, brother, it is merely a farewell for now. I will be back.”
“Of course, Easton.” He pats my hand and departs with all the staff, head held high and back straight. Ever the gentleman, even now. 
Once he is gone and the room is clear, I give Queen a flourishing bow and deposit myself in a plush armchair behind me. “The floor is yours, my lady.”
Without a face I cannot tell what she made of that. That’s somewhat infuriating, I think. However am I to politic if I don’t know what she is thinking?
“I’ll cut straight to the point,” The woman does not sit. She remains upright, standing above me. Her voice is slightly modified by her mask, but not enough so to completely change her diction. She sounds younger than I would’ve thought. “I have reason to suspect that your brother’s name being drawn from the bowl was no mere coincidence.”
I freeze. The room grows quiet enough that I can hear Queen’s breathing. Not a coincidence. Then that means…
“Someone rigged the Reaping?” My voice is hushed.
She nods. “I believe so. Though I have no proof, I’ve seen enough irregularities to suspect foul play. Someone, it seems, has a grudge against your family. Does anyone come to mind?”
I splay my hands, lost for words. My family has many enemies. Too many to count, and probably some I don’t yet know are even my enemies. Attempting to guess which one orchestrated this scenario would be an exercise in futility. 
“I see.” A pause, perhaps waiting for me to speak. When it comes apparent I have no words, she continues. “Do understand that it would be impossible for these to be rigged without the District Representative’s involvement.”
“Esteban?” I look up. “Impossible! He was a friend of my father’s and—”
“Is he your friend?”
Queen’s words cut me like a knife. “No,” I whisper the word. “I…Esteban is not my friend. But still!” I raise my voice. “Surely he wasn’t involved. Esteban was so close with my father. Why would he betray his friends son?”
“Perhaps he was bribed, or blackmailed. Maybe he just had a change of heart. Who’s to say?” The woman gives an exaggerated shrug. “But the fact of the matter remains that your brother’s name could not have come out of that bowl without Esteban selecting it.”
There is no point in asking if it’s possible Cronus’ name was on every slip. That’d have been the first thing she checked. “How do you know it was truly rigged? Perhaps this was merely an unfortunate coincidence.”
“It is no coincidence.” Queen shakes her head. “Your brother’s name shouldn’t have even been in the bowl.”
“How do you mean?”
“Your family is a staunch supporter of President Price, and she protects her own. The children of the Great Families and her key allies are exempt from the Reaping.“
Well, that’s…I don’t quite have the words. I always knew that the Great Families never had their names drawn and had suspected some form of government involvement, but to have my suspicions confirmed so casually…
“President Price cheats?” The masked face regards me in cold silence. The hair on my neck prickles as I realize that was a poor choice of words. “My apologies. I meant to say that I did not know President Price was so…hands on with the Reaping.”
“As I said, she protects her own.”
“And can I count on any of this…protection…in the arena?”
“No.” The answer is quick and simple. “Her every action is scrutinized, doubly so when it comes to the Games. Any attempt to affect the outcome would only give Hartford and his cronies more ammunition.”
I figured as much. Still, it had to be asked. “Is the Freedomist Society really such a threat to our rule?”
Queen adjusts her feet. “No. But there are more forces at play here than just them. Much more. Had you not been sent into the Games, then you likely would have learned much about the situation facing our country. As it currently stands, just know that we teeter on the brink of violence on a scale greater than any since the civil war.”
Morbidly ominous, indeed. I try to ask for details, but Queen simply shakes her head and tells me I will learn more if I survive the arena. If. She does not seem appreciable of my chances. 
“May I ask you a question about the civil war?” 
Queen slightly inclines her head. “If you wish.”
“Why did the Cards choose to support Jacquelyn over Azathoth?”
“I couldn’t tell you, seeing as I was not yet born at the time.”
I blink, then cough to hide my surprise. That would make her only twenty-three years old at the most. Much younger than I had anticipated. 
Her head turns towards the clock on the wall. “My, would you look at that. It’s nearly time for your train to depart. We should head off. After all, you don’t want to be late, do you?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
===District 14: Meta Chron===
A soft breeze stirs against my cheeks as I lean against the balcony railing and gaze out at the line of glowing buildings in the distance. Framed by the dark shapes of jagged mountains, the buildings of District  14 pulse with a gentle yellow glow as night settles on the valley. 
The city is falling asleep. The moon is far overhead and shining brightly, just behind the massive frame of the Tower which looms over both the mountains and the buildings. The Tower is a symbol of District 14’s power and the home of President Jacquelyn Price. Few people ever set foot inside.
I have.
I have tread in the halls of our country’s greatest treasure, gazed upon the paintings of old, and sat in the carved stone throne that resides in the highest chamber. What did I do to deserve this honor? Nothing. I was simply born in the right family. 
It is strange to me that our country, which prides itself so much on fairness, favors certain people far more than others. My Father is the Interior Minister and a personal friend of President Price, so by mere relation, I too am granted the privilege of accessing the Tower. There is nothing that sets me apart from any child born in District 9 or 11. Yet I am the one living in a mansion while they toil in the dirt. 
It is odd that my parents don’t seem bothered by this discrepancy.
I find myself losing track of time as I gaze at the Tower looming overhead. It is a constant presence in the life of anyone who resides in District 14. It is perpetually visible, no matter where you are, and depending on the time of day it even casts a massive shadow upon the city. A constant, ever-present reminder of our government’s power and ability. 
If I didn’t know better, I’d think they put it there on purpose. 
Something catches my eye in the distance below. A faint glowing light making its way up the winding road which leads to our mansion. I frown and lean over the railing to get a better look. A car? 
Yes. It is a small, dark car. I watch with curiosity as the vehicle continues its path upwards, following the switchbacks as it ascends to our manor. Very strange. Why would anyone visit our manor at this hour? I pull away from the railing and drift through the patio doors, reentering the manor proper. Maybe Mother or Father will be able to help me understand.
The manor is dark. Only every third light is lit, keeping the halls faintly illuminated as I creep onward, bare feet sinking into the overly plush carpet beneath me. There is little sound. All of the tutors have left for the day, most of the servants have been sent home. At this hour the live-in staff are probably preparing for sleep in their own wing of the manor. They all wake early. Yet I hear gentle footsteps ascending the spiral staircase to my left all the same. Someone is here. 
Who?
“Hello?” I call out cautiously, one hand held out before me as I approach the stairs. “Is someone there?”
“Meta?” A woman appears in the darkness before me. Tall, with long black hair and bright blue eyes hidden behind square glasses. She still wears her day clothes, a white, flower-decorated blouse and long black skirt. She pauses in the hallway and faces me with a frown. “What are you doing awake?”
Mother.
“Oh, hello, Mother.” I feel stupid. Of course it was her. Who did I think was creeping along in our mansion? “I just…I saw a car approaching. I wondered who it was.”
Mother frowns and taps a pen against the golden bracelet she wears on her wrist. “A car, you say? Well, that’s hardly surprising. I believe your father has a meeting tonight.”
Mother has always been a calm, collected woman. A top scientist in the country’s research labs, she has been pushing the cutting-edge technology of New Panem for the last twenty years. Sometimes having her as a parent has been hard; my tutors have held me to a high standard, not helped by the fact I look—as I’ve been constantly reminded—just like a miniature version of my mother. But Mother herself has never pushed me. She’s always told me to study at my own pace, to do what interests me and not to let the opinions of others sway my mind. Truth can only be reached by independent research. That’s a favorite maxim of hers, one I’ve heard more times than I can count. 
“Why does Father have such a late meeting?” That in itself is unusual. Father typically does not work past sundown. 
Mother adjusts her glasses and gives me another glance. “You are very interested in this, Meta. While I appreciate your curiosity, I can assure you that this is hardly an important topic. Your father is always busy during Reaping season. I am certain that this is just another one of his routine meetings.”
I suppose that’s possible. Father usually does have an increased workload around the Reaping. But I don’t know if that fully explains—
“How goes your work with the ionized polymer synballstic?” Mother interrupts with a question about my studies, and I quickly realize that this conversation won’t get back on track until I answer.
“Uh, well enough. It seems to repulse most energy weapons, though frequent kinetic blows do damage it.” I pause to wrack my brain for more information. “The Agent’s Flesheater Rounds also bypass it, of course, but you’d be hard pressed to find anything those don’t chew through.”
Mother nods along to my words. Her full attention is on me now. Nothing excites her more than research, or even just someone talking about research. “And how goes your forays with the nanotechnology?”
I straighten out. Finally! A topic I actually feel confident about! “The pulseshields and forcefields they generate when vibrating at a certain frequency are nigh indestructible, but my understanding is that they are not actually indestructible at all. You could, if you had access to the magnetic pylons, throw the columns out of focus and cause a breakdown.”
Mother nods. “Yes, very good. Access to the inner workings of our technology has always been a surefire way to disrupt its functions. It’s the same for any electronic, really.”
“The fields also aren’t very stable,” I continue speaking. “If something else, a type of device perhaps, were to vibrate at a matching wavelength then the resulting combination would result in the forcefield imploding into a prismatic mist.”
Mother goes quiet. She watches me with a neutral expression, eyes blinking slowly. I feel a flush of embarrassment. Was I wrong? Did I just make a fool out of myself? “I’m sorry! I didn’t think—”
“I am very impressed, Meta!” Mother reaches out and pats me on the shoulder, a wide smile on her face. “Not many people have come to that realization yet! Even some of the researchers on my team failed to see the possibility!”
A wellspring of joy sprouts in my chest. It isn’t hyperbole to say that Mother is one of the smartest people in the country, so hearing her dole out such praise is a special thing. Probably one of the most meaningful things which has ever happened to me! 
“Of course, it is nearly impossible to match the exact wavelength,” Mother continues speaking, lost in her own mind. “Guesswork will only get you so far, and you do not have many opportunities to attempt it. The wrong wavelength could very well result in the device exploding in your hands. It actually has happened a few times. Very messy.”
I blink. They’ve already tried it? I thought this was a mere hypothetical! “You’ve experimented with this?”
“Of course. A boy from District 3 even built a device capable of calculating the wavelength and mimicking it to overload the fields. Very ingenious. Quite the interesting contrast to—”
“Isn’t that dangerous? Couldn’t he use it against the government forcefields?”
Mother pauses midsentence and gives me a quick look of amusement. “Hardly. We commissioned him to build it. He is a very intelligent boy. I’m even considering giving him a job offer to come work here in 14 with my company.”
That’s a nice segue into the conversation I’ve been trying to have all day. “So he is just as smart as any of the children we have here?”
Mother peers over the tops of her glasses and frowns at me. “Is this going to be another one of your ‘equality’ rants, Meta?” 
Uh-oh. Guess I came on too strong. Didn’t think she’d begun to anticipate my efforts. “It’s just…doesn’t the discrepancy between our governments words and actions bother you?”
She sighs. “Did one of your internet friends plant this thought into your head?”
The internet. A relatively new phenomenon that has been sweeping the nation. Mother herself was actually one of the driving forces in its creation. What is it that she always says? That the internet has made our country smaller and more connected? 
I spend a lot of time on the computer Mother gave me, browsing the internet and learning what I can. At first I used it solely for informational purposes, letting it assist me in research and fact-checking, but over time I became aware of the networking capability it presented. Forums where people from all around the country could come together and hold conversations, share ideas, and simply talk. 
I don’t have many friends. The only people I interact with are my family, our servants, and my tutors. I’ve practically never spoken to someone my own age, and the mere thought of social interaction makes me nervous. But online? I can speak to people online. No. I enjoy speaking with people online.
It wasn’t long into my tenure on the internet before I was invited to a password protected forum on the platform. It was there where I found my friends. Likeminded individuals who don’t appreciate the direction our country is headed in and want to do something to change it. I told Mother about them, back when I first started, and that may have been a mistake. She…doesn’t look kindly on them or their behavior.
“They’re not bad people, Mother. They’re just concerned that President Price doesn’t actually mean what she says.”
“The ideas they espouse are dangerous, Meta. You shouldn’t go around parroting them, especially in public.”
“You’re the one who told me all ideas have merit!” Mother has always told me to think for myself, to never let someone else dictate my thoughts. Isn’t this contrary to that?
“Ideas themselves aren’t inherently dangerous, Meta. But the actions those ideas inspire can be very, very dangerous.”
“We’re not doing anything wrong. It’s just talk.”
“Some of the worst actions in human history started as ‘just talk’.“
I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes. Mother can’t seriously consider me and my friends talking on the internet to be as bad as all that! Harmless words are just that. Words which can’t harm anyone. It’s not as if we’re plotting a rebellion! “You’re not going to ban me from speaking with them, are you?” 
She takes a moment to collect her thoughts. “No. I’ve told you many times that I will never restrict your access to information. But!” She holds up a single finger. “You must promise me that you will never allow anyone else to dictate your line of thinking. That you will not internalize any idea without properly weighing both the positives and negatives of it first. Can you do that?”
Easy enough. “Of course. I promise.”
“Very good. Then you should head off to bed. It is quite late and you have an early morning tomorrow.”
“Okay, but…” I shift my feet uncomfortably. I haven’t even gotten to bring my main point yet. “Can…can I ask you something?”
“This is about the equality problem, yes?”
Mother always could read me like a book. “Yes, it is.” I expect her to sigh or shake her head, to tell me to drop the subject and move on, but she only stands there patiently. I take advantage of the situation. “So, I’ve been thinking, and say that there is a fifteen year-old girl in District 11 who is just like me. She’s as smart and resourceful as I am, there is practically no difference between us, but instead of being tutored by the country’s finest as I am, she’s out working the fields all day. The only reason I am being treated so well and she’s not is because of the family’s we were born into. How is that fair?”
“Would you prefer if your father and I took that girl into our home and sent you out to toil the fields in her place?”
“No! Of course not!”
“Then what would you have us do, Meta?” Mother taps a finger against her bracelet. “What answers do you have for this equality gap? Someone must tend the fields. Someone must delve into the mines. Our food won’t harvest itself, nor will our resources pull themselves out from the ground. How do you suppose we go about this fairly?”
I stare at her in complete shock. She’s asking me? Why? What answer does she expect me to have? I’m just a teenager! I don’t have any experience with this stuff! “Mother, I…how can you expect…”
“I believe you and your friends spend too much time thinking up questions and not enough time thinking of answers,” Mother shakes her head at me. “You have all these complaints about our government, and yet you have no suggestions or solutions? What then do you expect President Price to do? Let everyone do as they wish, like the Freedomist preach?”
I remain silent. Some of my friends online have come up with ideas and plans, but I myself haven’t ever put real thought into this stuff. Mother continues. “Very well. I shall use this to assign a new homework assignment for you. Meta, you must write a ten page essay on the effects on inequality in our country and the steps you would take to see it rectified.”
At first I want to complain. Tell her that this is an arduous and menial chore, but then I stop to think about what this entails and my disappointment is replaced with excitement. Mother wants an essay from me about the importance of equality! Everything I ever wanted to say can be put into words and presented to her! I can even get my friends to help me make my argument! This isn’t a punishment; it’s a reward!
Mother walks off with a smile and a reminder for me to get some sleep. I remain in the hallway for a moment, processing my thoughts, before nodding to myself and heading up the nearest flight of stairs. My bedroom is on the third floor, and though it has a balcony—practically every room in our manor has a balcony—it looks out onto the backgardens and the view isn’t nearly as nice as the one from the parlor balcony. 
The third floor is almost completely dark. The servants rarely come up here after noon, so they probably didn’t leave any of the lights on. And yet…there’s a faint white glow at the end of the hall, leaking out from a door left ajar.
Father’s study.
For the most part Father’s study is off-limits. I have never entered the room and never felt compelled to. Why would I? There is nothing for me in there. But now I find myself oddly fixated on that light. Father is a meticulous man. Why did he forget to turn off the lights and shut the door? I slowly drift down the hall, bypassing my own bedroom as I approach the study. 
“Hello?” I knock on the frame and carefully pull the door open. “Are you in here, Father?”
No response. I take a surreptitious look down the hall and then step inside. The room is mostly dark, the chairs and desks hidden in shadows, but one desk stands out. A computer screen sits atop it, pulsing with white light. The source of the glow. I cross the room, taking care not to trip on any fallen object, and approach the desk. There’s a handful of papers and documents strewn across the surface and I skim through them. Nothing interesting. Just the usual jargon about the tasks that go on in Father’s work as—
My eyes widen as I catch a glimpse of the words on the computer screen. My chest tightens and I find it hard to breathe. No. This can’t be. How…? I continue to read, mind numb as I process the information on screen. This is…
“Meta!”
The doorway behind me darkens and I jump and spin in shock as my father walks into the room. Father is a tall, broad shouldered man with smooth black hair and a large, thick mustache. His grey eyes, usually so gentle and soft, are narrowed in anger as he looks at me, the computer screen, and back. The anger slides off his face, replaced with disbelief. “Meta, what have you seen?”
“Nothing! I saw nothing!” Too quick! I curse my stupidity as I stumble away from the screen and nearly trip over a nearby office chair. 
Father lurches across the room and stares at the screen. He curses, then taps a few buttons on the keyboard. Immediately the computer goes blank. “What have you seen, Meta?” He turns and grabs me by the wrist. “What did you see?”
“Nothing!” I try to pull away but fail. His grip is so strong! “Dad, you’re hurting me!”
He lets go and my momentum sends me falling to the floor. I scamper to my feet and wipe at the tears on my face. “I-I didn’t see anything!”
He lets out a long breath and begins to stroke his mustache. I have seen that behavior before. It’s a tic of his that appears whenever he is stressed. “You saw nothing, correct?” He says quietly. “The screen was blank?”
I only nod, unable to trust myself to speak. The words on that screen…
Father grabs me by the elbow and gently steers me out of the room. I don’t resist. My mind is still a whirlwind of disorder. How could this be true? It feels like my entire world has been shattered. Father was always so…
“You saw nothing,” Father’s voice is quiet, stern. The expression in his eyes is unlike any I’ve seen before. “There was nothing to see. Whatever information you think you saw was fake. A trick of the eyes. You saw nothing.”
Once again I only nod. Father has never been this angry before. But of course not. What I saw…if it’s true then this could change everything. People will die because of it. 
Father shuts the door and I hurry down the hall and flee into my room, slamming the door behind me. The moment I am alone I throw myself onto the bed and bury my face into a pillow. New Panem has been so stable ever since the beginning of the Games, when the civil war came to an end. The country isn’t perfect, but there’s been no war, no death. The government could use some change, yes, but…
My thoughts pinball around for several minutes before I lose track of time and find myself drifting off to sleep. 
When I wake up I find myself staring at the ceiling. For a moment I lay in the comfortable bed, blissfully sleepy, aware that something happened last night but not quite sure what.
Then the memories return and I sit straight up, tiredness forgotten.
Was that all a dream? No. It was real. All too real. But if that actually happened, the message was real, then…what does that mean? And what am I supposed to do about it? Father told me to forget, to act like I saw nothing, but can I truly do that? Would that be the right thing? 
The world outside the window is dark, but I can see a hint of gray in the black night sky. It is morning, but not yet sunrise. The Reaping is still hours away. 
Enough time to make a decision. What am I going to do with this knowledge? I roll out of bed and begin to pace back and forth. The computer on the desk catches my eye. My friends! I could ask them what to do! 
I throw myself onto the chair and am clicking through screens on my way to the forums when I sudden pull to a halt. What am I thinking? Telling my friends would only escalate the situation and make everything worse. I can’t do that. I can’t betray Father. I click back to the home screen and slump backwards into my chair. No matter where I look, I can’t see any good answers.
Out of both options and ideas, I retreat to my bathroom and the shower inside. There’s over a dozen buttons with many different functions, but I don’t pay attention to any of them as I smash a fist against the control panel and turn it on. As water begins to pour down I smack my head against the wall and bemoan my fate. Why did I have to be so curious? If I’d just gone straight to bed without checking the study, then everything would be fine. If I’d only listened to Mother—
Mother!
Does she know about this? She has to. I can’t imagine any way Father would be able to keep this secret from her, or why he would even try. But then…
I don’t know how long I stay in the shower. Hours, maybe. But eventually I decide that I’ve soaked enough and exit, wrapping myself in a fluffy robe and stumbling back into my room. It’s there where I find the Reaping Day outfit the servants have laid out for me waiting on my bed. A black and silver dress with a wide trail and swoops of lace. It’s a classic Reaping theme; close to a mourning dress to be considered somber enough for our ‘penance’ but flashy enough to look stylish. 
After dressing myself I head down to the ground floor and make my way into the kitchen. A flurry of movement greets me as the servants rush about making breakfast and other morning preparations. My own personal Avox, Laurentius, sets a plate before me as I sit at the table. 
“Will Mother and Father be joining us?” I ask him politely as I stare at the food on my plate. Scrambled eggs, sausage, and syrup covered pancakes.
Laurentius shakes his head. “Unfortunately not. Your parents have already departed for the Reaping. Your father had a meeting with President Price, I believe.”
A chill runs down my spine. Father has always been close friends with the President. Before I thought this was a good thing, but now…
Laurentius steps back and takes his place behind me, waiting for further orders. I know that in the olden days Avoxes had their tongues removed so they couldn’t speak, but we don’t do anything as barbaric as that anymore. Most Avoxes are non-violent prisoners or their descendants who’ve been assigned to work for companies and certain families in District 14. Some Avoxes are even volunteers, people willingly seeking penance by choosing to work for others. 
I don’t know what Laurentius’ reason for being an Avox is. It’s improper to ask them directly, and when I tried to get my parents to tell me, they simply said it was none of my business and to focus on more important things. Either way, I like Laurentius. He’s something of an older cousin to me, or maybe an uncle. 
Breakfast passes in silence. I don’t have anything to say and the servants won’t speak unless I do first, so it’s a somber and silent meal. When I finish Laurentius leads me to the garage, where my family’s limousine is waiting to take me to the Reaping. It will be a short ride. Assembly Square, where the Reaping is always held, isn’t very far from our manor. 
When the limousine exits our neighborhood it joins a line of other cars as we slowly enter the parking area for the Square. My mind is mostly blank as we find a place to park and I am ushered out of the vehicle and into a large crowd of people. There’s multiple entry points to the Square, and the one we come through is reserved for the elite, so there is a veritable who’s who of District 14’s citizens around me as I enter the Square. I recognize several of my father’s friends and a few of my mother’s colleagues, but other than for a handful of them waving as I pass, they don’t seem to recognize me. 
“Name?” A group of Peacekeepers managed by a bored looking Agent stand on duty at a checkpoint leading into the Square itself.
“Meta Chron.”
They cross-reference my name against the one on a chart and mark me down, waving me forward. Then I’m stepping into the crowd.
History books tell of the Reapings as a time of great celebration and joy. The Capitol venerated the Games as a huge spectacle, an event to be beloved. President Price thinks differently. Though she resurrected the Games, she did not do so to make them a celebration. Instead they serve as a penance. A punishment and a reminder for how all of us participated in the wars and killing. 
So there is no grand celebration as I enter the line for the fifteen year olds. No joyous screams or celebratory shouts. Just a calm, cool crowd of people waiting to see who fate has picked to die.
The stage itself is set above the crowd, on an overhang of the mountain that juts out over the Assembly Square. The Tower looms overhead, impossibly tall and imposingly dark. The Tower is as much a sign of District 14’s power as its soldiers and Agents. 
It is here, upon the stage, where President Price and other government officials reside. My Father is up there. I spot him standing on the President’s left, next to her eldest son Joc. Mother is not present, which isn’t too surprising. Usually only direct government officials are involved with the Reaping.
“District 14, I welcome you to the Reaping of the 24th Games!” President Price holds her hands wide as she speaks into the microphone. A tall, stern-faced woman, Jacquelyn Price has long dark hair and oval eyes. She is an older woman, somewhere in her fifties, but that has done little to change the sense of sheer power she exudes. President Price simply looks like she should be in charge. 
Scattered applause greet her words. She inclines her head and waits for it to die down. “As you all know, the Games are a penance. Punishment designed to make us all remember the sacrifices and death that were made by our hands. Humanity as a whole is to blame for the countless casualties that have transpired from our actions. Famine, poverty, and genocide. All of these are possible because we made it them so. The War of the Hunger Games was merely a byproduct of human terror.”
I’ve heard this speech before. It’s basically the same one every year. While I agree with the sentiment behind her words, I do not agree with the actions taken. 
“The Games are designed to make its tributes feel how the downtrodden suffered at our hands. The terror and violence they felt as everything around them fell apart. Thirty tributes will compete inside the arena and repent for their crimes. One will emerge. That person will have cleansed themselves of their sins and become something more. Something greater. They will have become a Victor.”
She gestures at the trio of people standing to her right. District 14’s very own Victors. We have had much success over the years. Though we do not have the most—District 2 has more—we have fared better than the vast majority of the Districts. 
“I give to you the Victor of the 5th Games, Lysine Canthos!”
A short, pale-haired woman steps forward and waves to the crowd. I wasn’t born during her Games and never watched the footage, but I know from stories that she played the Games with stealth, favoring sneak attacks to outright combat. 
“The Victor of the 12th Games, Vector Niddick!”
Vector is a slight, bespectacled man with short brown hair and a wispy beard. I was only three years-old when he won and didn’t see anything that happened in his Games. All I know for sure is that he used poison to kill more than one of his competitors.
“And last but certainly not least, Victor of the 16th Games, Azrael Price!”
The youngest son of President Price herself, Azrael is a massive, sturdily built man who stands over six and a half feet tall. His dark hair is worn in long braids and a large white scar stands out against his caramel skin, spreading diagonally down his face from eyebrow to chin. I remember his Games well. The fact that the President’s own son had been Reaped was all anyone would talk about. Her supporters used it as proof that President Price was a woman of her word and treated everyone fairly, while her detractors pointed to the fact that Azrael received overwhelming support from sponsors as evidence that she was rigging the Games for him. 
Whatever the truth, it can’t be denied that Azrael was the most prolific killer in the history of the Games. He killed ten tributes on his path to the Crown, a full third of the competition and more than any other tribute ever. I still remember the final day of the 16th Games, when the last three Careers cornered Azrael and forced him to fight. I thought for sure that he’d die, that they’d slay him.
Instead he killed all three of them. 
Unlike Lysine and Vector, Azrael doesn’t wave or even acknowledge the crowd. He simply stands still, stoically staring forward as his mother continues on with her speech. The scar across his face draws my attention. The final Career’s axe left that scar when he tried to slice Azrael’s face in two. I had vivid nightmares of that moment for weeks afterwards.
The sight of the scar still makes me nauseous.
I turn my focus to the other side of the stage in an effort to get it off my mind. Azrael’s siblings are all over there, near my father. Joc Price is the oldest, a tall, thin man with prominent cheekbones and a knowing smile. His position as Financial Minister has put him in contact with my father many times, and he’s even visited our manor before. 
Joc is flanked by his two remaining siblings. Azereth and Jacquard. Jacquard is a quiet, mild-mannered man who rarely makes headlines. He serves in the House of Assembly, but he doesn’t do anything to stand out. His younger sister, however, is the complete opposite. Azereth is considered to be the very definition of beauty and her recent actions are seemingly the only thing the tabloids and news stations ever want to talk about. 
“Today we will send two more tributes into the Games,” President Price is still giving her speech, though I only listen with half an ear. My eyes are on the man to her right. 
He’s tall, with neck-length blond hair and a winning smile. His facial hair is a stylized stubble and he has sea-green eyes that seem to glint in the sunlight. I know him. Xander Hartford, head of the Freedomist Society and President Price’s main political opponent. Many people have, either derogatorily or not, referred to him as ‘Hartford the Hearthrob’ and it is quite clear as to why. Xander is a very handsome man.
“We shall start with the selection of our female tribute.”
At these words my attention snaps back onto President Price. It’s not that I am worried about being Reaped—there’s thousands of Reaping age girls in District 14, and we all have our name in the bowl exactly one time. But, well, I feel like it’s disrespectful to not pay attention to this part. Someone is going to be sent into the arena, probably to die, for the sake of our ‘sins’.  I have to at least show them some respect. 
A giant bowl is wheeled out onto the stage. A leftover from the olden days, its mere presence is enough to elicit nervous mumbles from some of the girls around me. Even though District 14 has some Academies of its own, Father told me not to expect any volunteers this year. 
President Price says a few more things but I can’t hear her over the pounding of blood in my ears. I don’t know why I am so on edge. Maybe it’s because of last night and…
The President reaches a hand into the bowl and removes a small, rectangular slip of paper. She stares at it for a moment then, in a clear, concise voice, reads it aloud.
“Meta Chron!”
It feels like I’ve been punched in the stomach. It’s hard to breathe. Black dots fuzz on the edge of my vision and I expect to collapse at any moment. No. No…how? Why?
The girls around me begin to murmur in relief, knowing that they and their friends were spared the cruel fate which awaits me. I doubt any of them even realize I was the girl chosen. None of them have ever spoken with me before. 
Slowly I begin to make my way through the crowd and approach the long staircase set in the center of it. Those stairs lead straight up to the stage and the President. I can scarcely keep myself calm as I climb. So many eyes are on me. But my Father…?
He’s no longer on stage. I notice this as I finally make my way up. He’s gone. Went away. Why? Surely he didn’t already know…
A horrible feeling rises in my gut as I think about how this may not be a coincidence. I get Reaped the very day after seeing what I saw? Is this…a punishment?
When I finally reach the top I find myself standing before President Price. There is no pity in her eyes as she stares down at me. No sympathy or understanding. She genuinely does not care that I am about to be sent off to my death. 
“It is very brave for you to undertake this penance so calmly,” She speaks in a flat, indifferent tone as she offers me a handshake. 
She doesn’t react as if she knows me, though she certainly does. My parents have taken me to enough political events and parties for her to have recognized me, if my name itself hadn’t given my identity away. 
I can’t think of anything to say, and it doesn’t seem as if she expects much, because once our handshake is over she just gestures for me to stand aside and approaches the next bowl. 
I notice the previous Victors watching me as I stand there on stage trying not to have a breakdown. They seem to be whispering amongst themselves. They will be my mentors for the Games. I suppose I should be thankful I will have three people with prior experience in the arena helping me. Some Districts don’t have any Victors. 
“It is now time for us to choose our male tribute for the 24th Games!” I watch in stupefied silence as President Price reaches a hand into the second bowl and removes another slip of paper. “Scyler Meios!”
Meios…why does that name sound so familiar? 
I watch as a boy in the crowd begins to make his way onto the stage. Taller than average with blond hair and green eyes, he’s not anyone I’ve ever seen before, yet there’s still this sense of familiarity around him. Why…?
Oh!
Meios! That’s the surname of New Panem’s current general and top military commander, Cypher Meios! Is this boy his son…?
“It is a great honor to see one of our own heading into the Games,” President Price shakes hands with the boy and outright confirms my suspicion. “You will undoubtedly make your father proud.”
Scyler only nods. Like me, he seems to be in a sort of a daze, unable to truly process what is happening around him. Two children of top government officials have been Reaped. What are the odds? 
Scyler shuffles beside me and mutters under his breath. Noticing my presence, he looks up and offers a small smile. “Well, fate doesn’t look kindly on us, does it?”
“It’s not fate,” I say quietly. This was no coincidence. Not after what happened last night. I can’t believe that. Father…he’s punishing me. Why else would he not be present? “This wasn’t an accident.”
“Huh?” Scyler stares at me in confusion. He seems troubled by this claim. “What do you mean?”
I don’t explain. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. Scyler wouldn’t understand. I try to focus on President Price as she wraps up the Reaping, but I can’t help but notice how Scyler continues to stare at me. What’s his problem? 
“Do you need something?” I ask quietly.
“What? Uh, no.” He shuffles his feet and glances away before turning his gaze back on me. “I was just wondering…do you think we could be ally’s in the arena?”
My heart skips a beat. Ally. I will need allies, won’t I? I’m not a beast like Azrael who can win the Games on my own. It’ll be almost impossible for me to last in the arena without someone backing me up. Scyler would be a good choice, but…
“No, thank you.” I shake my head. 
“Great! We can…wait, what?” Scyler stares at me in shock. Clearly he never expected his offer to be turned down. “Why? Surely sticking together would be better than going alone?”
“We’re from District 14,” I tell him. “The other tributes will single us out right away. If we’re together before we even set foot in the gymnasium…they won’t let us get a word in edgewise.” I will need more than one ally. If I accept Scyler’s offer, I doubt any of the others will be willing to take me in as one of them. 
Scyler looks aghast as I turn and gaze out into the crowd, the sea of humanity assembled before me. I wish I’d never so much as glanced at that computer screen. I wish I’d just minded my own business and went on with my life.
I wish I wasn’t about to die in the arena.
==Training==
===Day One===
===Meta Chron (District 14)===
Gentle raindrops patter against the window as I gaze out into District 14. Far below me little pinpricks of people move across the street, umbrellas held high as they go about their morning business. It is routine. Ordinary. 
But for me today is anything but ordinary.
I can see my house from my vantage point here on the topmost floor of the training center. Or at least my neighborhood. It’s set in the side of the mountains, mansions nestled cozily into its embrace as the rain washes over it. Is Father there? Mother? Are they talking about me? Do they even care?
I think back to how my name was drawn and shiver.
A day has passed since the Reaping. The other tributes have been gathered from all the Districts, brought here by the trains which crisscross the country. I haven’t seen any of them in person, but my mentors had me watch their Reapings on the television in our apartment. 
It was hard to pay attention. I couldn’t stop thinking about how all these children were being sent into the arena to murder me, and that kept derailing any kind of strategy or tactics I was supposedly meant to be coming up with. I could only see twenty-nine children who want me dead. 
Well, twenty-eight. Scyler won’t kill me. The boy has been practically begging me for an alliance since the Reaping. I don’t know why, but he’s been so persistent that it’s almost creepy. 
I sigh and pull myself away from the window. My hope has died. I just can’t see any way I can survive the arena. Especially not if my name was purposely drawn…
I turn and exit the room. I’m already dressed in the training uniform, a black and blue athletic outfit that has a large silver ‘14’ on the chest and back. As if the other tributes needed a reminder that I come from here. 
I’m halfway down the hall when a door swings open and Scyler steps out. The blond boy looks impressive in his uniform, the tight shirt showcasing his well-toned physique. “Oh, Meta! What a surprise!” He offers me a handshake and I reluctantly accept it. “I hadn’t expected to run into you here!”
Despite his words, Scyler does not look surprised. It’s almost as if he planned this. I feel a chill. He wasn’t sitting by his door waiting for me, was he? 
“Hello, Scyler.” I say quietly. Is he going to take another stab at getting me to change my mind?
He smiles, nods, then scratches his head. “So…today we’ll finally get to meet the other tributes.”
“Yeah.” Truth be told, I am nervous about it. District 14 has treated the other districts poorly at times. What if they hold nothing but contempt for me? 
“You know, I understand your reluctance to align with me,” Scyler says. “I mean, you were right about how the other tributes may judge us for being from 14. Our government hasn’t exactly treated them well.”
I perk up. Those were the last words I’d expected to hear from Scyler. His father is the country’s top general and a member of President Price’s inner-circle, so I’d thought he’d be patriotic to the extreme. But for him to realize the truth of things… 
“Do you not approve of how we treat the District’s?”
He rubs at his forehead. “Uh, no. Not really. I mean, with all the taxes and the…uh, other stuff we do. Like, you know, the way we…”
“The way we don’t treat everyone equally?” I supply helpfully. “The way we force them to provide all of our resources but don’t give them any of the benefits?”
He snaps his fingers. “Yeah! That’s it exactly!” 
I feel a flush of relief at knowing I am not the only person in District 14 who realizes the discrepancy between our governments words and actions. Mother had me worried that no one else inside our city would agree. 
“I only wish there were more likeminded people,” Scyler continues. “My father, well, he disagrees with my opinion. Vehemently. And it’s not like anyone at school thinks this way. Honestly, it’s hard to find anyone who shares my views.”
It’s almost eerie how similar his thoughts are to my own. What are the chances two likeminded individuals, children of high-ranking government officials, happened to be simultaneously Reaped? 
I think back to my father’s computer and shudder. My own Reaping wasn’t a coincidence at all.
“Sometimes I think we just need an uprising, you know?” Scyler keeps talking, oblivious to my distress. “A group of people who say ‘enough is enough!’ and decide to take matters into their own hands. Brave people who—”
His words become a muted rumble in my head. I feel cold. Disconnected from all that surrounds me. Uprising. All-out war. Bodies in the streets. Death. 
“That talk is treasonous,” I whisper. “If they catch you saying stuff like that, they’ll kill you. It won’t matter who your father is.”
Scyler cuts off with a sound like coughing. He rubs a fist against his eyes and gazes at me with a look of incredulity. “Huh? That’s, well, uh, you see…”
I brush past him and make my way to the kitchen. There I find three people gathered around the breakfast table. Our mentors. 
“About time you woke up!” Lysine says cheerfully as she dips a piece of bread into some kind of white sauce. “I thought you’d miss breakfast!”
Neither Vector nor Azrael speak. Vector sits at the table, sipping his coffee as he reads the morning paper, while Azrael rests in the far corner, leaning against the cabinet. I try not to look at him as I take my place at the table. He still frightens me. 
Though a plate laden with food lies before me, I do not eat. My stomach roils with thoughts of death and killing. I don’t think I could keep anything down, especially not with all the physical activity I will be doing at training. 
Scyler enters the room and starts up a conversation with Vector. I keep my eyes on my plate. Scyler isn’t the source of my troubles, but he is an unwanted reminder of them. Sent into the Games to die. Not a coincidence. I shouldn’t have looked at that computer. I shouldn’t—
I glance up and spot Azrael in the corner of my vision. He is still leaning against the wall, arms folded as he stares at empty space. The man is massive, built like a brickhouse and standing six and a half feet tall. The President’s son. Does he know about me? Does the President herself? You’d think so, but that wouldn’t make sense. Why would she rig the selection to pick me if my father…
Time passes while I am lost in my thoughts. Soon enough breakfast is over and Avoxes comes to clear the table. My plate is still full as they take it away. I stare at my shoes as Lysine leads Scyler and I to the elevator, giving us one last piece of advice. Vector and Azrael do not follow. They don’t seem to care much about us.
“What about allies?” I ask quietly as we wait for the elevator. “Do you have any tips on how to get some?”
Lysine’s smile slips. “Unfortunately, I do not. I had little use for allies in my own Games, so I don’t really have any useful advice in that regard.”
Figures. The one topic I am interested in is the one area where my mentors have no ideas. 
The elevator dings open and we step inside. Lysine gives one last wave as the doors slide shut. I am alone with Scyler, and expect him to try and start up another conversation, but he remains silent. His green eyes study the floor beneath us as we slide downwards to the training center.
My stomach is doing somersaults. I feel faint. This is it. We will meet the other tributes and finally learn who they are as people. An ally. That’s what I need. Just one, though several would be nice. But how to get them? I haven’t the faintest idea on how to properly interact with people. 
The elevator doors slide open and all my thoughts come to an end. 
Scyler immediately exits and I follow him into a large, oval-shaped room with a domed ceiling. The training gymnasium. 
I try my best to take everything in at once. The racks of weapons and their corresponding stations are on the far end of the room, directly across from me. The survival stations are spread to the left side and the Gauntlets, Ropes Course and other stamina stations are on the right, directly across from what appears to be some sort of cafeteria. 
There are lots of people in the room. Most of them are instructors, lined up near the weapon stations as they wait for the training period to officially begin, but a handful of teenagers gathered near a pillar wear the same uniform as me and Scyler. The numbers on their chests are “1” and “2”.
Careers.
I hover in place, too nervous and afraid to make any real movement. Scyler has none of my anxiety. He walks straight across to the instructors and starts up a conversation just like that. 
Conscious of the Career’s gaze on me, I drift to the corner of the room and start in surprise as I spot two people I’d previously overlooked. 
The pair from District 7 sit in the corner. The boy crouches on the floor, elbows resting on his knees as he stares into blank space. The girl leans back against the wall, arms crossed as she chatters away to the boy. She has long, sunset orange hair and her body has the soft, toned muscular of an athlete. 
Ding!
I whirl around as the elevator doors slide open and the pair from District 8 enter the gymnasium. 
Both are dark-haired and blue-eyed, but that’s where the similarities end. The girl is nervous and jittery, keeping her eyes on the floor as she makes her way to the center of the room, but the guy walks with a confident swagger, head held high like he owns the place. 
I shuffle my feet and find myself emphasizing with the girl. At least she seems to be as nervous as I am. 
Ding! 
The elevators open once more and this time everyone stops and stares. The District 10 tributes have arrived, and the boy is the tallest person I’ve ever seen. Almost a full six inches taller than Azrael, he makes the rest of us seem miniature as he lurches forward, faced obscured by some sort of bizarre leather mask. 
The girl, her hair a strange mixture of pink and blue, flitters around him like a butterfly, giggling and talking to herself as she follows the giant across the room. She also wears a mask. I stare at the pair as they come to a halt near the central pillar. It’s white and somewhat shaped like a rabbit, with long pointed ears and distinctive nose. 
There’s a long silence as everyone stares at the pair in mystified confusion. Then the District 8 boy strides forward and strikes up a conversation with the giant. I don’t know what is said—I’m too far away to hear—but there is a lot of arm gestures and talking. The masked giant keeps shaking his head, and eventually the 8 boy throws his hands up and stalks away. 
He does not looked pleased.
The elevators continue to open and deposit more tributes. I try to keep track of them all, but there’s so many that my head begins to spin. Eventually the final pair, the tributes from District 12, arrive. 
The boy has longish dark hair and makes his way towards the group with a graceful stride. He exudes an elegant presence, as if he is calm and in complete control of the situation. A look somewhat spoiled by the childish ornament in his hair. Why does he wear such a thing?
The girl, meanwhile, stalks forward with a glare on her face and hate in her eyes. She stops in the center of the room and meets all of our gaze, as if daring us to comment on her appearance. No one does.
“Attention, tributes!” A short, stocky man steps forward. His uniform, stretched across his barrel-like chest to the point where it seems about to explode, has a golden H.T embroidered on it. The Head Trainer. “Line up by height!”
There’s some confusion as everyone tries to find their proper place. At least in the middle and back of the line. There’s no confusion up front, where the giant masked man takes his place as the tallest. He’s followed by the males from District 1 and 2, both of whom are almost a full foot shorter than him. That monstrosity truly towers over us all. 
Unfortunately I am placed at the way opposite end of the line, with only one person shorter than me, the little girl from District 11. She stands there with a smile, lavender hair curling around her shoulders as she stares straight ahead. 
“Are you all listening?” The Head Trainer walks up and down the line, arms clasped behind him. “Good. My name is Jenson, and today I am going to give you some advice that my mentor gave me long ago.”
I could use all the advice I can get. Looking at all these kids around me…I am more certain than ever I will die in the arena. 
“Everyone has at least one thing they're good at, whether it's something exceptional or not,” Jenson continues. “Some of you rely heavily on this talent in order to shine, while others can utilize multiple fields as well, though obviously not to a greater degree when compared to one who has honed their talent for their entire life. Between these two, the latter is more likely to succeed and make it out of the arena alive." 
That makes sense to me. Specializing in one field is nice and all, but you need multiple talents to succeed in life. That’s what Mother always says. 
“In some circumstances, your talents can easily become your greatest flaw. For example, let's say you excel at swimming but fail to accomplish the aspect of climbing. The gong has sounded, and to your horror, the arena just happens to be a mountain range with little to no water. Am I downplaying the significance of your strengths? No, you should always work to improve on your strengths, but be sure to dedicate your time to your weaknesses as well." 
If only I knew what my strengths were. I have many weaknesses—too many to count, really—so working on those will be no problem. 
“During your time here, I want all of you to polish yourself as fighters and survivalists. If you're amazing with spears, train with swords instead. Be versatile. You never know what the Gamemakers will throw at you, so be more than prepared. Be adaptable to every situation you find yourself in. Do not ignore your faults and pray for luck. Am I understood?” Jenson stops and surveys the group of tributes. Not one of us thirty says a word. He nods. “Very well, then. Let the training commence!”
===Ardor Prodigy (District 1)===
The crowd around me surges forward as they rush to the nearest training station, heedless of the people around them. They bump and jostle, push and shove, practically fighting one another in their haste to be first. 
I merely remain put, watching it all go down with a bemused smile. No matter how hard they try, none of these tributes will ever match my level of natural talent.
The other Careers likewise remain standing. They do not seem eager to brave the crowds and force their way towards a station. The girl from District 4 is the first to speak. “Why, hello everyone!” She smiles brightly at us all as we slowly gather into a circle. “Might we all take this opportunity to introduce ourselves?”
The dark-haired girl from District 2 nods. “We may as well.”
“My name is Penelope Finbar, and I specialize in the use of spears!” The girl speaks with a drawling accent that I don’t recognize, but her beauty is what stands out the most. Her soft, rounded features adorn a freckled face and her curly blonde hair falls down her back in waves. She is definitely the type to catch the eye. I know she has her district partners attention. The russet-haired boy can hardly keep his eyes off her.
“I am Citrine Gleam!” My own district partner goes next, speaking with that haughty tone she’s held for the last six years. Strange how one who is far inferior to me can still be so unreasonably arrogant. 
“I’m Alexis Ryker,” The dark-haired girl speaks when Citrine is finished. “My specialty is the warhammer, but I could kill you with any weapon if I had the mind to.”
I scan the girl as she speaks. I have an eye for talent, and while I can tell Alexis is definitely skilled, she is far beneath my own level. How could she not be? She has half the body mass that I possess. I don’t mean to be misogynistic, but no girl will ever match myself when it comes down to it. Pure and simple. 
“Yo, I’m Tidus!” The District 4 boy gives the air a fist bump. “While my main weapon is a spear, my true specialty is taking it easy!”
Penelope giggles at his little joke, but the rest of us remain silent. Tidus fails to notice, however, for he is too preoccupied grinning at Penelope. Clearly getting her to laugh was his true intent all along. I scan him and come away disappointed but not surprised. 
Tidus will never have what it takes to outmatch me.
“My name is Ardor Prodigy,” I speak in a calm, unhurried voice. This is a task that needs doing and nothing more. “I prefer to use a halberd, but I am a master of any and all weapons. I dare say I could use your own specialized weapons better than you all can.”
There’s a long silence. A few of others exchange glances. “Oh, just ignore him!” Citrine tosses her honey-blonde hair over her shoulder. “He’s always like this! Honestly, this stubborn fool thinks he’s God’s gift to the world!”
I feel no need to point out that my level of superiority is a fact, not a theory. They will all learn the truth in time. 
There is only one of us left to make an introduction. He stands on the edge of the circle, choppy blond hair hanging over his heterochromatic eyes which stare calmly ahead. He is slightly taller than I am and possesses a massively muscular build. The banded muscles of his arms and legs are quite clearly visible through his training uniform. 
“You going to introduce yourself or what?” Citrine narrows her eyes at the boy.
He shrugs his broad shoulders. “I hardly think I need to. You all know who I am.”
True enough. He is Brick Slayte, son of not one but two previous Victors. From the moment of his birth he has been raised to become the third among his family, and news of his skill and talent have even reached District 1. Many have him pegged as the odds-on favorite to win these Games.
I beg to differ.
Yes, Brick is quite talented. One only needs to look at him to see that much. But while his physical strength leaves little to be desired, I can see no possible way how his intellect can match my own. I am not just strong, I am smart. Clever. I can be presented with a problem and immediately discern over a dozen different ways to solve it. Brick may be talented in many ways, but there is no possibility that he is superior to mine self. Which is actually rather unfortunate. 
I have been the best my entire life and, frankly, it has begun to grow tiresome. 
“I suppose that you shall attempt to claim leadership?” I ask Brick with a raise of my eyebrows. 
He shrugs once more. “I don’t see why not. Who else would be leader?”
Tidus and the girls remain silent. None of them appear eager to throw their hat into the ring. I frown and splay my hands. “Myself, perhaps?”
“You?” There is a hint of surprise on his face. “You think you’re worthy of the role?”
“I fail to see why I wouldn’t be.” My eyes drift over the assembled group before me. All strong, skilled fighters who undoubtedly hold an immense advantage over the field at large. Yet they all remain inferior to my own abilities. “I am the most qualified candidate here.”
“Most qualified to be a pompous ass, maybe,” Citrine mutters, drawing a chuckle from Tidus. 
I smile. “You’d know all about pomposity, wouldn’t you?”
Citrine narrows her eyes at me. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, nothing. Just that you’re not nearly as skilled as you’d have us believe.”
She pales and falls silent. The others exchange more uncomfortable looks. They don’t seem to like me very much. Unsurprising. Few people enjoy being faced with their faults. “How about a challenge?” I turn back to Brick. The only one among the group who matters. “The winner can be our unquestioned leader, while the loser agrees to listen and obey?”
I have never lost a challenge in my life. It matters not what the subject is, or how we may perform it. No one has ever bested me in anything. It’s pitiful, really. Surely there has to be someone worthy out there. 
Brick smiles lazily at me. His eyes are half-closed, body relaxed and loose. “Nah. Don’t see the point.”
“Pardon?”
His eyelids flicker fully open, revealing his remarkable different colored eyes. “I don’t see any point in competing with you. There’s no reason to compete when I know I’m going to win.”
“Scared, are you?” This has occurred before. Many boys back at the Academy began refusing my challenges because I always won. “Afraid you’ll lose? Is that it? My, my. I never thought the esteemed Brick Slayte would be too afraid—”
“Your parents were big time celebrities, weren’t they?”
I cut off, surprised by this sudden line of questioning. I stare at Brick. His eyelids have fluttered half-shut, and he still has that lazy smile on his face. “Beg pardon? What do my parents have to do with this?”
“Mother overdosed, didn’t she?” His voice is calm, cool, even. No anger or hostility detected. “Shame. And what happened to your father? Disappeared?”
“He retired to live a quiet life in the countryside,” I say tightly. Memories stir inside me. A darkened kitchen, the scent of alcohol in the air, bottles on the floor. A man coming at me, angry and drunk, fists falling upon my head. A knife clutched in my hand. The splash of blood as I thrust it into his eye socket. The sensation of a shovel as it dug deeply into the dirt. “Father had grown weary of the paparazzi and glamor of his prior life, so he lives as a hermit nowadays.”
Brick’s lazy smile doesn’t so much as flicker. “Did he now. And he just left you all alone? What a shame.”
I breathe out through my nostrils, a flare of anger stirring deep inside my chest. I buried father in our extensive yard. No one missed the bastard. No one asked questions. He was as good as erased from history the moment I stabbed him. It will be the same for all the tributes who die in the arena, Brick included.
“You know what?” I turn and gaze at all these so-called Careers, boys and girls who’ve trained their whole lives for this moment and yet still do not hold a candle to myself. “You can keep your leadership. I don’t believe I want it anymore.”
“Scared, are you?”
“Hardly. I just think that winning these Games will be much too easy with you all as allies. In fact, I think it will be much more interesting to have you all as opponents.”
Penelope gives a small gasp as what I’m saying sinks in on the group. I roll on. “Yes, I do believe that winning these Games will be far too easy for one such as myself. Perhaps I shall find a weakling to ally with, to act as a handicap to make up for my superiority.”
Some of the others look troubled. Maybe they’re smart enough to realize how big of a mistake they just made. Maybe not. Either way, it hardly matters at this juncture. “Goodbye, all of you, and good luck. You’ll need it.”
I turn and stride away. 
The other tributes have spread out during our conversation and they’re scattered all over the gymnasium like cockroaches, crawling upon the Ropes Course and practicing with weapons, running the Gauntlet and honing their survival skills. I stop and scan their faces, searching for the weakest, most pathetic person I can find.
My gaze settles on the little girl, the lavender haired one from District 11. She is currently standing on the edge of the survival stations, watching the pair from District 10 as they attempt to build a shelter. Maybe she’d be the best pick. She is small and weak, after all. But…no. There is cleverness to her eyes, a keen edge of fortitude to her posture. 
No. Not her. She is too skilled to be my ally.
I continue to drift through the gymnasium in search. Only a moment passes before I find myself beside the weight lifting station. The girl from District 5, the short one with long, straight hair, is in the middle of a conversation with the instructor. 
“You want me to touch that disgusting thing?” Her voice is a thin wail as she retreats from the two pound weight, the lightest one they have. 
The instructor rubs his head. “Well, yeah. You can’t exactly pick it up without touching—“
“I refuse!” The girl tosses her hair with a haughty sniff. “You can’t make me!”
The man gives a sigh. “I’m not forcing you to do anything. I was just saying—”
The girl spins and spots me watching. “You! The buffoon with muscles! Help me! This pervert is trying to make me touch his gross knobby thing!”
“Whoa!” The instructor throws his hands in the air. “Don’t say things like that! What’re you trying to do, get me arrested?”
“Prison would be too good for someone of your heinous ilk!”
I watch the almost farcical scene with a faint smile. Yes, she will do nicely. Allying with this girl would be akin to tying a boulder on my back, exactly the kind of handicap I desire. 
“My name is Ardor Prodigy,” I step forward and offer a crisp bow. “And I would like to formally propose an alliance between the two of us.”
The instructor stares at me as if I’ve gone mad. The girl, however, merely folds her scrawny arms and taps her foot. “Is that so? And why should I accept such a thing?”
I offer a disarming smile. “Because I am more skilled than any of these other tributes. I am faster, stronger, and smarter than the entirety of the field. I possess more intellect and cunning than them. I am, to put it succinctly, the pinnacle of human evolution.”
The girl nods along to my words, a small smile playing on the corner of her lips. “Yes, quite impressive. You’ll do nicely indeed.” She holds out one hand and I politely kiss the back of it. “My name is Tesla Wattson, and I am certain you are charmed to make my acquaintance.”
Tesla is weak, unskilled, and arrogant. She has no real capability to fend for herself and is seemingly unable to hold a conversation without insulting the other person. She is, in short, the absolute worst person to select as an ally. 
Perfect. 
===Brann Garner (District 9)===
I kneel on the floor, watching Mazie tie a knot as the instructor gives advice. She’s good. Her fingers move swift and deftly, creating elaborate knots that boggle my mind. It’s not that I can’t tie a knot—I’ve done it many times over the course of my life working the fields of District 9—but I never had reason to do anything as complicated as this. 
“Good job!” I clap Mazie on the shoulder as she holds up the finished knot. 
She gives me a tight smile. “Thank you. Now only if it were possible to kill someone with a knot.”
My own smile slips. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that the reason all thirty of us are gathered in this gymnasium is so that we can kill each other. Sometimes it’s hard to forget. I barely got any sleep last night, for my fear over what is to come. 
“We may not have to do too much killing,” I say quietly as we rise from the station and depart. The instructor offers us praise as we go. 
Mazie sighs. “I know, but…you can’t win without killing somebody.”
Though we look nothing alike—Mazie has hair and skin that are far darker than my own lighter complexion and blond hair—the girl greatly reminds me of myself. There is a strong nostalgic sense about her, an indomitable spirit that rest behind her eyes, her nervous smile. Even her devotion to family is a shared trait.
Mazie told me about her sister on the train ride to District 14. How she is competing to afford a surgery that will give the girl her sight back. I can relate. I have my own brothers I need to protect, to return to. Andean. Glean. 
Mazie and I pause on the outskirts of the section of the gymnasium which holds the weapon stations. Neither of us have practiced with a weapon yet. To be honest, I don’t see the point. My experience working the fields of District 9 have given me more knowledge and skill with a sickle than some of the Careers have with their own chosen weapons. I have spent thousands of hours swinging a sickle, reaping the grain and cutting the chaff in our fields. 
I understand the very nature of how a sickle works. The ebb and flow of its blade. The arc of the swing. How you lean into every swing. I know the sickle as well as I know my own hands. Better, even. I’ve used a sickle more often. 
And I have no doubt that a sickle—especially the razor sharp variety on display here at the training center—will cut human flesh just as easily as it cuts wheat. 
“I want to speak with one of the District 14 tributes,” Mazie says as we watch. 
“Okay.” I know from prior conversations that she wants to learn more about the surgery she’s trying to get for her sister. Asking a person from District 14 about it seems to be the smartest play. “Do you wanna approach Meta or Scyler?”
I know their names—and the names of all the other tributes—from the Reaping footage we were shown on the train ride. There wasn’t much else to do on the trip, so I committed all their names to memory. If someone is going to kill me, I at least want to know their name. 
Mazie frowns and places both hands on her hips. The pair from District 14 are currently on complete opposite ends of the gymnasium. The girl, Meta, is wandering around the weapon stations, seemingly not doing much of anything as she watches the other tributes throw spears or swing axes. Scyler, meanwhile, stands near the elevators in the middle of a conversation with two other boys. I recognize them as the ones from District 8 and 11. Theodore and Lartius.
I frown. “I think Scyler is already joining an alliance.”
As we watch, my words are proven true when Scyler reaches out and shakes hands with Theodore. Mazie folds her arms and purses her lips. “I don’t want to be allies with all of them.”
I agree. There is something about those two boys, Theodore and Lartius, that sets me on edge. They seem to be a hard, callous sort. Not the kind of person I want watching my back. 
“We can still try and get Meta,” I suggest. The short girl seems good-natured and friendly. Right now she has stopped her wandering and is watching wide-eyed as Citrine throws knives with pinpoint accuracy. 
“Sure. Let’s go.”
We cross the gymnasium and approach the girl. She’s so engrossed in Citrine’s display that she doesn’t even notice us until we’re right behind her. “Hey there,” I begin, a smile forming. “We wanted to know—”
“I’m sorry!” The girl squeals.
I exchange a glance with Mazie. “Uh, sorry for what?”
“Oh! I…” Meta looks down at her feet, blushing furiously. “That was, umm, kinda an overreaction. It’s just that you’re the first people to speak to me and I…you know.”
I feel somewhat bad for the girl, but it’s tempered by the fact we’re all in the same situation here. “Hey, look, no problem!” Mazie smiles disarmingly. “We just wanted to know if you made an alliance yet, but I think you just answered that question.”
“Me?” Meta’s already wide eyes stretch even further. “You want me for an ally?”
“Yeah.” I get the impression that this girl hasn’t had much interaction with people before. 
“Yes! I’d love to join you two!” Meta bounces on her feet. “Oh, this is great! I thought everyone would hate me!”
“Why would you think that?” Mazie asks the question before I can.
“I, well, because I’m from District 14.” Meta gestures at herself. “And they…we haven’t treated the other districts as we should.”
I absently pick at my hair, curious by this line of thinking. I’ve never put any real thought into our government. My life has been dedicated solely to working the fields and tending to my family, and I haven’t stopped to consider how things could be better or worse. The fanciful images I’ve seen here in District 14, skyscrapers, monorails, glass elevators, and all the rest, are so far beyond my ken that they may as well be magic.
“You being from District 14 is actually why we wanted you as an ally,” Mazie says.
“What, really?”
Mazie begins to explain about her sister’s condition and the surgery she’s seeking. Meta listens intently. “Oh, yes,” She says with a nod when Mazie finishes. “That surgery definitely exists. I actually actually asked my mother about it, awhile back, because a friend of mine wanted to know the same thing.”
It’s an innocuous comment to me, but for some reason Mazie catches on it. “A friend of yours asked about the surgery?”
“Yes.” Meta nods again. “Her sister had been blinded in an accident and wanted to…” 
She trails off. Mazie and her stare at one another with a mix of shock and recognition. I can only glance between them in bewilderment. What is going on? “Do you two know each other?”
“Yes.” Mazie’s voice is quiet. So quiet I almost can’t hear her. “I think we do.”
“Huh? How?” 
“Online,” Meta says.
“On what?”
“The internet. You know, on a computer.”
“Uh…” I know what a computer is, at least, but the only place I could find one in District 9 would be the public library, and I’ve had little reason to ever go there. 
Seeing my confusion, Meta begins to explain. Or she tries to. I don’t understand most of the things she says about chat rooms and forums and logins. None of it really makes a lick of sense to me, so I can only scratch my head and stare. 
“You are on the forum!” Mazie sounds shocked. “You…you were the one who told me about the surgery! You’re MetaphoricallyMetaphysical!”
I blink twice. “She’s what now?”
Meta nods. “Yes! I mean, I know the name isn’t actually all that clever, but I thought, well, it doesn’t matter. That’s me!”
The two begin excitedly chattering away about stuff I don’t understand and I start to wonder just what this technology stuff really means. But before I get too confused, the conversation swings back to a topic I actually comprehend. “So the surgery really exists?” Mazie’s voice is tinged with emotion.
Meta nods. “Yes! It’s pretty new and isn’t fully developed yet, but it does actually work. Of course, the success rate isn’t perfect and it’s simply not possible to return everyone’s sight—younger people benefit the most—but there’s definite success for a sizable portion of people who undertake the procedure.”
Mazie lets out a long breath. Just from looking at her I can tell that this news has taken a massive weight off her shoulders. She must have been genuinely concerned that the surgery might not exist. 
“You need to win the Games to afford the surgery?” Meta sounds curious. 
“Yes. My family…we’re not rich. It wouldn’t matter how long or hard we worked, we’d never be able to afford it. But if I win the Games…”
“I can help you!” I assume she’s talking about helping us win the Games and am about to thank her for accepting our alliance offer, but she doesn’t stop speaking. “My mother is a top researcher and she personally knows the people who invented the surgery! One word from me and she’ll be happy to get your sister that surgery!”
“Your mother is that important?” Mazie sounds surprised. 
“Yes. My whole family is…rather well-connected. My father is the Interior Minister and my Uncle Branson is one of the Gamemakers.” Meta points up to the mezzanine that wraps around the gymnasium. A group of thirteen men and woman sit at a long table up there. The Gamemakers. “See that guy with the graying hair and beard? That’s Uncle Branson!”
All these names and titles…I can’t wrap my head around it. My life has been so separate from this kind of stuff that Meta could have told me her family were aliens and it would’ve had the same effect.
“So you see,” Meta continues on. “You don’t even need to win the Games! We’ll be able to help your sister regardless!”
“She’ll still to win,” I say quietly. “Only one person, the Victor, survives. If she doesn’t win…”
“Then I won’t be able to return to my family,” Mazie finishes.
Meta looks crestfallen. She stares down at her feet and mumbles an apology. “I forgot…forget I said anything. Mother might…she may not be willing to listen to me right now anyway.”
Mazie rushes to reassure the girl, our newest ally, with a smile and a hug. I just stand there, one hand tousling my hair as I think about the ramifications of these Games. No matter what happens, two of us will be dead within a few weeks. And that’s the best case scenario. In the worst case scenario…
All three of us will be dead in days.
===Reiko Sonatas (District 6)===
My arrows bristle against the target, their tips nearly touching as they form a tight, concentric circle around the bullseye. Each one went exactly where I wanted it to.
Just like always. 
The instructor offers me some praise and suggests making things harder. I give him the go-ahead with a silent nod. Harder? I can handle that. Can likely handle anything this man will throw at me. What can he have that would more difficult than the missions the Emissary had me complete on Temple of the Demon’s behalf?
The instructor releases some bird-like objects which fly above the targets. They zip around the air, moving erratically and without a pattern, but that hardly matters. I’ve hit harder shots than this. There is no wind. No elevation change. I pull back the string of my bow until it touches my veiled cheek, breathing softly as I take aim. 
Simple and easy.
I loose an arrow and strike the first bird. It falls in a puff of feathers as I quickly fire off more successive shots. One by one the birds birds begin to fall and within seconds there is nothing left in the air at all. 
These shots were nothing compared to ones I’ve made before. Crouched atop a dirty tenement in District 6, with a haze of smog in the air and a slight breeze, staring down at the half-open window where the politician who was trying to squeeze the Temple out of the District sat in his oversized chair. I only had one chance to land the arrow. Only one shot at hitting a most difficult target.
That was all I needed.
I deposit the bow back onto the rack and nod at the instructor. “Thank you,” I tell him quietly. 
To my side, the freckled red-haired girl from District 0 steps up to take her turn with a bow. I stay nearby, curious to see how the girl performs. She spends an inordinate amount of time just staring at the target, a slight frown on her face as the instructor gives advice. I do not believe she is listening to him. Her full attention is on the target. 
She nocks an arrow and then slowly draws back the string. She lacks proper technique, yet there is no hesitation in her movements. Finally, when the bow is fully drawn and quivering within tension, she unleashes the arrow.
It slams into the target with a thump and comes to a trembling stop at the very edge of the bullseye. 
I slip away from the station. Rather impressive for an obviously untrained novice. What did she do? What went through her head while she studied that target? Some sort of mathematics, perhaps. There are those in the Temple who continually espouse the virtue of such things, saying that with a good enough understanding of numbers you can do just about anything. 
I don’t have a good enough understanding.
Many of the other tributes have come together to form alliances. I notice this as I drift through the stations, occasionally pausing to watch someone train, but never staying long. The boy from District 1 is sparring with an instructor at the sword station while his ally, Tesla from District 5, watches from the sidelines, occasionally shouting “advice” that is completely nonsensical. 
I have no idea why Ardor abandoned the Careers to join with this slip of a girl. She’s so small and thin that I am certain a stiff breeze could blow her away. And yet, one of the certifiably strongest tributes in this arena has chosen her as an ally. 
Baffling.
At the wrestling station the pair from District 7 are grappling with each other. They are both quite skilled, and seem evenly matched. I can already tell that either one would be capable of defeating me in hand-to-hand combat.
So I will kill them at range, then. 
My eyes settle on a trio of boys as they gather around the memory match game. The boy from 3, Vizio, is blazing through the game as the other two watch. Easton is clapping politely while Autus laughs. 
Autus…
He is quite the enigma who seems to be very interested in the Temple of the Demon. Last night he spent hours asking me about its inner-workings and was especially intrigued by tales of the Veiled Demon. While I had to keep some things secrets, I was only too pleased to spread the Temple’s word. That is part of why I volunteered, after all. To spread the Temple’s message and increase our following. As for the other half of my mission…
District 6 has fallen on hard times financially. Things have become more expensive, and the cost of living is exorbitant. The Temple itself is not immune to this reality. It has become harder and harder for us to get by, but I came up with a solution that would solve all our problems.
Winning the Games and becoming a Victor. 
Money, prestige, power. Victors have all these things and more. If I were to win, the Temple would be in the best position it ever could be. Then me and Tsuki could just live a comfortable life doing whatever we wished…
Seeing all these alliances, people forming friendships and bonds, reminds me greatly of Tsuki. I reach a hand up to my neck, where she is usually coiled, and touch nothing but empty air. Tsuki is not here. I left her in the care of the Emissary back at District 6. A small part of me wishes she were with me right now, but I know that is foolishness. The arena is no place for a snake, not even one such as Tsuki.
“May you shelter in the Veiled Demon’s hand,” I murmur to myself. Tsuki is family to me. Before I found the Temple, she was the only one who cared about me. The only one I could confide in, to cherish. I am an orphan. I never knew my parents or any other semblance of family. Without the Temple and Tsuki I would be completely and utterly alone.
I will never be able to repay the Temple for their kindness. 
Feeling melancholic, I continue to stride through the stations, observing the other tributes around me. There is a trio of boys throwing spears and I stop to examine them. Their leader is the boy from 8, Theodore. His black hair is slicked back as he instructs the others on the proper stance, his blue eyes as cold as ice. 
Over the years I have become a good judge of character. I can tell much about a person from a mere glance. There is a sense of being about them. An aura, as it was. And right now, I do not get a good feeling about these boys. There is a darkness around them. Fear. Cruelty. These are cold, hard boys who are more than willing to do whatever it takes to see their goals realized. 
I bypass the trio, troubled. Already I have seen that many of the other tributes are real threats. Dangerous. Difficult to defeat alone. 
Perhaps I need not be alone.
I could win these Games alone. That was my plan when I first volunteered. I spent a good deal of my life alone, with only Tsuki by my side. But then I found the Temple, and they showed me that there is strength in numbers, in camaraderie, in teamwork. I need not become friends with these tributes, but working alongside them can open many doors that would remain closed if I were to do this alone. 
But who to select as my allies?
None of the tributes I have previously observed would be adequate choices. They are too rough. Too harsh. Yet they are not my only options. Dozens of other tributes still mill about the gymnasium, either training or merely loafing around. Surely some of them will suit my purposes. 
I spend a few more moments observing the others before my gaze settles on a trio that are studying at the plant identification station. For the vast majority of training most of the tributes have given these three a wide berth and seem unwilling to draw too close. It is not hard to fathom why. 
The pair from District 10 are a strange sort. Both of them wear masks upon their faces, but they hold no other real similarity. The boy is a giant. He is nearly seven feet tall and his arms are as thick as my thighs. Even unarmed he would pose a serious threat to any and all of the tributes here. The girl, however, is slight and surreal. Her hair is dyed a mix of vivid pink and blue, and she seems to have a strange habit of speaking to herself. 
The third tribute with them is the young girl from District 11. From what I remember from my mentor, her name is Peppa. 
I frown behind my veil as I observe the trio. Peppa is currently in the midst of explaining something to the masked pair, though the girl’s eyes are wandering and it does not appear she is paying any attention. 
Both of them from District 10 certainly appear strange, and yet I am sensing no foul energy from them. Oddly enough, all my training tells me that they are not bad people. 
Peppa is different. I can glean no real sense of right or wrong from her. Just a murky, formless grey. As if there is a path ahead of her, one that forks into two separate routes and it will be up to her as for which one she chooses. 
Watching Peppa reminds of another girl. One who was young and alone. She had no friends, no family, nothing. She had to fend for herself in a cruel world that cared little for someone as defenseless as she. On the brink of despair, she almost ended it all before Tsuki and the Temple showed her that there was something worth fighting for.
With this on my mind, I begin to approach the trio.
The girl from 10 is the first to notice. Her wide eyes fixate on me as I draw near, rest of her face hidden behind that hare-like mask. “Baron!” She tugs on the giants sleeve. “Look!”
The boy turns his massive head towards me, dark eyes creasing behind his mask. “Do you need something?” His voice is deep and rumbling. The type the Herald would have called a basso profoundo.
I incline my head. “I would like to humbly request permission to join your alliance.”
“The Misery Man hasn’t touched her…” His district partners voice is soft and whimsical. I look up and spot her watching me with a tilted head. 
“Baron, Viscera, are you two even listening?” The little girl stalks over, hands on her hips. “There is no point in me talking if you’re not even—Oh!”
“Hello.” I dip my head to the girl. “My name is Reiko Sonatas, and I am a Great Acolyte in the Temple of the Demon.”
“You don’t look like a demon,” Viscera circles around me, head still tilted. “All the demons bear his mark. You don’t have any mark. Why?”
I have a feeling that the type of demon she is referring to is very different from the one the Temple venerates. “The Veiled Demon protects me,” I tell her. “He is the shade you seek when the sun becomes too hot. He is the embrace of the night when the day grows too long. He is everywhere, yet nowhere. His touch permeates the world itself. May you shelter in his hand.”
“Another one of those, huh,” Peppa’s mutters to herself. I do not believe I was intended to hear it. 
Viscera does not respond. She stands there, staring at me, for a long moment. At one point she raises a hand as if to touch me, but then pulls back at the last second. Finally she giggles and ducks behind Baron. Her head pokes out around his elbow. “I like her.”
“You never said that about me!” Peppa says indignantly.
Viscera blinks. “I don’t know you.”
“We’ve been allies for hours!”
Viscera’s only response is another blink, then she begins humming to herself. “You wish to join us?” Baron’s rumbling voice returns to the topic at hand. 
I nod. “If you want me. If not, then I can go. I have no intention of disrupting any prior arrangements or relationships.”
Viscera reappears from behind the giant. “Baron is The Misery Man’s weakness,” She says softly. “You may not bear his mark, but Baron is the only one who will help me defeat him. He’s here to help me.”
“Of course.” I haven’t the foggiest idea what the girl is speaking about. “Baron is here to help you.”
Viscera gives another little giggle and wanders away. I watch her go, faintly amused. She appears to be a good-natured person, though I am unsure as to her capabilities in a fight. 
“Peppa, what do you think?” Baron turns to the little girl. The sight of them standing side by side borders on the comical. There’s almost a full two feet of difference in their height. 
The girl taps a finger against her chin. “Well, I do think we could use another person. Especially one who is good at combat.”
“I am quite skilled in both archery and swordsmanship,” I say politely.
Peppa smiles. “Yes! See? She’ll help us out a lot!”
She is a spunky, upbeat child for how underfed she appears to be. Thin and bony, with a gaunt cast to her eyes, Peppa was surely not living well prior to her arrival in District 14. I think back to the Reapings. I hadn’t paid too much attention to them, but wasn’t Peppa a volunteer? I suppose that would reconcile her attitude with the sorry state of her being. Whatever her life was like before the Reaping, the Games seem to hold a brighter prospect for her.
Baron tells me that I am allowed in their alliance then departs to track down Viscera. The strange girl has drifted across the gymnasium, seemingly drawn to the cafeteria and the smells wafting from it. It appears lunch will soon begin.
“What is the Temple of the Demon anyway?” I turn to see Peppa watching me with a small smile.
She is interested in the Temple? That is good. I am keen to spread its word and message to as many people as possible. “I shall tell over lunch,” I say as the bell rings and the other tributes all begin to converge on the cafeteria. 
Peppa’s smile widens. “Great! I’m looking forward to teaming with you, Reiko!”
“Likewise.”
===Ash Carrow (District 12)===
The other tributes all rush forward like animals as the cafeteria bell rings and the lines open. I hang back on the edge, watching the pack of morons as they descend upon the food, laughing and talking to each other with idiotic chatter.
Sickening.
I wait until the monkeys finish filling their trays and are settling down at the tables before approaching the buffet. I snatch a tray off the counter and scan the food before me. Mashed potatoes, fried chicken, pizza, spaghetti…my eyes glaze over at all the options. I haven’t seen this much food in all my life. 
“We’re meant to be serving a penance, aren’t we?” I ask the attendant behind the counter. 
The pudgy woman nods slowly. “That’s right.”
“Then how come we get such good food?” This is much better than the slop they fed me in the prison back at District 12. Which doesn’t make much sense when you think about it; prisoners are serving a penance too. Why the disparity in rations?
The woman gives me some rambling diatribe about how we need energy and protein for the upcoming Games, but I tune her out halfway through. It’s just a trained response. She doesn’t know anything. 
What a sheep.
Once my tray is full I turn and observe the cafeteria behind me. There’s around a dozen or so tables, but most of them have somebody sitting at them. The Careers have claimed the largest one. They are quiet and subdued as they eat their meal, hardly the raucous lot I had expected. 
Still, they’re all morons. Joining the Careers is stupid. It might help you make it through the early portion of the Games easier, but in the long run all it does is put a big red bullseye on your back. Every other tribute will be gunning for you straight out the gate, and what about the other Careers? They’re all just waiting for the right moment to stab a knife in your back.
I bypass their table without a second glance.
Another table is occupied by those masked creeps. The girl with the rabbit mask is intently studying her gravy while the giant muscular freak stabs a fried potato with his fork. The other two seem to be in a conversation. What about? Something stupid, no doubt. 
A trio of boys take up another table. The one from District 3 is scribbling on a piece of paper, drawing a diagram or the like, and showing it to the other two. Supposedly he’s a genius or something. I’m not too worried about it. The scrawny kid doesn’t look like he could punch his way out of a paper bag. Sure, he could make traps, but what are traps compared to my explosives? 
It doesn’t matter how big his brain is. He’ll still burn like all the others. 
I pause in the center of the cafeteria, searching for a nice quiet table where I can eat my meal in peace. I have no desire to sit next to some moron who will jabber on and on about nonsense. My eyes pass over another table occupied by a trio of boys and settle on a small one in the center. Only two girls currently sit there, heads down as they eat their meals.
The girls from District 3 and 0. I don’t know their names. I don’t care enough to know. At any rate, they seem to be minding their own business, so maybe I can sit there and—
Two more girls walk up and sit down. I do know their names, but that’s only because they tried to recruit me into their stupid little alliance earlier in the day. Taylor and Kessie. 
I scowl as the pair strike up a conversation with the other two girls. Can’t sit there now. Kessie would never stop talking.
The girl spots me as I walk pass and hops to her feet. “Ash! Hey, Ash!” I ignore her as she waves at me. “Come sit with us, Ash! There’s an open seat!” She gestures at the chair beside her. 
“Screw you.” I continue on past without a second look. I wouldn’t sit with that idiot if it was the last chair on earth. 
There’s an empty table tucked away in the far corner of the cafeteria. I unceremoniously dump my tray on it and slouch into the lone chair, setting my back against the wall so no one can sneak up on me. Peace and quiet at last. 
I finish my meal quickly. I don’t eat much. I’ve never really had a surplus of food before. My portions have always been small and manageable. That’s fine by me. I don’t need more than my fair share. 
The other tributes still eat. Talking and laughing as they sit with their allies. I’m actually surprised to see that only one other person sits alone like myself, and that’s the boy from District 0. He is on the opposite edge of the cafeteria, watching the assembled crowd with narrowed eyes and a slight frown. 
So many chose to make an alliance. Stupid. I’m not against alliances in general—I understand perfectly well that working with others can oftentimes lead to better results—but these fools seem intent on making their allies into friends. 
Friends…family…
There is no point in having either. No matter how hard you try to protect them, how much you cherish them, they’re just kindling. We all burn in the end. It’s strange to me how this knowledge is mine, and mine alone. 
Everything burns.
But some things burn quicker than others.
A flash of anger stirs inside me as I think of my family. The explosion which took them. The explosion my father accidentally caused. Hatred and disgust. That is the only thing people ever showed me after the incident. I was the daughter of the man who caused the largest loss of life in District 12 since the founding of New Panem. No one cares that it was an accident. That I myself had nothing to do with it. They were all just gullible sheep doing whatever was easiest.
I will see them all burn.
District 14. New Panem. The Games. The other tributes. The world itself. I don’t care about who, what, where, or why. I will burn it all. I will start the fire and feed the flames, fanning it until it becomes an unstoppable inferno which consumes everything in its path. 
Until there’s nothing left but ash. 
===Tempest Galveston (District 0)===
Time has passed since the end of lunch. I sit crosslegged on a pile of stacked mats, eyes narrowed as I observe the other tributes around me. I have not so much as picked up a weapon yet. 
What would be the purpose? I’ve spent years at my father’s academy and have grown accustomed to the use of all manner of simple weapons. Knives, spears, swords, staves, etcetera. I know how best to wield them and how to kill with them. Nothing I can do in this eight hour span would improve those abilities one iota, so why even bother? Better to keep my eyes on the real variable.
The other tributes.
They will be the ones inside the arena with me. The ones actively attempting to murder me. There will be mutts, yes, but mutt fatalities are a drop in the bucket compared to the amount of deaths caused by tributes. The odds are that, if I am to die, it will be at the hands of one of these twenty-nine teenagers. 
So I’ve spent the past day observing them. Watching their every movement and studying their strengths. Searching for weaknesses and fears. Seeing what makes them unique. While I’ve been categorizing the threats inside my head, I’ve also been marking down possible allies. 
I’m not stupid. I know that, statistically, it’ll be easier for me to survive a longer period of time if I have an alliance at my back. I’ve been waiting to see if anyone would approach me about possibly joining with them, but so far no one has and, as the day draws to a close, I begin to realize that no one will. I have, perhaps unsurprisingly, gone unnoticed by the other competitors.
It seems I will have to find my own accommodations. So be it.
Two separate alliances have stood out the most to me. One of them is a trio of boys, led by Theodore from District 8. The muscular dark-haired guy is currently throwing axes with his two allies, Scyler and Lartius. Both of them seem to be genuine threats. Scyler is one of the tallest and most physically imposing tributes here; only the Careers and that masked monster have him beat in size. Lartius is smaller, but no less imposing. There is a harsh cast to his features, and he has the telltale physique of someone who’s spent long hours in physically exerting conditions. 
All three of them will be hard to beat. 
And yet, that is one of my biggest concerns. They are too threatening. I’ve seen the looks other tributes have thrown their way. The three of them may well be the Careers biggest target once the Games begin, and if there is one thing that I do not want, it is to be anyone’s target. I’d rather fly under the radar and be forgotten.
So I will not align with them. 
I need an alliance that will go unnoticed. One that doesn’t make me a target to anyone. The easiest way to survive longer is avoid unnecessary conflict. That is a tried and true strategy, one which I am keen to attempt. I need an alliance that will help me with that.
And I know just the pair for the job.
The two of them are standing by the water fountains as I approach. Edison, the boy from District 5, is short, with a mass of curly red hair and a gaunt, thin body. But it’s none of that which makes him stand out. No. It’s his missing eye. 
It did not heal well. It is an ugly, misshapen wound with a large scar that would make more squeamish people wince. The boy is relatively unimpressive looking, but that missing eye alone proves he’s survived his fair share of trouble. 
The other boy is taller, with a mane of elegant black hair that hangs just above his shoulders. Though he is in the middle of a conversation with Edison, his eyes are unfocused as he stares over the boy’s shoulder, fingers absently tapping on his thigh. Rooker, from District 12. 
Edison’s lone green eye swivels to face me as I stop a few feet away. He doesn’t say anything. Just stares at me with cold disdain. 
“Do you need something?” It is Rooker who speaks. His eyes narrow almost imperceptibly at me.
“Need?” I shake my head. “No. I was merely wondering if you had room for a third party in your alliance.”
“Why? You want in?” Edison speaks with a strange, almost unintelligible accent. 
I dip my head. “If you two are willing to accept me.” I’ve watched the pair train. Though they’ve gone unnoticed by vast majority of the others, the two of them are a skilled team. Rooker passed the plant identification challenge without a single mistake, and Edison performed surprisingly well on the Gauntlet. They are clever, scrappy boys. 
Exactly what I need in an alliance.
Rooker rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm. You seem quite capable, and yet…” He glances at Edison. “Do you mind if I tell him?”
“I ain’t give a shit what you tell him.”
“Very well.” Rooker turns his full attention back on me. My eyes catch sight of the ornament in his hair. Such a strange thing for the boy to wear. “It is only fair that you know the truth. You see, Edison and I are criminals.”
I frown. “Criminals?”
“Yes. I am, for instance, both a creator and seller of illicit substances. Drugs, if you would. Belladonna blossoms and poppies, mostly. All natural products. None of that artificial stuff which is unfortunately all too prevalent in District 6.” 
I know a handful of people back home who use Morphling or Soma, but I’ve never heard of the stuff Rooker supposedly makes. 
“And Edison here,” He jabs a thumb at the scrawny boy beside him. “Is part of a street gang which commits all sorts of violent crimes.”
“Our leader is named Pike,” Edison spits. “Maybe you’ve heard ‘o him. A real ruthless bastard.” 
I haven’t. Whoever this Pike is, news of his criminal antics haven’t reached a District 0 suburbanite like myself. 
“I don’t say this to dissuade you from joining us,” Rooker continues on, “or to make you think we’re evil. I tell you this simply so you understand the kind of people we are. The type who is willing to do anything in order to achieve our goals.”
“Anything,” Edison says with a grunt. “In the arena, it’s our life that’s at risk. And I’ve killed men for less than that.”
I stay silent, contemplating this information. Who is it that decides what a criminal is? District 14. The adjudicator of all our actions. The people who rule us, oppress us, destroy us. 
“I don’t care about your past,” I say quietly. “The only thing which matters to me is if you’ll help me win these Games or not.” And once I win, District 14 better watch out. 
“Good.” Edison spits and rubs a hand against his good eye. “Now, tell me this. Can ya kill that girl?” He points across the gymnasium, at Mazie as she crosses the Ropes Course. 
“Of course.”
“Even if she weren’t threatening ya?”
“I am more than capable of doing what needs to be done.”
“Sure. What ‘bout that girl?” He jerks a thumb at the little girl from District 11 as she puts together some sort of puzzle. “Could ya kill her? If she were on hands and knees, begging for her life?”
“Only one person survives,” I say softly. I’d prefer not to murder a girl begging for mercy, but…I can’t leave my father alone. He’s already lost too much. 
“What about Edison?” Rooker jumps into the conversation. “If it came to it, could you kill him?”
I stare at the boy in confusion. Did he just ask me if I would kill my own ally? Is this some kind of test? Am I supposed to say—
“Too slow.” Edison reaches out and pokes me in the throat with a finger. “I just slit your throat and won the Games. Ya snooze, ya lose.”
Rooker chuckles softly. “You have to be willing to kill us, Tempest. Because we’re more than willing to kill you, if that’s what it takes to win.”
Such a bizarre statement. My ally wants me to admit that I will kill him? Most people seem hellbent on proving how trustworthy they are, and yet these two boys fly in the face of that and are doing the complete opposite. 
“You need to be willing to do anything,” Rooker continues. “The only people I trust are ones who I know will always act in their own best interest. If you’re not willing to kill an ally in order to win…then what are you even doing here?”
He’s right. There is no point in lying to myself and saying I would never harm him or Edison. I would. If it comes down to it, I will. Father cannot be left on his own. I cannot die in the arena and let Albert, let President Price, let District 14 win. If we’re the last three tributes standing, I will kill Rooker and Edison. I might even kill them before that, if that’s what is required for me to survive. 
“I’ll kill you both, if I have to,” I say quietly.
The two boys stare at me for a long moment. Then Rooker breaks out laughing. “Good, good!” He slaps me on the shoulder. “Then congratulations and welcome to the alliance!”
Over Rooker’s shoulder, I spot a pair of tributes approaching the water fountains. Viscera, the strange rabbit masked girl, and her newfound ally, Reiko. I frown at the girl. What’s the deal with her veil?
Edison, noticing my distraction, turns to see what I am looking at. When he does, he comes face-to-face with Viscera.
The girl lets out a bloodcurdling scream.
She screams and screams, pointing a finger at Edison as she babbles a stream of nonsense before taking off into a sprint and hurtling across the gymnasium. 
I exchange a confused look with Rooker. Reiko, for her part, seems as lost as we are. She stares after Viscera with wide eyes. The girl has retreated to the far side of the gymnasium, where Baron is. The giant is trying to console the girl, but he appears to be having a hard time of it. 
“What just happened?” I ask no in particular.
“She was disgusted by my face,” Edison grunts. I don’t know the boy well enough to be sure, but he seems troubled. “Was screaming ’bout me being a monster, weren’t she?”
“I couldn’t understand her,” I say truthfully. If it was Edison’s face which set her off, that would be a tad excessive. His face is…well, a bit…wrecked, but that’s hardly reason to go screaming like a maniac. 
“I apologize for Viscera’s behavior,” Reiko steps forward and gives a small bow. I didn’t even know she was still here. “She is not very—"
“I ain’t give a shit about your apology!” Edison shoves his way past the girl and storms off towards the elevators. 
Rooker and I share another glance. Clearly Edison is deeply troubled by the girls reaction to his injuries. It’s actually somewhat surprising. I hadn’t expected Edison to be the type to care what others think. 
“Come on,” Rooker taps me on the shoulder and follows the smaller boy. I loyally trudge along after him. 
When we catch up, Edison is furiously pushing the button to call an elevator. Two other tributes, the pair from District 4, sit nearby as they hold a quiet conversation. “You have to calm down, Edison,” Rooker walks up to the boy. “We can’t be having you lose con—”
“I am calm!” Edison spins around and tries to shove Rooker, but the boy catches his wrists and pushes him away. 
“Lashing out in fits of uncontrollable emotion will get you killed in the arena,” Rooker says calmly. If Edison’s bristling fury unsettles him, he doesn’t show it. 
“Wot’d you know about surviving, eh?” Edison snarls.
“I know enough to realize you’re behaving like a child,” Rooker shakes his head. “I understand that you may not appreciate that girl’s reaction, but—”
“You!”
We all spin around to see the pair from District 4 approaching. The girl is in front, arm extended as she points a finger at Edison.
“This has nothing to do with you,” Rooker steps in front of her, hands up. “So I’d like to ask that you—”
The girl places two hands on his shoulders and shoves him out of her way. Rooker hits the ground at an angle, rolling across the linoleum floor. I rush over to help him up as Penelope and Tidus descend on Edison.
“Wot ‘bout me?” The boy stares the pair down without the slightest hesitation. 
“You were there!” The blonde girl jabs a finger in his face. 
“Where?”
“At my house! When Pike kidnapped my brother!”
Oh. I remember what Rooker told me earlier. Pike runs a gang of criminals which operate throughout the country. If what this girl says is true…
“Hafta to be more specific,” Edison grins ghoulishly at the girl. “Me and Pike have kidnapped lotsa people.”
The girl’s grey eyes flash with anger. “You monster!” She grips him by the front of his shirt and shakes him back and forth. “Tiber! His name was Tiber! You took him to settle a debt!”
“Get yer hands off me!” Edison tries and fails to pry himself out of the girls grip. 
“Where is Tiber? What have you done with him?”
“I don’t even know who that is!” Edison tries to kick the girl, but she shoves him against the wall and then slaps him. Edison gasps at her, apparently surprised to be struck. 
“Liar!” The girl shakes him back and forth. “Where is Tiber? What have you done with him? Tell me!”
Edison’s snarls and hurls insults, futilely attempting to squirm out of the girls grasp. Eventually she pulls an arm back, hand curling into a fist.
“Penelope!” The District 4 boy, Tidus, puts a hand on her arm and forcibly lowers it. “What are you doing? You can’t assault another tribute in training!”
The girl blinks and lets go of Edison. He darts away from her, swearing and issuing threats. “Oh, Tidus. I…” 
Ding!
An elevator slides open and, before anyone else can react, Penelope darts inside. Tidus moves to follow her, but the doors slide shut before he can. He swears loudly and slams a fist on the door. 
“You should get that girl under control!” Rooker snaps at him.
Tidus doesn’t respond. He just turns and stalks away, muttering to himself. I watch him go, unsure of exactly what just transpired. 
“Do you know who that girl is?” Rooker carefully approaches Edison. The red-haired boy is still snarling as he frantically smashes a fist against the button panel, calling for an elevator. 
“No!” He punches the button a few more times. “I ain’t never seen her in my life! Or if I did, then I don’t remember!”
Ding!
Edison doesn’t waste a second, stepping inside the elevator the moment the door opens. I watch him go with a mix of relief and confusion. “Think he’ll be okay?”
“He’ll be fine,” Rooker mutters and turns toward the gymnasium. Surprisingly, no one else seems to have noticed this interaction. A lot of them are still watching Viscera, who has seemingly finally calmed down. “I’m more worried about those Careers targeting us.”
There is a sinking feeling in my gut. The entire reason I chose this alliance was so that we would fly under the radar and go unnoticed. So far we’ve done a terrible job of doing that. 
I can only hope that this chaos isn’t a harbinger of things to come. 
===Peppa Trails (District 11)===
Viscera babbles incoherently, arms flailing around as she gestures wildly at the empty air around her. Baron listens with the patience of a saint, calmly nodding and going along with the girls antics. 
“What set her off?” I quietly ask Reiko. The veiled girl had been the one to accompany Viscera to the water fountains where the screaming started.
“I…do not know.” Reiko’s crimson eyes, the only part of her face which is visible, briefly glance toward the elevators. “I believe she had a bad reaction to the District 5 boy’s facial deformity.”
I frown. Something about that—and Viscera’s prior actions—is tugging at me. She and Baron always wear those masks, and she gets along well with Reiko, who wears a veil. Faces…does Viscera have some sort of hang-up on facial expressions?
“Have you ever seen anything like her?” I ask Reiko. I am not expecting an answer, so I am surprised when the girl nods.
“Yes. The Temple takes in many homeless people and stragglers with nowhere else to go, and Viscera reminds me of this one girl we found several months back.” Reiko pauses, as if in thought. “She does not like to look people in the eye and often speaks to herself. The things she says make no sense to us, but there is an undercurrent of logic behind them. The Emissary said that her mind is cracked, and that we should beseech the Veiled Demon to help her mend it.”
Well, no demon is going to be descending from the heavens to put Viscera’s mind back together anytime soon. “Do you think…that maybe Viscera will be a hindrance in the arena?” 
“I believe Viscera will pull her own weight inside the arena,” Reiko eventually answers. 
“Really?” I can’t see it. She hasn’t shown any skill or knowledge of anything yet. I mean, maybe I shouldn’t be the one to judge others lack of combat ability, but…
“I am quite certain.” Reiko nods again. I wonder what goes on inside that mind of hers? She spoke at length during lunch, but always about the Temple, and never anything personal. Just who is this girl? “Viscera will not disappoint us.”
If she says so. Reiko can probably convince herself of anything. I mean, that “Temple” of hers sounds an awfully lot like a cult to me. And the way she goes on and on about some magical Demon who watches everything from the sky and looks after us is just so corny. Of course, I didn’t tell her that. I just smiled and oohed and ahhed at all the right points. Something I’ve learned in my short life is that people don’t want you to talk back, they only want you to listen and pretend like you care.
I’m real good at doing that.
There’s only an hour left in training and the other tributes have begun to slowly trickle out into the elevators. I know that they’ve been paying attention to us. Some girl in the Careers called our alliance the “Weirdos” and the name has stuck. I hear it whispered among the others as they watch us with furtive gazes and dark eyes.
I don’t like it. It reminds me of how I felt back in District 11, after Daddy was murdered. I had to be suspicious of everyone I saw. Were they after me? Did they want me dead? Did they help kill Durian? 
My thoughts trail away as I spot the boy from District 8, Theodore, watching us with an angry scowl. I don’t know why, but he’s been especially keen to keep an eye on us. Which is kinda strange, because one of his allies, Scyler, seems unable to stop watching his district partner. 
“Peppa.”
I jump in surprise at the sound of Baron’s voice. Him and Viscera, who has been restored to her usual, flighty self, stand behind me. “Oh, hello, Baron.” I smile sweetly at the two. “What did you need?”
I sought Baron out the moment I saw him. He was so big and strong that I knew I wanted him by my side in the arena. He reminded me of Daddy, in a way. Though Durian wasn’t quite so big, and he definitely never wore such a creepy mask. 
“We are turning in for the night.” His dark eyes stare over my head. Baron doesn’t like making eye contact. “Viscera is…tired.”
I glance at the girl. She is spinning in a small circle, whispering to herself. “Oh, okay. I think I’ll go back to the apartments too.” I don’t want to be left behind with Theodore. He makes me uneasy. Not even the knowledge that my District partner, Lartius, is allied with him alleviates my anxiety. 
Does he know my true identity? No. Don’t be stupid, Peppa. It’s not me who he’s watching. It’s Baron. It has to be. He was the one he tried to recruit at the start of training. He doesn’t know. He has no idea that I’m not really Peppa Trails…
I’m Peppa Stryker.
Durian’s final words repeat in my head as I follow Baron and Viscera to the elevators. You’re the princess of the light, Peppa Stryker, and you’ll one day rule Panem. 
I draw in a shaky breath. Durian…he wasn’t my biological father. He told me the truth, as he lay dying on the floor, shot by a man who had been attempting to kill me for the sole fact that I am the granddaughter of Old Panem’s President, Leopold Stryker and the First Lady, Anais Morrisa. 
It’s hard to believe. I don’t even know if it’s true, because I only have Daddy’s—Durian’s—word to go on. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he just went insane, as he was dying at the time. But…if he was wrong, then why did the man kill him?
Durian said he was part of a secret society devoted to bringing the Stryker’s back into power. That my true parents had handed me over to him so that he could protect me. But then he died and I lost everything…alone on the streets, unsure who to trust, worried that anyone will be out to hurt me, I was left with no other option. I had to volunteer and hope that I win.
The elevators open and the three of us step inside. The last thing I see before the doors slide shut is Theodore’s icy blue eyes staring straight at me.
I shiver.
“It is cold,” Baron agrees. 
“Cold, cold, cold!” Viscera sings to herself, then turns to face me, suddenly serious. “The arena will be cold, too. I know, because The Author told me.”
“That’s nice,” I say with a forced smile. Her bizarre antics are not helping with my anxiety. 
Our elevator stops at the tenth floor first, and I wave goodbye to Baron and Viscera as they step off. Then, when the doors slide shut once more, I find myself completely alone. 
A bead of sweat forms on my forehead. My limbs begin to tremble. I hate being alone. It makes me feel weak. Vulnerable. Easy to kill.
Ding!
The doors slide open and I jump in fright. Foolish. I silently berate myself as I step out and enter into the District 11 tribute apartment. District 11 has never had a Victor, so we have no real mentor. While we do have a pair of former Peacekeepers to instruct us, they do not share the apartments with us. And since the servants sleep elsewhere, I will be up here alone until Lartius returns from the gymnasium.
I shiver again. Maybe I should have stayed behind with Reiko. 
The living room is large and airy as I walk in. One of the Peacekeepers operating as mentor told me that this place isn’t extravagant enough to be considered fancy. He said it was “plain and basic” yet I don’t really agree. The place is practically a castle compared to where I’ve been living prior to the Games.
The room is silent save for the humming of the air conditioning. I step onto the carpet and run a hand along my hair. The television is dark and empty. Where is the remote? I’d prefer to hear some mindless chatter than this oppressive quiet.
“Hello, Peppa.”
I scream and fall back over the couch. I bounce off the carpet and clamber to my feet, hands reaching for the closest object, a nearby glass on the coffee table. My fingers curl around it as I stand up and take a careful look around the room.
It is empty.
I take a slow, careful breath. Was I imagining things? Did I actually hear a voice, or was that just my anxiety getting the better of me? My eyes flit across the room. Nothing out of the ordinary. No sign of any intruders. What, then, did I hear?
“Hello?” I call out cautiously. “Is anyone here?”
No response.
I inhale and drop the glass. Of course there isn’t anyone here. If District 14 had discovered my true identity, they wouldn’t have sent someone to secretly infiltrate my room, they’d have just had the Peacekeepers execute me. I was overreacting. There is nothing to be worried—
There is a faint buzzing sound, and then a man materializes in the room.
The air catches in my throat. Constricts my chest so tight it’s hard to breathe. Can’t even scream. I am frozen in place as the man smiles, and taps a finger against his wrist. There is some sort of device strapped there. “Hello, Peppa. It is a fine time to make your acquaintance, no?”
He is a thin, pale man with perfectly coiffed hair the color of a pale rose. His face is sharp and angular, with an aquiline nose and a pair of bright turquoise eyes. 
“Who are you?” I back away until I press against the wall. No escape. “What do you want?”
“What do I want? Many things, few of which you could provide.” The man reaches a hand into his pocket and removes a small box. Some kind of weapon? “All I want from you, however, is a simple conversation.”
My heart is beating like a drum. The rose-haired man snaps the box open and a fragrant, heady scent drifts across the room. He inhales deeply. “Ah, what a pleasant smell, no?”
It is a perfume box.
Rosehair has not yet made any threats. He hasn’t tried to harm me. Maybe he won’t. I straighten out and try to put some force into my words. “Why do you want to talk with me?”
He flashes a wide smile, showing a mouth full of bright white teeth. “Why wouldn’t I want to talk with you? Peppa…Stryker.”
He knows. He knows! I instinctively move to run, but then pull myself to a halt. Run where? Instead I set myself to face him. “I won’t let you kill me!”
Rosehair frowns. “Kill you? Why, perish the thought! Whyever would I seek to kill you? Surely you see the resemblance?”
Resemblance…?
I stop and look at the man. Really look. At his pale, rose colored hair. The bright blue eyes, fair skin, and familiar features…He’s not identical to me, but the resemblance is certainly there. 
“Are you a Stryker?” I ask slowly. 
He smiles and takes another sniff of his box. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Did Durian never tell you of your family?”
“Daddy died before he could.”
The man frowns. “A shame, that. Durian was one of our best.”
“Rosehair, did you know him?”
“Rosehair?” The man throws back his head and laughs. “My, what an unusual moniker you give me! Rosehair. Yes, I quite like it. Rosehair. Perhaps that shall be my new nom-de-guerre, yes?”
“A what?”
Rosehair gives me a despairing look. “Oh dear. I see that your education truly is lacking. A disappointment, certainly, but hardly surprising. Oh well. You shall learn in time…if you survive the Games, I suppose.”
This man is not here to kill me. That has become apparent. But despite claiming to be a Stryker, he doesn’t seem to be trying to help me either. “What is the purpose of this?” I demand. “What do you know of my family? Do I have siblings? Have you met my parents?” It’s not him, at least. He is far too young.
Rosehair takes another sniff of his box and snaps it close. “My, you are a curious one! Unfortunately, I can not and will not supply you with any answers. Much safer for you to know nothing, you understand, in the event they figure out who you are and send you to the Tower for interrogation.”
“Safer for you, maybe.” I can’t help but retort.
His laugh is high and tinkling, like a crystal. “Spoken like a true Stryker! My, you are a feisty one!” 
“Did you come here just to laugh at me?”
“Heavens, no!” He mimes clutching at his heart, then a sticks a hand into his pocket and removes a small object. He holds it aloft in one hand. It looks like some kind of necklace. “I have a gift for you. But first, I would like you to answer my question.”
“Why should I tell you anything?” He hasn’t been forthcoming with his own answers, now has he?
Rosehair laughs yet again. “If you do not answer, then I shall depart. I will take your gift with me, and you will be left with no memento of this occasion. No proof it even happened save for your own foggy memory.”
I bite my lip. I have no leverage here, no chance of negotiating. I either do what he says or get nothing. “Fine. What do you want to know?”
“How did Durian die?”
“He…he was shot. By a man who wanted to kill me.” I don’t like thinking about it. Daddy lying on the ground, bleeding out. Me being unable to do anything to help him. 
“What happened to this man?” 
“I…Daddy—Durian killed him.” I never saw the man. The whole incident happened while I was away from home. 
Rosehair leans back, one hand toying with the necklace, the other tracing the outline of the wall behind him. “Did he now? And what of the others?”
I blink. “Others? Durian told me the man was working alone.”
“Oh no.” Rosehair shakes his head. “Trust me, Peppa, when I tell you this. They never work alone. If you see one, there are over a dozen others lurking in the shadows. We are always at a numerical disadvantage. Remember that.”
Doubt trickles in my mind. So was I right then, when I thought I was being watched back in District 11? Were there really dozens of men out to kill me? Why? It seems absurd that they would expend this much effort to murder one little girl whose never harmed them. But then, history tells us that the Stryker’s were the world’s worst monsters…
Rosehair steps forward and extends a hand toward me. The necklace dangles from it. “This is for you. A…little gift from me. Please set your thumb atop the cylinder, if you would.”
There is a silvery tube-like object on the end of the necklaces chain. I dutifully set my thumb atop it. Almost immediately there is a small beeping sound and a cerulean light flashes. “What was that?” I ask, drawing my hand back.
“Nothing much,” Rosehair replies cheerfully. “I was just registering your fingerprint to the device. Now it’ll only open at your touch.”
“What will?”
“Press your thumb down on the top of the cylinder and twist it clockwise.”
I do so and there is a soft hiss of air as a six inch blade protrudes from the top of the tube. I nearly drop the thing in my shock. “What is that?”
“A blade, Peppa. A poisoned blade.” Rosehair laughs and takes out his little box again. He inhales deeply. “One prick of that beauty, and you shall be capable of felling any enemy, be they large or small. Now, twist the cap again.”
The blade retreats back into the tube, as if it never existed. I marvel at the thing. “How…why?”
Rosehair ignores my question. “Now, press on the opposite end and twist it counterclockwise. Use the thumb we scanned, please.”
This time a small, globe-like sphere emerges from the cylinder. It is transparent, and a formless grey mist coalesces inside. I frown at the stuff. “So…what is it?”
Rosehair laughs lightly. “It is nerve gas, of course.”
I stare at the swirling grey mass and frown again. Nerve gas? “Should I be holding this? Is it safe?”
“Safe to whom?” Rosehair asks. “To us, yes. This is a specially engineered batch of nerve gas which is completely harmless to those of the Stryker bloodline…and very much not harmless to everyone else.”
“Oh.” 
“Use this only in the event of an emergency,” Rosehair sniffs his perfume. “When you are threatened, break the globe and unleash the gas. Be aware that it will kill everyone present, and their deaths will not be pretty.”
I can’t imagine what situation I would need to use such a thing. Or, even more importantly, how. “They won’t let me take this into the arena,” I say lamely.
Rosehair lifts an elegant eyebrow. “Whyever not? Simply claim it as your token.”
“Yes, but they check all the tokens. They’ll find the blade or the gas and they will…” I don’t know what they will do. I don’t want to find out. 
“Oh, trust me, they won’t find a thing.” He makes a big show of stretching his limbs and slips the perfume box back into his pocket. “As long as you’re careful, and don’t accidentally reveal anything, that is.”
I revert the necklace back into its basic form, still frowning. I don’t know how much this man can be trusted. What if this is some elaborate trick to get me arrested for trying to smuggle a weapon into the arena? 
Ding!
I hear the elevator open out in the hallway. Lartius must have finally finished training. Soon he will come in here and spot Rosehair, then everything will… 
Rosehair smiles and begins tapping at the device on his wrist. “Peppa, if you only take one thing away from this conversation, let it be this; You’ll never win as long as you play by the rules.”
There is a soft beeping noise and Rosehair begins to dematerialize. The air around him crackles and warps, like the horizon on a hot day, and then he disappears completely. What happened? Did he teleport? Go invisible?
The door opens and Lartius steps inside. His face is covered in a film of sweat, and he looks exhausted. “What’s going on?” He spots me watching him and frowns. “Who were you talking to?”
I smile at him. “No one. I’m alone!”
His brown eyes narrow at me. “No, I’m sure I heard another voice.”
I put on my most innocent look and tilt my head sideways. “I was just talking to myself. Maybe that’s what you heard?”
Lartius glances around the room, as if to check for someone hiding from him. When he sees nothing out of the ordinary, he just scratches his head and makes for his bedroom, grumbling all the while. “Weird little girl…”
I breathe a sigh of relief. I don’t know what would’ve happened if Lartius found Rosehair, but I know it wouldn’t be anything good. Speaking of…where is he? I take another look around and see no trace of him. “Rosehair?” I whisper the word. Did he, perhaps, slip out the door behind Lartius? 
Troubled by this and everything else which has transpired today, I sit down on the couch and stare at the necklace in my hands. I don’t know what to think. How to feel. What is going on in my life? Since Daddy died everything has spiraled out of control...
You’ll never win as long as you play by the rules. 
===Day Two=== 
===Autus Spanner (District 6)=== 
I am nowhere, yet everywhere. The ground beneath me is pure white, formless, shapeless. It is a deep, writhing mist. It hangs in the air around me, thick and endless. In every direction it stretches as far as the eye can see.
Where am I? How did I get here? Oddly, I find that the answers don’t matter. Wherever here is, it's where I am meant to be. I don't know why. It is just a feeling; a deep, unexplainable sensation. 
I step forward through the mists, charting a path to some unknown destination. The mists curl across my body, cool to the touch. It is everywhere. Up or down, left or right. No matter where I look, all I can see is the mist.
A shape appears in the distance. I squint to try and get a better look, surprised to find that the mist has begun to dissipate. Forms begin to take shape before me. Giant white columns that stretch endlessly into the sky, pillars jutting out from the ground at impossible angles, and large orbs that hover off the ground.
It is these orbs that draw my attention. I step through the fading mist, approaching the nearest one. It turns out not to be an orb at all, but more of a bubble...of sorts.
The edges of the bubble look soft and translucent, constantly changing shape. Sometimes it is large, other times it will suddenly shrink. It is mesmerizing. I move to touch the bubble, but something holds me back. 
As I hesitate, I finally take note of the images inside the bubble. They are a flurry of movement, flickering in and out of focus at a rapid pace. Some of the images are familiar to me, like a train station and grocery store. Others are completely alien, like a ring of black towers pointing into a crimson sky, or an airship floating down a city street.
What is this bubble? Why is it showing me these things? I find myself enthralled by it. I can’t help but stare into it, trying to discover its secrets.
I reach out to grab the bubble.
The moment my fingers touch the bubble I am enveloped in a flash of light. I blink, rubbing at my eyes as the light slowly fades and I find myself elsewhere. I stand in a laboratory. Large glass tubes line the wall, extending from one end of the room all the way down. A woman, tall and dark-haired, walks alongside them. 
I stare in shock. The woman…that’s President Price!
The President reaches a hand for one of the tubes, and I finally notice the person floating inside. Mesmerized, I turn and see that all the tubes have a person inside. 
What is going on?
A flash of light. 
When my vision returns, the laboratory is gone. I am on a boat, in the middle of the ocean, and swiftly approaching a city. 
The city is a huge white crescent, stretching all around a wide blue bay, sprawling across many bridges, and onto rocky islands in the sea. Here and there green parks stand out from the confusion of buildings, the thin gray lines of rivers and canals shining in the sun.
A vast fortress rises up from within the city, its sheer white walls towering above the carpet of buildings outside, bright sunlight glinting on shining domes within. I never dreamed of a thing so great, so proud, so strong. One tower in particular rises high, higher than all the others, a tapering cluster of smooth, dark pillars, seemingly supporting the sky itself.
And is that…I feel a twinge of fear in my stomach as I see what hangs from the tower, encased in metal cages. Heads. Decapitated human heads. 
Laughter rings out in the sky, deranged laughter that seems to fill my mind and deafen my ears. 
A flash of light.
A dusty, dry desert extends all around me. The sun is a blazing orb in the sky. Intense heat beats down on my neck as I stare into the distance, a hazy horizon flickering. Somehow I know that the border of New Panem lies in that direction. District 10.
A lone figure makes their way forward. They have no definable features. I cannot tell if they are male or female, young or old. There is nothing to make them stand out in any way. And yet…
A flash of light. 
I am in a large, circular chamber. The walls are made of a deep, opaque black. In the center of the room stand fifteen spires. No. Not spires. Chairs. Thrones. Each one is different from the others, each one is carved with unique symbols. White-clad figures occupy the thrones, staring straight ahead as a loud, indistinguishable voice echoes through the room. I strain my ears, desperate to understand the words, but no matter how hard I try, it remains unintelligible. 
A flash of light.
I find myself back in the white chamber, lying flat on my back on the floor. I stare up into the shapeless sky and suck in a deep breath. Those visions…what were they? 
I can’t even begin to fathom what I saw. What I was shown. I use a trembling hand to push myself into a sitting position, and that’s when everything finally clicks. This place. It’s the Spirit Realm. 
I haven’t been here since the night before the Reaping. It looks similar, but different. Why is that? I don’t know enough about how this place works to figure it out. Too many questions. Not many answers. 
My head throbs with pain as I look around the white corridor. The other bubbles float nearby, seemingly unaffected by the light that exploded from the one I touched. Why? 
I stretch out my limbs and begin to rise when I sense movement behind me. I freeze, body gone rigid as I think of who or what could be behind me. Any manner of spirit or person…
“Who are you?” A deep voice breaks the sepulchral silence. 
Slowly, carefully, I turn myself around and come face-to-face with the speaker.
He is a tall, physically imposing man with dark hair worn back in a braid. A long white scar stretches across his caramel face, oval brown eyes narrowed as he watches me with a look that can only be described as suspicious. 
I know him. I’ve seen him multiple times before, broadcast on my television. It is Azrael Price, son of President Price and Victor of the 16th Games.
“I could ask you the same question, you know,” I say with a small smile. 
Azrael’s eyes narrow even further. “I have never seen another person here before.”
Well, that’s intriguing. Apparently he’s been here before. Wherever here is. “Do you know what this place is?” Some part of the spirit realm, no doubt, but I’m looking for specifics.
“Wait…” The broad-shouldered man blinks. “I know you. You’re one of the tributes.”
“That’s right.” No point in denying it. “I’m Autus Spanner, from District 6. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Azrael sets his jaw and stares silently at me. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. There’s not much emotion on his face. I glance at the bubble beside me. Images still flicker inside, but they move at such a frantic pace I can’t make anything out. “What is this thing?”
“I am unsure.” The tall man approaches the bubble and reaches a hand out over it. “But when you touch one…they show you things.”
“Are the images real?”
He shrugs. “Perhaps. Some of the things I have seen certainly were, others…I am less certain about.”
If Father is to be believed, then only descendants of Life Models can access this plane. Which would mean that Azrael is also their descendant. Interesting.
Azrael begins to flicker. Like a candle going out in the wind, or a staticky television screen, his corporeal body begins to take on an ethereal sheen. I step back. “What…what’s happening to you?”
“I am waking up.”
Azrael disappears. Like smoke or mist, his body breaks into little particles and ascends into the sky. I watch them go, observe as they float out of sight, following those gigantic columns into the seemingly endless ceiling.
I think of the implications of Azrael’s appearance. I hadn’t put any thought into it before, but him being here means that it is possible for me to not only encounter the personification of past Life Models, but current living ones too. That opens up a whole new avenue of possibilities. Not to mention those bubbles and the images they showed me…
Just what is going on?
“Autus.”
I spin around and spot my father emerging from behind one of the massive pillars. He still wears a veil across his face, and he has his bow slung back over his shoulder. Red-tipped arrows poke out from a quiver on his back. 
“Did you know other descendants of Life Models could show up here?” I ask.
He nods slowly. “I did. Why? Have you met one?”
I give him a quick recap of my encounter with Azrael. “The President’s son was here?” Father’s eyes darken. “That could prove problematic.”
“Why?”
“This place gives you information, son. It is a place of power and knowledge. Azrael has been President Price’s favorite child ever since he won the Games. Anything he learns here undoubtedly winds up in her hands.”
So it is likely the President will learn about me. I don’t know how to feel about that. “I see. Well, what about these bubbles? Do you know what…” I turn to gesture at the orbs behind me and trail off as I spot him. He hangs off the side of one the pillars, grey eyes narrowed over his purple veil as he stares at me and father.
“The Veiled Demon…” 
Father frowns. “He was a former tribute, yes?”
“That’s what the others told me.” I spoke with a multitude of past tributes during my first visit to the spirit realm, and they all said the same thing. They also told me how dangerous the man was, and that I should avoid contact with him at all costs. 
I stare back into those cold, lifeless eyes. Why has he come here? What does he want with us? I begin to take a step towards him when I notice how shadowy and indistinct my limbs have become. I am fading, like Azrael. That means I am about to—
——
My eyes snap open.
I am in my room, in the tributes apartment. The lights are off and everything is dark. I sit crosslegged on the floor, in the center of the rug which covers the room. A girl stands in the doorway across from me. She wears the same training uniform as myself, but her face is obscured by a dark veil.
Reiko.
“Good morning!” I greet her with a nod and begin to stretch my limbs out. “Did you want something?”
“No.” Her eyes never leave my face. “Traxon just sent me to wake you. He wants us to get ready for training.”
I work out a kink in my back. “Oh, okay. I’ll be there in a few moments.”
She nods but doesn’t leave. “You…what were you doing?”
“Meditating,” I answer cheerfully. “I wanted to visit the Spirit Realm.” 
I told her about the Spirit Realm last night, in exchange for her sharing information about the Temple of the Demon with me. It wasn’t necessary, of course, since she seemed eager to tell me, but it felt wrong getting all that knowledge without giving her something in return. 
“Ah.” She is certainly a taciturn girl, this Reiko. “What did you see?”
I rub at my jaw, wondering what I should tell her. “Well…I saw the Veiled Demon.”
The effect those words have on the girl is instantaneous. She rushes across the room, drops to her knees, and grips my wrists in her hands. “You saw him?” She looks up at me with wide crimson eyes. “You saw the Veiled Demon in the flesh?”
“Y-yes.” I am startled by Reiko’s intensity. Prior to this moment she’d been such a cool, even headed girl. 
“Did he say anything?”
“No. He kinda just…stared at me.”
“You’ve been in his presence!” Her eyes shine with fanatical light. “You are blessed! I must tell the Temple. The Prophet will be greatly pleased to learn of your talent.”
“Only one of us will exit the arena alive,” I say, feeling slightly embarrassed. 
Reiko lets go of my hand and stands. “You are correct, of course.” She takes a deep breath. “Then I am afraid that I will be forced to pass on this news alone. It is a shame that one who has seen the Veiled Demon will never enter the Temple, but it cannot be helped. Unless…”
“Unless?”
“Can you…teach me how to enter the Spirit Realm?”
Well now. I certainly wasn’t expecting that question. I rub at my head, unsure on how best to explain. “It’s…difficult. You can’t just go there. I mean, I can by meditating, but my father said…well, I had the right mixture of things going for me.”
“Such as?” Reiko isn’t going to give up, apparently.
“The radiation from District 6 helped. And, well, my past experiences with drugs. And I have a familial connection to Life Models…” Does she even know what a Life Model is? I can’t tell from her eyes alone. The girl is too stoic to give away what’s going in inside her head. 
“I also have a…past experience with drugs,” Reiko admits quietly. “And I’ve been inside the radiation zone multiple times.”
If that’s true, then she could actually have a possibility of pulling this off. Of course, she still needs to be related to Life Models. “Who are your parents?”
Reiko looks at her feet. “I…do not know. I was abandoned, left at an orphanage. My name comes from its founder.”
That at least leaves the slight possibility of her being related to a Life Model, but the chances are exceedingly slim. There weren’t very many who survived the war. “I guess I can try and show you how to access the Realm,” I say slowly. I’m unsure of whether I should really be doing this or not. “I cannot make any promises, but tonight I’ll go through the meditation process with you.” 
“Thank you.” Reiko bows to me. “I am forever in your debt. The Veiled Demon…I wish to see him again. I want to thank him for everything he has done for me.”
She departs as silently as she came. I stay in the dark room, ruminating on thoughts of what has already transpired on this busy morning. Those bubbles…Azrael…Josef…Father…So many things have happened to me, and the Games haven’t even begun yet. 
A worrying thought indeed. 
===Penelope Finbar (District 4)===
The elevator doors slide open and deposit me and Tidus into the gymnasium. He flashes a thumbs-up at me and I give him a small smile. It’s such ordinary action, yet it is enough to bring a grin to his face. 
“Hopefully today will be better than yesterday!” He says.
My smile slips. Yesterday…
Tidus has not asked me about it. I thought he would. I feared he would try and press me for information, demand to know why I confronted Edison like that. But he didn’t. He hasn’t. He’s just left me alone and done his best to make sure I feel supported. I close my eyes and sigh.
Such a generous spirit…
“Tidus,” I say softly as we take a few steps into the gymnasium. Most of the other tributes are already present. The Careers are gathered around the weapon stations. “I…wanted to thank you.”
He grins at me. “No problem! But, uh, what for?”
“For always having my back. For just being there for me.” God knows I’ve had little true support over my life. Friends and admirers, yes, but they never knew the truth. I never let them. 
Tidus shrugs. “That’s nothing to thank me for. It’s just common courtesy, you know?”
“Common courtesy isn’t so common.”
He laughs at that, and I smile along. Tidus is…funny. He’s nice to be around. Makes me feel comfortable. Unlike the other Careers. They unsettle me, with their surly looks and cold eyes. 
“Penelope…can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” Is this it? Will he finally question why I was so…upset?
“How did you know my name?”
“Pardon?”
“Back when we first met before the Reaping. You knew my name before I even introduced myself, even though I haven’t been at the Academy in months.”
Oh, that. I don’t rightly remember too much about the encounter. I was so caught up in my worries about volunteering, and what’d happen to Tiber and Mother. “I…well, you just have the kind of face that’s hard to forget.”
The smile he gives me is bright enough to light up the entire gymnasium. I haven’t the heart to tell him the truth; that I only knew his name because one of my friends whispered it to me as he approached. 
This is just another little lie atop my tower of them.
Suddenly I feel guilty. So many lies and falsehoods. Everyone back home thought I was rich and well off. They never knew my family struggled to make ends meet. That I was forced to help my mother work to afford enough food to eat. That Tiber took out a loan he couldn’t possibly afford to pay back…
“Tidus.”
“What’s up?” He turns back to me with another grin.
“I…don’t you want to know why I…tried to punch Edison?”
His grin fades. He scratches his head and frowns. “Well, I’d by lying if I said I wasn’t curious, but…I don’t want to pry into your business. I mean, if I needed to know you’d tell me, so I didn’t want to ask.”
I almost burst into tears. How often have I worried about others prying into my personal life? And here’s Tidus, completely unconcerned about anything I could be hiding…
“Edison was part of a gang which abducted my brother,” I blurt out. “My Father had died and left us destitute, so Tiber had taken a loan out from them, but had no real way to pay it back. In retaliation they kidnapped him and…” I find myself telling the whole story, spilling my deepest secrets to this boy as I struggle not to breakdown from the stress and pressure upon my shoulders. 
Tidus listens in silence. His face remains unreadable as I relate how Pike sent me a package with Tiber’s finger inside, and how he threatened to kill him and then force me and my mother to pay off the debt. Tidus has no reaction as I explain that the only way I could ever afford to pay the debt would be by winning the Games. 
“And that’s why I volunteered,” I finish, blinking away tears which form in my eyes. “If I don’t win, then Tiber will be…Mother…”
“Hey! Hey, it’s okay!” Tidus steps forward and grasps my hands. He gives them a small squeeze. “Everything will be fine. You’ll get the money. Pike won’t harm your family anymore.”
“Edison is part of his gang. He was with Pike when they kidnapped my brother.”
Tidus falls silent. He lets go of my hands and I use them to wipe away my tears. It’s been a long time since I’ve allowed myself to cry. Too long. 
“Edison is part of the gang?” Tidus glances around the gymnasium until he spots the disgusting one-eyed boy waiting in line for the Ropes Course with his two allies. “So he knows where Pike is?”
“P-probably.” That’s why I confronted him. I thought maybe he would be able to tell me where Tiber was. But…even knowing that wouldn’t help me save him. 
“Edison knows all about Pike’s crimes, and where he keeps his headquarters?” Tidus is hung up on this topic. 
“Yes. But I don’t see how this matters—”
“We can get him to confess!” Tidus’ brown eyes flash with excitement. “The Games are filmed in their entirety! If we force the bastard to tell us everything he knows once he’s in the arena, the Peacekeepers can shut Pike down for good!”
I blink, stunned by this line of thought. Getting Edison to confess on camera…“But Pike would see it too,” I say slowly. “He’d kill Tiber, then run away. They’d never catch him.”
“No.” Tidus shakes his head. “If we make Edison confess, the Gamemakers won’t broadcast that part. Pike and his gang are big time criminals, right? District 14 will want to take him down as much as we do. If Edison spills everything he knows right on camera, they’ll send the Agents to Pike’s base and arrest him on the spot!”
My heart thunders in my chest. It feels difficult to breathe. Tidus is…he’s right. Pike and his gang are notorious throughout multiple districts for their crimes. They’re probably one of, if not the largest criminal organization currently operating. District 14 would leap at the opportunity to end them. 
Tiber and my mother would be saved without me even becoming Victor.
“We need to make Edison confess.”
Tidus nods. “The hard part will be finding him. I have no doubt we’d be capable of forcing a confession out of him—he looks like the kind of guy who’d do anything to save his life—but actually capturing him…”
Once the Games begin, Edison could be anywhere in the arena. He will undoubtedly do his best to avoid the Careers, which will make our job much harder. Than there’s his allies to worry about, and the possibility that someone else kills him before we even get a chance to force a confession out.
This won’t be easy.
But it’s still a plan. Hope. Something which I’ve been sorely lacking these past months. 
I throw my arms around Tidus’ neck and wrap him in a hug. “Thank you,” I breathe the words. “Thank you for giving me hope.”
He doesn’t respond. Tidus seems to be in shock. His arms hang at his side for a moment, but then he hugs me back. His arms are surprisingly soft and strong.
“Am I interrupting something?”
Our hug breaks apart and I nearly trip over my own feet as we disentangle. Spinning around, I spot Alexis watching us with a frown. The dark-haired girl’s foot taps impatiently. “We’ve been waiting for you two, you know.”
“Oh! Uh, why?” Tidus ruffles his hair, looking sheepish. I feel embarrassed too, though I don’t know why. It’s not illegal to hug a person who’s helped you.
“Someone is trying to join the Careers.” Alexis’ brown eyes are narrowed to slits. I can’t help but feel as if she is judging me. “Brick is currently testing her, but he wanted us all present for the decision.”
Tidus laughs. It sounds forced. “Right. Well, let’s not keep our leader waiting!”
The three of us make our way through the gymnasium, bypassing the trio of Brann, Mazie, and Meta as they attempt to start a fire. Brick and Citrine are at the weapon stations, watching a short dark-haired girl as she shoots a slingshot at targets. 
Techna, from District 3.
“That’s our recruit?” Tidus sounds surprised as we pause on the edge of the station. 
“She seems…spirited,” I say. Definitely not who I thought would attempt to join us, but I am not against her admission. Techna seems like a happy girl, much different from the dourness of Brick, arrogance of Citrine, and the snide Alexis. 
“What’s she done so far?” Alexis steps towards Brick, who is watching Techna with an expression bordering on indifference. I find our leader’s behavior to be…peculiar. He hasn’t done anything yet. This whole training period he hasn’t touched a weapon, didn’t run the Gauntlet, nothing. He’s just sat around and watched everyone else train. 
“She’s showcased a medley of skills,” Brick answers Alexis’ question. He sounds bored. “Nothing spectacular, but everything seems above average.”
“Hah!” Citrine tosses her hair. “Being average at everything just means you’re not good at anything!”
Techna finishes with her display and flashes a bright smile as she steps back. The smile falters only somewhat at the stoic expressions she sees staring back at her. “Adequate, I suppose,” Brick says with a shrug. “Hardly the most impressive thing I’ve seen today, but we are down a man as it is, so…”
“You’re seriously going to accept her?” Citrine sounds outraged.
He shrugs again. “Why not? Ardor left us, so we’re only five strong. I’d prefer for us to have six, and Tesla here is our only option.”
“Techna,” I say quietly. 
“Techna, right,” He waves off-handedly. “She’s certainly…capable enough to be one of us.”
No one else protests. Alexis watches the girl with a narrowed gaze, while Tidus just grins and nods. Citrine gives a huff of annoyance and tosses her hair back again. “Fine! But when she fails to perform in the arena, don’t you dare blame me!”
Brick turns back to Techna. “Congratulations. You made the Careers.”
“Thank you!” The dark-skinned girl gives a wide grin, practically bouncing up and down on her feet. “You won’t regret this decision, I promise!”
“I better not.” Brick fixes the girl with a flat stare. 
We all part ways after this matter is settled. I drift away from the group, feeling slightly uncomfortable. With the exception of Tidus, my allies are…more hard-hearted than I’d like. Maybe that’s to be expected of the Careers, but I wish I had more people to rely on. 
I find myself watching the quartet of tributes who’ve collectively been dubbed “The Weirdos” by Citrine. They may be eccentric and…strange, but they seem like good people. I wouldn’t be against having them at my side. Maybe…
Maybe they would be open to a truce? An agreement not to harm one another? A fallback alliance, in case something goes horribly awry in the arena? It certainly couldn’t hurt to ask…
Taking a steadying breath, I begin to approach the alliance. 
===Theodore Drest (District 8)=== 
I lean against the wall, arms crossed as I watch the other tributes train. Such pitiful specimens. Ants crawling in the dirt, really. Hardly worth the effort to squash. 
Today has been dreadfully boring. After being Reaped I thought my days would be nothing but excitement and new experiences. And they were, at first. Yesterday was quite the event. Meeting my opposition, gathering tools, and learning everyone’s weaknesses was awfully exhilarating…
But the novelty of it ran out fast. Today is just a rehash of yesterday. Boring. Predictable. Drab. 
I glance to my side, where Scyler and Lartius lean against the wall beside me and watch the others do their best at the survival stations. Quite a simple matter to get these two on my side. Very little effort expended. 
Take Scyler, for example. When I first met him, I knew that the tall boy was obviously one who is obsessed with authority and willing to do anything it tells him. All I had to do was act like I was in charge, give him a few orders, and the boy practically threw himself at my feet. 
Lartius was the opposite. The grim boy detests authority and anything to do with it. For him, I had to act differently. Behave like a peer. Coax out his insecurities and use them to my advantage. Yes, I told him, the world was unfair and worked against you. Yes, you would be very successful in life if the system didn’t hold you back. Yes, I am here to support you. I care about your wellbeing.
I don’t, of course. One cannot care for a tool. But that doesn’t mean I won’t keep him well maintained. One needs keep his tools in prime condition, lest they fail when needed most. 
Yes, convincing the two of them to flock to my side had been exceedingly simple. Far easier than swaying Baron. 
I stare out at the masked giant now. Him and that little girl of his are near the trap-making station, in a conversation with that flighty blonde from District 4. A Career, of all things. What could they have to talk about?
Fury burns behind my eyes as I stare at them. Teeth gnash together. I sought Baron out the moment I saw him and offered the giant a generous position at my side in the arena. He flatly turned me down, for reasons I cannot comprehend. Despite all my efforts, he would not be swayed. This wasn’t the kind of alliance he wanted, he told me. Even though I extolled all the virtues and benefits of aligning alongside myself, he did not care one bit. 
I approached him too early. I can see that, in hindsight. I should have waited, observed him from a distance, learned what made him tick. That way I could’ve made a more personalized request. One that would have certainly brought him into my fold. 
His sheer size and physicality is what I desired the most. His strength is wasted on that pitiful alliance of his. Why did he choose to align with a little girl, a mentally challenged nitwit, and a religious fanatic? What success does he see in their future? 
I glance once more at my tools. Lartius is picking at his fingernails, looking bored, while Scyler is staring out at a trio of tributes as they study the edible insects. His district partner and her alliance, of course. Scyler can hardly keep his eyes off the girl. It’s obvious that he desires her, but I cannot fathom why he hasn’t done anything about it yet.
Annoyed by this, I prod his shoulder. “If you want her, just take her.”
“What?” He turns startled green eyes on me.
“Meta. She’s much smaller than you are, so she won’t be able to resist. When you get back to the apartments, just go into her room and do with her as you wish.”
Scyler stares at me with his mouth ajar, shock writ plainly across his face. Even Lartius has stopped his incessant picking to stare at me.
Bother. This is one of those things, isn’t it? What did Father call them? Moral quandaries? Honestly, I’ll never understand people and their incessant hang ups on such ridiculous things. Their lines of “morality” and “lawfulness”. What is the purpose? All their distinctions are arbitrary and capricious.
Still, it is clear that Scyler and Lartius follow such rules. Best to play cleanup and fix this mess.
“It was a joke!” I smile and pat Scyler on the shoulder. “I saw how dour you were, and I wanted to try and lighten the mood!”
Their shock dissipates. Scyler nods weakly and says that kind of thing isn’t his brand of humor. “Jokes like that can get you killed in District 11,” Lartius growls. He in particular seems upset by this. Interesting. 
I make more useless apologies and gentle appeals to their nature, and they eventually smile and forget about it. And just like that, my mistake has been erased. Order has been restored. Everything is as it should be. 
I make a mental note about this encounter. Best to ensure it doesn’t happen again. 
As we settle back into our contemplative silence, my gaze returns to Baron and his lackeys. On his district partner in particular. She seems averse to the others conversing with Baron, and holds some sort of protectiveness to the giant. An idea plants itself in my head as I observe her. A plan.
“Scyler, come with me,” I tap the boy on his shoulder and begin to approach the alliance. Baron and the little girl are still talking with Penelope, but Reiko stands close to Viscera. 
“Where are we going?” Scyler jogs to catch up. 
“I need you to distract that girl with the veil.”
“Uh, sure. I was meaning to talk with her anyway.”
“Why?” That wasn’t the response I expected from him.
“Because she volunteered. I wanted to talk with all the volunteers, because one of them may—ah—I mean, I wanted to know her reasons.” The blond guy stammers out a response that sounds fake and stupid, but I don’t really care. My mind is too preoccupied with my own thoughts.
“Just distract her long enough for me to talk with the brain-damaged girl.”
We fall silent as we approach the pair. They see us coming but don’t have much of a reaction. I give Scyler a slight nod and he darts ahead, gaining Reiko’s attention as he begins to speak. He manages to get the girl to turn her back, and that leaves me alone with Viscera. 
“Hello.” I give her a small nod.
She blinks her wide eyes. “Oh…hello.”
“I see that you’ve joined with Baron. A very wise choice, that. His services are very much in demand.”
“Oh…I suppose.” 
“Many people want him all to themselves, you know.”
“They can’t have him!” She gives a vigorous shake of her head. “We have a special bond! He’s here to help me fight The Misery Man!”
“Oh, I know. But they want him regardless. See how they already try to take him away from you,” I point over her shoulder, at where Baron stands talking with Peppa and Penelope. “They’re trying to poison him against you. Feed him lies. They’re probably working for the…misery man.”
“Monsters…” Viscera inhales softly. 
I nod. “Yes, quite right. And that other ally of yours, the one with the veil, how can you trust her either?”
“Reiko is nice.” 
“She pretends to be nice. She worships a demon, remember? How nice could she really be?” I smirk inwardly. Little did that fool know that gushing on and on about her silly little Temple would give me all the ammunition I needed. 
“She…said her Veiled Demon protects people,” Viscera sounds unsure of herself. Her eyes keep darting to and fro, trying to watch both Baron and Reiko at the same time. 
“Her demon is probably a servant of The Misery Man.” From the way Viscera says it, that name sounds like it belongs to a certain entity. 
Viscera doesn’t respond. She stands very still, hands curling at her side as she keeps glancing from Baron to Reiko and back. She is completely and utterly uncertain of herself now.
Perfect.
“You shouldn’t trust any of them, Viscera. They all just want to steal Baron from you. They—”
“What are you talking about?” Peppa’s voice rings out.
I cut off and glare at the little girl as she stalks up to us, small fists set on her hips, fierce glare in her eyes. 
“Nothing to do with you,” I say flippantly. I’d have preferred more time alone with Viscera, but this will do. The seed I’ve planted has already begun to take root, and soon it’ll blossom into a tree bearing the fruit I wish.
“We were talking about The Misery Man,” Viscera says. 
Peppa raises an eyebrow. “What would he know about The Misery Man?”
“Lots. More than you.”
I walk away, chuckling to myself. As I depart, I whistle and wave for Scyler. He abandons his conversation with Reiko and comes to me like the loyal hound he is. “Did your plan work?” He asks.
“Yes.” No need to get into specifics. “What about you? Did you learn what you wanted?”
“Well…yes and no.”
I frown, irritated by his vagueness, but unwilling to probe deeper into the matter. I don’t really care, after all. I was only asking because it’s what he expected of me. Keeping up appearances. That’s something Father inadvertently taught me. Wear a mask at all times. Never let them know what lurks beneath. And if they ever do find out…
Well, I suppose something rather exciting would occur. 
===Taylor Musslin (District 8)=== 
Kessie and I bounce around from station to station, occasionally stopping to try the weapons on display but never staying long. Today is all about new experiences. Yesterday we found one thing we were good at and stuck with it, and today we want to try our hands at a little bit of everything.
My main weapon is a sword. I’m not actually good with one, but I’m comfortable with it. When worse comes to worst, I think I could adequately use one to defend myself.
“Those things look totally whack!” Kessie exclaims as we pause to watch Citrine throw large, ring-shaped pieces of steel at some targets. 
“Way too difficult for us to handle,” I say softly. 
My ally nods, but the wide grin never leaves her face. “Yeah, totally.” 
Kessie is fun to be around. The short girl is one big ball of energy that never stops moving and is never disheartened. She kept her cheerfulness even when she took a hard fall off the Gauntlet and busted her lip open. She’s the perfect ally for me, the optimistic counter to my overbearing pessimism. 
We visit a few more stations before Kessie pauses on the edge of the cafeteria. Staff inside are clearly beginning to get things ready for lunch. “Taylor, I have a plan!”
I am unsure how to feel about that. Most of Kessie’s plans seem to fall through. Yesterday she seemed to genuinely believe we could convince Ash to sit with us, but…
“I am going to make all us girls have one big lunch party!”
I take a moment to digest that statement. “All the girls? Like, every female tribute?”
“Uh-huh!” Kessie nods vigorously. “We’re gonna make one big table and sit together! Then we can talk and have fun!”
It’s certainly a…big goal. Most of the other alliances seem keen to avoid one another. Getting fifteen girls to put their differences aside for a lunch party…that seems like hard work. 
“I don’t know if the others would accept that,” I say quietly. 
“Only one way to find out!” Kessie grabs my wrist and begins to steer me back towards Citrine and the Careers. “Let’s ask them first! If we get them onboard, the others will be easy!”
There’s a sinking feeling in my stomach as we approach the six Careers assembled before the weapon stations. They watch us with a mix of expressions; interest, boredom, contempt. 
“Hello, people!” Kessie bounces up to them and shakes hands with the first one to approach. “Taylor and I are holding a lunch party for all us girls, and we wanted to invite you four along!”
“My, that does sound fun!” The blonde girl—Penelope?—exclaims with a little clap of her hands.
“I’d love to be apart of that!” Techna agrees. I was disappointed to see the girl get accepted into the Careers earlier today, because I was hoping she’d choose to align with Kessie and me. 
“Hard pass.” The girl from District 2 crosses her arms as she glares at us. “Sounds like a complete waste of time.”
“Aww, really?” Penelope gives her a sad look. “But it’ll be just like hanging out with your friends!”
The girl gives her a glare. “I don’t have friends. They’re a waste of time.”
Citrine smirks. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“Citrine, are you coming?” Penelope turns her gaze on the girl. 
“Of course. But only so I can keep an eye on the others.” 
That sounds like a flimsy reasoning to me, but that’s not the important thing here. If Penelope, Techna, and Citrine have all agreed…Kessie may actually pull this off!
As Kessie begins to hash out the details for the lunch, the two male Careers, Brick and Tidus, walk off with Alexis in tow. I’m close to stunned that they haven’t fought against this idea. I didn’t think they’d be so willing to be excluded.
“Taylor!” Kessie bounces over to me, her wide grin somehow even wider. “We need to talk to the others! I’ll go speak with everyone at the weapon stations, you go get the ones doing survival stuff!”
I nod, stomach doing somersaults. Me? Try to convince others to come to a lunch party? I can’t think of a worse person for this task. But I can’t decline. Kessie is already trotting away, head held high as she approaches the pair from District 7. Guess there’s nothing to do but to do it.
The first female tribute I see is the little girl from District 11. She and her allies—the masked trio people have taken to calling the Weirdos—are busy making hammocks. I take a deep breath, then stride straight up to them.
“Hello! My name is Taylor and I…me and my ally were wondering if you girls would like to sit with us for lunch?”
Their heads swivel to face me as one. “Lunch?” Viscera tilts her head. 
“Why?” Reiko stares stoically at me. “We are in different alliances.”
“Yes, I know, but Kessie is getting all us girls together and, well, the Careers have already decided to join and…” I trail off. No, I am not good at this kind of thing. 
“We should do it!” Peppa springs to her feet and hops on over. “Come on, girls! It’ll be fun! And it will be a good chance for you to practice socializing!”
“Socializing?” Viscera tilts her head the opposite way. 
“I suppose it will be a good opportunity to spread the Temples message,” Reiko murmurs.
And just like that, I have three more guests for our party. I tell them to meet up with Kessie once the lunch bell rings, then depart to find more tributes. 
The next alliance I spot is the trio consisting of the District 9 pair and the girl from District 14. When I ask, both of them are happy, almost eager, to join our get together, and the boy waves them off good-naturedly.
Feeling more confident now, I cast my head around in search of any more female tributes hanging out by the survival stations. It turns out there is only one left, and my heart drops when I spot her.
Ash.
The short redhead is putting together a shelter as I slowly approach her. She doesn’t so much as glance up from her bundle of sticks when I arrive. I fidget in place for a moment, before deciding it’s best to just get this done quickly. “Uh, hello, Ash. Kessie and I were wondering—”
“No.”
“—if you would like to join us for a lunch party—”
“No.”
“—that will consist of all the female tributes, and—”
“What part of no don’t you understand?” Ash hurls her bundle of sticks to the ground and plucks up a small carving knife. I take a swift step backwards. “If you so much as open your mouth one more time, I swear I’ll cut your tongue out!” She jabs the knife in the air for emphasis and I scurry away, heart beating like a hammer. 
I don’t know if she was serious about that threat, but I certainly don’t intend to find out.
The lunch bell rings just as I safely escape Ash and her wrath. I pause on the edge of the cafeteria, watching as Kessie leads a large group of girls into the exact center of the room, where they start pushing tables together to form a single giant one. The boys all stand on the side watching. I notice that the alliances which didn’t have a girl with them seem particularly perplexed. They must have no idea what’s going on.
I silently join the group as we all begin to take our seats. I sit between Kessie and the girl from District 7, the pretty one with hair the color of a sunset. What was her name? Thistle?
“Hello and welcome to the party!” Kessie grins at the gathered crowd. Surprisingly enough, we’ve managed to convince every female tribute save for Alexis and Ash to join us. I have no idea how we managed that. “First off, I think we should all introduce ourselves! We’ll go from lowest district to highest, so your first, Halley!”
Everyone’s head swivels to face the pale redhead as she hunches down into her seat at the end of the table. “M-me?” Her voice is a squeak. Eyes are glued to the tabletop. “B-but I-I don’t really…”
“Oh, please!” Citrine tosses her hair with a roll of her eyes. “Let’s just skip this stuttering fool and go straight to the point!”
“That’s fine!” Kessie agrees cheerfully. “But try not to be so harsh, Citrine, okay? This is a bully free zone!”
There’s some murmurs of agreement. That, at least, seems to be something we all have in common. 
“You’re up, Citrine! Tell us something interesting about yourself!”
“Hah! Easy! What isn’t interesting about me?”
She proceeds to launch into a long and winding tale of her past exploits, punctuated with extensive recounting of her achievements and accomplishments. When she finally finishes, it’s Techna’s turn. 
The girl is funny and personable, capable of making herself sound impressive while simultaneously letting us know that she’s not stuck-up. Basically the complete opposite of Citrine.
“Why, hello everyone!” Penelope gives a little wave when Techna is done. “My name is Penelope Finbar and I…”
The introductions go on like that, with everyone giving their names and fun facts about themselves, until we’ve all had a turn. Some people seem to struggle, like Viscera, who goes on a rambling diatribe about something called an Author and Misery Man, but others excel at this, such as Thistle and Peppa. That little girl in particular seems very capable of public speaking, which surprises me.
Afterwards we play some silly games, like two truths and a lie, then we have to guess everyone’s favorite color. Reiko, of all people, is the best at that. The girl basically gets every guess correct, and I have no idea how she does it.
Kessie is a good host. She manages to keep things moving while encouraging our more shy attendees to open up. Somehow she even manages to get Halley to tell us of her dream to become a storm chaser, which I didn’t think was possible. 
I glance around at the cafeteria as our lunch continues. Though I expected the boys to try and match our get together and form a gathering of their own, they haven’t. They’ve stuck to their own alliances and sit in small groups spread across the cafeteria, few of them paying any attention to us. 
“Okay!” Kessie stands up and claps her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Now it’s time for the fun part! What is your biggest fear? No order this time, go as you please!”
There’s a hushed silence. I notice a few girl’s exchanging looks. Seems like no one wants to be the first. 
“Frogs.” Our heads turn in unison to face Techna as she shivers. “I am terrified of frogs. It’s just something about how slimy…ugh!”
“I, for one, utterly loath sesame seeds!” The snobby girl from District 5, Tesla, declares loudly. “Those horrid things have absolutely no right to exist!”
That opens the floodgates. Everyone begins discussing their fears and worst experiences, seemingly unconcerned about how this information could be used against them. While I’m certain some people are lying—there’s no way that Citrine is afraid of children—others are clearly the truth. Thistle talks about how her greatest fear is losing Barker, and Peppa doesn’t like being alone. 
I remain silent, and am thankful that no one notices. The last thing I need is for them to question me on my fear of being forced into a life someone else chose for me. 
“Final question!” Kessie stands up again, one foot propped up on the edge of the table. “This is probably the most important question here, so everyone needs to answer it absolutely truthfully!”
There’s a long silence at the table. What could this be about? Is this the real reason Kessie gathered us up? Is she going to ask for our Games strategy? Surely not…
Kessie’s smile widens into a grin. “Which boy here in the Games do you find most attractive?”
I swear I hear someone breathe a sigh of relief at the question. I myself am, well, a little surprised. 
“This is a stupid question!” Tesla leans back into her chair and makes a big show of studying her nails. “Obviously the only correct answer is Ardor! That boy is basically a god!”
“I don’t know about that,” Techna says with a smile. “Brann is pretty handsome.”
“Please. He has nothing on Ardor! His facial sculpture alone is a beauty to behold! His muscles are poetry in motion! His—” Tesla cuts off and stares at everyone with wide eyes. Apparently she didn’t think this through. “I…why am I the only one speaking! Say something, you peasants!”
“She’s right,” Kessie grins. “We all need to answer! Let’s go in order again! Lowest to highest!”
“That means you start, Halley,” Mazie says.
“O-oh. M-me?” The girl stammers. “Uh…well, I-I th-think that it’s wh-what’s on the inside th-that counts. A person’s attractiveness sh-shouldn’t be based on a-appearance alone…”
“Exactly!” Surprisingly, it’s Citrine who rushes to agree. I thought the girl would be exceedingly shallow in this regard. “My boyfriend, Halo, has all the perfect qualities that make his personality the absolute best it could be!”
“While I agree that looks aren’t everything,” Penelope says, “I will say that I think Tidus is quite charming.”
There are murmurs of agreement there. Few girls would deny that Tidus is handsome. 
“Reiko, your turn!” Kessie turns her grin on the stoic girl.
“Me? Very well.” Reiko pauses, as if thinking. “The most attractive guy…is whichever one best embodies the ideals of the Veiled Demon.”
I blink. That’s…well, I suppose that is one way of deciding the matter. Even though Reiko has gone on at length about the Temple and its generosity, I still have absolutely no idea what it is. 
“It really depends on what type of guy you prefer,” Thistle says with a small smile. “If you want a musclebound hunk, then Brick is obviously the guy for you. But if you prefer a more chic, sensitive man, then you can’t go wrong with Vizio.” She pauses, eyes scanning all our faces for a reaction. “But me personally? I think Easton is the best looking. What a dreamboat! Grr!”
Loud laughter rings over the table. Thistle has been particularly good at drawing that kind of reaction. Definitely one of the more sociable tributes. 
“I choose Theodore,” I say quickly. There are nods of agreement and even a clap. I knew my district partner would be popular, so I’m not surprised many of the girls seem to think so. Once again I find myself daydreaming of marrying him. I would become the most important woman in District 8…
“Your turn, Mazie!”
“What was the question again?” The black-haired girl rubs a hand along her chin. “Which boy I find most attractive? Well…Tempest and Rooker are both interesting in a “dark and brooding” sort of way.”
I can see that. The two guys have mostly kept to themselves, rarely communicating with anyone else outside their alliance. Your imagination could easily run wild wondering just what they’re thinking.
“No need to ask Viscera,” Techna says with a laugh. “We all know who she has eyes for.”
The rabbit-masked girl, who up until this point has been doodling on the table with a pen, looks up at the mention of her name. “The Misery Man has many eyes,” She says softly. “He sees all. But The Author gives me hints on how to evade him.”
“That’s…nice.” Just what is wrong with this girl? “What kind of stuff does this author tell you?”
“There’s an eye in your future,” Viscera says, pointing right at me. “It looks…angry.”
I swallow nervously. I don’t know what an angry eye wants with me, but the mere thought is frightening enough.
“You’re up, Peppa!”
The little girl smiles. “Well, the only boy around my age is Edison, and he’s…” She wrinkles her nose. “Eww, gross!”
Everyone erupts into laughter, but I don’t join them. Edison only has one eye and he always looks so angry. Could he be the angry eye? No. That’s silly. I’m overthinking things. Viscera is insane, so I shouldn’t put any stock into her words.
Still…
I dwell on this thought for so long that I miss Kessie and Meta’s answers. When I finally clear my head and tune back into the conversation, Kessie is wrapping things up.
“Lunch will be over soon, and we’ll all return to our own alliances, but I want you all to promise me something!”
“Depends on what it is,” Thistle drawls, leaning back on her chair so far that it’s halfway off the floor.
“I want everyone to promise not to tell the boys anything that happened here! The stuff we discussed is to be kept between us girls! You’re all sworn to secrecy!”
Everyone, all thirteen of us, murmur our agreement. I wonder if this will hold. Has this get together done anything to bring us closer? I don’t imagine it’ll stop the killing; when the gong rings out, I am sure we’re all going to do our best to win the Games. But maybe, just maybe, someone will hesitate to strike me down…
Fat chance, I know, but a girl has to be able to dream.
===Easton Harlow (District 13)=== 
From a distance I observe the girls gathering as it comes to a close. Loud laughter drifts from the cafeteria as they all head their own way, some giving a few parting words before they go.
“Think anything important was said?” Autus asks. He stands beside Vizio. The two of them have just wrapped up dueling together with swords. I coached the pair, offering advice when I thought it was needed. Autus rarely required any; the boy seems to be naturally gifted when it comes to swordplay. Vizio, however, well…he has much to be desired when it comes to physical skills.
“Impossible to say,” I respond to Autus’ inquiry. “Had we a female ally, then I would suggest we ask them what was said. Since we lack one, however…”
“I seem to recall a certain someone promising that we would be capable of forming an alliance of multiple people,” Vizio says, adjusting his glasses. 
Ah, yes. I do remember making that ascertain. It was yesterday, at the beginning of the training period. I had approached Vizio right off the bat, intrigued by the boys level of fame. He is a renowned philomath who excels in a multitude of fields, having created a wide range of inventions, from tools to weapons. Having him at my side in the arena is paramount to my strategy. 
“Come now, you can hardly blame me for all the tributes declining our offer!” My initial pitch to Vizio had indeed mentioned that with my eloquent speaking—and just a smidgin of charm—I’d be able to bring several to our side. 
The only problem, as it were, was the fact I took too long to approach the others. By the time I’d gotten Vizio to agree to join me, all of my other prospective candidates had already joined another alliance, and no amount of bargaining or cajoling on my behalf would make them change their mind.
Save for Autus, of course.
“Oh, no, don’t get me wrong.” Vizio uses one hand to brush his hair out of his eyes. “I wasn’t blaming you for our predicament. I was merely cautioning you against making claims you cannot back up. It is a dangerous trait to hold, especially for a politician.”
“All politicians make such claims,” I say, feeling a little defensive.
Vizio nods. “Indeed. And that’s why they are reviled by the public.”
“They are?” I’d be the first to admit that I’m not exactly…knowledgeable about the thoughts of the commonfolk.
“Yep!” Autus smiles cheerfully. “Us ordinary people hate their guts!”
I frown. The Great Families should be looked upon with respect and admiration, not disgust and contempt. Perhaps I can change this. Though, once again, I’d be the first to admit that my own agenda is not quite in lockstep with the desires of the average citizen. 
“At any rate,” Vizio continues to speak. “You were not alone in your belief that we’d secure more allies. All of my analysis indicated that we would have at least two before the end of the training period. Perhaps I should reevaluate my assessment…”
“You should hold off on that revaluation,” I say. “The training period isn’t over yet.”
“Practically everyone is already in an alliance,” Autus crosses his arms. “Who else could we find to join us?”
“Her.” I point to the cafeteria, where Halley has just departed. The redhead is slowly picking her way across the gymnasium, eyes down and face glum. With the exception of Ash—whom I am quite certain will stay by herself—Halley is the only tribute not yet aligned with anyone. 
“Hmm…” Vizio rubs a finger alongside his nose. “I will admit that the girl has appeared more capable than first—”
A trio of boys descend on the girl. They form a tight triangle around her, arms gesturing as they speak in lowered voices. Theodore and his lackeys.
“Looks like someone beat us to it,” Autus says. “There goes our fourth ally.”
“Not so.” I tap both boys on the shoulder. “Let’s go to her rescue, yes?”
The trio is so engrossed in looming over Halley that they don’t even notice our arrival. Lartius and Scyler stare down at the girl with grim faces as Theodore speaks. “We’re not going to hurt you. We just want you to answer our questions…what did the girls talk about?”
“I-I can’t tell you!” Halley shakes her head, red curls flapping. “W-we promised not to tell any boy!”
Theodore sets a hand atop her shoulder. I recognize the action for what it is. A display of dominance. “What good is a promise to them? They’re not your allies. They don’t care about you. They’ll probably kill you once the Games begin.”
“Leave her alone!” Autus steps between the boy and Halley, pushing Theodore’s hand away. Vizio and I slide in to back him up. “She clearly doesn’t want to tell you anything!”
“Looks like her knight in shining armor has showed up,” Lartius grunts.
I glance at the boy. He definitely feels like a follower, alright. I can understand how he came to fall under Theodore’s sway. But what about Scyler? The tall blond boy is staring at us with an expressionless face, green eyes unblinking. He is the son of Cypher Meios himself. Though I’ve never interacted with the boy personally, I know of him from my time spent in District 14.
Scyler is a highly trained combatant who has been put through the toughest training his father could devise. Scyler has undergone the most rigorous and brutal Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape regiment there is. He spent eighteen months training with the Agents, and there are rumors he was under the tutelage of the Cards themselves. Scyler is undoubtedly one of the deadliest tributes here.
So why did he choose to become Theodore’s lackey?
“What’s your problem?” Theodore backs away, a lopsided smile on his face. Something about his perfectly manicured image has me unsettled. “We were only talking to her. Asking questions is hardly illegal.”
“The questions themselves aren’t the problem,” I say. “It is the manner in which you posed them that is questionable.”
“Shut up!” Lartius growls at me, anger blazing in his dark eyes. “We don’t need to be lectured by a government lapdog!”
I’m a tad taken aback by that statement. Apparently Autus was correct; Lartius seems to greatly despise politicians. “Scyler is as connected to our government as I am,” I say smoothly.
“Yeah, but he ditched them!” Lartius sticks a finger in my face. “He knows how awful they treat us, unlike you!”
“Does he now.” I glance at the boy. Still no reaction. Peculiar. 
“Come on,” Theodore turns his back on us and begins to walk away. “Let’s leave these…people…to their own devices.”
Theodore departs, and his two allies follow him. Scyler completely silent, Lartius spitting curses. I watch them go with a frown. 
“Th-thank you!” Halley takes a deep breath and gives a small smile. “I-I was worried what they’d do to me.”
“No problem. Always happy to help!” Autus gives her a handshake then turns to Vizio. The bespectacled boy hasn’t spoken since we confronted Theodore. “You could’ve helped us, you know.”
“Oh no!” He shakes his head. “There was no need for my intervention. You two did a splendid job.”
I suppose we did, at that. Still, I’d have liked to know Vizio will have my back when the cards are down. “By the way, Halley,” I turn back to the girl and the matter at hand. “We were wondering if you would like to be a part of our alliance.”
Halley’s eyes widen. “M-me?”
“Yep!” Autus smiles. “You’re just the person we were looking for!”
Bringing Halley into the fold is a relatively easy and painless process. She doesn’t say much, but she listens intently and nods along to everything we say. All in all, I quite like the girl. 
“Let’s get some more weapon practice in,” Autus suggests after about half an hour of on-boarding Halley. None of us have any disagreement, so we all head on over to the weapon stations.
Halley goes to shoot arrows—apparently she has been practicing with a bow this entire training period—while the rest of us discuss which weapon we should focus on. I am midway through suggesting we throw some spears when someone approaches us from behind.
“Greetings, Vizio. I’ve been meaning to speak with you.”
Ardor, the boy from District 1 who abandoned the Careers, greets us with a nod. Just behind him lurks the thin District 5 girl. His ally. 
“Sorry, I don’t sign autographs.” Vizio doesn’t look up from the spear rack.
Ardor’s smile tightens. “That is fine, because I do not want one. I am merely here because I am interested in testing you.”
“Testing me?” Vizio looks up sharply. “Whatever for?”
“They call you one of the smartest people alive. I wish to see if that is true.”
Vizio adjusts his glasses. “Oh, is that so? What do you want me to do? Answer trivia questions?”
“No. I wish to play you in chess.”
I frown. “Chess? But there’s no board here.”
Vizio smiles ever so slightly. “Easton, one hardly needs a board to play chess.” He glances at Ardor. “You are capable of visualizing the board in your head, yes?”
“Of course.”
“I am also quite pressed for time, so we shall need to implement a turn counter. How does fifteen seconds sound?”
“That is fine by me.”
“Then let us play. You may go first, if you wish.”
The smile on Ardor’s face is wide and broad. Clearly he thinks that he has Vizio exactly where he wants him. I am not so sure. Seeing how quickly and simply Vizio set the parameters for play…
“Pawn to e-4,” Ardor says.
“Pawn to c-5.”
“Pawn to c-3.”
The game continues like that, with each boy announcing his next move within fifteen seconds of his last. I manage to keep up at first—my father taught me chess in an effort to broaden my analytical abilities—but soon I begin to lose track of what is happening. Without a board to visualize the movements, I cannot ascertain a single thing. 
But my confusion is nothing compared to Tesla’s and Autus’. Both of them watch Vizio and Ardor exchange words with blank expressions. The two may as well be speaking another language as far as they’re concerned.
“That’s an atypical move,” Ardor says after a few moments of frantic back and forth.
Vizio shrugs. “The best way to lose is by doing what your opponent expects.”
“Too true! Well, knight to f-6.”
The game continues. I wish I had a better understanding of what transpires, but as it is I only have the faintest of ideas. At one point I know that Ardor has a pinned knight, but that is the extent of my knowledge. 
Despite there being a fifteen second time control, the game seems to take forever. Back and forth. One move after another. I am truly lost now, so I can only watch in silence as the two battle each other across the imaginary chess board. Eventually, Ardor goes very still.
“Your best move here would be to resign,” Vizio says. The boy seems neither happy nor upset; his tone is neutral. 
Ardor crosses and then uncrosses his arms. “I have never lost a chess match,” He says quietly. His brow is creased in thought.
“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”
“Bishop to f-5.”
The game continues, but not for long. Ardor makes a series of moves that are countered by Vizio, then suddenly finds himself in check. There is genuine worry on Ardor’s face as he makes another last ditch effort, but then…
“Checkmate.” Vizio shakes his head. “You panicked and made quite the mistake. A high-level chess match should always end in a resignation.”
Ardor doesn’t speak. He stands there, staring silently at Vizio, for several long moments. “Impossible…” The word comes out in a soft breath. “I have never lost anything in my entire life. How could this happen…?”
He is taking this loss particularly hard. He places both hands atop his head, eyes staring forward in disbelief. 
“You lost?” Tesla squirms her way past me and Autus, stomping up to Ardor. “How could you lose? You’re the best! That stupid four-eyes must have cheated!”
“I can assure you that I played completely fair,” Vizio says calmly. He is still detached from the situation, hardly any emotion showing. 
Ardor doesn’t respond. He simply turns and walks away, wandering aimlessly through the gymnasium. Tesla scampers after him, shouting for the boy to slow down and wait for her. 
“You beat him!” I can hardly contain my surprise. Though I had absolute faith in Vizio, I was not blind to the reality which is Ardor’s skill level. So far he’d excelled in every aspect of training. He was the best at throwing spears, set the fastest time at the Gauntlet and Ropes Course, and got a perfect score at the plant identification test. He’d been absolutely brilliant this whole training period.
Until Vizio defeated him.
“There’s always someone better,” Vizio says airily. Once more he stops to wipe his hair from his eyes. “That is an important lesson to learn. No matter how strong you seem, how smart you think you are, or how brave you believe yourself to be, there is always someone better out there, just waiting for a chance to upstage you.”
“I can’t imagine there is anyone smarter than you,” Autus says with a grin.
Vizio frowns. “Perhaps not, but the moment I start thinking that to be true will be the moment when they appear. And besides,” He turns so that his full attention is on me and Autus, “intelligence alone will not save us in the arena. I may have bested Ardor at chess, but I am under no delusion in regards to my chances of defeating him in combat. He could most likely kill all three of us with ease.”
A dark thought, indeed. Though I hardly believe it to be true. I myself am amply trained in the art of combat, and Autus has proven himself to be quite capable as well. If Ardor thinks he could take us all at once, he will be in for a rude awakening. 
“You.”
A new voice draws our attention back behind us. A boy has snuck up on us. He is completely unremarkable, with brown hair, dark blue eyes, and a pale complexion. In fact, he is so average looking that I struggle to place his district. 
“Ah, hello,” Vizio inclines his head in greeting. “Barker, was it? From District 7?”
“I need to speak with you.” The boy’s blue eyes drift to me and Autus. “Alone.”
Well now, this is an unexpected occurrence. What could such a boy have to speak with Vizio about? I exchange a bemused look with Autus. “Very well. We shall give you two some space.”
We approach the archery station, where Halley is still practicing. “Think Vizio will be okay?” Autus asks.
“Of course. I highly doubt that boy will attempt to harm Vizio in the middle of training.”
“Hmm.” We pause on the outskirts of Halley’s session. “Wonder what he wants to talk with Vizio about.”
“I am sure Vizio will tell us when they are finished,” I say. “But in the meantime, let us assist Halley. The girl seems to be quite a good shot, but her stance could certainly use some improvement….”
===Thistle Hesmin (District 7)=== 
I take careful aim at the dummy which stands twenty feet across from me. He holds a mock spear in his right arm, and a small dagger in his left. There is some sort of armor on his chest, protecting his torso. I have three axes. Three throws.
I inhale deeply, then send my axes flying in quick succession. 
The first takes the dummy in the right elbow, severing it at the point of contact and dropping his forearm and spear to the floor. 
The second slams into his left shoulder, digging into the armor and hitting with enough force to shatter bone. 
The third takes him straight in the face and splits his head into two pieces.
The dummy collapses onto the floor, a shattered mess of what it once was. The instructor offers some praise and tells me that was good tactical thinking; I managed to put both of his weapons out of commission before hitting the killing blow. I thank him and depart. 
Easy enough, I suppose.
I stop by the water fountains to get a drink before glancing over at Barker. He’s just finished up his conversation with Vizio and is heading towards me, his face bearing that all-too common lack of emotion.
“Hey, Barker!” I toss him a bottle of water as he nears.
He catches it, nods at me, then takes a long drink of water. When he finishes, he screws the cap back on and stares blankly into the distance.
This, at least, is typical Barker behavior.
I wait, hoping he’ll be the first to speak, that he’ll offer information on why he just went out of his way to have a conversation with another person. Something which is very, very atypical of him. 
Barker doesn’t have conversations. He doesn’t talk to anyone besides myself. This isn’t hyperbole. In the years since our parents death, Barker has avoided speaking out any more than is absolutely necessary. He hardly even strings more than two words together when speaking with Ivy. 
So why the hell did he go out of his way to talk with Vizio?
“So…” The silence has dragged on too long. Barker isn’t going to offer up information. “What did Vizio have to say?”
He shrugs. “Nothing much.”
There’s a flicker in his eye. A tell in the way his face tenses. A lie. Barker has just told me another lie. I feel hurt and confused. Angry. Why? Why not tell me the truth?
“You don’t talk to people, Barker,” I say, careful to keep my voice even. “Ever. So why did you do it now? What did Vizio say?”
“Why all these questions?” Barker turns on me, visibly annoyed. “I didn’t ask you about your little girl party!”
“We didn’t discuss anything important! Just talked about girl stuff!”
“Same thing with Vizio. We spoke about guy stuff.” Barker turns and tries to walk away, but I lunge forward and grab him by the elbow. 
I haven’t questioned Barker on his actions since the train ride. I let him keep his secrets. Thought that maybe by giving him so time and distance he would open up and let me know what he’s been hiding. Clearly that hasn’t worked. 
Time for a different approach.
Barker doesn’t try to escape my grasp. he just turns and stares at me. Face blank, but eye’s showing me his exasperation. “You want to know what we discussed?” I meet his gaze with my own steely eyes. “Fine. I’ll tell you!”
I made a promise to keep it between us girls, but I don’t owe Kessie and the others a thing. Barker is like a brother to me. If he wants to know, then I’ll tell him. “We played stupid games and guessed each other’s favorite color, then we shared our biggest fears. And, most importantly, we told everyone which guy we thought was the best-looking.”
Barker groans. “Please don’t say you picked me.”
“Pah! In your dreams! I chose that dreamboat, Easton.”
Barker gives a snorting laugh. “Easton? That pretty boy? Really?”
I shrug. “With his looks and my skill, our children would be a step above the average person.”
The humor leaves Barker’s eyes. Cold blue orbs stare back at me. “You know what happens to families in this country.”
I stare him in the face, refusing to back down. “I would like a family myself one day, Barker. Are you telling me you don’t?”
“What would be the purpose? So we could be oppressed together? So my children can be forced into the Games?”
I feel pity for him. Sadness and fear. Barker is so broken. The death of his family has left him hollow and empty. Vengeance is the only thing which feeds him…but vengeance is an empty void that will never fill the hole inside him. “We could’ve left New Panem,” I say softly. “Our families could be safe away from our government.”
“Safe to do what?” Barker gently wrests his arm out of my grip. “Live out a life in the middle of nowhere? Rest easy knowing that other people are being oppressed in our place?”
The same old argument every time. What is the point? Why do I keep trying to convince him? Especially now, when we’re destined for the arena? 
Because I can’t just give up on Barker.
“Maybe there’s more to life than conflict,” I say quietly. 
“People who believe that are the problem,” Barker says roughly. “Too afraid to act. Too comfortable in their life. Not wanting to risk anything for a better tomorrow. What would the government do if we all just rose up? Stopped listening to them?”
“They’d kill us.”
“All of us? They’d burn the country down? And then what, rule the ashes?” Barker shakes his head. “I worry about you, Thistle. Sometimes I don’t think you really care about the cause.”
“Is that why you’ve been keeping me at arms reach? Because you don’t trust me?”
Barker sighs. His eyes flicker towards mine. I see no distrust there. No suspicion. Just exhaustion. “Thistle, I trust you more than anything in the world. The reason I haven’t told you what Vizio and I spoke about is because it’s safer that way.”
“I’m in charge of my own safety,” I remind him. “And if you do something risky, then I’ll do it as well. You don’t get to leave me behind.”
The faintest of smiles flicker on his lips. “What Vizio and I discussed…it doesn’t matter. It’s just…it might never occur. And besides,” He turns his eyes to the ceiling above and lowers his voice to a whisper. “I can’t talk about it here.”
The cameras. Barker is afraid of being overheard. What secret is he hiding? Are The Whispers involved? “But then why approach Vizio at all?” I whisper back. “Wouldn’t that be a risk…”
“You never read our dossier on the boy, did you?” 
The Whisper’s have hundreds of files on practically every important figure in the country. Even someone such as Vizio, who barely has any political connections, would be worthy of having a dossier. He did create the Killswitches, after all.
“You know I usually skip the dossiers,” I grunt. Not a big fan of all that reading. Especially when it’s about someone I never expected to even encounter. 
“Vizio is a walking dead zone,” Barker explains. “At all times he carries a device with him which scrambles audio and distorts cameras. He can, at any moment he wishes, make himself practically invisible to surveillance systems.”
Of course a brainy guy like Vizio would carry such a thing with him. He’s probably worried about rival corporations spying on him and the like. “You can’t be sure he took the device with him to training,” I point out.
“I have no proof, of course, but I think I figured out where he keeps the device. And he has it with him right now.”
I frown and glance over my shoulder. Vizio is talking quietly with his allies as they gather around the archery station. “Where?”
“His glasses. It’s well-known that he designed them himself, takes them everywhere he goes, and he’s always adjusting them. It would be painfully easy for him to reach up and toggle the device on and off without anyone noticing.”
That would make sense. How many people would think he’d have such a thing concealed in his glasses? And they do look different than a typical pair. Thicker. More sturdy. Perhaps he really is hiding a device inside them. 
But even if that’s true, why did Barker need to have a private conversation with Vizio? What could he possibly gain from that? I want to ask again, but at the same time I don’t want to risk ruining our easy conversation. This is the first time Barker has been so forthcoming about his thoughts since the Reaping. 
So instead of asking, I change the subject. “The private training sessions are tomorrow.”
He nods. “They are.”
“What score do you think we should get?” I have no doubt that we could manage to secure any score on the spectrum, from the lowly one to the mythical thirteen. 
“We should probably keep it low. Don’t want to draw any unnecessary attention.” 
He’s right. As much as I’d love to see the looks on the other tributes faces if we scored the highest, it wouldn’t be worth the target on our backs. The highest scoring tribute almost always becomes a high priority target, especially for the Careers. 
“So a six or a seven,” I say. 
He nods. “Sounds about right.”
I smile slightly as he turns and heads back towards the training stations. Hopefully Barker aims for a six, because I’m going to get a seven. And if I score higher than him…
He better be ready for some good, ‘ol trash talk. 
===Brick Slayte (District h 2)===
I sit on an overturned bucket, watching as my allies get in some last moments of training. Hours have ticked away since lunch, and the training period will soon come to an end. Tomorrow will bring the private sessions—and a whole host of new events. 
Boredom has set in. I have no interest in watching these inferior beings play at combat. None of them are as good as me. I know it, they know it, we all know it. I am the creme of the crop. Best of the best. The single most hyped tribute in the history of the Games.
And I couldn’t care less.
The Games are stupid. A waste of time and energy. Who cares about a bunch of uneducated, unskilled children being slaughtered by people with superior intellect and training? Becoming Victor isn’t impressive, it’s merely a byproduct of being more skilled than some unwashed child from District 8 or District 11.
And yet, it seems the entire country is caught up in these Games. My parents, two Victors in their own right, are obsessed with them. My whole life has been nothing but preparation for the Games. It was easy. Hardly an inconvenience. I’ve always excelled at physical fitness, and my intellect has been second to none for most of my life. These Games—barring some unforeseen circumstances—are mine to lose.
Yet I do not care.
My own interests lay in…other fields. There are certain things in this world which intrigue me beyond any other, and secrets are chief among them.
Secrets.
I had not cared about the girls little meeting until after it ended, when Tidus asked Penelope what happened and she told him that she and the other girls were sworn to secrecy. 
Secrets. Beautiful, perfect little secrets. I had to know. I needed to know. I was committed to learning that secret, by any means necessary. I would pry it out from the girl if I had to.
Alas, that was not required. Alexis pointed out that the two of us who had attended the meeting, Penelope and Citrine, had only promised to not tell any boys about what happened. Thus they could tell Alexis, a fellow girl, everything which happened with impunity. 
Alexis then proceeded to tell myself and Tidus everything the girls told her. After all, she hadn’t made any promises about keeping it secret. 
Citrine found this loophole abuse absolutely hysterical, yet Penelope seemed genuinely bothered by it. I didn’t, and still don’t, particularly care about the girls feelings. If she wishes to sulk, so be it. I have other things which to dwell on.
The instructors begin to close down the stations and my fellow Careers slowly start making their way back towards me. Unlike yesterday, where most of the tributes chose to turn in early, majority of the others are still hanging around. There will be congestion at the elevators, no doubt. 
“Private training sessions are tomorrow,” Tidus says as he and the rest join me. Their words become an inaudible buzzing as I watch their faces and the secrets which squirm beneath. 
Beautiful, pure secrets. I can see them beneath the skin. Watch as they squirm and fester, digging furrows as they travel around and around in endless circles. Penelope, all dimples and smiles, is positively infested with them. Just waiting to be plucked and sorted. 
Alexis, so dark and brooding, conceals many a secret in her eyes alone. Swimming like flecks of blackness that promise nothing but fruitful pleasure.
Citrine, who so desperately wants to be seen as strong, is practically a walking secret. Her insecurity is obvious, but the question is why? What causes it? 
So many secrets…
The muscles in my arms tremble as I fight the desire to pry them out, to rip into the skin and just pull them free. To burn them. To pry them from their resting place and drag them out into the light for all to see.
But no. I can’t touch these secrets. They’re my allies, and I will need them in the arena. No matter how much those secrets call to me, sing to me, I must not answer. They need to remain hidden. Slowly festering in the darkness…
“…don’t you think so, Brick?” Alexis’ voice pulls me from my thoughts. Her and the others are standing in a semi-circle around me.
“Hmm.” I give a noncommittal grunt. What was she going on about?
“Honestly I’m a bit worried about the private sessions,” Techna says. “My skills aren’t very flashy and probably won’t translate well.”
Such a happy, cheerful girl is Techna. And yet…I sense a current of darker emotion underneath the surface. She is putting on a play. An act. Her true self is nowhere near as jolly as she’d have us assume.
Secrets…
“Whatever the case, we must not let Ardor secure the top score,” Alexis gives the girl a haughty glance. “He is already insufferable as it is, if he out scores us…”
“He won’t,” I say smoothly. “For I will be the one to earn the highest score.”
A long whistle blast puts a halt to all conversation. Ford has ended the training session, and all the tributes have begun to drift to the elevators. As I anticipated, there is quite a crowd as everyone attempts to leave at once. 
I sigh inwardly as all of us Careers join the throng of human stupidity. Most of the others seem eager to avoid us, parting like a sea as we pass, but Ardor and his ally remain standing in the way. 
Ardor and I lock eyes. He will by far be my largest threat inside the arena. His skill level surpasses that of everyone around us. I have observed him during training and seen that his skills are no joke. But his problem is that I’ve seen his skills. He’s been so eager to showcase everything he can do, and I’ve been more than happy to sit back and watch. Catalogue his strengths and notarize his flaws.
Because he does have flaws. He is close to perfect, but he is not perfect. Perfection does not exists. So I’ve observed his every move. See what he excels at, and notice what he lacks.
That is why I myself have not lifted a finger this entire training period. I have had a lifetime of practice, so two more days are nothing to me. A drop in the bucket. Better to sit back and watch the others, while concealing my own skills. Everyone knows that I am strong. I am the odds-on favorite to win. The media has been hyping my entry into the Games since I was a small child. The other tributes mentors have told them everything. But they do not know any specifics.
And so I have sat and done nothing. Let them guess at my weaponry. Let them stew in their own imagination about how strong I really am. Everyone keeps talking about how good I am, and they will watch Ardor and Baron, then turn to me and frown. If those two boys are that skilled, they’ll think, then how strong must be Brick be?
Alexis and I have reached the front of the line. Ardor stands there with Tesla at his side. The small, disgustingly thin girl ducks behind his shoulder as we approach. I still cannot believe Ardor is willingly handicapping himself by aligning with her. 
“This may be our last opportunity to talk before the Games begin,” Ardor says diplomatically as Alexis calls for an elevator.
True. Tomorrow is a packed day. It has the private training sessions early in the morning, the score reveal at midday, then the interviews at night. Not much time for anything but preparation.
“I have nothing to say to you,” I tell the boy with a shrug. And yet…I sense a secret behind his eyes. One that sends a shiver through me. Does it pertain to his father’s fate? Perhaps. I need pluck it from him. Rip it out. Burn it free. 
“Unfortunate.” Ardor gives a tight smile as the elevator doors open. “Well, I suppose we should just say ‘may the best man win’, and get on with it.”
He steps inside, closely followed by Tesla. Alexis frowns after them, but I don’t react. The best man never wins the Games. You’d think he would know that.
The two of us take a different elevator up to the second floor. When we arrive our mentors, all four of them, are gathered in the living room. My parents immediately hound me, asking meaningless questions about how training went, while Athena skips over to Alexis with a wide smile. Gunner remains stationary on the couch. As he told us on the train ride here, he has no interest in “babysitting” and will not lift a finger to assist us.
I respond to my parents inquiries with careful responses designed to make them happy and at ease. I don’t care about the honor and prestige of the Games, but they don’t know that. 
I watch Alexis out of the corner of my eye as I talk. Athena is gesticulating as she cheerfully speaks with the girl, but my district partner herself seems to be struggling to keep her face calm. She does not seem to like Athena, for reasons I do not know. 
A secret…
I feel a trembling shiver down my spine. So many little secrets surround me, just waiting to be dragged into the light. Pain is usually required to make them appear. People rarely reveal their darkest secrets without a little motivation. 
I am quite capable of providing more than sufficient motivation. 
“I will earn a thirteen,” I say in response to one of my father’s questions.
The room falls silent. Alexis and Athena turn to look at me, and even Gunner glances over from his spot on the couch. “No one has ever earned a thirteen,” Athena says with a frown. 
“That is because the Games have never had me in them before.”
In the past twenty-three iterations of the Games, no tribute has achieved the highest training score. Every tribute is graded on a scale from one to thirteen, and the highest score has never been given out. Only two tributes have ever even earned a twelve. Six hundred and ninety tributes have come before me, and not a single one has been good enough to earn a thirteen.
I will be the first. 
My parents begin to gush over me and say that I will undoubtedly become the greatest Victor to ever grace the arena. Alexis and Athena simply shake their heads and return to their conversation. Clearly they think my goal unattainable.
They’ll see.
I do not care about the Games. About fame or fortune. About prestige or honor. All of that can go twist in the wind. The only things in this world that have any worth to me are secrets and power. Power over people. The power to dominate. To inspire fear. 
To uncover secrets. 
Rip the secrets out. Tear them from underneath the skin. Burn their hiding spots. They’re mine. All mine. Pluck them out like candy. Slice them free from their holdings. Grasp and squeeze until they pop. Mine. All mine.
The secrets are all mine.
==Training Scores & Odds==
Name & District 	Score	Odds to Win 
Tempest Galveston (0)	7 	25-1
Halley Vega (0) 	5 	42-1
Ardor Prodigy (1) 	13 	2-1
Citrine Gleam (1) 	9 	11-1
Brick Slayte (2) 	13 	2-1
Alexis Ryker (2) 	10 	8-1
Vizio Byte (3) 	6 	27-1
Techna Vision (3) 	7 	25-1
Tidus Flow (4) 	8 	16-1
Penelope Finbar (4) 	9 	12-1
Edison Burn 	5 	44-1
Tesla Wattson (5) 	1 	99-1
Autus Spanner (6) 	7 	28-1
Reiko Sonatas (6) 	9 	17-1
Barker Caspum (7) 	6 	36-1
Thistle Hesmin (7) 	7 	28-1
Theodore Drest (8) 	8 	24-1
Taylor Musslin (8) 	3 	63-1
Brann Garner (9) 	6 	40-1
Mazie Sunnoria (9) 	5 	43-1
Baron Bludd (10) 	10 	5-1
Viscera Clomp (10) 	2 	86-1
Lartius Fallow (11) 	6 	45-1
Peppa Trails (11) 	3 	90-1
Rooker Irone (12) 	6 	32-1
Ash Carrow (12) 	4 	62-1
Easton Harlow (13) 	8 	14-1
Kessie Barnes (13) 	5 	50-1
Scyler Meios (14) 	9 	13-1
Meta Chron (14) 	4 	50-1
Once again Training Scores will affect the amount of money a tribute has available to them. Below is the key that shows you what score earns what.
13= +$100
11/12= $75
9/10= +$50
7/8= +$25
==Pre-Games==
===Kessie Barnes (District 13)===
I wake up bright and early. Today is the day. The day we’ll be sent into the arena and forced to fight for our lives. I’m not afraid. Okay, I’m a little afraid. But only a little. I have a plan for survival, and I’m sure that it’ll work perfectly. 
Well, maybe not perfectly. Adequately. Decently. Somewhat okayish?
Outside my bedroom, in the apartment which I share with Easton and our mentors, breakfast is already laid out. Scrambled eggs, smoked sausage, and tons of other goodies. I have already devoured half my plate before Easton even shows up. The polite boy is rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he enters.
“Good morning!” I pop to my feet and offer him a fist bump.
“Greetings, Kessie,” He stares at my fist for a moment, apparently unaware of what to do with it. Eventually he grabs the fist and gives it a little shake. “It is a fine morning for our departure, isn’t it?”
I don’t even have time for a response before Sena and Hadrian walk in. The peppy girl bounces on over to Easton, smiling mischievously as she sets one hand on his shoulder. “Today’s the day!” She says in a sing-song voice. 
“Indeed.”
“You ready to go out there and win? Become a Victor?”
Easton nods. “Most assuredly.”
There is a twinkle in her eye as the smile widens. “Then, when you come back, are you ready for our wedding?”
Easton’s expression never changes. He stays all polite-like and gives a small smile. “You are quite keen on that idea, aren’t you.”
“Of course!” Sena throws back her head and laughs. “There hasn’t been a serious Victor couple since Kane and Hera! I mean, Pyrite and Gossamer dated for a time, but they broke up rather quickly, ‘cuz Pyrite is a control freak.”
“Ooh!” I can’t resist a grin. “Juicy gossip!”
Sena glances at me and returns my grin. “Yup! Everyone always says that all of us Victors are good people when you get to know us, but that’s not true at all. Pyrite is a total dickweed.”
Easton frowns. “That is a…colorful description.”
Sena bobs her head up and down. “Yep, yep! Dysc and Gunner are also major jerk-faces. Oh, and don’t even get me started on Forrest. He gives me the absolute creeps!”
“He’s not as bad as all that,” Hadrian mumbles from his spot at the end of the hall. Our most recent Victor isn’t really one for conversation. Usually he just hangs around the group and quietly listens to us—he reminds me of Taylor in that way. 
There is a gentle chiming as the clock strikes the top of the hour. Easton gives it a glance and shakes hands with Sena and Hadrian. I notice that Sena hangs onto his hand a little longer than is probably necessary. “I suppose this is farewell, then.”
“Not so!” Sena laughs and steps in to give him a hug. Once again she lingers longer than is necessary. “Hadrian and I will be there to see you off at the Launch Room! Us mentors are the ones to give you your arena wear, ya know!”
Makes total sense to me. After all, they were the ones who helped me pick out an outfit for last nights interview. And man was it pretty! My dress was so yellow and cool! A gorgeous floral pattern decorated with little flowers and—
I get so caught up in my thoughts that I miss the rest of the conversation. I don’t mind. Probably wasn’t anything too important.
Easton and I are herded into the elevator. The moment the doors close I nudge his elbow and give him a sly grin. “So…you and Sena, huh?”
He blinks. “Excuse me? Sena and I are what…? Oh, no. You have quite the wrong impression. Me and her are not exactly—”
“I ship it!” They would make such a cute couple. Too bad the only way they can get together is if Easton wins. And if he wins, I don’t. And if I don’t, that means I’m dead.
I don’t want to be dead. There’s too much stuff left in life to see for me to die now. I promised to get Nancy a fishbowl the size of a swimming pool! How can I do that if I’m dead? 
As the elevator continues downwards, I start humming to myself. Win. That’s what I gotta do. Win and give myself the good life!
===Halley Vega (District 0)===
I stare at my shoes as the elevator continues downwards. Tempest stands beside me, all silent and brooding as always. He doesn’t speak often. That’s fine. I like the quiet. 
Ding!
The doors slide open and I take a deep breath. This is it, then. One last trip before I am sent into the arena. I am…not afraid. This realization washes over me as I follow Tempest out of the elevator and into a dark corridor. Two Peacekeepers stand nearby. One of them instructs us to follow, then takes off down the corridor. 
I am not afraid of death. It is natural. Something which occurs every day. People die all the time. The Games, however, are unnatural. An oddity which shouldn’t exist. I fail to see the purpose. New Panem was working just fine before their reemergence, so why did President Price bring them back? Wanton cruelty? 
The corridor is dark and narrow. Arced ridges run along the wall, shaped vaguely like little fingers reaching out to grab us. I resist a shiver and put my gaze back on the floor. 
Our journey is not long. Soon enough the Peacekeeper orders us to stop and I glance up to see that we’re in a large circular room. Well, not a room. A hanger. A silver Windmaster rests in the center, slender wings shining in the sunlight which comes from an opening in the roof. 
A pair of Agents stand beside the Windmaster, dark beetle-like helmets regarding us silently as we’re marched up to them. As we go, I spot the other tributes being similarly led. 
“Arm.” One of the Agents holds out his hand and I reluctantly stretch my left arm out. The man takes some black device and places it against my skin. There’s a sharp prickling, but the pain fades quickly. 
“That’s the newest model of the DFG-49, I see.” Vizio’s calm voice washes over me as the boy is led up to the Agents.
“It is.” The Agent’s helm turns to stare at him. Even the visor looks like a beetle, with multifaceted eyes. “I am surprised you recognized it.”
Vizio shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I? I invented the thing, after all.”
I am led aboard the Windmaster. There are two rows of seats facing each other, and I take one near the middle. I stare at my hands and try not to worry as the other tributes slowly file in.
They’re so strong and skilled. I don’t have nearly enough experience to compete with most of them. I spent majority of my time in training practicing archery, but there is only so much you can learn in two days. Some of these people have been training their whole lives.
Vizio and Autus take a seat on opposite sides of me. My other ally, Easton, is seated somewhere near the back. There is a gentle humming sound as the Windmaster begins to move. I know from experience that we’re likely headed down the tunnel to pick up speed. Soon we’ll be in the air.
“I had a strange dream last night,” Autus says suddenly. I look at him but stay silent. He wasn’t speaking to me.
“Is that so?” Vizio adjusts his glasses. “What was it about?”
Autus frowns and stares at his hands. “I…met tributes from past Games. Old Games. Before New Panem, I mean. They…wanted to help me. We had a training session and…this’ll sound insane, but I swear I picked up new skills. Some of theirs, I mean. I don’t know how to explain, but I think something inside us resonated.”
That sounds interesting. I would like to have a dream such as that. Learning new things, meeting historical figures…seems fun. 
Much better than dying in the arena.
Vizio doesn’t see it that way. “Dreams are just expressions of your subconscious,” He says idly. The thrumming of the Windmaster lets me know we’ve taken to the sky. “They don’t mean anything particular, and they certainly can’t give you new abilities.”
Autus stares at the boy for a long moment, face expressionless. I think he’s about to argue, but he ends up just shaking his head. “I guess. But…I swear I can feel something inside me. Strength. Speed. I am stronger than before, and faster too.”
Vizio has no response. He just stares at the tributes across from us, his face twisted into a slight pout as he hums quietly to himself.
“I believe you, Autus,” I whisper.
The dark-haired boy smiles broadly. “Thank you, Halley. And don’t worry, I’ll use this newfound strength to protect you.”
I want to to tell him that’s unnecessary, that I can protect myself, but I know it’s not true. I’m physically weaker than most of the other tributes, and the ones that I am stronger than have allies who are bigger than me. I need Autus and the others to help me. That’s why I accepted their offer in the first place.
Because I can’t win these Games alone.
===Alexis Ryker (District 2)=== 
The Windmaster touches down. There are no windows, so I can’t see where we are, but I don’t need to. We’ve arrived at the arena. Or, more accurately, underneath it.
“I feel like I’m gonna puke,” Techna mutters from beside me. While my instincts are to take a snide jab at the girl, I don’t. My own stomach is practically tied into a knot.
The bloodbath is less than an hour away. 
That will be the hardest part of the Games. Once they’re underway I am sure I will cope fine. I’ve been trained to withstand the pressure and complications. But the very beginning…anything can happen at the bloodbath. Everything has happened. There is no shortage to the amount of surprises and shocks that have taken place at previous bloodbaths.
The Windmaster’s cargo door opens and a pair of Agents begin to usher us outside. I take my time, shaking out my limbs and breathing deeply. Abigail…
Will she be watching? Will she understand that I am doing this all for her?
The Agents have us split up via district, so Brick and I are led down a hallway separate from the others. I remain firmly rooted in my thoughts as we walk. I hope Abigail is alright. I have no way of knowing her current condition, or if she is even still…
No. Thoughts like that won’t help at all. Can’t dwell on possibilities. I must focus on the task before me.
The Games.
Brick and I are led into different rooms. There is a young woman waiting inside mine. One I recognize all too well. Athena.
“Hello again, Alexis!” She gives a small wave, green eyes sparkling. “Looks like we have one last chance for a conversation!”
There is a bundle in her arms. My arena wear, undoubtedly. Though there used to be a thing such as a stylist, District 14 did not bring them back when they resurrected the Games. 
I do not like Athena. It is not her fault that Abigail snapped, but my mind tries to blame her regardless. If she hadn’t won…no. Things would have remained the same. Mother would never have relented with our training. And besides, I am lucky to have her as mentor. Gunner cares nothing about assisting us, while Kane and Hera only have time for their son. Without Athena, I wouldn’t have any mentor at all.
“I suppose we do.” Still can’t manage to make myself like her. Respect her, yes. But like? No. “What is in the bundle?”
“The clothes you’ll be wearing in the arena!” She lies the bundle on the bench and unfurls the thing. “I wasn’t allowed to open it until you got here, so I have no idea what’s actually inside.”
The first things she pulls out are a skintight pair of black tights and a matching long-sleeved shirt. “Both of these are military grade thermal wear,” Athena says with a frown. “Made for arctic expeditions in District 0.”
“Meaning?”
“Expect the arena to be cold.” 
That warning proves prophetic when we discover what else is inside the bundle. A pair of fur-lined boots, thick pants, sturdy overshirt, and a large parka with a trimmed hood. All of it is in District 2’s trademark color; steel blue. 
Athena raises an eyebrow as I finish shrugging the parka on over my shoulders. “Yeah. The arena is gonna be cold. Very cold.”
I grit my teeth but don’t say anything. Cold. I haven’t adequately prepared for the possibility. None of the past twenty-three Games had cold arenas, but I probably shouldn’t have been surprised it popped up now. The Gamemakers are always trying to throw curveballs. 
“If it’s any consolation,” Athena says, grabbing a balaclava from the bottom of the bag and handing it to me, “all this clothing just might offer you some protection from blades. Not a full force stab, certainly, but an errant slash could get stuck in the fabric.”
True enough. But the other tributes will benefit from that just as well as I can. Better, probably. I’m not too concerned about the other tributes stabbing me, but I certainly intend to stab them. I slip the balaclava over my head and approach the tube in the corner of the room.
The Launch Plate. 
A robotic, feminine voice tells me that the launch will take place imminently, and I share one last farewell with Athena before stepping onto the plate. I feel some sort of solace in knowing that Athena will miss me. Mother certainly won’t, and since I don’t know where Abigail is…
”Good luck, Alexis!”
I scoff and roll my eyes. “I don’t need luck.”
“What did you say?” Athena turns around from where she was tucking away the bundle and frowns at me. “Something about luck?”
I open and close my mouth. Now that I think about it, Athena…that wasn’t her voice. She didn’t speak at all. But then who…
My throat goes dry. That voice was entirely in my head. Voices in my head. That was how Abigail’s schizophrenia began. She started hearing disembodied voices in her head. What if…have I begun to lose my grip on reality too?
“Thirty seconds to launch.”
I inhale deeply and try to focus. All this clothing has made me uncomfortably warm. Hard to think straight. Not as if us Careers made too much of a plan. Secure the cornucopia and kill the rest is what Brick told me. Simple enough, but…
The tube begins to rise up. The air around me quickly grows colder. I go from being too warm to being cold. My breath turns to mist and I suppress a shiver as a soft wailing sound reaches my ears. What is that?
Wind. I recognize the sound as my platform continues to rise. The wailing of the wind grows as I ascend higher and higher. Whipping wind and falling snowflakes wrap around me as I rise into the arena. 
The wind is practically a gale force. The air is full of snow, whipped back and forth by the tempestuous wind. Diffusing flakes fall from the sky and hinder my sight. The sky is dark. I can hardly see past my own launch plate, but there is a distinct shape in the distance, an orange glow. 
A bonfire.
The crackling fire is contained in a large stone kiln set in front of the cornucopia itself. The golden horn is hardly visible through the raging blizzard, but the dancing light of the bonfire reflects off its metallic surface. It is forty yards away. Forty yards of running through deep, thick snow while fighting against these bone-chilling winds. 
What a way to start the Games.
==Arena==
The arena is set on a frozen peninsula.
The cornucopia is set in the exact center of the peninsula, with a large bonfire in front of the golden horn. This bonfire is constantly burning and is an eternal source of heat and warmth for the tributes, providing yet another boon for those who have claimed the cornucopia. 
To the north of the cornucopia is a mountain range which blocks the isthmus of the peninsula and serves as the northernmost edge of the arena. There are a series of mines running underneath the mountain, and these mines are oddly warm, providing an excellent opportunity for the tributes to stay heated. There are over a dozen separate entrances to the mines, spread out over the mountain itself. 
There is a small mining village at the foothills of the mountain, near the main entrance to the mine itself. This village contains several buildings and possibly some hidden supplies for the tributes to find.
To the northwest of the cornucopia is a boreal forest. This large forest consists mostly of pines, spruces, and larches, offering excellent coverage and shelter for the tributes. The trees offer semblance of protection from the snowfall and gusty gales which assail the arena.
Directly west of the cornucopia lies a large lake. This lake sprawls across most of the western end of the peninsula and is completely frozen—a tribute could cross from one end to the other without falling into the water below. The boreal forest grows close to its edge, offering some shelter for those too wary to venture out onto the ice itself. 
To the east of the cornucopia is a snowfield full of igloos. There are dozens of the little buildings spread across the frozen landscape, granting the tributes shelter and rest. Beyond the snowfield lies a festive village full of Christmas decorations and other such holiday items. There a multitude of houses and buildings for the tributes to enter, giving them a sizable amount of shelter options. 
To the south of the cornucopia is a coastline—the only portion of the ocean reachable by foot—most of the shore is rocky and tide pools full of freezing water are common. A small wharf rests on the shoreline, complete with a jetty and boathouse.
==The Games==
===Vizio Byte (District 3)===
The whirling wind threatens to blow me right off my platform as I stare out at the cornucopia, eyes blinking with the strain of the wind and snow. Already my fingers feel numb. This bitter cold is no joke. 
My analysis had indicated that the Gamemakers would do something drastic at the outset of the Games, but even my own research never suspected them to set the bloodbath in the middle of a blizzard. 
Snow collects on my glasses, dripping off the edge and forming little icicles as I try to push away all outside interference and focus on my own thoughts. The most important thing is for me to find my allies.
I cast my head around, the caterwauling wind whipping at my clothes as I peer through the wall of snow in an effort to spot Easton, Autus, or Halley. It’s no use. I can hardly even see the platforms placed beside me. Each one is just an indistinct, hazy shape on the edge of my vision. The falling snow is simply too thick. It obscures everything around me. Without that bonfire, I doubt I’d even know which direction the cornucopia was. 
This is an exceedingly dangerous situation. The blizzard has hampered every tribute’s abilities to see, and the fact the arena is so bitterly cold means that most of us will be hesitant to run off without supplies. Analysis indicates that majority of the tributes will stay and fight, meaning…
My alliance needed to stick together. Our numbers were what gave us strength. Independent we are some of the least threatening people in the Games. Easy pickings. But together we are something more. Stronger. As a unit we could’ve dealt some damage at the bloodbath, but separated as we undoubtedly will be…
I do the numbers in my head and come to a frightening conclusion.
One of us is going to die. 
===Tempest Galveston (District 0)===
The chill wind blows past me, snowflakes landing on my nose, encrusting my eyebrows, and covering my hair. It is difficult to see more than a few feet in front of my face. A blizzard. The arena is gripped in a blizzard. 
Perfect.
I have experience with this exact environment. Probably the only person other than Halley who has dealt with more than one blizzard of this magnitude in their life. This situation doesn’t faze me at all. This is just everyday life for people in District 0. We’ve evolved to deal with these kind of things. 
Time to show the rest of New Panem. 
I can’t see any bags of supplies or weapons. The snow is too thick. A faint orange glow shines straight ahead though, illuminating the cornucopia behind it. Seems like most of the supplies will be closer to the bonfire. 
I brace myself for a run, eyeing the ground between me and the cornucopia. The snow looks deep. Liable to swallow my footsteps and slow me down. Still, I should be able to move through it quicker than the others. They’re not used to such things. 
“Ten.” 
A voice rings out in the sky, loud enough to be heard over the wind and whipping snow. A countdown.
Less than ten seconds before these Games begin.
===Ardor Prodigy (District 1)===
I ignore the biting wind as it nips at my exposed skin. Ignore the shrieking noise it emanates as it sends a spray of snowflakes across my vision. That is all immaterial. The only thing which matters is the Games, and the bloodbath before me.
I have told Tesla the plan. She is to avoid all combat and stick to the edge of the cornucopia field, staying close enough so that I can come and collect her, but far enough away that she’ll be safe from any danger. 
The exact opposite of what I’ll be doing.
I am already prepped to run. The countdown continues to tick away. Only a few seconds left. 
“Three…two…one…”
Gong!
I take off sprinting. The snow sucks at my feet as I go, threatening to pull me under, but I power through. It is a hard run. Exhausting. But the snow thins out the closer I get to the bonfire, and by the time I reach the edge of the golden horn I am moving as quick as ever.
Snowflakes whip across my vision as I spot something silvery lying on the ground, sparkling in the light of the bonfire. My hands clasp around the halberd and I spin just in time to see the girl as she reaches out for a pair of crates. 
Kessie’s eyes widen in fear as my halberd swings forward. There is a splash of blood as the blade rips through her flesh, carving a diagonal route from her shoulder to hip, and the girl drops to the ground with nary a sound.
“Bravo!”
I spin on the spot. Brick stands a few feet away, at the base of the cornucopia. Shadows dance on his face as he smiles at me. There is a spear in his right hand and a dagger in his left. 
“Ready to lose so soon?” I keep my eyes moving. Brick is not alone. His allies could be anywhere. 
Brick shakes his head and slips the dagger into his belt. A figure stumbles out from the falling snow and he grabs her by the shoulder, pulling her close to him. “Techna,” He pats the girl’s head. “Please kill Ardor for me.”
I can’t see her face through all the snow, but I notice the way her body tenses. Fighting me is the last thing she wants to do. “But—”
“Kill Ardor,” Brick snaps. “Or I’ll kill you.”
For the briefest of moments I think the girl is about to make a run for it. To shake herself free of Brick’s grip and flee. But she doesn’t. She only nods, then Brick presses a knife into her hands. Is this some sort of trick? Is Brick delaying so that one of the others can sneak up behind me and—
Techna charges. Knife raised high as she feigns a stab, then ducks low, anticipating my retaliatory swing. Just like that she is within my guard, blade pressing towards my neck as she goes for the killing blow. 
My right hand shoots up and grabs her wrist. I twist it back as hard as I can. Techna’s scream of pain is carried away by the wind as I throw a headbutt and shove her back.
A moment later I use my left hand to drive the spike of my halberd through her throat.
I rip the weapon out and back off, feet already adopting a defensive posture. Brick hasn’t moved. He remains standing beside the cornucopia, a small smile on his lips as he watches Techna sink to her knees, choking and gurgling on her own blood. “Seems that you have the skill to back up your words!” He practically shouts to be heard over the roaring wind. “How unfortunate.”
I can hear yells and screams in the distance. Other tributes have begun to fight, though I cannot see any. “Are you going to test yourself against me?” I continue to back off. The other Careers could be hidden anywhere in this blizzard.
“And waste our climatic battle at the bloodbath? Oh no.” Brick shakes his head and then lazily raises his spear, pointing it somewhere behind me. “Besides, you really don’t have time to fight me. Your little ally is about to get herself killed.”
I curse, then turn and run. There is no time to consider if this is a trick. Act first, think later. That is the adage which was drilled into my head at the Academy. The bloodbath is no time for hesitation.
I only get a few feet away when I see that Brick wasn’t lying. 
Tesla is slowly emerging from the whipping snow. She trudges forward with a determined step, heading straight for a backpack laid out on some flat ground. She is so focused on it that she doesn’t even notice Theodore bearing down on her with a sword in hand. 
“Tesla!” I scream her name as loudly as I can. “Duck!”
She doesn’t hear me. Theodore steps forward and swings, blade glinting in the firelight as it races toward her exposed neck.
Tesla bends down to grab the backpack, and the sword goes completely over her head. 
Then I arrive. I slam straight into Theodore’s side, moving too quickly to have properly positioned my halberd, so I simply swing an elbow into his head. The boy goes sprawling to the ground in a flurry of snow, rolling out of the firelight and into the whiteness. Tesla straightens back up and stares at me with reproach. 
“What the hell are you doing?” I practically scream at the girl. “I told you to stay away from the cornucopia!”
“What makes you think that I have to listen to the likes of you?” Tesla sniffs and tosses her hair. “I am my own person, and I do not—eek!”
I grab the girl and haul her onto my back. She squeals and protests, but doesn’t resist as she clambers into position, hands grasping my shoulders. “You nearly got yourself killed,” I growl, turning and breaking into another run, but this time I head away from the cornucopia. 
I would’ve liked more time to grab some extra supplies, but Tesla has forced my hand. The girls refusal to follow simple orders has cut my time here short, and escape has become my top priority. 
I sprint away into the whipping snowfall, Tesla atop my back as the screams and shouts of the other tributes are lost in the wind.
===Taylor Musslin (District 8)===
My boots sink into the snow and I nearly trip and stumble for the third time as I make my towards the cornucopia. My teeth chatter. Hands are numb. Breath turns to mist as I continue on, confused and desperate. 
Meet up with Kessie, grab some supplies, then run. That was the plan. What we agreed on before we got into the arena. But I don’t think either one of us was prepared for this blizzard.
The Games have only been underway for moments, yet it feels like hours. How many tributes have reached the cornucopia? How many have fled? I can’t flee even if I wanted to. I wouldn’t survive a second out in that blizzard without supplies.
The snow at my feet suddenly shrinks in size and I find myself stumbling onto flat, smooth terrain. Crates and boxes surround me. Miscellaneous items lie scattered across the ground. The backside of the cornucopia looms over me like a predator. 
Sudden movement catches my eye and I duck behind a crate. A boy dressed entirely in white appears from the snowstorm, a long wooden stick in his hands and a backpack on his shoulders. Tempest. Such a fitting name. 
He disappears as suddenly as he came, and I force myself into motion. Can’t just sit here and wait for someone to kill me. Need to grab something, find Kessie, then leave. 
A strong gust of wind nearly sweeps me off my feet as I stand, and I am forced to catch myself against a crate. As I do so, my hands brush against something familiar.
A sword.
Somehow I feel even more terrified as I pick it up. A sword. A weapon. I am meant to kill someone with this. 
Two boys come rolling onto the scene, punching and kicking at each other as they wrestle for position. I shriek and leap away as they grapple on the ground, clawing at one another like frantic animals. I only recognize them by the colors of their jackets. Lavender and black.
Brann and Rooker.
Brann gets the upper hand, pinning Rooker to the snow as he attempts to strangle the boy, hands clenching around his throat. Rooker kicks and struggles, but his efforts grow weaker by the moment. Soon he will tire out and…
There’s a flash of movement as Tempest reappears. The boy swings his staff out like a golf club, striking Brann straight in the side of his ribs. The tall blond guy collapses to his side and goes rolling into the shadows, immediately swallowed by the flurry of snow. 
Tempest helps Rooker to his feet, then the two boys are running away. They disappear from sight almost instantly, yet I find myself rooted to the spot long after they’re gone. 
My fear is so hot that I’ve forgotten all about the cold. Terror and dread are all I can think about. What was I even doing here? Why did I ever think approaching the cornucopia was a good idea? I stumble forward and nearly slip on the ice as yet another boy emerges from the snow.
Edison.
He glares at me with his one eye, face contorted into a nasty snarl as he prowls forward, dagger in hand. 
I stick my sword out and wave it at him. “St-stay back!” I don’t know if he can hear me. I can hardly hear myself.
Edison circles around me. He is hesitant to approach. The rational half of me knows it is because he’s wary of my swords longer reach, but the other half of me is convinced it’s because he wants to take his time in killing me. 
An angry eye…
I take a swing at him. 
Edison dodges out of the way in a spray of snow, then dashes towards me, dagger extended. Terrified, I stumble backwards and inadvertently kick him in the shin.
Edison trips and falls. He hits the hard-packed snow and goes sprawling on his back, eyes wide as he stares into the sky. I scramble forward, sword raised. My opportunity. My time to finish him. To kill.
Kill…
I hesitate, sword in the air. Kill? Why should I kill Edison? What has he done to deserve this? What have any of us done? I don’t want to kill Edison, or anyone else. I stare down at the boy and find myself unable to move. This isn’t right. I can’t do this. I can’t—
Edison kicks out and lands a savage blow to my knee. I stumble with a cry of pain, sword dropping from my hand and into the snow. Edison springs to his feet and, before I can even scream, steps forward and drives his dagger into my throat. 
The blood is hot. Edison yanks the blade back out and I drop to my knees, then slip onto my side. My hands press against my ruined throat. Blood bubbles between my fingertips. Can’t feel the cold. Can’t feel anything. Edison grabs my fallen sword then turns and disappears into the billowing snow. 
My eyes slide shut.
===Barker Caspum (District 7)===
I stay low, moving at a quick pace and using some crates as cover as I approach the golden horn. Here, in front of the cornucopia‘s mouth and the bonfire, there is no snow on the ground. It has all melted, leaving nothing but frozen dirt. 
The clang of metal and grunting of combat echoes over the wailing wind. The pair of Careers from District 4 are battling it out with the boy from 6 in front of the bonfire. Despite having him outnumbered and being presumably better trained, they seem to be struggling. 
Fools. 
Keeping out of sight, I slink around them and approach the cornucopia itself. There are many items strewn across the floor and gathered on the crates and racks, but nothing which I want. I am about to dart across the open ground and enter the horn itself when a shape emerges from inside.
Easton. 
The tall boy has a pair of backpacks hanging off him as he prowls forward, a strangely shaped sword clutched in one hand. He makes the weapon seem like an extension of his arm as he stops and surveys the scene, firelight glittering off his mismatched eyes. 
I duck behind a crate, teeth gritted as I wait for him to move on. A duel with that boy is the last thing I want. 
Easton lumbers off into the darkness. The whipping snow obscures him, and the second he’s gone I break into a run and enter the cornucopia. I have no concern that someone may be hiding inside. Easton would have flushed them out. 
My prize is at the very back of the cornucopia, hanging off a rack set in the horn’s interior wall. Two swords. Katanas.
Doubt and Clarity.
I breathe a sigh of relief as I grab the blades and fix them to my belt. I wasn’t certain that the Gamemakers would provide the swords. I am skilled with many different weapons, of course, but none so much as these blades. When I wield them…everything just seems to make sense. 
Once I have the swords secured, I make my way back to the cornucopia entrance. Time to find Thistle and get out of here. I’m not concerned about her safety; she’s more than capable of handling these tributes. 
The roaring wind tugs at my parka as I exit the horn. The Careers are still battling the District 6 boy, but now they’ve been joined by Citrine and have him outnumbered three to one. Despite their numerical advantage, they aren’t finishing him as quickly as you’d think. In fact, they’re struggling quite a bit. 
A shape emerges from behind the cornucopia, and I spin to face my assailant as he raises a sword and thrusts it at my face.
I dodge backwards, feet throwing up a spray of snow as I set one hand on my sword and slowly draw it. Which one will it be? The blade gleams in the firelight as I extend it before myself.
Doubt.
The boy across from me is bundled in lime green clothing. His eyes peek out from the balaclava wrapped around his face. I recognize him by the color of his arena wear alone.
Scyler Meios. Son of New Panem’s military commander, Cypher Meios.
Anger burns inside my chest. This boys’ father is one of the highest ranking men in our tyrannical country’s government. He personally works alongside President Price to subjugate and oppress us, and Scyler has been groomed from birth to be his successor.
I have read the dossier The Whispers have on the boy. He has been put through rigorous training in an effort to mold him into the most effective soldier he can be. Prior to being Reaped, Scyler was on track to become one of New Panem’s most prominent figures. 
Now he’ll die here, at my hand. 
Doubt flashes out quick as a whip, slashing at Scyler’s midsection. The boy gets his sword up in time and deflects my attack, then steps forward and slides into a defensive stance.
I pause. That stance is…familiar. Faint memories tickle my mind. A long, dark tunnel. The Whispers fleeing as we are chased by a relentless pursuer. The mission had failed. Screams echoed down the tunnel as our pursuer caught his prey. Men killed by an invulnerable opponent. I remember the fear on their faces as we were bottled up down in that tunnel. The resolve Nere showed as the hulking figure strode into the light, the “7” on his mask shining in the faint glow. The Card had found us.
The form Scyler adopts is the same one Seven assumed on that day. Though the boys’ sword is simple steel, he holds his blade the exact way as the Card held his pulsesword. 
I lash out with a flurry of blows. Scyler matches each strike with his own sword and we dance across the snow, air alive with the cracking of steel. The boy is good. Better than good. He is capable of matching me, and I am the best swordsman The Whispers have ever seen. Sweat builds on my head as I slap away a thrust meant for my skull and send my own sword slashing for his throat. 
Scyler dances aside, then sends his sword up in a lateral swing. I step back with a hiss as the blade cuts across my forearm. 
I need Clarity. Doubt is a good sword, but not one which is capable of winning this fight. But I have no time to draw it. Scyler keeps on the offensive, each strike designed to keep me off balance and on the defensive. Still, he can’t keep this level of pressure up for long. Sooner or later he will tire out, and that will be my moment to end this. 
Ironically, it is not Scyler which defeats me. It’s the poor footing. My foot lands on a patch of ice as I step back, and it suddenly slips out from beneath me. 
I hit the ground hard. The air is forced out of my lungs as Scyler looms over me, sword raised in the air. He doesn’t hesitate. The blade begins to come down and—
An axe flies over my head and slams into Scyler’s chest. 
The boy falls back and somersaults over a crate. A moment later a hand grips my collar and hauls me to my feet. I exchange a grim nod with Thistle as she thrusts Doubt back into my hands. 
“Thanks,” I mutter. Always knew Thistle had my back. Wouldn’t have it any other way.
“I have Vizio,” She tells me. “I ordered him to wait for us on the outskirts.”
I frown. Vizio? What does he have to do with any of this? “What are you talking about?”
Even through the falling snow I can see the confusion on Thistle’s face. “I…you wanted to speak with him, didn’t you?”
“I have no use for the boy.” Not yet, at least. I understand why Thistle would think otherwise, but there is currently no upside to having Vizio with us. In fact, there are multiple reasons why we wouldn’t want him near us. “Where did you have him wait?”
Thistle points an axe back the way she came. “Over there. He should be near the Launch Plates, waiting for us.”
I should’ve expected that Thistle would misinterpret my conversation with the boy. Anticipated that she would try and make a plan on my behalf. She’s the shout to my whisper, after all. But I have no desire to connect with Vizio yet. There was a reason I tried to keep my prior interaction with the boy secret. Any unnecessary attention on us could prove…problematic.
“Time to leave.” I say and break into a jog, headed in the opposite direction of where Thistle indicated. Thistle waits only a moment before following, and the two of us slip away into the falling snow as the sounds of battle float in the air.
===Peppa Trails (District 11)===
The snow is thick. Difficult to travel through. Many moments have passed since the gong first ran out, and I still have yet to find any supplies. 
So cold…
I can hear shouts and the clash of steel against steel. Some tributes are still fighting. Killing. 
If I am truly a Stryker, then I should be used to all this killing and death. The history books say they were masters of it. Leopold Stryker dropped a nuke on District 6, killing thousands upon thousands of people. More. So I shouldn’t be alarmed by something like the bloodbath.
But I am.
All this killing reminds me of Durian and how he died. Daddy was a good man. He didn’t deserve to be put down like an old dog. Does anyone? 
The wind chills me to the bone as I continue through the snow. It gets shallower the further I go, but that doesn’t make my trip any easier. A shape looms in the distance, backlit by an orange light. The cornucopia.
Huh. Apparently I was headed right for the thing. I rub my hands together in an effort to warm them and stagger forward onto frozen dirt. A small overturned crate sits ahead of me. Surely there will be something inside.
I take only a few steps towards it when two people come running through the whipping snow.
The girls pull to a halt when they spot me. Their breath are puffs of mist as they stare in silent surprise. Even though they’re bundled up tightly in their arena wear, I recognize them as Mazie and Meta. Mazie carries a small duffel bag and a knapsack, while Meta holds an axe with a wide steel edge. 
I find myself transfixed by that axe. So sharp and deadly…one swing could likely take my head off. If these girls tried to kill me, I wouldn’t be able to stop them. 
I open my mouth but no words come. What would I even do? Beg and plead for my life? Demand they let me go? I just stare at them in silence, wondering if this is really how my story ends.
But no. The girls push past me and scamper off into the snow without a second glance. I don’t waste this opportunity. I rush away in the opposite direction, legs trembling and arms shivering. It’s not just from the cold. Fear and anxiety pulse through me. What am I even doing? I’m so weak and useless…
No.
I reach a hand up and feel at my necklace, the one Rosehair gave me. True to his word, it passed the token examination without raising any alarms. I don’t know how. Don’t really care. The weapons concealed inside might be the only way I survive the next few moments.
“Who are you?”
A voice cuts across the wind as a figure emerges from the swirling snow. I nearly scream until I recognize the white mask on her face.
Viscera!
“Where have you been?” I stumble over to the girl, nearly knocked over by a gust of wind. “Have you seen Baron or Reiko?”
She slowly shakes her head. “I can’t find Baron. The snow has swallowed him.”
Not surprising. It’s a miracle we even found each other in this blizzard. “We shouldn’t linger,” I tell the girl, teeth chattering. “We could be attacked at any—”
A shape lurches out of the snow. I react without thinking, and shove Viscera aside just as a sword rips through the air. Lartius growls as he misses, stumbling in an effort to regain his balance. When he does, he turns on me with a fierce glare. 
“Please don’t harm us!” I step in front of Viscera, who is lying on the ground in a daze. “We haven’t done anything to you!”
My district partner hesitates. I see the uncertainty in his posture as he raises the sword. “Get out of the way, Jasmine!” Lartius snarls and uses his left hand to shove me aside, stepping up to the prone Viscera. 
A second later an arrow punches through his throat. 
Lartius staggers, sword dropping from his hand as he reaches up to feel at the bloodied arrow tip. Then a second arrow slams through his chest.
Lartius tips over sideways and falls face first in the snow. He does not get back up. Doesn’t even move. The snow beneath him begins to turn a pinkish color as his blood seeps into the ground. I stare at his corpse with morbid fascination as Reiko appears.
The girl has a veil drawn over her face and a bow clutched tightly in her hands as she prowls forward, head whipping every way as if to search for more threats. 
“He was alone,” I say quietly.
I don’t know if she heard me, but Reiko slings the bow back over her shoulder and picks up Lartius’ fallen sword before helping Viscera to her feet. The girl is babbling to herself, saying something about monsters in the snow. 
I continue to stare at Lartius’ corpse. Reiko made two pinpoint accurate shots in the middle of a blizzard. The amount of skilled needed for something like that…it’s unbelievable. 
“We need to leave,” Reiko half-drags, half-leads Viscera into the whipping snow which surrounds us. 
“What about Baron?” I duck my head against the wind and follow the girl. 
“We can’t risk staying to look for him. He either finds us, or we must leave him—”
“I am here.”
A massive shape lumbers into view. Baron. He literally wades through the snow, pushing it aside with his tree-trunks for legs. Never before have I realized how large he truly is.
Reiko takes his sudden appearance in stride and calmly nods. “Very well. Then let us depart, before someone else seeks to end our lives.”
I pause, taking in the giants appearance with a frown. He has nothing on him. No backpacks, no weapons, nothing. What was he doing this whole time? Why didn’t he grab us some supplies? He is a literal giant! Surely he could have gotten something from the cornucopia. 
Baron scoops Viscera up in his arms, then kneels down. “Peppa, get on my back,” He grunts.
I clamber up, still feeling putout by Baron’s lack of supplies. Reiko only has weapons on her, and neither myself nor Viscera grabbed anything. Meaning that our alliance is leaving the cornucopia without a single bag or item. 
As the four of us head out into the blizzard, heads bowed against the wailing wind, I find myself feeling hollow. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, realizing that even with Rosehair’s weapon I am far, far out of my depth here in the arena. 
===Easton Harlow (District 13)===
I sprint away from the cornucopia, kicking sending up a spray of snow as I flee the scene and seek refuge in the whiteout which surrounds me. 
My breaths come quick and shallow as I run. I risked venturing deep into the cornucopia itself to find my prize, which I hold tightly in one hand. A makraka. A question mark of a sword which has been used by my family for generations. Despite its rarity, I knew it would be provided in the arena, due to my connection with several of the Gamemakers. They were close friends with my father, and during my private training session I deftly alluded how I would be most pleased if—
My feet hit something hard and I trip and fall, face-planting in the snow. 
I slowly rise to my feet. The makraka is still clutched in my hand. I am lucky I didn’t impale myself on it. That would’ve been quite a stupid way to die, no doubt. 
It turns out that I tripped over a Launch Plate. I examine the thing as I take stock of my surroundings. Snow has piled atop it, nearly hiding the metal platform from sight. I cough and repress a shiver. I am so thankful that Cronus need not experience this awful blizzard. I cannot imagine he would have fared well if forced to contend with—
“Easton? Is that you?”
I turn and wipe snow from my eyes as a boy dressed in a shade of yellow darker than my own staggers up to me. Vizio. His dark hair is hidden underneath his hood as he approaches, glasses encrusted with snow.
“It is me.” I keep a careful watch in all directions as we huddle closer together. You never know when someone else will make an appearance…one that would be altogether less peaceful than Vizio. “Have you seen Autus or Halley?”
Vizio sniffs and rubs at his nose. “I have not. Thistle did speak with me, however, and she indicated that I should remain here for herself and Barker to return.”
Dangerous. Doing something requested by another tribute is inherently dangerous in itself, but the mere act of remaining present at the bloodbath is especially dangerous. Practically anyone could wander straight into us. 
“What is the benefit for us?” I ask, keeping an eye open for any threats. I am quite skilled with my makraka, true, but I still do not wish to put those skills to the test. 
“She claimed she’d gather some supplies for me, but I am skeptical of her chances of success.” Vizio pauses for a moment. “To be quite frank, the only reason why I have remained put is to see if I could meet up with you and the others.”
Well, he found me at the least. Not rightly sure where Halley our Autus are; I have seen neither hide nor hair of them since the gong rang out. Autus can take care of himself; he is quite skilled, after all. But what about Halley? The poor girl is probably terrified out of her mind.
“Hide!” Vizio hisses and suddenly pulls me down behind the Launch Plate. A second later I hear the crunching of snow as a tribute whips past, fleeing into the surrounding blizzard.
“Who was it?” I ask, poking my head above the plate. I can see nothing but a flurry of snowflakes and a faint trail in the snow below.
“The girl from District 12,” Vizio says stiffly. “Not a threat to you, certainly, but we needn’t take any undue risks at this juncture.”
Quite right. Any conflict at all would be too much conflict for me. “Remaining here is risky,” I say cautiously. “If Thistle truly intends to return, she needs to do it soon. I have no doubt the Careers will secure the cornucopia momentarily.” They are too skilled, and too much time has passed, for anything else to occur. 
Vizio nods slowly. “Indeed. We should pull out, for now. Staying here creates too much of a risk on our lives.”
“What about Autus and Halley?”
“One of them is likely already dead, while the other has, in all probability, fled the bloodbath. In either case, I see little possibility of them stumbling upon us at this juncture.”
I suck in a deep breath. As loathe as I am to admit it, Vizio is right. It was a miracle that he and I even ran into one another like we did. The chances of Autus or Halley randomly finding us…the odds are not in their favor. “Then let us depart.”
Vizio gives another brisk nod and sets off at a jog. I follow him into the wailing wind, makraka clutched tightly in my hand, head bowed low. I feel awful at leaving without Autus or Halley, but I know we had no other choice.
The two must fend for themselves.
===Autus Spanner (District 6)===
I am the wind.
I dart between Penelope and Tidus, avoiding their thrusting spears as I dance behind them, deflecting Citrine’s sword and ducking Alexis’ ponderous hammer. The girl backs off with a curse, face contorted into a snarl as the firelight reflects off it. The battle lines reset as I drop into a defensive stance, my back to the raging bonfire as I face down my adversaries.
Four Careers stare back at me. Four of the deadliest people in this arena. We are locked together in a desperate battle for survival.
And I am winning.
They have yet to do so much as land a hit on me. I am too quick, too nimble. I can sense each blow coming before it arrives. Can block each swing of their weapon. My body tingles with a sensation akin to electricity, the charge running up and down my limbs. 
From the left.
I dance aside as Citrine’s chakram sails over my left shoulder and slams into the bonfire behind me. A voice that was not a voice warned me. It is…a sensation. A vibration in my mind. I can feel the spirits of the other Life Models inside me. Coaching. Beckoning. Last night I spoke with them. Trained.
Wolbert. Luna. Shade. They taught me, trained with me, coached me. Their skills are my own. A part of me.
Johnathan. Blade. Jax. I inherited their abilities, their tenacity, their will to live. I can feel it pulsing through me. Extra strength would be mine, they said, but warned of the after-effects. Drawing on too much would risk exhausting me, and giving me an experience akin to a hangover. Yet I care not for future concerns when my life currently hangs in the balance right here and now.
Beware of a pincer attack.
Tidus and Penelope move as one. The girl holds a net in her left hand. A spear in the right. Tidus wields his own spear with both hands. They come from each side, seeking to entrap me. I step between them, sword whirling, and evade Penelope’s net. When my blade lashes out, it connects with Tidus’ hand.
The boy stumbles back with a gasp, nursing his injured hand. Red droplets fall onto the frozen ground. 
Behind you.
I spin and knock away Alexis’ hammer, then duck Citrine’s thrust. I dive and roll, come up to my feet behind Penelope, and swing for her neck.
Tidus’ spear gets in the way, sending my sword wide as the blonde girl scrambles back with a small shriek.
I breathe deep and reset my stance. I cannot keep this up forever. Sooner or later they will land a blow, and then this is all over. But I can’t just turn and run. Exposing myself like that—even for just a moment—would be the end as well. These four are too well-trained to let an opportunity like that slip away. 
So I must either kill them, or wound them enough to back down. Tidus is the least skilled of the bunch, but he fights defensively, rarely exposing himself. Alexis is too skilled—she is much deadlier than the rest. 
Citrine.
I eye the girl as she raises her blade. She is aggressive and eager to prove herself. Killing me would set her above the rest, and that is something she is desperate to do. Perhaps I can use that aggression against her. 
I lash out. Go on the offensive with a flurry of blows. Tidus and Penelope scamper away as I rain strike upon strike at Citrine. The girl holds up well. She is no novice. But I have spirits in my heart. Courage pumping through my veins. I can feel the fallen Life Models urging me on. They exist here, inside me, as well as upon the Spirit Realm. I am them. They are me. 
We are one.
Citrine stumbles back as my blade catches her above the eye, straight across the forehead. Blood drips down her face as she stares at me with wide, shocked eyes. 
“He’s just one person!” 
A voice bellows out from the side, and Brick comes prowling onto the scene. The crackling firelight illuminates his face as he looks from Citrine to Alexis, then at the District 4 pair. Despite the emotion in his voice, he looks decidedly calm.
“He’s tough—” Tidus tries to speak, but my sword flashes for his throat and he’s forced to hop away. 
Can’t pause. Five on one may be an insurmountable hurdle. Need to thin the numbers. Kill someone before they—
To the left.
I dodge Alexis’ swing.
From the right.
I roll under Penelope’s thrust.
Both sides!
I twist out of the way of Tidus’ spear, then lunge into the air to avoid being skewered by Citrine. But even as I dodge the blade, a grim sensation washes over me. I am airborne. My momentum is sending me one way, and I cannot change directions. I am defenseless. I hear it before anything else. Flying through the air, thrown from Bricks hand. 
No!
A spear rips through my chest. 
I land on staggered feet and collapse to my knees before the bonfire. Sword slips out of numb fingers and clatters to the frozen ground. The flames crackle before me. Hot and hungry. I stare at them with a cold, painful sensation in my chest. The spear has gone directly through my ribs. 
A boot lands on my back and shoves me face first into the fire.
Pain. Excruciating, agonizing pain. At first my world becomes nothing but raging fire, but then that fades to darkness. The sizzling of my own flesh resounds in my ears, mixed with my screams of agony. Pain. Pain, pain, pain. Pain beyond description. 
Then nothing. No sensation. Voices scream in my head, vibrate in my body, pulse through my bones. One voice in particular calls out above the others, desperate, pleading, despairing. 
Then that too fades, and there is nothing at all.
==Day 1/ Aftermath==
===Penelope Finbar (District 4)===
My stomach twists into a knot as I watch Autus’ body kick and squirm, pinned down into the fire by Brick’s boot. Those screams. Those agonized, awful screams…
I don’t think they’ll ever leave my head.
Autus eventually goes still. Flames lick hungrily at his body, progressing from his head down to his torso. The smell of burnt flesh permeates the air. Brick pulls his foot back, then grips Autus by his boots and flips him end over end into the bonfire. 
We watch in grim silence as the flames consume the boy’s remains.
The firelight reflects in Brick’s eyes as he stares into the flames. There is a twisted smile upon his face. Brick…he enjoyed that. Watching Autus burn, hearing him scream, brought him joy. I feel sick. Nausea builds in my stomach. Brick needn’t have pinned him in the fire. Autus was finished the moment the spear hit him. No. Brick only burnt him because he wanted to.
The wind begins to slow as we sit in silence. The snowfall lessens. Visibility remains far from normal, but it becomes easier to see in front of ourselves. The blizzard has passed. 
The bloodbath is over.
Brick turns away from the fire and looks at us. The joy in his eyes is gone. Now there’s nothing but blankness. “One boy fought off all four of you,” He says quietly.
Alexis glowers at the ground, ashamed. The rest of us only stare back in silence. Autus…I’ve never seen someone fight the way he did. He was a man possessed.
“He was very skilled—” Citrine tries to speak, but Brick silences her with a wave of his hand. 
“Was he now? Well, I killed him easily enough, so how skilled could he have been?”
No one responds. What could we say? Brick is right. It took four of us to simply survive Autus’ onslaught, while he outright dispatched the boy with ease. Nothing we could say would change that. 
Brick’s gaze flickers back to the bonfire, where Autus still smolders. “His training score was an eight. An eight. He was nothing. Just an average boy. What do you think will happen when you have to fight Ardor or that beast from District 10?”
“This won’t happen again,” Alexis says. Her eyes are still focused on the ground. “I will not embarrass myself like this ever again.”
Snow settles on my hair. I shiver and pull my hood back over my head. Now that the wind has died down, I can see the cornucopia and its contents much clearer. I can see the bodies which litter the snow, and the blood that pools beneath them. It makes me…
Training is one thing, but nothing can adequately prepare you for the sight of dead bodies. For fighting against other teenagers in a desperate bid for survival.
“Collect the other bodies,” Brick jerks a head at the corpses which surround us. There seem to be very few. “Then toss them in the fire to burn.”
I blink. “You want us to burn them?”
“Yes. That way we won’t have to leave the cornucopia for the hovercrafts to collect them.” 
“Makes sense to me,” Citrine says with a shrug. “I have no desire to go freeze out in that blasted wasteland.”
Snow surrounds us on all sides. The blizzard may have lessened, but the snowfall is hardly gone. It still drifts down in graceful, lazy waves. Whatever is outside the cornucopia is obscured by that white veil. Still…
“Shouldn’t we let them collect the bodies?” 
Brick glances at me. “Why?
“Because…the tributes families. District 14 returns the bodies to them. They should be allowed to bury their loved ones.”
Brick stares at me as if I just told him fish could talk. “What does it matter if the families bury them? It won’t change anything. Dead is dead.”
“Dead is dead,” Alexis agrees.
Citrines tosses her hair back. “Dead is dead!”
I exchange an uncomfortable look with Tidus. His soft brown eyes seem to be as troubled as I am. One of my greatest fears is for Pike to murder Tiber and depose of his body without me ever getting a chance to say goodbye…
But I can hardly tell the others that. They’d think me weak or sentimental. Not cut out to be a Career. Brick, Alexis, Citrine…they’ve been warped by their lifetime of training. Our own ally, Techna, lies dead not more than a dozen feet away, and yet they haven’t so much as mentioned her name! 
I exchange another glance with Tidus, then nod. “Dead is dead,” We say in unison.
Brick has Tidus come with him to collect the bodies, while Alexis is sent to check up on our supplies and see what we have. Citrine and I our ordered to keep watch for anything unusual and make sure no one tries to sneak back in. I don’t know why anyone would try such a thing, but I keep a lookout all the same. Who knows, maybe Theodore and his allies will try and attack us when our guard is down.
I step closer to the fire and shiver. This cold…it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced in my life. District 4 doesn’t get this cold. This is the first time I have experienced snow. I’ve seen the stuff on television, of course, and some past Games have featured it to a far lesser extent than this, but I’ve never had to physically deal with the stuff before. 
It’s…cold. And wet. 
Brick and Tidus return with the first body. Taylor from District 8. Her throat has been stabbed, and I wince at the terror frozen on her face. Hers was a bad death.
Citrine stops the boys from immediately tossing her into the bonfire, and strips the girl of her parka, shirt, pants, and balaclava. I don’t understand at first, but then the girl explains that the extra clothing could prove useful in the future…and that we may have need to disguise ourselves at some point. 
An underhanded tactic. But…well, I guess it’s not a bad strategy. 
Once that’s done, Brick and Tidus toss the girl onto the fire and go retrieve the next body. No one shows any emotion as we work; none of them seem to care. Not even when Techna is burned. I didn’t know her very well, but I feel a pang of sadness as she is consumed by the flames. 
Techna didn’t deserve this fate.
“Five dead,” Brick grunts when he and Tidus toss the last body—Lartius—into the bonfire. “Too few.”
I breathe a silent sigh of relief that Edison isn’t among the dead. I still have time to make him confess.
“Who even did most of the killing?” Alexis returns from sorting our supplies, a frown on her dark face.
“Ardor got both Techna and Kessie,” Brick says.
“Lartius was killed by an arrow,” Tidus crouches down beside the bonfire, warming his hands. “And Reiko is the only person I can think of who could make a shot in this weather.”
None of us have any idea who killed Taylor. No one saw it happen, and it’s impossible to tell from her body. Just about any tribute is capable of stabbing someone in the throat. 
“Is that smoke?”
Citrine’s words have us all turning and staring out into the distance. There, floating above the drifting snow, is a telltale streak of smoke floating into the sky. 
“Who’d be dumb enough to start a fire this close to the cornucopia?” Alexis huffs.
Something about this feels weird. How could a fire start so soon after the bloodbath? No tribute would think to do something like that, even in this bitter cold. Perhaps the Gamemakers started it?
“Feels like a trap,” Tidus says.
“Oh, it’s definitely a trap,” Brick crosses his arms and smiles. “But we’re going to turn that trap right back on them.”
Everyone begins to talk at once, and it’s hard to get a grasp on what’s said. Alexis is apparently vehemently opposed to the idea of leaving the cornucopia at all, while Citrine and Brick both think trying to draw out whoever set the fire is a good idea. Tidus seems willing to go along with anything.
“Alexis, you can stay here with Penelope,” Brick says after the conversation dies down. “The rest of us are going to investigate that fire.”
I’m glad I get to stay behind, though I feel some worry for Tidus. Leaving the warmth and safety of the cornucopia—even if only momentarily—is risky. 
“You could be outnumbered,” Alexis says. “What if Baron and his allies set the fire?”
Brick gives a short laugh. “Then they’ll die. Baron may be strong, but he can’t stand up to three Careers ambushing him. Reiko…yes, she is deadly, but only when she has the advantage of surprise. I do not intend to give her that advantage.”
I notice he omits Viscera and Peppa, which makes some sense. Both girls received a three or lower as a training score, and neither one is particularly strong. I can’t imagine either would pose a threat to Brick. 
Brick gathers Citrine and Tidus, then the three of them tromp off into the snow. I watch them go silently. I hope it’s not Baron and his friends out there. The truce I made with him back in training still stands, and I fear that joining with them will eventually become necessary. But if Brick murders them…
“Those idiots better not get themselves killed,” Alexis mutters as the trio fades from view. 
I only nod. I sincerely hope that Tidus comes back alive, but Brick and Citrine…I adjust my hood and stare into the bonfire, where the bodies of the dead tributes continue to burn.
===Halley Vega (District 0)===
The wind has died down. The snowfall is softer, gentler. My footprints are not immediately swallowed by the snow as I stagger through it, leaving the decoy fire I created behind as I make a wide circle and loop around the cornucopia.
I don’t know where my allies are. I couldn’t find any trace of them at the bloodbath. There were no supplies placed beside my Launch Plate either, so I simply ran away the moment the gong sounded. The blizzard didn’t frighten me; I’ve studied weather my entire life, and this is just another day in District 0.
I glance over my shoulder at the trail I’ve left behind. I did my best to conceal my tracks, but I could only spend so much time doing it. The Careers could’ve already seen my signal fire.
I created the fire on the edge of a forest. Tall, tall trees blocked out the sky, and gave me plenty of stones and sticks to work with. But before starting the fire, I made dummy tracks leading into the forest, then walked backwards into my own footprints and returned to the fire. My plan is for the Careers to see my fire, investigate, then follow the fake trail into the woods. Hopefully that will distract them long enough for me to sneak back into the cornucopia and steal some supplies.
I am aware of the risks. So many things could go wrong. But I don’t feel any fear. Far from it. I feel…exhilarated. This is an adventure. Something dangerous and exciting. 
I’ve been waiting my whole life for a moment like this. 
The smoke from my fire is still wafting into the sky. A little dark trail that is dwarfed by the cloud of smoke which rises from the cornucopias bonfire. That smoke is how I know I’m headed the right way. Everything around me looks the same. Pure white snow in every direction. But that smoke is a sign. A beacon. 
A guidepost.
I wish my allies were with me. This would be so much simpler if Vizio was here to strategize. If Easton and Autus could back me up with their skill. But they’re not. They’re somewhere off in the snow, or…or maybe they’re dead. It’s a distinct possibility, though a disheartening one. I can only hope that at least one of them survived. I have no chance of winning these Games alone.
But I can pull this off alone. 
The cornucopia comes into view. As I creep closer, staying low to the ground and using the white of my arena wear as camouflage, I peer out at the bonfire. Two shapes stand beside it, huddled into their clothing as they stare into the fire, their backs to me. 
My gaze slides over to the rest of the cornucopia. The supplies have seemingly been organized and arranged into neat piles; most of the stuff is situated near the mouth of the cornucopia itself. I chew the inside of my cheek and frown. To grab anything at all will require me to venture far into the clearing. 
The only sound is the creening of the wind and the pounding of my heart. My limbs feel like lead. Approaching that cornucopia completely unarmed is exceedingly dangerous and foolhardy. Those two Careers have probably just finished murdering some other tributes; they won’t hesitate at all to kill me. 
But I can’t just turn and walk away without any supplies. I won’t need water—I can probably find a way to melt the snow and make it drinkable—but there’s no way I can leave without food or warmth. This arena is decidedly inhospitable; where would I even begin to find a natural source of food?
I have no choice. I must steal from the cornucopia.
The two guards don’t turn around often. Mostly they spend all their time staring into the fire and otherwise remaining near its warmth. Originally—before I knew the Careers would be smart enough to keep a guard—I had considered trying to extinguish the bonfire, but now I can see that was never an option. That fire is massive. Much too large to be put out without a sizable source of water or snow. 
Even as I watch the sentries, I realize that my time is running out. My distraction can only work for so long. Eventually the other Careers will realize they’ve been tricked and will return to the cornucopia. I need to be long gone before they do.
Almost time, then. I feel my eyes opening wide, my nose sucking in cold air, my skin tingling cold. No more hesitation. Sneak in, grab what I need, then sneak out. Simple. Easy. 
Dangerous.
I move at a low crouch, feet crunching on the snow as I approach the cornucopia. The whipping wind should hopefully mask any sound I make. The white of my arena wear hopefully blending in with the snow. 
The two tributes do not turn around as I near the golden horn. Their voices, soft and muted, are carried to me by the wind as I slide behind a crate positioned before the gaping maw of the cornucopia. 
“Those idiots should be back soon.”
“I really do hope they didn’t run into any trouble.”
I keep half an ear focused on their words as I carefully pick up a nearby backpack—its weight is enough to let me know there is stuff inside—and slide it over my shoulders. Next, I glance inside the horn and see something on the wall that almost makes me gasp.
A bow.
I’d never expected to actually get my hands on one of them. Bows are rare and highly sought after; only a few typically get supplied in the arena. For me to get one now…
I creep up to the weapon and carefully pry it free from its holdings. There is a nearby quiver, but only three arrows rest inside. I will need to make every shot count. 
I grab a few more items—a bundle of blankets and a can of fruit—stick them inside my backpack, then creep back out of the horn, bow in hand. The two Careers are still standing beside the bonfire, backs to me as they chat. I hesitate.
Could I…take one out with an arrow? They’re close enough that I don’t think the wind would pose a factor. I’ve made shots similar to this in training. Perhaps I could take out one of the most dangerous tributes right here and now?
But…no. What if I missed? Or if the second Career turned and charged me? I would never win that fight. Better to stay undetected and slip away while I still can. 
I creep away as silently as I arrived. The two guards never even notice my presence as I depart the cornucopia, then break into a jog once I’m past the Launch Plates. The snow swirls overhead in a soft eddy as I run, excitement coursing through me like a fire. I did it! My plan worked! It went off without a hitch! 
Now if only I could find Easton or Autus.
===Thistle Hesmin (District 7)===
Snow flurries beat at my head as Barker and I trudge through the snow, weapons up and heads on a swivel. The bloodbath and cornucopia are far behind us, but the falling snow is not. 
“We’ll need to find shelter,” I say as we continue onwards. Snow and more snow surround us on all sides. So far there has been no landmarks to help us find our way. “This environment is unforgiving.”
Barker pulls to a halt and takes in a deep breath. He wears the balaclava around his head but not over his face, so I can see his expression as he looks around at the snowy landscape. He seems…peaceful. 
“I actually find this environment preferable to New Panem,” He says quietly.
“There’s no people,” I point out. “Hardly anything at all. Just snow and our own thoughts.”
“Exactly.” He runs a hand along the handles of his katanas and stares wistfully up at the sky. It is gray and overcast. Clouds and snow block out any actual glimpse of the sky itself. 
Winters in District 7 can be brutal, and they’ve prepared me for this unrelenting snow and ice. But even that won’t save me from freezing to death if we don’t find shelter.
Neither of us speak as we resume our journey across the snowy plains. Even though visibility is poor, I think it wouldn’t be too difficult to spot another tribute. The bright colors of their jackets would stand out in all this snow. Assuming it isn’t someone from District 0 or 11, that is.
Mounds of snow loom up ahead. Little piles of snow molded into perfect spherical domes that dot the landscape. I recognize the structures; a member of The Whispers taught Barker and myself how to build one back when we were on a mission in the far northern reaches of District 7.
Igloos.
“There’s your shelter,” Barker grunts. 
I nod slowly. The air pockets trapped inside an igloo work as an insulator, and the interior of one can be far warmer than the outside environment. Barker and I could very easily spend the night inside one. 
We approach the mounds at a careful pace, weapons held high as we examine the snowy domes. Other tributes could be hiding inside one, so we can’t let our guard down. Barker scampers to the side of one and knocks on the roof. I stay crouched in the snow, axe trained on the tunnel. If someone emerges…
Nothing. No person appears. Just more falling snow and wailing wind. 
Barker returns to my side with a frown. “Entering these blindly will be dangerous.”
True. If someone is hiding inside, they will have the perfect opportunity to attack us as we enter. Of course, there’s dozens of these igloos, so the odds we accidentally enter one with another tribute already inside should be slim. 
Keyword is should. 
Barker and I are in the middle of deciding which igloo we should approach when a new sound makes its way over the wind. 
Voices.
We both duck low to the ground instantly, crouching behind an igloo as we check our weapons. Who could it be? Certainly not the Careers. They wouldn’t have left the cornucopia so early. But then…
“Ardor, I demand that we take a break!” A high-pitched, whiny voice rises over the wind. I peer over the igloo and spot a pair of tributes entering the snowfield. Their jackets are two different colors, orange and red, so that means they’re Tesla and Ardor.
The tall, broad-shouldered boy pulls to a halt and turns to give the girl a withering stare. “Tesla, you’ve only been walking for two minutes. I carried you the rest of the way, remember?”
“Of course I remember!” The girl snaps. “But those two minutes were exhausting!”
Barker makes a small motion with his fingers. Should we attack? 
I shake my head and twitch my own fingers. No. Tesla may be weak, but Ardor is too dangerous to take on.
I can handle him.
I grit my teeth and resist the urge to sigh. Of course Barker thinks attacking one of the most dangerous tributes in the arena immediately after the bloodbath is a good idea. 
“We can take shelter in one of those igloos,” Ardor’s voice drifts over the wind. “You should be able to rest then.”
“Absolutely not!” Tesla practically shrieks her disapproval. “You want me to crawl inside some snow? Are you out of your mind? I’d freeze to death!”
“It is quite warm inside an igloo, I assure you. We would be comfortable—”
“No. I refuse. Find somewhere else!”
There’s a few moments of back-and-forth argument before Tesla seemingly wins and Ardor agrees to look for better accommodations. The whiny little twirp refuses to walk, however, so he resorts to carrying her on his back as they set off into the snow.
“That girl is going to be the death of him,” Barker mutters when they’re gone.
“That’s good,” I say. Ardor leaving the Careers and handicapping himself was the best thing that ever happened to us. Together they may have been unstoppable, but as they are now…
Barker snorts and crawls inside the nearest igloo. I stay still for a moment before realizing that I really don’t want to freeze for any longer than necessary, so I follow him inside. True to what I thought, the interior of the igloo is much warmer than the outside. Small plush rugs cover the floor, and there’s a metal lamp set up on a chain overhead, illuminating the circular area. 
Barker settles down onto the carpet and breathes deeply, eyes sliding shut. “We can stay here for the remainder of the day.”
I nod and unsling my backpack, dropping it to the floor and zipping it open for the first time since I grabbed it at the bloodbath. Barker has his swords and I have two throwing axes, but whatever is inside this bag will be the only other supplies we have. 
The items inside are decent but unspectacular. A thermal blanket, an emergency flare, some strips of beef jerky, and a canteen of water. “Water shouldn’t be a problem,” I muse, unstoppering the canteen and glancing inside. “When we run out, we can just put some clean snow inside and let it melt.”
Barker doesn’t respond. His eyes are still closed and he sits cross-legged, katanas laid across his lap. The sight of him so calm and collected actually makes me angry. He has a lot of explaining to do.
“Are you ever going to tell me the truth?”
His eye slide open. The dark blue orbs find me. “About what?”
“Vizio! And why you apparently don’t want him with us.”
“I didn’t tell you to gather him for me.”
“That’s because you told me nothing!” My patience is wearing thin. Our very lives are at risk in this arena. Barker’s encounter with Scyler should have taught him that! “If you want me to trust you, Barker, then you have to be willing to tell me something!”
Barker puts a hand into his pocket and pulls out a pen. I raise an eyebrow. “Where’d you get that?”
“It’s my token.” He grabs the piece of paper that came with the emergency flare—its instructions—and flips the card upside down before beginning to write upon it. I watch him work in quiet confusion. Is he…?
When he is finished, Barker presses the paper into my hand. “What is this?” I ask slowly.
“An explanation. Read.”
I do. I read the words written down and find my heart pounding, my breaths coming quicker. Is this real? Are they truly trying to…
I finish and find myself staring at Barker. There is no emotion on the boys face. Just that same stoic blankness. “You should have told me immediately,” I say. Keeping secrets isn’t what we do. Even if The Whispers apparently kept some from me…
“You’re right. I should have.” Barker gently takes the card back from me and crushes it into a ball. He then sticks it into his mouth and begins to chew. After a moment he swallows the whole thing. “But you know now.”
And yet I still have so many questions. I open and close my mouth several times before remembering the possibility of being overheard, so I start twitching my fingers into our handtalk. What if Vizio dies?
Barker’s hand gives a reply. Things will get harder, but not impossible. I can do it.
We would be able to protect him, if we were at his side.
Too risky. We can’t let them catch on.
I pause, mind reeling. Riskier than letting our asset run around on his own? What if you die?
Barker takes a moment before responding. He stares up at the roof of the igloo with a serene expression, one hand gently rubbing the hilt of his katanas. “If I die,” He says softly, “then everything will be up to you.”
My heart hammers against my chest. That was exactly what I feared. “If that’s the case, then…well, I just have to make sure you stay alive.”
Barker’s lips quirk into something that could almost be called a smile. “Don’t worry about that. I have no intention of dying anytime soon.”
I wish I could feel the same level of confidence. But this situation we’re in is one of extreme peril. The wrong action or word could send us straight to our deaths. And while intentions are nice, they’re not exactly a surefire way to survive. 
The only way to do that is by exhibiting extreme skill…and some level of luck.
===Ash Carrow (District 12)===
Downy flakes fall in waves as I push through the snow, taking high, slow steps to avoid being drawn into its depths. The air is chilled. Crisp and cold. Each breath is almost painful.
Good.
Life shouldn’t be sunshine and rainbows. People who had easy, uneventful lives die in the arena. They have no shot against the soul-crushing brutality on display. This cold will weed out those weak, faint-hearted individuals. And besides, fire burns brighter in the cold.
Trees pop into existence somewhere to my left. A forest. I recognize many of the types of trees. Pines, larches, and spruces dot the forest. To my right is a frozen landscape of rolling hills, and straight ahead…
I reach the crest of my hill and stare down into the wide open space before me. At first I think it’s just a circular area of empty snow, but then I notice what’s beneath the snow. Ice. 
A frozen lake.
I clamber down the incline and push through the windblown snow on my way to the shore. A frozen lake. I tap one foot against the ice and smile. This ice is thick. It’d take serious time and effort to carve your way through it.
But only moments to blow it apart.
The lake is large and stretches from here all the way down past the forest. Only a little snow builds up atop the ice, because most of it is blown away by the wind and forced into large piles at the shoreline. I creep onto the ice and jump up and down. It doesn’t so much as crackle. 
Thick indeed. 
Imagine what I could do with the right explosives! If I rigged the thing to blow then led a large alliance, such as the Careers, out onto the ice before slipping away to activate the explosives…
“Click-click, hallelujah, ka-boom!”
I have a bag on my shoulders. One that could contain some of the stuff needed to create explosives. I recognized the warning symbol emblazoned on its side, one that was familiar to me from my days in District 12. It was the sole reason I decided to grab it as opposed to any of the other bags which were littered around the cornucopia. 
“Big explosions, big results,” I mutter to myself as I skirt around the edge of the lake, sticking close to the trees. Their branches and trunks help protect me from the freezing gales. 
Shelter. It will be ultra important in this arena. Cold snow, icy winds, and everything that entails will kill faster than a blade. I glance at the dagger in my right hand. Maybe not faster than this blade. If someone thinks they can get the jump on me…
I saw off some low-hanging branches and collect rocks and sticks at the base of the trees, then form them into a neat little pile. I set the kindling between the rocks and go get some more. When I have enough to work with, I begin starting a fire.
It’s not hard. I’ve spent years handling fire, so even without any matches I get one going within moments. I blow gently on the flame as it sputters into existence, catching on the dry leaves and flickering alive as it spreads onto the sticks and logs. 
Once I have the fire going, I leave it be and creep further on into the woods.
A decoy. I’m not dumb enough to make myself easy to find. No. If those brain dead morons want to get at me, they’ll have to work for it. 
Once I’m far enough away from my decoy, I repeat the process and begin making a new fire. One that’s smaller and better concealed, with kindling that will create less smoke. The trees and cloudy conditions should help in concealing any smoke in general, but less is still better. 
Boom! A cannon goes off as I work, quickly followed by several more. Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
Five. Five deaths. Not exactly the amount I was hoping for. With all this snow and wind, the other tributes will likely spend most of their time turtling and trying their best to avoid one another. Means that it’ll take longer before these Games end. More time I need to spend in this blasted arena.
Irritating.
When my fire is finally finished, I sit before the flames and go through my backpack. As I suspected, there are many jars and bottles of chemicals inside. More than enough for me to make a few handheld toys. Nothing spectacular, to be sure, but some sparklers and smoke emitters could be crafted easily enough. 
But there’s no food. Nothing to eat. Hardly the worst problem to have, but also one I don’t see being rectified easily. How to procure some? Hunting? Foraging? I’m not exactly an expert in either category. The best way to get supplies would be to raid some other tributes stuff.
I rotate the dagger in my hand, light from the newborn fire reflecting off its blade. A raid would require explosives. Fire. Decay.“Some things just need to be destroyed,” I whisper to the air. “After all…creation can only come after destruction.”
And I will destroy everything before I allow myself to burn. 
===Rooker Irone (District 12)===
The three of us make our way through the snow. Tempest leads us, walking calmly, staff in hand as he brushes the snow aside and generally behaving as if this is an everyday occurrence. And maybe it is in District 0. I don’t know enough about New Panem’s northernmost region to say for sure. 
But I know that Edison and myself are very much not accustomed to this weather.
We trudge behind Tempest at a slow pace. Though he clears the thicker parts of the snow and creates a path for us to follow, we continue to be bogged down in the snow itself. Edison in particular struggles mightily and has begun to drop even further behind.
“Can we take a break?” I call out ahead to Tempest and the boy pauses before turning around. 
“What? Oh, yeah.” He points at a clump of rocks sticking out of the snow up ahead. “We can stop there. The surface is nice and flat, and the height should give us a good view of the area around us.”
Tempest has proven to be a capable ally for more reasons than one. My body aches as we approach the stones and slowly settle down onto them. My fight with Brann at the bloodbath did not exactly go the way I wished. I haven’t had a chance to see my face yet, but I imagine it is a mess of bruises. And I swear that I can still feel the boys fingers tightening around my throat…
If it weren’t for Tempest’s intervention, I could very well be dead.
Edison flops down onto the rock beside me, panting hard as he clutches his weapons close. A bloodstained dagger and a sword. The sword came from the tribute he killed at the bloodbath, though he apparently doesn’t know who it was. “Some girl” was all he said when I asked. 
Tempest eyes the sword. “Do you even know how to use that?”
“You stick ‘em with the pointy end,” Edison growls.
“Close enough.”
“Thanks for your help back there, by the way,” I say as he slings our lone backpack to the ground. 
He shrugs. “I couldn’t just sit back and let you die, could I?”
“I suppose not.” Was it really so simple for him? Did he not have any other considerations beyond my well-being? I am not against such selfless benevolence—at least not when directed towards myself—but I hardly expected Tempest to be one to show it. Of course, it may not have been so selfless. It only makes sense to protect your ally, especially this early on in the Games. The real test will come later—will Tempest continue to put himself on the line for us? Even when there is credible danger to himself?
I myself will not and can not afford to put myself at risk for either Tempest or Edison. No matter what they do for me or how many times they save my life, the debt I owe them will never outweigh the one I owe my family. Mother and Rosemary will always have my total dedication. If I must let Edison and Tempest die so they can thrive, then I will let them die. I will do so with sorrow in my heart, true, but I will let them die all the same. 
“This stuff sucks!” Edison grabs one of the items Tempest has pulled from his bag and gives it a little shake. A canister of soup. 
“Better than nothing,” I say, making note of our other items. A packet of crackers, loaf of bread, two canteens, and a blanket. That combined with the two daggers I procured from the cornucopia, Edison’s own weapons, and Tempest’s staff make up the entirety of our supplies.
I squeeze my eyes shut as a gust of wind brings with it a flurry of unsettled snow. Our supplies aren’t the most important thing right now. Shelter is. “We’ll need to find somewhere to spend the night.”
Tempest nods. “Yes. If we’re stuck out here by nightfall…well, we’ll probably freeze to death.”
“Cheery,” Edison mutters. 
We take a few more moments of rest before packing our things back up and heading further into the snowy tundra. Tempest leads the way, while Edison brings up the rear. I sit in the middle, head down and face nuzzled against my parka as I try to focus on not freezing. It’s hard. 
“Are those…buildings?” It’s Tempest’s voice that eventually draws me out of my stupor. I look up and blink through the snow to follow his gaze. A handful of indistinct shapes lurk on the horizon, red and blue lights shining softly in the diffusing snowfall.
“Looks like it,” Edison steps up besides us and rolls his neck. “Good. Was getting sick and tired of being cold and tired.”
“Could be dangerous,” I point out the obvious. “We have no way of knowing whether some other tributes have already taken refuge there or not.”
“I could scout ahead and scope it out,” Tempest says.
“If you want to, then go ahead.” I have little doubt he’d be capable of it. Tempest has more experience in this kind of weather than anyone else, and his white clothing should make it that much more difficult to detect him. 
He nods and flips his hood up. “Okay. If the coast is clear then I’ll hoot twice like a barn owl to let you know.”
He slips away into the snow and is almost immediately lost to sight. My trust in his abilities was well-placed, it seems. 
Edison scratches his head. “What the hell does a barn owl sound like?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea.”
We lapse into silence. The only sound is the gentle careening of the wind. I suppress a shiver and think of home. Rosemary and Mother are undoubtedly watching the Games as frequently as possible. For Mother that means whenever she isn’t working, but for Rosemary…I can imagine she’s glued to the television, watching twenty-four-seven. I need to keep that in mind. Everything I do, I do for my family. 
An odd, somewhat familiar sound rises over the wind. Edison spins around, weapons waving, but I only smile as the sound repeats. The hoot of a barn owl! I actually do recognize it. Must have heard one back in District 12 at some point. 
“Calm down,” I tap Edison on the shoulder and gesture out at the buildings. “That’s just Tempest. The coast is clear.”
Edison swears under his breath and the two of us slowly begin to approach the buildings. We don’t move slow because of any concern that this is a trap; we just can’t manage a quicker pace in this snow. 
Tempest appears as we near the buildings, standing by the corner of a large wooden house completely decked out in colorful lights and lavish decorations. The sight is quite familiar to me, because District 12 similarly outfits its buildings every year.
Christmas decorations.
“The whole village is like this,” Tempest says as stop beside him. “Just covered in decorations and lights.”
“You didn’t see anyone else?”
“No. I didn’t spot any tracks either. I don’t think any other tribute has come here yet.”
I nod and lead the way into the village proper, walking between two wooden houses and into the circular clearing which the buildings surround. Cold cobblestones cover the ground, small cast-iron fences outfitted with wreathes and baubles line each yard. A bubbling fountain with stone statues sits in the center of the clearing, just in front of the largest Christmas tree I have ever seen.
The thing has to be at least thirty feet tall, with bright green leaves and almost entirely covered in ornaments and tinsel. A wide, golden star adorns the very top of the tree. 
“That thing must cost a fortune,” Edison stares at the tree with a wide eye. Leave it to him to focus on the trees material value. 
Candy canes dot the side of the cobblestone roads and the smell of gingerbread wafts over the cold air. There’s nowhere for my eyes to rest. Everywhere I look, I see bright colors, flashing lights, and garish decorations. This place is outlandish to the extreme. 
“The buildings offer some warmth and protection from the wind,” Tempest points at the nearest house, which is almost completely covered in decorations. A little reindeer is prominently displayed in the front yard. “So we should probably enter one.”
There is no reason to deny this obvious observation, so the three of us begin to approach the nearest building. We don’t get more than a few feet when a high-pitched voice halts us.
“Hello, visitors! Have you come to sightsee?”
A tiny person waddles out from the holly bushes in the front yard. He wears a green tunic, bright yellow pants, and a silly little hat on his head. Long pointed ears stick out from tufts of blond hair, and a lopsided smile rests on his face. 
“What the hell?” I gawp at the person. He can’t be more than two feet tall. Is this an…elf?
“Argh!” 
Edison rushes forward and kicks the elf straight in the face. The little guy goes flying back like a football and slams into the brick wall of the house behind him. The elf slides to the ground in a heap, head lolling at an angle. 
“Why did you do that?” Tempest sounds aghast as he runs to the elf’s side, dropping to check his pulse. When he finds none, he gently lays the elf aside and fixes Edison with a glare. “You just murdered one of Santa’s Elves!”
“So?” Edison turns and spits. “Who gives a flying fu—” The boy launches into a series of expletive filled rants about Santa and mutts, and how we shouldn’t trust anything we see in this arena. I don’t disagree with the sentiment, but I do think we should be more careful in the future. Who knows what the repercussions for killing this creature could be?
“It could’ve been a friendly mutt,” Tempest says as he steps away from the elf’s body. “Those do exist, you know.”
“I ain’t need no help from a stinkin’ animal!” Edison growls. 
“We should get indoors,” I say, not quite willing to take a side in this argument. “It’s best to get warm when we can. Who knows if we’ll get another opportunity?”
Neither boy is against the idea, so we cross the street—none of us want to be any closer to that mutt’s body than necessary—and enter the house opposite. Tempest is still in a bad mood, muttering about how St. Nicklaus and his elves are the patrons of District 0, but Edison seems to be in high spirits. Maybe killing things are to his liking? Either way, I don’t care. 
I have a Games to win.
===Peppa Trails (District 11)===
“It’s a village,” Reiko points a finger at the buildings which rise up before us. Old, rickety wooden houses. A series of minetracks crisscrossing the streets, and the gaping maw of a dark tunnel stare back at us. 
Baron strides forward, shoving the remnants of the snow aside with his massive legs. A range of mountain peaks loom above us, sharp and white in the cloudy sky. I can’t quite see the top. “Looks abandoned,” He rumbles.
That’s true. The street is bordered with an almost unbroken barrier of desiccated wagons, old mining implements, clothes, provisions, and the like. Everything looks worn down or broken. There’s practically nothing new or whole in this entire village. 
We’ve pushed straight on since we escaped the bloodbath. Our path has seen no turns or divergents—we’ve gone straight north, as Reiko claims. I can’t tell if she’s right, because I have no idea which cardinal direction is which in this stupid snow squall. 
“It’s all broken,” Viscera murmurs as she steps forward and catches a snowflake on her outstretched palm. She studies it for a moment before casting it aside. “I think we should be safe here. The Author says so.”
Well, if Viscera’s imaginary friend says it’s safe, then it must be so. I shiver as another gust of wind cuts through our clothing. “We should take shelter in one of those buildings.”
There’s a multitude of decrepit, ramshackle buildings to choose from. Some of them seem to be dwellings for the miners and their families—though I don’t believe anyone has ever actually lived here—but others are more atypical. A tavern sits prominently in the center of the town, with a broken sign hanging at an awkward angle. Then there’s a tannery and grocery store. Both of them are closer to the dark entrance of the mine itself.
“We should explore,” Reiko says. “There are likely useful supplies hidden away.”
“I agree,” Baron nods. “But we should take shelter first. I don’t want us to freeze. Let’s go.”
The building he picks is a nondescript house tucked away in the corner of the village. It’s a good choice. Almost exactly the building I would’ve chose. The tavern or grocery store may hold more supplies, but they will also be the first destination of anyone else who shows up at the village. This house, however, will likely be completely overlooked. Why would anyone want to search such a decrepit shack?
The building is dusty and covered in cobwebs, but the walls offer protection from the wind. I feel a little heat returning to my toes as we creep inside. It’s not exactly warm, but it’s far better than outside. 
“There’s a fireplace,” Reiko points out a stone chimney tucked away in the corner. There are only a few rooms. A small living space, a kitchen, and a bathroom on the side. Each one is as empty and broken as the last. 
“There’s some wood left for us to use,” I say, drawing attention to the pile of chopped logs beside the fireplace. “And I think one of us should be capable of starting a fire, even without any matches.” 
Reiko can. She crouches beside the fireplace and gets to work as Baron kneels down to speak with Viscera. I take the opportunity to explore the room and instantly zero in on the far wall. A series of devices are hanging there, and a few of them are recognizable to me. Wires, ropes, tools…and a bear trap. 
“Viscera could use those,” Baron’s rumbling voice causes me to jump. I didn’t realize he and Viscera had finished their conversation. “Couldn’t you?”
She nods. “Oh, yes. I can make many traps to catch The Misery Man’s creatures. Not him, though. He is too clever for traps.”
Was that meant to be reassuring? It really didn’t feel like it. Baron reaches a massive hand out and pats the girl on the shoulder. “Start collecting what you need, and think of what traps you’ll make. But don’t put any up until I return.”
“You’re going somewhere?” I ask, surprised.
“Yes. I want to search the village for supplies.”
There’s a gentle crackling sound as Reiko finally gets the fire to catch. Faint dark smoke wafts up the chimney as she approaches, bow slung over her shoulder and sword in hand. “Will you need my help?”
“No. I want you to stay here and protect the others.”
“I want to come with!” The words escape my lips without me even realizing it. I need to prove my value, and I can’t do that by staying behind and being a burden. “I won’t slow you down, I promise!”
Baron’s dark eyes flicker towards me. It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking with his mask, but I suppose that’s true of us all now. I myself have my face obscured by a balaclava. “Fine. But stay close to me.”
Baron exchanges a few more words with Reiko, then he leads me out into the snowy village. Cold wind blasts my side almost immediately and I huddle into my parka, shivering. The house had been warmer than I imagined. 
“Where do we check first?” I have to raise my voice to be heard over the wind. I swear it’s gotten worse over time. 
Baron points a single meaty finger at the grocery store. 
We make our way across the street, staying low—which isn’t very easy for Baron—and using the abandoned mine carts as cover from the wind. When we reach the store, Baron just busts the door down with one kick. The old thing topples to the floor and breaks into a dozen pieces. “Huh.” He stares at the debris for a second. “Thought it would be sturdier.”
I feel like that’s a common occurrence in his life. Never truly realizing just how big and strong he is compared to the rest of us. Never fully capitalizing on that advantage. He could’ve grabbed whatever he wanted from the cornucopia, if he was only willing to risk it. 
The grocery store is surprisingly empty. The shelves are mostly bare and what food we do find is either rotten or spoiled. I discover a pair of energy bars squirreled away in a cabinet, and Baron snags a bag of chips from the top shelf, but other than that there is remarkably little to find. 
“What was your life like before the Games?” I find myself wondering about the giants past as we continue our search. 
Baron grunts as he lifts up a fallen shelf and moves it aside. There’s nothing but rotting floorboards beneath. “Before the Games?” He turns and studies me for a moment. “Why?”
I don’t know anything about Baron’s life, or what makes him the way he is. Reiko never shuts up about her past, and Viscera’s ramblings have clued me in on most of her own background, but Baron himself remains a mystery. He never speaks about his life, or what he did before being Reaped. The only thing I know about him is that he’s a literal giant with a creepy mask.
“The past is the past,” He turns away from me and resumes his search. “It no longer matters.”
I don’t think that’s true. The past is important. It’s what shaped us into the person we are today. Without our past, what would we be? “I lived with my Daddy before the Games,” I say softly. Dust falls from the ceiling and settles on my shoulders. The wind howls outside. “We had a peaceful life until…Daddy was murdered.”
Baron pauses. “I am sorry for your loss.”
“The man who killed him did it because he wanted me dead. Hated me just because of who I was.” I should be safe to mention these bare facts. It won’t reveal my identity. “It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t choose to be born who I was. My…they hated me regardless. Wanted me dead so badly they killed my only family. Just because I was different.”
No response. The only sound is the wailing of far off wind, and the quivering timbers of the grocery store. “Make your weakness strength,” Baron finally breaks the silence. “Armor yourself in it. If someone seeks to use it against you, ensure that they cannot. You can’t change the way you were born, so embrace it instead. That is what I have done.”
I…that makes sense. I don’t know how I could possibly begin to do such a thing, but it makes sense. Armor myself in the Stryker name. Embrace it. But wouldn’t that…
“What do you want from life?” The question just pops into my head. I don’t know why. 
“What I want?” Baron goes silent for so long that I begin to fear he has fallen asleep. “What I want…is to use my strength in whatever I way I wish. To be free to choose.”
“Oh.” I didn’t expect that response. 
“I will use my strength to protect you, to protect Viscera, and even though she doesn’t need it, to protect Reiko. I will protect you all for as long as I am able. You need not fear me raising a hand against you. Ever.”
Baron gives me a stiff nod and says that we’ve found all there is here, so it’s time to move on to the next building. I trudge after him as he leads the way outside and then into the tavern. The barrel-vaulted ceiling is stained black with soot, the floor is hard-paneled wood, and the air smells of smoke and rotten food.
Dozens of tables are set up across the room, a multitude of chairs surrounding them, and a long bar rests on the far side of the room. Casks of wine are piled in the corner, forgotten and dusty. 
“Keep an eye out,” Baron grumbles. “There must be something here.”
While he searches the tables, I duck behind the bar and look under the counter. I find a few miscellaneous things, but nothing that would be useful in the arena. What a waste. How could there be nothing—
Hold on.
A small knife lies under the bar, near the cash register. I pick it up and examine the blade. Sharp. Sharp enough to kill. “Better than nothing,” I murmur. I have my necklace, but it’s nice to have an actual non-illegal weapon too. 
When I go to show Baron my find, I learn that he has also managed to collect some stuff. He found a toolbox on one of the tables, and inside there is a screwdriver, a handful of nails, a wrench, and a pair of pliers. He also managed to get his hands on a crowbar, which looks like a toy in his hands. 
“There’s not much food hidden here,” I say dourly. “What little we found will probably be gone by morning.” Starving isn’t anything new to me, but I would have hoped that the arena wouldn’t be worse than the streets of District 11.
A silly hope.
An odd sound prevents Baron from responding. Something different from the wind and creaking wood. Voices. 
Heart pounding, I creep close to the taverns window and peer out. Snow and ice has encrusted on the glass, but I can just barely see out into the village through it. There’s the mine carts, and the tunnel entrance. The grocery store and…
Three people come into view. They’re walking slowly, heads up and searching as they approach the tunnel entrance. Two lavender jackets and a lime green one. District 9 and 14.
Brann, Mazie, and Meta.
Baron stands beside the door, crowbar at the ready. If those three make the mistake of entering the tavern, it will likely be their final one.
But they don’t. The trio doesn’t so much as glance toward the tavern. The three of them move straight through the village and disappear into the maw of the tunnel. I breathe a sigh of relief. “They’re gone.”
Baron approaches the window to check for himself then nods. “We should return to Reiko and Viscera.”
The snowfall has picked up intensity as we exit the tavern and cross bask to the ramshackle house. The trio’s footsteps are already covered in fresh snow. Soon they will be gone entirely. Good. If their footprints get erased, then so will ours. 
We pause at the doorstep of the house. There’s a window, but the glass is dirty and caked with ice, so I can’t see inside. “Should we knock?” I ask Baron. I don’t think just barging inside would be safe. 
Baron thumps a fist on the door. “Open up! It’s us!”
The door opens a crack. Viscera peers out at us. “The Misery Man draws closer,” She says softly.
“Yes, yes. Let us in will you?” I feel exposed out here. Even though the house is tucked away in the corner of the village, in the shadow of the mountain, I still feel like I’m being watched. Not a new sensation. I’ve felt like this since Daddy died.
Viscera pulls the door open and I stumble inside. The fireplace is alive with heat and flames, and I sigh in content as the gentle warmth washes over me. “Where’s Reiko?” Baron asks, pulling the door shut behind him.
“Here.” The girl materializes seemingly out of thin air. She has her bow in hand, though the string is loose and no arrow is nocked. “There are tributes outside.”
“We know.” I lower my voice, just to be safe. “They ran into the mines.”
I take a seat on the carpet by the fireplace as Baron and Reiko discuss our next move. Neither one is keen to leave this shelter, so it sounds like we’ll be staying here for the remainder of the day at least. 
Once that’s decided, Viscera and Baron go off to have a quiet conversation as Reiko makes her way to me and the fire. I watch her out of the corner of my eye. The way she slinks around soundlessly reminds me of a cat. 
“Can I ask you something?”
Reiko settles down beside me, sword on her lap, bow slung over her shoulder. “Of course.”
“Do…if we were the final two would you…kill me?” Baron said he wouldn’t harm me, and I’m not worried about Viscera beating me, but Reiko is another matter entirely. 
“If we were the last tributes?” Reiko repeats the question and tilts her head sideways. “Well, if it came down to just the two of us, and there was no other way to proceed…then yes, I would kill you.”
“Oh.”
“I must win, you see. The Temple and Tsuki are counting on me. I cannot afford to fail.”
There’s no malice in her words. It’s not a threat. Reiko is just telling the honest truth. She’ll kill me if she is forced to. I never expected anything different. Not really. “I wouldn’t have a chance to win against you,” I say quietly. “In a fair fight you’d kill me so fast.”
“Then ensure the fight is not fair.”
I blink, surprised by her words. “You…think I should fight dirty?”
Reiko nods. “The Veiled Demon teaches that there is no shame in using underhanded tactics if you are sorely outmatched. Your first priority is your own safety, and it is not wrong to do whatever is necessary to survive.”
This conversation has gone in a completely different direction than I thought. For some reason I expected Reiko would be all in on me doing the honorable thing, but…
Baron and Viscera are busy setting up some traps, so Reiko stands to go assist them. I just snuggle against the carpet and stare at the fireplace. Into the crackling flames. I feel horribly overwhelmed by everything around me. I don’t know how I can these Games…
You’ll never win as long as you play by the rules. 
===Mazie Sunnoria (District 9)===
The tunnel is dimly lit as we follow the mine tracks downwards. Incandescent light bulbs hang in rickety metal lamps overhead, fitfully illuminating the tunnels as we pass through.
Brann leads the way. He has a sickle in his right hand and a duffel bag in his left. The boys handsome face is a mess of purple bruises. He got into a fight at the bloodbath but managed to survive. Lucky. Though he probably doesn’t feel that way. He keeps grimacing and placing a hand against his ribs, complaining of the pain. If it wasn’t for the thickness of his clothing, he probably would’ve broken a rib.
“Does anyone else think the air feels kinda muggy?” Meta sets her axe down on the floor as she shrugs out of her parka. It was the only thing she managed to take from the cornucopia.
Brann pulls to a halt. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “These tunnels are very warm.”
Almost uncomfortably so. I follow Meta’s lead and take off my parka, tying it around my waist. Whatever danger may lay in here, freezing to death isn’t one of them. 
We take this opportunity to stop and rest. We’ve been moving practically nonstop since the gong rang out, and I’ve begun to lose energy. We’re in the intersection of a mine cart exchange, with branching tunnels in every direction. A lever rests nearby, alongside a bunch of crates and old mining equipment. There are some small boxes labeled Incendiary: Danger! that I make sure to stay far away from. 
“Most of my supplies are…interesting,” Brann is busy sorting through his duffel bag and setting the items atop a crate. A spile, vial of antidote, and some sleep syrup. “Not really anything that will be immediately important.”
I glance inside my own bag. There’s a long thin blowgun, a small leather pouch with three darts inside, a container of something called chlorine, and a rolled up sleeping bag. “All together this is some useful stuff,” I say. “Maybe not immediately useful, but every little bit helps. You never know when something will be necessary.”
Brann murmurs his agreement, but Meta doesn’t respond. The short girl is staring off into the darkness of the tunnel, a forlorn look on her face. “Something wrong?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Not wrong, exactly. It’s just…the barbarity of the Games are…kinda getting to me.”
I purse my lips. We didn’t see much bloodshed at the bloodbath, but it was obviously happening. I was too busy thinking about Winnow to really focus on the other tributes. All that fire and wind…it reminded me of how I stole my sister’s sight, and the lengths I must go to find penance. 
There’s been some progress in that regard. Meta beseeched her mother to help my family during her interview, an act of kindness that I can never repay, even if the results aren’t what we hope.
“My parents helped form this,” Meta waves a hand at our surroundings. “I always knew that. I never really agreed with their beliefs, but…to see all this cruelty and death up close…it really puts things in perspective.”
Right. Meta is a reformist who wants to see change in New Panem. I shouldn’t be surprised. Many people on the forum spoke against our government, though I always stayed out of the political discussions. The Games themselves are morally wrong, but at the same time they provide an avenue of repentance and forgiveness for tributes like me. And with new Academy’s popping up every year…I can imagine a future where every tribute is a volunteer.
“I thought my Reaping had been rigged,” Meta continues softly, “but now I don’t know if that’s true. President Price would have known, wouldn’t she? But why would she want to help Father…”
“We should keep moving,” Brann’s voice echoes in the tunnels. “This isn’t a good place to stop. Too wide open.”
We gather up our items and head off down one of the tunnels, still following the tracks. The lamps overhead are placed at regular intervals so there’s always a pool of light, but shadows lurk on the edge. I can just imagine how awful this place would be in complete darkness…
It is eerie in these tunnels. Lonely. Despite being flanked by Brann and Meta, I feel like I am by myself. That the shadows could just reach out and swallow me. I am use to the sight of the sky. The sun. Here there is nothing but dark walls and stone. 
Perhaps this is what I deserve. Winnow has only suffered because of me…
“There is warm air coming from cracks in the wall!” Brann pauses beside a flat surface of rock that forms the interior wall of the mine. “I can feel it coming through!”
I peer at the wall. Long, thin fissures run vertically down the rough stone. The flickering lamplight is hardly enough to illuminate it. 
“Ooh!” Meta squeals with excitement. “Maybe there’s some geothermal vents in there! Or what if the mountain is a volcano?”
I really hope that’s not true. I don’t want to think about what might happen to the arena if it were to erupt.
Brann continues to run his left hand along the wall, feeling at the cracks. Suddenly he frowns and tries to pull his hand back, but gasps when he cannot. “What the hell?”
Meta and I jostle around him to try and see. A fat blob of…something has emerged from the cracks and slid over Brann’s hand. The transparent blob is shaped like a mound of jelly, with a viscous texture and jiggling form. More of the blob continues to squeeze out from the crack, slowly sliding along the wall.
“My hand is stuck!” Brann strains against the blob but his hand doesn’t budge. It stays inside the strange thing. 
There is a small, rock-like item in the center of the blob. Black and oval, the thing rotates until it splits in two, like an opening hinge, and reveals a gaping maw of pure darkness.
A…mouth?
“Help me!” Brann’s face is red with exertion as he attempts to pull his hand free. The blob continues to move, slowly crawling further and further up his arm. The mouth inside begins to approach his fingers.
A mix of fear and disgust has taken root and frozen me to the spot. My mind is blank. I can’t even begin to understand what I’m witnessing. What in the world is this creature? Is it even a creature?
Brann swings his sickle at the thing, but though the sharp metal weapon slides into the blob easily enough, it begins to slow the second it makes contact. The viscosity of the gel steals all momentum and his swing is brought to a gradual halt. “What the hell is this thing made of?” Brann lets go of the sickle as the blob begins to slide down the blade and onto the handle, absorbing the weapon into itself. 
The blob contracts then spits out the sickle. I flinch back as the weapon clangs off the wall and skitters across the floor. 
Meta grabs Brann around the waist and tries to tug him free, but it’s no use. His hand is firmly lodged inside the blob, and it continues to pull him further inside. The mouth begins to hungrily float towards his fingers…
“Do something!” Brann screams. His face is red, eyes wide with terror. “Help me!”
“I’m trying!” Meta is frantic, tugging and pulling at Brann’s body. But it won’t work. This blob—whatever it is—has too firm a grasp. The thing continues to expand, slowly rolling up Brann’s arm and absorbing more of him. The mouth-like protrusion floats closer and closer to his hand. 
I have to do something! Guilt and fear washes over me like a wave. How can I just stand here and watch it happen? I ruined Winnow’s life, and now I won’t lift a finger to save Brann? No! I must act! 
“Meta, hand me your axe!”
“Huh?” The girl turns to stare at me like I’ve gone insane. “Why? You saw what that blob did to the sickle!”
“I’m not going to use the axe on the blob,” My voice is surprisingly calm and steady. “I’m using it on Brann.”
“What?” Meta stares at me incredulously. But Brann doesn’t. He only nods and licks his lips. 
“Mazie is right,” He says as the blob continues to travel up his arm. It’s almost at his elbow now. “It’s impervious to weapons, but my arm…we can cut it off.”
“That’s insane! You…I…” Her eyes travel to the creature, to Brann, then back. “There has to be another way!”
“I don’t think there is.” Brann has stopped struggling and simply watches the mouth approach his fingers. “And I really, really don’t want this thing to eat me.”
Meta wordlessly hands me her axe, then rips a strip of cloth off her clothing. “For a tourniquet,” She says quietly. “I know how to apply one. Mother taught me.”
I only nod, face grim. Winnow lost her sight because of me, now Brann will lose his arm. Am I destined to take everything from the people around me?
I lift the axe and position it over Brann’s arm, just past where the elbow meets the forearm. The blade is long and sharp. Heavy enough to do the job in one blow. I can see the sweet spot of the blade. I can do this. 
“Hurry!” Brann curls his fingers away from the mouth as it floats forward.
I bring the axe down with my full force.
There’s a sound like the breaking of a tree branch and then Brann’s arm is split in two. The boy screams and screams as he falls back, blood spurting from the wound as he waves it, some splashing in my face. His eyes roll into his head and Brann collapses to the floor, unconscious.
Meta is at his side immediately, applying the tourniquet, but my eyes remain focused on the blob. Now that Brann’s resistance is gone, it greedily sucks in his disembodied arm and brings it to the mouth. I watch in fascinated disgust as it swallows the arm, the limb disappearing into that gaping maw. How did it even fit…?
“Mazie, help me lift him!” Meta puts her shoulder under Brann’s arm and begins to pull the boy up. 
I continue watching the blob. It shudders with a violent force, then the mouth reopens and Brann’s arm comes crawling back out. 
“What…the…hell.”
The arm swims through the inside of the blob until it reaches the edge, where it pushes through the viscous seal and emerges halfway from the blob. Fingers flexing, it grips the wall and begins to pull itself forward.
The blob…it assimilated Brann’s arm! It ate his hand and then…then it took control of it! No. I must be mistaken. My eyes are playing tricks. That isn’t…
“Mazie!”
Meta’s desperate scream snaps me back into focus. I scoop up Brann’s sickle then put my weight under Brann, helping Meta tow him away as the blob slowly crawls along the wall, reaching out with its newfound fingers.
The two of us half-drag half-carry Brann down the tunnel as we flee from the horrific creature. Many emotions float through me as we go. Nausea. Fascination. Anger. Guilt. But most of all…terror.
===Theodore Drest (District 8)===
The air is cold. The snow falls silently as we move together through the woods. Tall trees loom over us. Our boots leave behind a trail of footprints. My breath makes fog in the air.
I am not amused.
The bloodbath did not go as I planned. I did not make a single kill and was embarrassed by Ardor. The boy dispatched me as he easily as he would a fly. And worse, I fear that I’ve lost a most valuable tool. 
Scyler keeps pace beside me. The tall boys gaze is focused forward as we walk. The sky is dark. Night has fallen. Though the biting wind slices through our clothing, Scyler shows no sign of being cold. 
He is perhaps my only remaining tool. Lartius could not be found after the bloodbath, and I do not think it is a stretch to believe he has been slain. Stupid fool. His only job was to seek me out and assist me in whatever way he could. But did he do that? No. 
A pond appears to our right. Surprisingly the water is not frozen. “Should we camp here?” I ask, staring ahead over the dark water. Flakes of snow disappear into the black surface. The mountains are but shadowed mounds in the distance. The arenas edge, most likely. 
Scyler shrugs and pulls to a halt. “I don’t see why not. We’ll need a fire, though.”
Obviously. I resist the urge to snap at the boy and instead just dump my backpack on the ground and begin gathering some fallen branches. There are many to be found in the forest. No doubt because the Gamemakers didn’t want everyone freezing to death. 
With Scyler’s help it doesn’t take long to gather enough material for a fire. The boy crouches down on the ground and gets a spark within moments. Then, much quicker than I’d have guessed, he has a stable fire going. “You’re good at this,” I say.
He shrugs again. “I’ve had lots of practice.”
So have I. It’s one of the first things they teach you at the Academy. If you can’t make fire, you’re basically dead. The simple things are the most important. Always thought my instructors were puffed up idiots, but maybe they were right this one time.
Scyler gathers a bunch of pine nettles and begins piling them up near the fire. When I ask what he’s doing, he tells me he is using them as a layer between his sleeping bag and the snow to help himself keep warm. I tell him that’s smart, but internally I curse myself for not thinking of it first. Scyler should be the one learning from me.
When I am finished making my own pile of nettles, I spread my blanket atop them and settle in before the fire. The smoke wafts into the air and is lost in the dark and the trees. Not that it would matter if anyone else saw it. I’d rip their throat out if they attacked. 
Our supplies are…adequate. Scyler and I both have a sword, and he has a dagger which hangs from his belt. A canister of soup and a loaf of hard bread are the extent of our food. I have a net trap which is set up in the nearby trees, and Scyler has a box of matches and a first-aid kit, both of which will prove useful in the coming days. 
As we watch the fire, I notice that the front of Scyler’s clothing is torn in a big ragged patch. Almost as if he was attacked. “What happened there?” I wave a hand at his chest. 
He touches a tentative hand to this chest. “Oh, this? I…Thistle hit me with an axe. Hurt something fierce.”
And yet all it did was tear his clothing. I wouldn’t have thought our arena wear would be enough to protect us from a blow like that. Peculiar. 
But I don’t care about Scyler. Not really. The only thing which matters to me is how useful he will be in the next few days. With Lartius gone he will become even more valuable to me. Still, he may not be enough. Perhaps it would be better if I had more tools at my side. But who? I can’t imagine many of the others would willingly align with us. Too weak and stupid.
Of course, I may not actually need another tool. Scyler may prove effective enough. Looking at the Games analytically, my best bet would be to avoid all conflict and wait for the rest to kill each other off. But that would be dreadfully boring. What is the point of being in a killing game if you don’t even play it?
“What do you think our next move should be?” I ask Scyler.
The blond boy shrugs. “I’m up for whatever you suggest.”
Of course. How very helpful. At least this proves the boy is still loyal to me. “Surely you must have some suggestion?”
He shrugs once more, poking at our fire with a stick. “Not really. I mean, well, I would like to see Meta again.”
And his obsession with the girl continues. Yet his connection with Meta does mean that her alliance are likely the only tributes in the arena who wouldn’t attack us on sight. That could prove useful in the future. 
“We should head towards those mountains in the morning,” I wave a hand in the direction where the shadowed peaks lay. “It’s too dark and cold to do so now, but those mountains will most likely hold many caves and crevices for us to seek shelter in.”
Scyler nods. “Makes sense.”
Everything I do makes sense. I’m not in the business of making stupid decisions. I leave that to other people. “You can stand guard if you want,” I tell him, rolling over onto my side and wrapping myself in the blanket. “But I hardly think it necessary. Not even the tributes are dumb enough to travel at night in this weather.”
“Right.” His eyes never leave the fire. “I am certain we will be safe from any attack tonight.”
I stare into the dark woods and wonder just how long it will take before I earn my rightful spot as Victor of these Games. Seven days? Eight? Fourteen? The quicker the better. Long Games tend to be awfully boring, and the very last thing I ever want is to be bored.
===Easton Harlow (District 13)===
It is quiet down by the water. Quiet, and dark, and still. The gentle waves slap at the supports of the wharf, the timbers of the deck creak softly, a chill breeze washes in off the bay, and the dark sea glitters in the moonlight under a sky dusted with stars. 
Vizio is silent as we stumble down the jetty and approach the lone building set at its edge. He hasn’t said a word since the bloodbath. Lost in his own thoughts, maybe. I know that I am.
Autus and Halley…how are we to find them? The arena is likely large and filled with many dangers. Traipsing around without a plan will get us killed. Of course, that is only possible if Autus and Halley can be found. 
It unfortunately possible that the both of them died at the bloodbath. If that is the case, then…well, my Games strategy is already back to square one. 
The boathouse is dark and quiet as we approach. The ocean view is spectacular, but I pay it no heed as I approach the front door with my makraka held in numb fingers. This arena is so bitterly cold that multiple times today I feared I was about to drop dead. “I am going to open the door,” I tell Vizio. “Be sure to back me up if anyone attacks.”
“Considering you just announced your intentions—quite loudly, I might add—I hardly think anyone will be surprised by our arrival.”
I blink. Oh. Quite so. Well, I sincerely hope that there is no one hiding inside. I very much doubt it. The sole reason I chose for us to head down to this frozen wharf was because I couldn’t imagine anyone else wanting to shelter on the edge of freezing water. 
I swing the door open. The inside of the boathouse is dark and dreary. Piles of fishnets and plastic sheeting lies in the corner. A lone table and a few chairs take up space in the center of the room, with some cabinet set up behind them. A small fireplace sits in the corner, and a canoe hangs up on the wall.
“Looks safe enough,” Vizio says as he pulls the door shut behind us. Now that we’re indoors, I already feel warmer. “We should get a fire going. We don’t need to worry about being seen; all my analysis shows that no one will bother hunting through the night.”
Despite our agreement, we struggle to get a fire started until I find a box of matches in one of the cabinets. Even though I’ve been trained at starting fire from scratch, it has proven to be much more difficult than I expected. 
Hopefully that does not prove true for the rest of the Games as a whole.
Vizio sighs contentedly, warming his hands by the fire. “Now all we must do is wait for The Fallen.”
I will never not find it odd how much of the same stuff District 14 carried over from the prior incarnation of the Games. I would’ve imagined they would want to put their own spin on things, but for the most part they’ve just copied and pasted the old version. 
“What do you suppose our odds of winning are?” I ask aloud as we wait. Vizio is well known for his analytical prowess, and though he is not infallible, it will be extremely useful to know what he’s thinking.
Vizio frowns and rubs his chin. “Hmm…difficult to say for sure, considering that we don’t know if Autus and Halley are alive or not, but even if they are alive, the fact we’re separated from them lowers our chances.” Yes, I imagine it would. He looks up. “How well do you rate your own combat skills?”
“My skills? Well…” I’ve been trained by some of the best instructors New Panem has to offer, but training alone is not enough to propel me into the higher echelon of combatants. I am not ashamed to admit that the idea of actually fighting someone leaves me a little…faint hearted. “I am most likely not the, well, I’m not quite the most esteemed of fighters. I could certainly best some of the lesser physical threats, but most of the stronger tributes will undoubtedly be beyond my ken.”
Vizio listens along, nodding silently. Eventually he adjusts his glasses and speaks. “Well, that lowers our odds considerably.”
There is no shame in admitting one’s limitations, yet I feel a slight sense of despair all the same. If only I were stronger, then perhaps…
A musical cue chimes overhead and disrupts my line of thought. New Panem’s national anthem—musically distinct from old Panem’s—has begun to play outside, and that means the Fallen won’t be far behind.
The night is cold and windy as Vizio and I exit out onto the wharf, arms hugged close to ourselves as we try not to shiver. I swear that the arena’s temperature has dropped precipitously low since sunset. A bright white light shines in the sky, illuminating the face of Techna as her portrait appears.
“So a Career has fallen,” I murmur softly.
“She performed much worse than her sister,” Vizio says. Despite the girl being his district partner, he shows remarkably little emotion at her death. Perhaps I should not be surprised. Vizio had always been emotionally distant and withdrawn. 
I find myself taking a deep breath when the next face shows. Autus. So he is truly dead, then. 
“Unfortunate,” Vizio adjusts his glasses and sighs. “Our odds to survive have just plummeted.”
My own concern is for the boy himself. In the short time I’ve known him, Autus was a friend. Someone I could rely on to have my back when I needed it most. But now he is gone. Dead and buried. Erased from the living. 
“Predictable,” Vizio says when the next face, Taylor’s, appears. “She was never destined to last long.”
He has brushed Autus’ death aside so easily. Once again, I should not be surprised. Vizio is not the type to become sentimental or overly emotional. Still, I had expected more of a reaction from the guy. 
The fourth face is that of Lartius. I do not feel very badly for the boy. He was part of Theodore’s pack, and I haven’t forgotten how they tried to bully Halley into submission. Thinking of which…Halley’s face was not shown, so she is still alive. That, at least, is good news. We can….
Kessie’s face rounds out the Fallen and my thoughts trail off. I was not quite friends with the girl, but to know that she is dead, that she will never again smile or laugh…it is not a pleasant feeling. 
Vizio ducks back inside the boathouse the moment the Fallen ends, but I find myself rooted to the spot. Autus is gone. Kessie is gone. People I know are dropping like flies. How soon before Vizio or Halley go? Or myself?
When I enter the boathouse, I find Vizio lying on the rug before the fireplace. He has two hands behind his head as he stares into the ceiling, a slight pout on his face. “Something the matter?” I ask, settling down beside him.
“Other than the death of Autus? No.” He closes his eyes. “I am merely running the odds through my head and trying to see how likely it is we reach the Feast.”
“We should begin our search for Halley tomorrow,” I say. 
His eyes flicker open and slide towards me. “Must we? Wandering the arena in our current state would be most dangerous.”
A frown crosses my face. “You want us to abandon Halley?”
“No. I am merely suggesting that we consider all our options. Searching the entire arena for her is not necessarily the most prudent action. It is possible that a more adequate solution can be found. If so, we should spend time thinking on what that may be.”
I rub a fist against my eyes, suddenly extremely tired. Today has been long and arduous. I’ve lost people close to me. I am in no mood for difficult conversations. “Perhaps we should save this discussion for tomorrow,” I say, lying back onto the rug. It really is quite soft. “When our minds will be sharper and more focused.”
“Very well.” There is a short pause. “I do not believe a guard will be necessary. No tribute will hunt through the night, and it is too early for the Gamemakers to send mutts after us.”
Count your blessings, I suppose. “That sounds good to me. See you in the morning, Vizio.”
I slide my eyes shut and find myself hoping that my dreams will at least put me in a world that is far more cheerful and less somber than the one I currently inhabit.
==Day 2/ A Rude Awakening==
===Reiko Sonatas (District 6)===
Mist swirls at my feet as I find myself in an ethereal plane. An assortment of colorful lights float in the distance, close enough to see but too far to touch. The ground undulates like water with my every step, but it it is solid to the touch. Nothing here makes sense.
Is this Autus’ Spirit Realm?
I feel a sense of…regret at the thought of him. His face was in the sky last night. Autus, it appears, did not make it past the bloodbath. Unfortunate. He was a good person. Someone who deserved better. While he undoubtedly would have to die at some point for me to win, I’d have liked to see him last longer. 
But now…
I chart a path through the mist. Autus spoke of this place. He said it is home to the memories of past tributes and their descendants. Life Models. I do not know much about them. It is a part of our country’s history often buried beneath lies and half-truths. No one speaks of them. Even the Temple has learned precious little about Life Models. 
Whispers tug at me. Voices adrift in the mist. I can’t see anyone, but I can hear them. They’re watching. Waiting. My back itches. I have no weapon. What if they attack? Can you be harmed in the Spirit Realm? Autus didn’t say, and I hadn’t thought to ask. Perhaps that was a mistake. 
“Well, well, well. What have we here?” A lone voice, louder than all the rest, cuts through the mist. I spin on the spot and stare into the patch of mist where the speakers voice originated. A young man’s voice. Somewhere in his mid-twenties, I’d say.
“Who are you? Show yourself!” I slide into a defensive stance. I may have no weapons here, but I am far from defenseless. 
A man appears in the mist. He walks slowly, hands clapping as he smiles at me with twinkling blue eyes. His platinum blond hair lies flat on his head, and his skin is the color of cream. “New people are just showing up every day it seems!” The man pauses a few feet away. His eyes watch me warily. “And just who are you, exactly?”
“I asked first.” Something about this man has me on edge. He is not the spirit of a past tribute. He is far too old. But then what is he? Their descendant, like Autus and myself?
“So you did.” The man flashes a smile and claps again. “Very well. I shall answer your question. My name is Simon.”
That tells me practically nothing. The name is completely meaningless to me. “Hello, Simon. What do you wish of me?” He had to have approached for a reason.
“Your name, for one.” He says with a frown. “I do believe that was the first thing I asked.”
“My name is Reiko.”
“That name is slightly familiar. Of course, not as familiar as your clothing. You’re part of the Temple of the Demon, I take it?”
So he knows of the Temple. It is not too surprising. In recent years the Temple has fallen on hard times financially, and thus begun to make an effort to increase awareness of our existence. “I am a Great Acolyte of the Temple.”
“Pretty high up then, aren’t you? Tell me, why is it that the Temple never takes a side when it comes to politics?”
“The Temple is neutral.” We follow the Veiled Demon’s teachings, and he taught to distrust politicians of all types. All they do is lie and enrich themselves. “We do not take sides.”
“Cursed are those who maintain their neutrality in times of crisis,” The man says idly. 
“Better that than to choose the wrong side and be destroyed.”
Simon nods but does not respond. He paces back and forth across from me, footsteps making little waves on the seemingly solid ground. “Wait. I recognize your name. You’re a tribute, aren’t you?”
I slowly nod.
“Well, then I suppose there is little purpose in communicating with you, since you’ll be dead within a week.”
“I may surprise you.”
“Or you may not.” He turns and gestures a hand at the fog of mist which surrounds us. Indistinct shapes gather on the edge. More people? “Goodbye, Reiko. I doubt we’ll ever meet again.”
Simon fizzes and flicker, as if he is some sort of incorporeal being, then he fades away entirely. I am left alone in this strange land.
But not for long.
People emerge from the mist. Solid and real. There are three of them, and despite looking very different from one another, their faces share the same expression.
Anger. 
One of them is huge. Almost seven feet tall, he has spiked black hair and eyes the color of crimson. His arms are banded with muscle and his legs are the size of my thighs. He reminds me of Baron, though he is not quite so tall. 
The other two are smaller, but no less fierce looking. One has brown hair and a scarred face, his fingers constantly twitching as he prowls forward. The other has black hair with a prominent red high-light, and one of his eyes is completely white, staring sightlessly out at me. Neither one seems inclined to settle this with a discussion.
I ready myself for a fight. These boys can not be dissuaded, so it would be foolish to even try. Why have they come? I don’t know, but I will make them regret it. They probably think I am weak. Easy prey. Soon I will show them their mistake.
The trio draws closer, snarling and watching me with furtive eyes. I stay still. Wait for them to make the first move. Eliminate one, then isolate the second. The big one will be last. He is the most dangerous—
An arrow sails overhead and strikes the giant in his forehead. The boy shatters into prismatic mist and his two followers hiss and duck backward, disappearing into the all-encompassing fog.
“You need to be careful in here,” A familiar voice says from behind me. “Not everyone has your best interests in mind.”
I turn and am unsurprised when I see his face. I had expected to encounter him here. After all, he was the one who showed me how to access the Realm in the first place.
Autus.
The boy smiles at me and the bow in his hands disappears with a flash. He takes a step forward and shakes my hand. “I didn’t think I’d see you again, Reiko.”
“I am sorry for your…loss.” How to tell a dead man that you are unhappy to see he is dead? 
Autus shrugs. “Not as sorry as I am. I…made a mistake. Should have stuck closer to my allies. Those Careers are no joke, especially Brick. Be careful around him.”
The way he speaks is enough to let me know that it was Brick who ended his life. If I get the opportunity, I will attempt to avenge him. Autus deserves that much. 
I tell him I will be careful, then ask about the boys who tried to attack me. Autus’ expression sours when he speaks of them. “They’re former tributes. The three of them were mindless killers in life, and they’re no different here.”
“What did they want?”
“Nothing but death and misery. There are a surprisingly large amount of former tributes who deserved to die in the arena.” Autus’ face darkens as he says this. 
“What about the man before them?” I change the subject. Autus clearly dislikes speaking of those tributes. 
“What man?”
I explain my interaction with Simon and watch Autus as I talk. His expression shows nothing but quiet interest. “I’ve never heard that name,” He says when I finish. “Nor have I seen him before. The only living people I’ve seen inside the Realm is my father and Azrael.”
“The president’s son?” I had not anticipated that occurrence.
“Yes. The Price family are the descendants of Life Models, you know.” Autus pauses, one finger absently twirling a lock of hair. “In any case, this Simon must also be a descendant. I wonder who he’s related to? Not many Life Models survived the war.”
I am not too familiar with Life Models and the like. The Temple has briefly discussed the subject, but never in much depth. “You and I are their descendants, are we not?”
“Yes. That’s why we’re capable of coming here.” Autus’ eyes flick to the mist then back to me. “I can only think of four possible candidates for who could be our ancestor.”
I do not particularly care much about it. I have never met my family and never will. What use is there in dwelling on who my long dead family could be? “Autus, I would like your help.”
“My help?” He laughs lightly. “I’m dead. How could I help you?”
“I would like to discuss strategies for the Games with you and…can you see what is happening outside this Realm?” That is a key lynchpin to my plan. If Autus can see what is transpiring around the arena…
He rubs his chin. “Huh. Interesting. I never really thought about that. I mean, possibly, yeah. Those bubbles I saw before…they showed me things which were happening in the real world.”
“I promise I will not harm your allies.” Not unless I have no other choice. Though I can’t promise Baron or the others won’t harm them, I will do my best to avoid harming Easton, Vizio, or Halley. “Also…is it possible for you to…appear outside the Spirit Realm?”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “Reiko, I know that I called this place the Spirit Realm, but I’m not actually a spirit. This place…it’s a home for our genetic memory. I am just a representation of Autus, and I’m not quite certain I’m capable of appearing to anyone who isn’t also a descendant of Life Models.” 
That is…unfortunate. I’d been hoping he could converse with the other tributes, or perhaps physically scope out the arena for me. If this is impossible…so be it. I can use his assistance in other ways. “I’ll see what I can do,” Autus continues. “But don’t expect too much. I doubt any of the others are capable of manifesting themselves here.”
“I do have one final request for you.” Perhaps the most important. It is something that has been on my mind since the second morning of training. “I…would like you to contact the Veiled Demon for me.”
Autus smiles ruefully. “I was wondering when you’d ask that. Don’t worry, I think I can arrange a…Speak of the devil!”
I spin on the spot and follow Autus’ gaze. There, on the very fringe of the mists which surround us, stands the form of a person I’ve seen just once, long ago.
A man of slightly above average height, with brown hair and a pair of serious grey eyes that hang over a purple veil which obscures his face. Our patron made manifest!
The Veiled Demon. 
I drop to a knee and clutch at the Temple necklace around my neck. “I am not worthy to be in your presence,” I say softly. All these years since that day. When I planned to end it all on those tracks. To see him again. To simply look upon him…it is an honor not even the highest among the Temple can claim.
“Beware The Misery Man.”
I lift my head and stare in shock. The Veiled Demon has not moved, but those words undoubtedly came from him. But that is…
“Beware The Misery Man.”
The voice drifts through the misty air, clear and concise. I can only stare in disbelief. The Veiled Demon has deigned to speak with me! To offer words of wisdom! But those words…Ecstasy mixed with horror floods through me. My arms have begun to tremble and they fluctuate like a thin, hazy image. What is happening?
“Beware The Misery Man.” Autus crouches down beside me, his hand resting on my shoulder. “Beware The Misery Man.”
Everything goes black.
——
“Beware The Misery Man.”
A soft voice carries over the careening wind. The gentle crackling of a fireplace hums on my left. The house is dark. A shape sits somewhere to my right, rocking back and forth as she murmurs quietly to herself.
Viscera.
“Beware The Misery Man,” She repeats the words like a chant, eyes fixed forward on nothing in particular. “Beware The Misery Man.”
So that’s what it was. The Veiled Demon and Autus hadn’t said those words after all. It was just Viscera’s mumbles bleeding into my meditation. How…vexing. I deeply wish to know what The Veiled Demon would have said to me. 
 
“You’re awake.” A deep voice rumbles from the corner of the room. Baron. The giant stands with his arms crossed, huge masked head turned toward me. “That is good. A parachute came while you slept.”
I was meditating, not asleep, but I feel no need to to correct him as he hands over a golden parachute and the box attached. A sponsor gift. The label atop it has my name written in bold print. 
From the Temple? They are the only people I can imagine who’d take the time and effort to send me anything. “Has the sun risen yet?” I ask as I begin unwrapping the package. 
“Yes. The arena is still cold.”
Expected. I doubt the Gamemakers will let up on that particular issue just yet. My hands pause when I find the first thing inside the package. A letter.
I slowly and carefully read its contents. The sponsor gift was sent from an Acolyte stationed in District 14 on the Emissary’s orders, and it contains a personal message from him, detailing the current state of both Tsuki and the Temple itself. Though it has not been too long since I was last with them, it is heartening to hear that they are doing well. Tsuki especially. I have been quite worried about her well-being. The two of us have never been separated for such a period of time before.
When I finish with the letter—gently tucking it away into my jacket—I find that there are also items inside. A quiver full of twelve arrows, a canister of soup, a blanket, and some cookies and crackers. 
“A lot of stuff,” Peppa comments from her position atop the armrest of an old sofa. 
“You guys can have the cookies and crackers,” I say, handing over the packages.
Peppa’s eyes widen in surprise, but neither Baron nor Viscera react, merely taking this generosity in stride. “Thank you.” Peppa divides the food between the three of them. Viscera quietly begins to nibble on a cookie. 
“This is a blessing from the Veiled Demon.”
While Baron and Peppa simply accept this proclamation, I can’t help but notice Viscera give me a look that comes off as suspicious. The girl never has truly understood what my allegiance to the Temple means. I have been meaning to have a conversation with her about it, but the right time has never shown itself. 
And now won’t be the proper moment either. Once our supplies are squared away, Baron says it is time to set up traps around the village and the four of us head out to do so. It is bitterly cold outside our house. Fresh snow covers the ground, burying any trace of yesterday’s activity. 
I do not have much input on where we place the traps. Baron mostly decides, with an occasional comment from Peppa. Viscera is quite happy to do whatever the giant suggests, so we end up placing most of the traps in the entryway to buildings. “We already know there’s nothing useful inside,” Baron reasons as we set one up before the tavern. “But the other tributes don’t.”
Before long all the traps are set and Baron is leading us back to our house when Peppa steps forward. “I think we should venture out of the village and search for more supplies.”
“Search where?” Viscera tilts her head sideways. 
The little girl shrugs. “I don’t know. Anywhere else? We don’t have much food, and what Reiko got from her sponsors won’t be enough to last us the whole Games.”
“Very well.” Baron nods his massive head. “We can use the daylight hours to search the arena.”
Peppa blinks. “You…want to come with?”
“Of course. We should never split up.”
This trip of ours will be dangerous. The cold wasteland of this arena is inhospitable and bound to be filled with deadly mutts. But I am not against the plan. Indeed, I am for it. You cannot win by sitting back and watching. No. The best way to win any fight is to be proactive.
So, as we gather our stuff and begin to head out into the wilderness, I feel no unease. My allies are beside me. The Emissary, Tsuki, and the Temple are counting on me. And, somewhere far off in the Spirit Realm, the Veiled Demon is watching me. 
===Ardor Prodigy (District 1)===
I lie flat on my back, hands folded behind my head as I stare at the sky-blue ceiling of the bedroom. I am…conflicted. 
Tesla lies in the bed behind me, snoring loudly. The girl kept complaining and complaining until we found this house located in a village full of buildings outfitted with colorful lights and elaborate decorations. Of course, just finding the house wasn’t enough to end her whining. No. She needed a bed to sleep in, but she couldn’t sleep in a room alone. She was too afraid—though she adamantly refused to use that word—that someone would kill her while she slept. 
So I was forced to spend the night lying on the floor while listening to the girl snore.
Yet none of that is what draws my conflicted feelings. What truly makes me unsettled is something which occurred before the Games even began.
My chess match with Vizio.
I lost. For the first time in my life I had lost. How? At first I thought he must have cheated, but I’ve replayed the match thousands of times in my head and I see no possibility of deceit. No. I lost fair and square. 
I’ve always wanted to find an equal. Someone who could match my level of skill, or perhaps surpass it. Is Vizio that person? Everyone speaks of his unrivaled intellect and knowledge. They say he is possibly the smartest person to ever live. But I’ve seen the boy up close, and it’s not just his intelligence which makes him dangerous. There is an undercurrent of brutal cunning beneath his nerdish exterior. When I look at Vizio, I cannot help but wonder if we’re all just pieces on a board to him, to be pushed around and maneuvered as he sees fit. 
Is he my biggest challenge in the arena? No…it would be foolish to go that far. Brick is obviously the larger threat. Especially since he has a pack of competent fighters at his beck and call. I could defeat those four—easily. I can defeat Brick—with difficulty. But all together? They pose a threat that will be quite challenging indeed. I will need to find a way to separate them, lest I put myself in a suboptimal position. 
An odd noise emanates from the bedroom window. Sounds something like scuffling. I quietly rise to my feet and approach the curtains, carefully drawing them back as I peer outside. 
The sky is cloudy and gray. Gentle snowflakes drift in the air. Faint wind sends loose snow drifting across the cobblestone streets. There is no sign of movement. Nothing that which—
There!
Across the clearing, almost exactly diagonal from us, a group of little people are walking towards a house. The people are quite small indeed, and they all wear colorful outfits that look nothing like our arena wear. So they’re not tributes. But then what are they?
The group disappears behind the house. I’m about to close the curtains when movement in the window catches my eye and I just make out the form of Tempest as he passes by the window. 
Tempest! That means him and his two friends are holed up inside that house! Gears inside my head begin to churn. I could—
“Who turned on the lights?” A shrill, high-pitched wail comes from the bed behind me. I sigh and close the curtains before turning around. Tesla sits hunched over in the bed, blankets wrapped over her shoulders as she rubs a fist at an eye. “What tomfoolery is this? A girl needs her beauty sleep! You cannot simply—”
“Be quiet!” I snap at her. “There’s someone else in this village, and unless you want to bring them down upon us, I suggest you remain silent!”
“Oh, please!” She tosses her hair and rather awkwardly attempts to untangle herself from the blankets. “As if we have anything to fear from some ruffians! You’d kill them immediately!”
“That I would,” I agree. “But I can’t guarantee your safety in any such fight. Remember, in every fight it is crucial for you to pick the time and place.”
Tesla huffs and puffs, making some complaints about the other tributes ruining her sleep, but eventually distracts herself by eating some of our bread. Or more like nibbling on it. Tesla actually eats very little, which is probably one of the best things about her. She won’t be a drain on resources in that regard.
I spend some time watching the village through the window, but I don’t spot anything else. Still, I have a plan. One which should reduce the number of our competitors quite helpfully. “I’m going to go check that house,” I step away from the window and observe the room we’re in. There’s a large chest set in the corner. Perfect for my purposes. “I want you to stay here and hide.”
Tesla springs off the bed. “You want to leave me alone? Absolutely not! I’m coming with!”
As I expected. The girl can never make anything simple. “It will be very dangerous for you,” I tell her. Considerably less so for me, but that’s only natural. “It is better for you to stay hidden here.”
“No! I refuse! We will not be separated!”
“Very well.” I step forward and scoop her up into my arms. 
Tesla squeaks in surprise, face flushing red. “Wh-what are you doing? Unhand me this instant!”
I approach the large chest and kick it open. Tesla continues to squeal in protest as I drop her inside. “Ardor, what are you thinking? To treat me in such a way! I swear!”
“You’ll be safe inside,” I rest one hand on the lid. “And I can’t risk you following me.”
“Wait! Ardor, I—”
I swing the lid shut and cut off her voice. The chest thumps and rocks as she beats against the inside, her voice muffled and unintelligible. I slide the lock on and collect my halberd from the windowsill. Tesla should be safe until I return. Of course, if I don’t return then she runs the risk of eventually starving to death, but I find that unproblematic for two reasons. 
One: there is no way Tempest and pals are going to kill me. Two: if I do somehow die—maybe I get a sudden brain aneurysm or something—then it will no longer be my problem if Tesla lives or not. So really, there is very little risk in leaving Tesla here until I return.
I make my way down the stairs and out the door. The air is bitterly cold. Each breath brings a wave of freezing air into my lungs. It’s invigorating. Wakes me up like a slap to the face. I’ve never felt better. 
I move at a speedy crouch across the clearing, slipping between giant candy canes and sliding over a rock outfitted with colorful lights. There is no movement at the house. Tempest and his pals must still be inside. Good. They’ll never see me coming.
I follow the side of the house until I reach the backyard, where I approach a window. If these windows are anything like the ones in the house where I spent the night, then they all start unlocked.
I have to use my halberd’s blade to break the frost, but once I do the window slides open easily enough. The house is dark. I crawl inside and find myself in a small living area. Faint voices echo through the halls. Tempest and his friends?
Keeping low, I make my way out into the hallway and follow the voices. The front parlor has a long staircase heading up, and I emerge from behind it. The voices are louder here, and I can see three boys gathered before the front door. Two of them have their back to me, but Tempest is facing my direction. Luckily he’s focused on the conversation.
“You really think this is going to work?” The smallest boy faces Tempest down with a raspy voice. “How do ya even know Santa is here?”
“If the elves are here, then so is Santa.” Tempest sounds adamant about whatever he’s trying to persuade them. His eyes are still fixed firmly on the others, so he doesn’t see me sliding into position. 
Three easy kills. Their deaths will up my total kill count to five. Five kills in just two days. I think that’ll be a new record. 
“I think the plan is fine,” Rooker says with a shrug. “If Tempest succeeds, then we have an ace in the hole. If he doesn’t…well, I fail to see how it’d harm us.”
I pause. What exactly are they talking about? Santa? Helping them? I understand that this village is festive themed, but how do they expect Santa to be present? Hmm…at any rate, it doesn’t matter. They’ll be dead soon enough.
Crash!
A rock slams through the parlor window, followed by several more. The boys scatter around in a panic, hands flying for weapons, as several figures begin to pull themselves through the broken window.
Elves.
“Revenge!” One of the elves hops up onto the table and beats a fist against his chest. “Drive off the murderers! Make the village great again!”
Edison slashes out with his sword, slicing the nearest elf’s face in two and eliciting screams of fear and anger from the others. “Edison, wait!” Tempest whirls on the boy. “We could have talked our way out of—” He breaks off with a scream of pain as one of the elves darts forward and sinks his teeth into his leg. 
Rooker slams one of his daggers into the elf’s back and frees Tempest. As the boys stagger away from the enraged elves, I see my opportunity and come charging onto the scene, halberd thrust directly towards Rooker’s skull.
Tempest’s staff whirls out and slaps my halberd away. The trio of boy’s gasp in shock at my appearance, but they don’t have any time to dwell on it, because the elves keep pouring in through the window, biting at legs and slashing out with their nails. 
Edison turns and sprints away, slamming through the door and rushing out into the snowy village. Rooker and Tempest follow him, but do so slowly, slashing and striking at the elves as they back out the door.
I itch to attack. To drive my halberd into their hearts and end them here and now. But the elves are in the way, and I am loathe to do anything that will anger them. So far they’ve been completely docile and have ignored me, and the last thing I want is to ruin that. Though I could undoubtedly kill all these elves and then some, why take the risk? Better to let them handle this their way.
Rooker and Tempest are chased out of the house, a flock of snarling elves right on their heels. Yet a handful of the elves stay behind. A few of them begin to pick at the corpses of their brethren, but some turn toward me.
I tighten my grip on the halberd. If these things turn violent…
“Thank you!” The nearest elf’s face breaks into a wide grin. “You helped us drive off the murderers and have saved the village! You’re our hero!”
“Our hero!” The other elves pick up the phrase and begin to chant it as they gather around in a semi-circle. I don’t bother pointing out that I could have done much more to help if they hadn’t gotten in my way.
Instead I play it demur and try to make myself sound humble. Yet the elves refuse to accept this, and they insist on repaying me. When they ask me what I want, I have to stop and think about it.
“Are there any other people in this village?” I ask. “Besides for those boys and myself?”
“There was a redhead girl here earlier this morning!” One of the elves chirps. 
“Really?” Redhead…that would have to be Halley, the girl from District 0. Didn’t she have allies? Why is she by herself? “What was she doing?”
“She gathered some shiny technology and then left!”
Well, that’s not too helpful. Gathering “shiny technology” could mean anything. Still, any information is better than no information. I thank the elves for their help, but they insist that they haven’t repaid me enough. Before long they dart off and return with plates of freshly baked cookies, gingerbread men, and jugs full of warm milk and apple cider. I try to tell them this is all unnecessary, but they’re having none of it. Realizing that I have no other option, I let them force me into a plush armchair and decide I should just make the best of my situation. 
“Thank you for your generosity,” I tell the elves as I eat the cookies. They’re really quite excellent. 
“Anything for our hero!” 
Seeing their adoring faces reminds of me an incident that happened in the arena a few years back, during the 20th Games. The boy from District 6 managed to secure an alliance with a group of little marshmallow men, and he used their help to defeat a pair of tributes. Unfortunately for him, neither of them had any food, so after a few days of starving he decided to make the brilliant choice of eating one of the marshmallow men. The ramifications of that decision were immediate and rather messy. Suffice to say, that boy did not become Victor. 
I shall not make that same mistake.
Eventually the elves leave me be and scamper away to who knows where. I lean back in my chair and take a sip of warm milk, unable to shake a niggling feeling that I am forgetting something. That in itself is odd, because I seldom forget anything. 
“Oh well,” I take another bite of a gingerbread man and stretch my legs out. “I doubt it’s anything too important.”
===Tidus Flow (District 4)=== 
I’m cold.
A gust of wind swirls past, bringing with it a flurry of snowflakes and the scent of smoke. I sit atop an overturned crate on the edge of the bonfire, futilely attempting to warm myself as I wait for the others to decide today’s course of action. 
So far my time in the arena has been exactly as uncomfortable and disconcerting as I thought it would be. The bloodbath was a frantic, desperate struggle for survival. Several times I thought Autus was going to kill me only for one of the other Careers to distract him long enough for me to escape by the skin of my teeth.
Brick stands nearby. The boy is profiled against the bonfire, with the majestic mountains serving as a backdrop. He looks heroic. Composed. Everything what the prototypical Victor should be. His decision to burn the bodies of the dead was discomforting, but understandable given the circumstances. Still, it upset Penelope greatly. Of course, I don’t think any of the others even noticed. They’re all remarkably self-centered people.
“We should all swap jackets with the deceased,” Citrine comes walking out of the cornucopia, where she has spent most of her time since the bloodbath. That makes sense. Why would anyone want to sit out in this cold wind? “That way no one will be able to discern our identities.”
Huh. That might work. I mean, I doubt most people would actually confuse whoever is wearing Lartius’ jacket with Peppa, but it would at least conceal our true selves. 
“No.” Brick shakes his head as Alexis and Penelope join us. “My plan is for us to paint our own jackets white with this.” 
He raises a tube of camouflage paint over his head. 
“Seems like that would work,” I say conversationally. Making all our jackets white would definitely help us blend in with the environment. 
There’s a brief discussion over the merits of both ideas. Basically it boils down to deception versus concealment. Which is better? We can’t come to a unified agreement, so we end up deciding on a mix of both ideas. Brick, Penelope and myself will wear the painted jackets, while Alexis and Citrine will wear Kessie and Techna’s jackets. Apparently the plan is for people to confuse them with Easton and Vizio.
“I’ll start painting the jackets,” Brick says. “The rest of you should begin collecting whatever supplies you’ll need from the cornucopia. We’re going hunting today, and we will not be returning here.”
Wait, what? Like permanently? I scratch my head. “Bro, you mean we won’t ever come back?”
“Yes. The cornucopia is a trap. It makes the Careers weak and complacent. There is little need for us to sit around and twiddle our thumbs.”
Guess that makes sense. In past Games the Careers have definitely handicapped themselves by playing too passively. One of the instructors at the Academy was always going on about that.
“Wait.” Citrine blinks, seemingly just catching on to what Brick’s saying. “We’re just leaving all this stuff behind?”
He nods. “Whatever we can’t take with us, yes.”
She purses her lips, troubled. I glance at the other girls and see that they’re less concerned. Alexis just stares ahead stoically while Penelope nods. For some reason I think this decision actually makes her…happy?
“Then we should burn everything.” 
Our heads swivel toward Citrine in unison. 
“What?” She shrugs. “It’s the logical decision. If we’re going to abandon all these supplies, then we may as well ensure no one else can benefit from them either.”
Brick thinks this over for a moment, but eventually decides against burning the leftovers. “It would take too long,” he tells us. Apparently he wants to spend as much time hunting as possible. “Now go get your supplies. I want us to be out of here soon.”
I pair off with Penelope as we go over the piled items one last time. The girl is huddled in her jacket, face flushed pink from the cold. My heart skips a beat looking at her. Somehow she’s even more beautiful than usual. 
“Tidus,” She speaks softly as I pick up a knife and study its blade. “I want to tell you something.”
“Sure. What’s up?” I stick the knife into my belt. You can never have too many knives.
“Well…I…” Penelope glances over her shoulder at Alexis and Citrine. The two girls are engaged in a conversation at the mouth of the cornucopia, and Alexis is seemingly gathering anything made of cloth. “I…don’t think the Careers is the best place for me.”
I frown. It’s not surprising to hear her say this, but I don’t know where this is going. “You’re concerned about Brick?”
“Him and the others.” She gathers some stacks of canned foodstuff and sets it in her bag. “Maybe I’m too paranoid, but…I fear they’ll eventually stick a knife in my back.”
I totally understand that sentiment. None of the others are the kind of people who are, well, personable. They’re all stoic and reserved. We hardly have any real relationship with one another. The only thing we have in common is the fact we all trained at the Academy. “I get what you’re saying. None of them are really interested in our well-being.”
“I think I’m going to leave.”
Yeah. I expected this. After the burning of the bodies, I didn’t really see a path forward for Penelope with Brick and the others. The type of people they are and the kind of person she is are just totally incompatible. I bend down to pick up another canteen, keeping an eye on Alexis and Citrine. For some reason they’ve gathered up a canister of gasoline. “When are we leaving?”
“You’re coming with?”
“Of course. How could I leave you alone in the arena?” I straighten out and flash her my winningest smile. 
“Oh, Tidus…” She stares at her feet. I can’t tell if that’s a good reaction or not. Was kinda hoping she’d hug me again. 
“So…when?”
“Not today,” She looks up and shakes her head. “I don’t want to go too early. Besides, traveling with the others will let us see more of the arena.”
“Makes sense.” And if Brick was telling the truth about never returning to the cornucopia, then that means the two of us can return here. Not as if they’d ever find us. 
Our conversation comes to a stop as Citrine walks over, tossing her hair like the diva she is. “Brick wanted me to ask you guys if you’ve seen a trident,” She says.
“I haven’t.” Why would he want a trident? That weapon is typically associated with tributes who have an affinity for water. “I don’t think one was supplied. Tridents are pretty rare, and usually only exist if someone shows their skills with one in training.”
“I prefer a spear,” Penelope says with a smile. It’s a fake smile, but I’m pretty sure Citrine can’t tell the difference.
“Why does Brick need one anyway?” I ask. “Shouldn’t he be capable of utilizing any weapon to win?” 
“How should I know?” Citrine shrugs. “Maybe he’s not as skilled as he wants us to believe? I mean, he did wait until the rest of us wore Autus out before stepping in.”
She walks away with another toss of her hair and I find myself frowning. “Doesn’t sound like she thinks very highly of Brick.”
“He’s dangerous. Everyone knows that.” 
“Yeah…think we could bring Citrine in on our plan?” I don’t particularly like or trust the girl, but another person at our side could definitely be helpful, if only because it would mean one less person at Bricks’s side. 
“No.” Penelope shakes her head. “We can’t trust her. Citrine is flaky. She’ll go whichever way the wind blows.”
We spend only a few more moments gathering supplies before Brick calls us over to the bonfire. He’s finished painting the jackets and hands them over as he explains we’ll heading out momentarily. “Yesterday we brought shame to the Career name,” He says as we all stand before him. The bonfire crackles in the background. “We only made one kill at the bloodbath, the second lowest amount ever.”
Yeesh. I hadn’t thought about that. If I remember correctly, only the 11th Games had less Career kills. That year featured one of the earliest iterations of the Careers, and they were not very well prepared. Half of them died at the bloodbath while the rest failed to make a kill until the third day. 
“I know this failure must rankle, however, I have a remedy. With my leadership, I will have us ascend to the highest levels of success these Games can offer. We will hunt down the other tributes and kill them one by one. They will not be able to resist us, for we are too powerful.”
I try not to look at Penelope. I know she’s not completely comfortable with this kind of thinking. The name of the game is kill or be killed, but she’s not the type of person to relish that role. If it weren’t for Pike kidnapping her brother, she wouldn’t even be here. 
“With my leadership our alliance will thrive,” Brick continues his speech, spear held tightly in one hand. “We will become the strongest iteration of Careers that have ever graced the Games. We. Shall. Dominate!”
The whistling wind greets the end of his speech. I wonder if he expected applause? If so, he is bound to be disappointed. None of us so much as clap. Alexis coughs. “Can we head east? I think I see shapes in the distance.”
We leave the cornucopia without fanfare. I don’t look back as we depart. Who knows? Maybe I will return here with Penelope at a later date. The lure of supplies will be strong, even if the amount we’re carrying should last us quite a few days. 
The igloos appear after some quiet moments of walking. Dozens and dozens of the little mounds. I only know what they are because I once watched a documentary about arctic living when I lived in District 14 with my parents. It was pretty interesting, but unfortunately I don’t really remember enough for it to be any real help here in the arena. Dang. I should have paid more attention.
“Anyone could be hiding inside those,” Citrine says as we pause on the edge of the field. 
“Maybe.” Alexis drops to her knees and rummages through her backpack. “But not for long. I know a way to drive them out.”
She holds up a canister of gasoline and some bundles of cloth.
The plan is simple. We cover the rags in gasoline, then one of us lights it on fire with a match and tosses it through the igloo’s opening while the rest stand and wait. The burning cloth will create enough smoke and fire to drive anyone inside the igloo out into the open, where we’ll strike.
Yes. It’s quite the simple but ingenious plan. Unfortunately it also doesn’t work.
Well, poor phrasing. The plan works just fine, but the problem is that there’s apparently no one inside the igloos. At least not the ones we check. We don’t have enough cloth or gasoline to search every igloo, and by the time we’ve torched half the field we’ve run out.
“This was a waste,” Citrine mutters. 
“No.” Brick shakes his head. “We’ve successfully learned that no one is hiding here and have destroyed some of the arena’s precious few shelters. A perfect use of our time and energy.”
Maybe. I won’t argue that the quickest way to end these Games would be to destroy any place that offers warmth and shelter. If all the hiding places are gone, then the tributes will have no choice but to fight each other…or freeze to death.
It’s a chilling thought.
After the igloos burn, Alexis suggests we double back and head west, but Brick waves us over and points to the ground. “Do you see that?”
I see nothing but snow. “What are we looking at?” Citrine asks impatiently.
“Footprints. Hidden beneath the fresh snow.” Brick waves a hand over a patch of snow that I suppose looks slightly different from the rest. “The snow here is lower than is normal. The fresh flakes have fallen into the footprints, concealing them but still leaving a sign of their own.”
I mean…I guess? I’m no good at this stuff, but Brick is supposedly one of the best, so it would make sense if he has actually found a trail. The others seem to agree with him at any rate, so we continue to head further east, following the footprints.
I have no strong opinion on this, so I remain beside Penelope and quietly discuss the arena’s layout with her as we go. Where is Edison? What biome is he most likely to seek out? Her main goal remains finding the boy, and it is imperative that we do so before someone kills him. That means we have a ticking clock working against us.
As us Careers continue our hunt, I fear that the stress and fear of the Games has only just begun.
===Thistle Hesmin (District 7)=== 
In the morning Barker and I watch as the Careers wake up and check their supplies. They make a big fuss of going over every item, then they form into a group and head off to the east. They do not see us because we have been bellydown in the same position in the snow fifty yards from the cornucopia since black dawn. 
Blankets covered in snow lie atop us, and our faces have been painted white with ash and clay. As field agents of The Whispers, we’ve done reconnaissance missions like this many times before. This was all too easy.
“I didn’t see them set any traps,” I whisper once the Careers have been gone for ten minutes. 
“That doesn’t mean they don’t have any.” Barker’s eyes scan the surrounding. Fresh snowfall has done a decent job in covering any tracks or footprints. “They could’ve put up them up last night.”
Maybe. Personally I find it doubtful, but it’s better to be overly paranoid and alive than careless and dead. “I’ll approach from the front,” I stretch my legs and try to fight off the stiffness. “You can remain hidden and take the rear.”
He nods. “Sounds good. Let’s go.”
I rise soundlessly from the snow and begin my approach to the cornucopia. I do not try to hide. If anyone is watching, I want to be seen. That way they’ll be distracted by me and miss Barker’s stealthy approach.
But I do not believe anyone is watching. Techna’s face was among the Fallen last night, and we just saw all five of the remaining Careers leave. Who else could be in the area? Yet despite this, Barker and I still made a plan that takes an unseen watcher into account. 
Like I said, it’s better to be overly paranoid and alive than careless and dead. 
I see no sign of people or traps as I near the golden horn. No tracks. No signs of disturbance in the snow. Just the crackling bonfire and the smoke it gives off. What a massive thing. I can’t even begin to fathom the amount of water needed to extinguish it. What keeps it going? It has to be the Gamemakers. 
By the time I reach the bonfire no trap has been sprung and no tribute has leapt out to attack. I presume that means the cornucopia is completely unguarded.
Perfect.
Barker appears from somewhere in the snow as I pause beside the cornucopia’s mouth. Even though I knew he would be coming, I have to resist jumping at his sudden appearance. Barker is very, very good at being stealthy. 
“The place is empty,” He says, scanning the overturned crates and fallen items. “Looks like they left in a hurry.”
“Wonder why.”
He walks into the cornucopia and snatches a trio of knives off a rack, sticking them in his belt. “Dunno. Whatever their reason, it was a stupid mistake.”
I agree. It’s rare for the Careers to leave the cornucopia undefended, especially in an arena like this, where supplies will be crucial. But this particular mistake plays right into our hands, so I see little reason to dwell on it.
Barker and I work quick. Both of us know exactly what items we want, and it takes hardly any time for us to locate them. I myself claim a pair of brass knuckles and a machete, while Barker takes his aforementioned throwing knives and some leftover medical equipment. Unfortunately there is no poison. Whether this means none was provided or that the Careers just took what was available, I don’t know, but it’s apparent that I will need to find a different source if I want to get my hands on some. 
Once this initial scavenging is done, we load up our packs with food and water, then begin the process of moving the rest of the supplies out in front of the bonfire. This was the real reason we came all the way out here. The most important thing to do.
Burn all the supplies.
We toss it all into the fire. Food, weapons, blankets, anything and everything. We chuck it into the flames and watch it burn. The steel weapons don’t burn, of course, but they still smolder and sink into the flames regardless. And since this fire burns so strong and hot, I can’t even imagine anyone finding a way to get their hands on them. 
The process takes time. There’s tons of things left at the cornucopia, and there’s only two of us to do the job. I take particular joy at the burning of the food. Less food mean hungry tributes. Hungry tributes mean an earlier Feast. An early Feast means…
Somewhere over an hour has passed before the last item is thrown into the bonfire. Thick, dark smoke wafts into the air. The fire crackles and pops, threatening to escape the cairn which contains it. Only now do I wonder if the Careers will see the smoke and double back. Could they be approaching right this moment?
“It’s done.” Barker stares into the flames. His face is as stoic as ever, but there’s an unmistakable smugness to his bearing. “Everything is gone.”
“The only food left will come from sponsors and whatever can be found in the arena,” I agree. How soon before bellies begin to growl? “Think this will help them?”
I am referring to Vizio and his allies. There’s only three of them left now, since Autus’ face was in the sky last night. I can’t know for sure who killed him, but I suspect either the Careers or the giant from 10 did. Few of the others seem like killers.
Barker shrugs. “No way to tell. But…”
“But?” I prod at him. Barker is far too prone to quiet introspection. 
“Scyler.” He says the name like a curse. “He’s still alive. How? Your axe should have been enough to kill him.”
I remain silent. He’s right. The way I struck him with my axe was more than capable of ending a person’s life, but it evidently didn’t. Scyler’s face was not among The Fallen. Normally I would chalk this up to the relatively benign happenstance of him being severely wounded but not yet dead, but this arena is too inhospitable for someone to survive with that kind of wound for long. Not to mention…
“I told you whose stance he used.”
I nod. “You did.”
“He’s good. Better than he should be.”
The implication hangs in the air. Scyler used the same fighting style as a Card. Coincidence? Or something more sinister? Scyler is from District 14 and his father has almost complete control of our country’s military. Would it be so unlikely for him to have some sort of connection with the Cards?
“He could be a thorn in our side,” Barker growls. I don’t like the look in his eye. It’s the same one he gets whenever he speaks about fighting District 14. 
“There’s nothing we can do about him now.” We have no idea where in the arena he is, and I would try to avoid him even if we did. If he survived an axe to the chest, what else can he do? “Better to focus on the task at hand.”
“I know.” Barker turns and kicks an empty crate. It tips over and falls onto its side in the snow. “Let’s go.”
Our task done, the bonfire raging with extra fuel, Barker and I leave the cornucopia as easily as we came. The two of us slip away into the wind, quiet as a whisper, but as forceful as a shout.
===Rooker Irone (District 12)===
Our escape from the village was frantic. Tumbling and stumbling through the snow, hardly daring to look back in fear we’d trip and fall. Wind sent whipping snow every which way, blinding us and snagging at our feet. Edison started in front, but he soon began to fall behind and it wasn’t long before Tempest and I overtook the boy.
Then, just moments ago, we came to a stop. 
Snow surrounds us on all sides. A windswept plain full of circular mounds. A sharp incline to the north leads up to mountain which looms over us like a dagger thrust from the ground. I can barely see the top. 
“Can’t stop here,” Tempest says, leaning on his staff as he tries to catch his breath. “Too exposed. We don’t have any shelter.”
Edison growls wordlessly. The one-eyes boy stares at Tempest with a venomous gaze. “Santa would help us, eh?” He strides forward and gives Tempest a two-handed shove. “I didn’t see no help! His elves tried to rip us apart!”
Tempest swats his hands away. “And whose fault was that?” He snaps. “I told you killing that elf was a bad idea! But you never stop to listen! You just keep doing whatever the hell you want, Rooker and I be damned!”
They’re both furious, and perhaps rightly so. What happened this morning was pretty much the worse case scenario for us. That attack came out of nowhere and caught us completely unaware. Frankly, it’s a miracle we all survived.
“And don’t think I didn’t notice you cut and run!” Tempest is still arguing with Edison. Their raised voices carry over the wind. “You abandoned us the first moment you could!”
“So what!” Edison sticks a finger in his face. “That was the deal, innit? We work together but don’t risk our lives for the others? Not my fault you forgot that!”
“Guys, stop!” I step between the quarreling boys and push them apart. Tempest mutters under his breath and looks down. Edison simply spits to the side. “Arguing isn’t helping anything. We should focus our energy on finding shelter.”
There’s a moment of silence broken only by the shrieking wind. Then Tempest sighs and shakes his head. “You’re right, Rooker. My temper got the better of me. Arguing won’t solve anything.”
“Where’d Ardor come from anyhow?” Edison folds his arms. 
Good question. The boy showed up almost exactly at the same time as the elves. If it wasn’t for all the chaos, I fear he may have killed the three of us. “Maybe he heard the noise and came to check it out,” I suggest, glad that the conversation has taken a more peaceful direction. 
“No.” Tempest shakes his head. “He arrived too quickly for that. Besides, he came from the hallway, which means he was already inside the house before the elves attacked.”
A wave of cold that has nothing to do with the weather makes its way through me. Ardor was already inside the house…how close to death were we?
“But we checked the house!” Edison protests.
“Yes. But that was yesterday. We didn’t do a second check in the morning.”
Such a simple thing, and we never even thought to do it. Why would we think Ardor would sneak into our house? But he did. And we never even bothered looking for him. We mustn’t allow ourselves to be so careless again. 
As the cold continues to press in on us, we end our little break and take off up the hill. The mountain seems to be our best bet to find some shelter. Surely there will be caves or the like. 
A piercing sound rises over the wind as we struggle up the hill. “Did you hear that?” I ask, pausing to look around. There’s nothing to see but snow and rocks.
“Yeah.” Tempest frowns. “Sounded like…an animal?”
A sound that’s somewhere between a howl and a cry echoes in the air.
Curious and somewhat confused, I turn around and finally spot the creatures as they appear on the slope behind us. 
There’s three of them. They are bipedal creatures with thick, bristly fur that grows across their body, and look like a cross between a gorilla and a wolf. They have two stout legs that punch into the snow as they bound forward, and a pair of long, rangy arms which touch the ground and help them run. Their snouts are long and narrow, with a mouth full viciously sharp teeth.
For one long moment the three of us remain stationary, staring at the mutts in stunned disbelief. Then…
“Shit!” Edison bolts into motion, scrambling up the steep incline. Me and Tempest are close behind, sprinting as fast as our legs will take us. Hell! Damn it! Where did those mutts come from? Why are they after us?
The thick snow and steep incline make running difficult. I nearly stumble twice before managing to catch my footing and carrying on. The indignity of this situation rankles me. We escape one pack of mutts just to run into another? 
Edison trips and falls into a flurry of snow just as we reach the crest of the slope. At first I fear he’s about to be torn apart, but he slips down the incline opposite the mutts, rolling and sliding as he falls. I pull to a halt and stare at that precarious footing. One wrong step will have me falling just like—
Tempest slams into my back and we both fall forward in a tangled heap. 
I hit the ground, tumble and roll, limbs flopping, kicking up snow. I land in an ungainly fashion, the air knocked out of my lungs as my chest bounces on the ground, my head slamming into the hard-packed snow. My vision blurs as I force myself into a standing position.
“A cave!” Tempest staggers to his feet and points. A dark gaping maw appears in the side of the mountain, warm wind blowing from within. Edison sprints for it immediately and disappears inside before I even get my bearings. 
My mind is groggy. It’s hard to think. I set one hand atop my head and pull away in alarm when I feel something missing.
Rosemary’s hair ornament!
“Where is it?” I drop to my knees and begin to dig in the snow where I fell. I can’t have lost it. It’s too important! “Where did it go!”
“Rooker, get ahold of yourself!” Tempest shakes me by the shoulders as a howl rips through the air. “Those mutts are coming! They’ll rip you apart!”
“I don’t care!” I pull myself from his grasp and plunge my hands into the snow, searching for the ornament. “If I lose this ornament, my sister will kill me!”
“If we don’t get moving, then those mutts will kill you!”
I don’t listen. My hands have begun to go numb from the cold. Where is it? When did I last see it? I can’t remember. Did I even have it with me when we fled the village? What if I left it behind? 
Another howl. I look up. One of the mutts has appeared at the top of the slope. Just one. Where are the other two? Doesn’t matter. Not until I find Rosemary’s hair clip. 
I shove through the snow, ignoring the biting cold and the howling beast. Rosemary’s gift. I can’t lose it. Losing it would be tantamount to losing Rosemary herself. I have to to find it. I have to—
There!
A small object lies atop some overturned snow. The hair clip! My shaky hand closes around it and I rise to my feet, stuffing it into my jacket pocket. “Tempest, let’s go! I have the—”
The wolfape comes leaping down from the slope, slavering jaws snapping for my throat.
Then Tempest is there. He swings his staff and the thick wood connects with the mutt’s face, sending it splaying into the snow. It rolls back onto its feet quickly, howling in rage as it springs forward and bowls Tempest over. 
My ally lands on his back in the snow, wolfape bearing down on him with fierce eyes, saliva spraying from its mouth, kept away from Tempest’s neck only by the staff in his hands, which he’s managed to stick between its jaws. 
I hesitate. The cave is only a few feet away. It calls to me. Sings for me. If I escape inside, the mutts will be too busy devouring Tempest to chase me. I could escape unscathed and live to see another day. One step closer to returning to Mother and Rosemary. 
At the expense of Tempest’s life. A boy who has stopped to save me multiple times already. 
“Freaking hell…” I slide a dagger from my belt and run forward. The wolfape is so focused on Tempest that it doesn’t even notice me until it’s too late. My dagger thrusts forward, blade piercing through the nape of the creatures neck and emerging from the throat. 
It hacks blood straight into Tempest’s face then falls to the side, gurgling and thrashing out with its limbs. I reach down and haul my ally to his feet. “Get going!” I half-drag, half-shove him towards the cave. “Quickly! Before those others show up!”
The two of us sprint into the maw of the dark cave, hoping that whatever we find inside is better than the monstrosities out here.
The mines are dark. The only source of light comes from the overhanging lamps, and there are not many of them. One is placed every dozen feet or so, illuminating the minetracks beneath our feet as we proceed through the narrow tunnels. 
I lead the way, axe heavy in my hands as I try not to dwell on what horrors could be lurking in the dark. That awful blob…could there be more of them? Just hiding in the dark, waiting for us to accidentally touch them? Will we all end up being absorbed into it?
What a terrible thought.
Mazie walks just behind me, constantly searching our surroundings for any hidden pathways or exits. It was her idea that we explore the mines and try to find all the entrances to it, which sounded good at first…until we realized just how massive these mines truly are. 
We’ve spent the better part of the day just wandering these dark confines and trying to locate any possible entrances. So far we’ve found exactly one. 
I shift the burlap sack onto my other shoulder as we walk. Inside lies a bunch of the boxes labeled Incendiary: Danger! that we found yesterday. Mazie thought it would be a good idea to bring some with us, just so we could rig them as a trap. We actually put some up by the lone entrance we found. Mazie didn’t know how to assemble the explosives, but I did. I spent a good deal of time learning chemistry with my Mother and some of it included dealing with explosives. 
Of course, if I made any kind of mistake while setting up those explosives I could’ve blown us all sky high. Which is an…equally terrible thought. 
“Mazie, can I have my sickle back?” Brann speaks up for the first time since this morning. His elbow is heavily bandaged in cobwebs and cloth—basically anything we had on hand. I feel awful for him. I can’t even begin to imagine the pain of losing an entire limb. 
“Your sickle?” Mazie frowns. The three of us have come to a halt atop the minetracks, just under one of those lamps. “You think you can still use it?”
Mazie has held onto the question mark of a sword since the incident. Honestly I was worried that Brann wouldn’t survive the night, but he seems to be coping well. Or at least as well as one can. 
The blond boy nods. “Yeah. A sickle can be wielded one-handed. I just…I just need to focus more on my footwork.”
Mazie hesitates. I understand why. That sickle is one of our few weapons. Alongside my axe, the only other thing we have is a blowgun, which hasn’t been used to kill many tributes over the years. “You sure you can use it?”
“Of course! I won’t hold you back, I promise.”
He sounds genuine, but I don’t know if that means he’s right. Brann could certainly think he’s still capable of fighting only for it to turn out he’s completely incompetent now. Harsh, maybe, but all our lives are on the line here. We may not be able to just take Brann at his word. 
There’s another long pause before Mazie finally nods and hands the sickle over. “We’re counting on you,” She says with a smile.
I nod and offer my own words of encouragement. Before his injury, Brann was one of the tallest and most physically fit tributes in the arena. Maybe he can still find a way to use that to benefit us.
Benefit us…
Is this what I’ve become? Someone who sees another’s pain and anguish and wonders how it can benefit me? That’s…awful. Have the Games already warped my mind? No. Of course not. I’m still me. Nothing has changed. Not yet. 
“I’m glad you’re staying strong, Brann,” I give the boy a small smile. Despite being my ally, I was never close with him. I don’t really know much about him. He has brothers who he wants to protect and spent most of his time in the fields of District 9, but that’s it. I never took the time to learn more. Not like with Mazie. 
“I’m trying,” He gives the sickle a test swing and frowns. “Needs more force. But don’t worry; I’ll be ready when the time comes.”
When the time comes. What even is that? A fight? I don’t want to fight anyone. Could we even win a fight against the others? Peppa, maybe. But everyone else…
I don’t like our odds against them.
We continue on further into the mines. Despite the muggy conditions, I shiver at the sight. The mine’s dilapidated wooden beams jut out at odd angles, barely holding up the crumbling stone walls. The air inside is heavy with an eerie silence, broken only by the occasional drip of water that echoes through the dimly lit corridors. Rusty mining carts lie abandoned, covered in a thick layer of dust. In the areas where there are no lamps, I can barely see past my nose. We wander blindly through the dark until emerging into another pool of light.
This place is dangerous. 
Thump!
As if to punctuate my thoughts, a loud bang echoes down an adjacent passage. Mazie jumps in fright while Brann swears under his breath. “H-hello?” I call out cautiously. The passage is one without any lights, and I cannot see inside.
“Meta!” Mazie tugs at my sleeve. “Be quiet!”
Oops. I didn’t think about the possible dangers of revealing ourselves. So stupid! Why can’t I ever do the right thing? Burning with shame, I tentatively raise my axe and take a step back. If that blob—or something even worse—comes hurtling out of the darkness…
“Meta?”
An all-too familiar voice calls out from the darkness. One I’ve heard many times prior to the outset of these Games.
Scyler!
Two boys emerge from the darkness. One is indeed Scyler. The tall blond boy holds a sword in his right hand and wears a smile on his face. The other is shorter, with dark hair and cold blue eyes. Theodore, Scyler’s lone remaining ally.
“I can’t believe I found you!” He starts forward and wraps me in a hug. Beside me Mazie tenses. She does not trust the boy. “I was beginning to think we never would!”
There’s no need to ask him why he was searching for us. Scyler has been seemingly obsessed with me since the Reaping. I still don’t really understand why, but maybe it’s because he thinks we hold some sort of shared bond due to our upbringing. “I’m glad you’re safe,” I say quietly. It’s true. I wouldn’t have enjoyed the thought of him dying. 
“These mines are quite…dangerous,” Theodore slowly steps forward, the blade of his own sword glinting in the lamplight. “We got lost more than a few times, let me tell you.”
“That’s not the least of it,” Mazie mutters.
Scyler lets go of his hug and begins to ask what she means when he spots Brann’s arm. His eyes widen. “What happened to you?”
Brann somehow manages a small chuckle. “Oh, this?” He gives his upper forearm a little shake. “I had a rather unpleasant encounter with a mutt.”
“It was some kind of blob,” I add. 
Scyler and Theodore exchange a troubled look. “We saw something like that a little earlier,” The blond boy admits. “We had just entered the mines and were attacked by a dog when…it dropped from the ceiling.”
“Fell right onto the dog,” Theodore says. “I can’t really tell you what happened next—we didn’t stick around long—but the blob appeared to be—”
“Absorbing the dog?” I ask. “Digesting its biological matter and assimilating it?”
The two boys nod grimly. Mazie gives a little gasp and Brann growls wordlessly. So the blob is still active. Not only active. It’s seeking out more targets. More strength. Does it still have Brann’s arm? Has it absorbed the entire dog? What does that mean for us? I feel queasy. Suddenly the thought of being trapped in these mines with that creature is incredibly frightening.
“I think we should leave,” I blurt out. Everyone turns to stare at me and I blush. “Th-that blob sounds too deadly. We should leave the mines and find somewhere else.”
“The arena is very inhospitable,” Theodore says. “It is highly unlikely we would find anywhere else warm enough to spend the night—especially this late into the day.”
He’s right. I hate it, but he’s right. Yesterday the three of us spent hardly any time outside these mines, but in that time we didn’t spot a single location that would protect us from the weather. That means we have no choice but to remain within the confines of the mine for at least another day. 
Mazie suggests we find another entrance and hole up there, reasoning that it would give us the benefit of remaining warm while also having an easy escape route if we needed it. No one really had any objections to this, so we set off back down the mines. But before we do, Scyler takes the opportunity to check on Brann’s arm. He apparently found a medical kit at the bloodbath, and he takes careful precaution as he unwraps the bandages.
“It was a clean cut,” He says mildly. The sight of dried blood and exposed bone does nothing to affect him. “Fortunately I have some stuff for this.” He pulls out a canister of medical mist and begins applying it to the wound, explaining that it’ll help the flesh reknit itself, then begins to re-bandage it. 
Brann and Mazie are amazed by this display, but this kinda stuff is just routine in District 14. Of course, that only makes me feel worse about our government. Why can’t we share this technology with the District’s?
“This is nothing,” Scyler says with a smile as he disposes of his gloves. “Back before the war, the Capitol had this medicine called ‘Instant Relief’ which could heal practically any wound, no matter the severity.”
“No way!” Brann shakes his head. “That’s impossible!”
“No, it’s true!” Mother told me of this. Instant Relief was a miracle technology that revolutionized the world…but then all of the stock was used or destroyed during The War, and the secret to creating the medicine was lost. Apparently it was known to only a select few Capitol scientists, most of whom either died in The War or went missing shortly after. 
Instant Relief has been extinct ever since. 
Once Brann is seen to, we set off to search for an entrance. Theodore and Scyler join the group just like that. It’s funny. We didn’t even have a conversation about it or anything; we just sorta accepted the two boys would be with us. It’s fine. I know that Scyler would never be able to hurt me, and while I don’t know much about Theodore beyond his family’s reputation, the fact that Scyler trusts him means I doubt he will attempt to harm any of us. 
Theodore talks a lot as we walk. Makes grand statements about how he can protect us and that he holds so many skills and talents. He comes off as a little egotistical to me, but Brann and Mazie seem willing to at least hear him out. I don’t have that luxury, though, because Scyler wants to talk almost nonstop. He walks beside me in the group, going on and on about how much he wanted to find me and how I’m the only person he can fully trust.
“What about Theodore?” I ask. The boy is ahead of us, talking to Brann about some advanced method of cutting wheat that District 8 has. 
“Theo is…nice.” Scyler rubs his hair awkwardly. Like the rest of us, he’s taken off his parka due to the warm air in the mines and just wears his long-sleeved shirt. “I mean, he’ll never willingly harm us, but I don’t know him like I know you.”
You hardly know me at all. Has Scyler been so starved for friends in his life that he thinks me and him are super close? I know his upbringing was sheltered—his Father has been grooming him to be his eventual replacement—but surely he can’t actually think we’re that connected? But all I say is, “That’s nice.”
“Yeah! Yeah…” He goes silent for a moment. “Do you, uh, still think our being Reaped wasn’t an accident?”
I almost forgot I told Scyler that. The Reaping feels so long ago. A different lifetime. I had such insignificant worries at the time. Hardly any real concerns. But then I looked at that computer screen and…
“Does the term ‘The Whispers’ mean anything to you?”
“Huh?” I snap out my thoughts. “What did you say? The Whispers?”
Scyler nods. He looks so earnest. “Yeah. They’re…” He lowers his voice and leans in. “A rebel group.”
Rebellion. Scyler is obsessed with the concept. He’s even talking about it here in the arena, where they literally have cameras on us at all times! This is a huge risk. What if he’s overheard? Does he think his Father’s position will protect him from any repercussions? Why? It didn’t protect him from being Reaped. 
“I’ve never heard the name before,” I respond truthfully. 
“What?” He blinks. “Really? I mean, they’re not the biggest terrorist organization in New Panem, but they’re supposedly the most organized and well-funded group. Rumor even has it that they’ve sent an operative into these Games.”
I struggle to contain my disbelief. A rebel group sent an operative into the Games? Why? What would be the purpose? “This is the first I heard of any of this.”
“Not even from your Father?” Scyler looks quizzical, and a little disappointed. “He hasn’t mentioned it in any security briefings or anything?”
“I never attended any of his meetings.” Father always kept his work as Interior Minister separate from his home life. Most of the time I didn’t even know what he was doing. Until I looked at that computer and…
No. Father is not involved with any groups like The Whispers. His secret is worse. Far worse.
“Oh.” Scyler falls silent for a moment. The only sound is the echo of our group’s footsteps and Theodore’s voice. “Well, I hope I can find The Whisper’s operative.”
“Why?”
“Why?” He stares at me like I’ve gone mad. “So I can help them! If they’re truly working with The Whispers, then they can help change the country! Help us survive these Games! Why! The better question would be why aren’t you trying to help me find them?”
Actively working alongside someone considered to be a terrorist by our government…What would the Gamemakers do to us if they discovered that? Kill us outright? Slowly string us along until we die? The possibilities are as endless as they are frightening. “That would be foolishly dangerous, Scyler.”
“Dangerous?” He gives me a flat stare. “How can it be dangerous? The Whispers may be able to help us escape the arena. We could both survive!”
“But if they found out they’d—”
“They’d what? Kill us? No offense, Meta, but they’re already going to do that. They purposely sent us into the Games. Do you really think there’s even the slightest possibility they’ll allow us to win?”
It feels like the mines come crashing down upon me. I suck in a deep breath and try to remain on my feet. I feel dizzy. Of course. If I was sent into the Games, it was for me to die. If my theory about Father having rigged it for my name to be drawn is true, then there is no chance I can win. My only fate is to die here inside this frozen wasteland. 
But…no. I can’t just give up! There has to be a way! Maybe I can try and let the country know? I was wrong before. President Price cannot be working with Father. Not when he is ostensibly against her. But then…no. Trying to alert her would never work. Why would anyone believe me over Father? Besides, Uncle Branson is a Gamemaker, and Ortho Burnham is the Head Gamemaker. He has been Father’s best friend for decades. Either one of them may be working alongside him. They could just hide anything I try to say. But then…how can I stay alive…?
The Whispers.
“How am I supposed to help you?” I say quietly. It feels like all hope has left me. Before I had foolishly thought it possible, albeit unlikely, that I could survive by becoming Victor. Now I know the truth. “I don’t know anything about the group. Honestly.”
Scyler frowns. “I find that hard to believe, but…well, I guess you can try and help me locate their operative. Got any ideas? I tried speaking with some of the volunteers in training, but that got me nowhere fast.”
I don’t know a thing about rebel groups or their movements, but I do remember that people on the forum always spoke about changing the country and making progress. Maybe one of them would know more about it. Hang on… “You could try asking Mazie,” I suggest. 
“Mazie? How would she help?”
I quickly explain the existence of the forum and its users to Scyler, saying that Mazie might know something that would help him. I don’t really know how much Mazie interacted with the political side of the forum, but it’s definitely worth a shot. 
“Hold up!”
Theodore’s voice sends my attention to the front of the group, where he has just come to a halt beside a sudden drop. The ground beneath the minetracks we’ve been following is torn away, and a large gaping maw of blackness lies before us. Across this pit I can just make out the sight of a solitary lamp as it gently sways from the ceiling, illuminating the other end of the expanse. 
“Much too far to jump,” Mazie muses as she examines the dark hole. It is too deep to see the bottom. 
“I wouldn’t risk it anyway,” Brann says. 
I frown at the inky blackness. It seems to absorb all the light. “Was the mine entrance that way?”
No one responds. 
It’s only then, as we all begin to look at each other in question, do we realize that not one of us actually knows where to find an exit. Mazie and I were too preoccupied with our conversation to remember the way back, and Brann wasn’t even trying to pay attention. Scyler flat-out admits he has no idea which way is which, but Theodore insists that he can find the way back if given enough time. Despite this claim, I can tell from everyone’s expression that we’re not convinced. 
Fear and anxiety pulse through me and it feels like the walls are closing in. Trapped. We’re trapped in these mines like rats. With the blob. With Gamemakers who may want to see me dead. In the first fifteen years of my life I never once worried about dying…but now I’m terrified I won’t even live long enough to see tomorrow.
===Reiko Sonatas (District 6)===
The sky is dark. The falling snow is cold. I stretch my fingers out in an effort to keep them warm and usable. Breath comes out in a mist as I shake my arm to try and keep it active. My boots are absolutely covered in snow and ice. Our flight from the Careers has been long and arduous.
And it is still not over.
They have kept up with us. Despite remaining on the move for hours, they have not abandoned the hunt. Baron presses on, Viscera atop his back and Peppa in his arms. The little girl walked alongside us for the first few hours, but eventually things grew too much for her, and she began to lag behind. Rather than abandon her, Baron took her up in his arms and is now literally carrying two people as he presses on through the snow.
Occasionally I will stop and look back at our pursuers. They are careful to keep out of bow range, never drawing closer than is necessary. Two of them—the ones in yellow—follow straight behind us. They’re the ones which stay within view at all times, never disappearing among the snow. Another pair is always to the east of us, popping in and out of focus as they help shepherd us along a path. The last one—who based on his size must be Brick—sticks to the west. He holds a crossbow in his hands, and that alone makes him our biggest threat.
“We will not be able to run forever,” I say aloud as we proceed. Our pace has dropped precariously since the beginning of our flight, and now Baron moves at a casual walk. “Soon enough they will tighten the noose around our neck.”
I can see their strategy. Box us in. Force us to keep moving and expend energy. They want us tired and weak so we’ll be unable to fight back when they finally move in for the kill. 
“We have no other choice,” Baron keeps his head up, eyes focused ahead. Viscera is alert and aware on his back, her bright blue eyes focused on me.
When we first learned that the Careers were still following us, I suggested to the others that I should hide in the snow and sneak past them so I could then catch the Careers from behind, but Baron vetoed this idea. He thought it was far too risky, and insisted that we not split up for any reason. As the day progressed I decided I would go against his wishes and do my plan regardless, but the giant was one step ahead. He had instructed Viscera to keep an eye on me, and the girl does her job well, scarcely even blinking during her task. There is no possibility of me getting away without his knowledge.
Baron is a fool. A noble, kindhearted one, but a fool nonetheless. While there are certainly risks to my plan, I am confident in its success. I have spent years camouflaging myself and remaining unseen; I very much doubt the Careers would spot my disappearance. And once I got behind them, it’d be all over. A few well placed arrows would be enough to end this charade once and for all. 
But instead we shall simply march onwards like sheep to the slaughter.
A mountain looms overhead. The very same one which hangs over the mining village, no doubt. We’re headed straight for it, meaning we’ve gone almost directly north. Baron pauses when he sees it. “There might be a cave up ahead,” He rumbles. “We could lose them inside.”
Maybe. If we make it that far. Baron looks like he’s about to pass out where he stands. Even giants have their limits, and carrying two girls through knee-high snow for hours on end may have forced him to meet his. I shake my head and think about the worse. If the Careers begin to move in and the others are incapable of defending themselves…should I abandon them?
I could slip away in the snow easily enough, and once I was on my own it’d be simple to hide my tracks. I doubt the Careers would even search for me; not when they have three easier targets. I could survive at their expense. It is a shameful thought, but a tempting one. Tsuki and the Temple must come first. While I wish to keep my allies alive as long as I am able, eventually the truth will come evident. Only one person wins the Games. 
I look back at the mountain. It shouldn’t be too far away. “Let’s find out.”
The Careers keep their distance as we approach the foothills. I thought there’d be a possibility they’d rush us when we neared the mountain, but they don’t seem concerned. Maybe they don’t think there’ll be any caves. Or worse. Maybe they plan to pursue us inside. 
Faint moonlight reflects off the snow, giving us enough light to see as we struggle on through the dark. A hazy shape has appeared in the side of the mountains base. Dark and foreboding. A cave.
Baron takes off at a sprint, showcasing a burst of energy I didn’t know he had left. I hurry after him, keeping an eye on the Careers as we move. They hardly react; remaining stationary as we plunge inside the cave. 
It is is dark and damp with the scent of cold earth lingering in the air. Its walls are lined with rugged rock formations, creating intricate patterns that catch my eye. The only source of light filters in from the narrow entrance behind us, casting eerie shadows on the cave floor.
“It’s dark,” Viscera whispers as clamber down the slope. 
I stare at the patterned walls—barely visible in the darkness—and reach a startling conclusion. “There’s no other exit!”
Baron sets Peppa down and has Viscera slide off his back before lumbering over to the far wall. There is a narrow crevice there, but it is much too small for any of us—except perhaps Peppa—to squeeze through. 
“So we’re trapped?” Peppa herself says as she hugs tiny arms around her chest. 
Baron slams a fist against the wall. The cave walls tremble with the impact, but it does not solve our predicament. We are trapped.
I return to the entrance, taking a handful of arrows from my quiver and setting them tip down in the snow beside me. I carefully test my bowstring, then nock an arrow. “They will have to come through this entrance,” I say softly. A chill wind brings with it a flurry of snow. “And they will have to force themselves past my arrows.”
Baron picks up his crowbar and nods. “Yes. And if they do get past you, then they’ll have to deal with me.” He turns and says something to the girls, but I tune him out. This, here, is my moment. Something I can do better than anyone else. But first there is something else I must do. 
“In our time of struggle, I beseech you, Veiled Demon, to lend us your aid,” My eyes slide shut and I clutch the Temple necklace in one fist. “May your veil turn back our enemies weapons. May your shadow shield us from their gaze. And, if this is to be where we fall, may we shelter in your hand.”
My eyes snap open and I breathe out deeply. It is to be combat. Fighting and death. Swords and arrows. So be it. I have trained my whole life for moments like these. I will not—can not—fail. 
Tsuki and the Temple still need me. 
===Brick Slayte (District 2)===
I kneel on the ground, one hand buried in the snow as I gaze out at the cave before me. I should feel cold, but I feel nothing. I am numb. Empty. This hunt has dragged on too long without any payoff. I am weary. Bored. Where is the fun in an endless chase?
But the chase has finally come to an end. Now is the time for conflict.
“We’ll never catch them if they delve into the mountain,” Citrine says with a sniff. She and the others stand just behind me, watching the cave Reiko and the Weirdos entered. 
“They haven’t left,” I say idly. 
“How do you know?” Tidus sounds more interested than interrogative as he turns his eyes on me. Him and Penelope are shivering as they stick close together. Neither District 4 tribute is fond of the cold. 
“Reiko has been peeking out the cave. And if she’s still here, then so are the rest.” While it would make strategical sense for her to stay behind and hold us off so that the others could escape further into the cave system, I know that isn’t the case. Reiko had multiple opportunities to do that exact thing earlier today, but she never did. I can only assume that means her alliance wants to remain together at all costs. 
Baron and Reiko may be deadly combatants, but master strategists they are not. From the moment I found their trail I’ve had them dancing on my strings. I spread my Careers out in groups, covering their flanks as we badgered the quartet across the snowy plains. I purposely kept our distance, lulling them into a false sense of security as I drove them exactly where I wanted them. 
To the mountain.
Now, that cave has been the first real roadblock in my plan. I had anticipated the mountain to be a dead-end for the group, and that they’d be forced to turn around and face us. Then I could slowly tighten my noose and pick them off one-by-one as they attempted to escape. But now…
Now things get fun. 
“Why haven’t they fled into the caves?” Alexis frowns.
“There are two possible reasons,” I say, removing my hand from the snow. It is numb. No sense of cold. No pain. “One: they want to end the hunt here and now. Two: that cave has only one exit.”
The others fall silent. Despite how they sometimes act, they are not stupid. Each of them understands what happens next. 
“We can’t just rush the cave,” Citrine is the first to speak. “Reiko would pick us off with her arrows.”
I nod. “Correct.”
“But we can’t just wait them out either,” Tidus jumps in. “We’d be sitting ducks out here—at the mercy of the weather, Gamemakers, and any passing tributes.”
“Also correct.”
“Then what will we do?” Penelope turns her attention to me and the rest follow suit. They all know whom their leader is. The best and brightest among them. The strongest and most capable. The one who always sees a path forward. 
“We will outwit them,” I say with a small smile. “Tidus and Penelope, I want you two to circle around and stay out of bowshot, then approach the mountain further east. Once you’re at its base, begin to follow it back towards the cave. You’ll be at an angle from which it’ll impossible for Reiko to even see you, let alone shoot.”
The two District 4 tributes exchange glances then nod. From the look in their eyes I can tell that the thought of staying out of harms way appeals to them. As I expected. Neither one has been keen to do any combat since the bloodbath. 
“Alexis, I want you to do the same thing but from the west.” Being by herself shouldn’t slow her down. The girl is more capable than the other two put together.
“Understood.”
“And what will we be doing?” Citrine says with a toss of her hair. 
“We shall be distracting Reiko…and possibly killing her. Now get to your positions!”
As the other three take off, Citrine and I approach a low snow mound and take cover behind it. A flicker of movement in the cave catches my eye. Reiko was watching us. 
“Good thing we have all this moonlight,” Citrine mutters. I give a noncommittal grunt. It hardly matters to me. My night-vision goggles would provide me with sight even if it were pitch-dark. Which, in all honesty, would be preferable. Reiko and the others wouldn’t be able to see, but I would.
After a few minutes pass I suddenly stand up and launch a crossbow bolt into the cave. I duck back behind the mound before seeing where it struck. “What was that for?” Citrine blinks. “You barely had time to aim!”
“I was keeping them honest,” I explain. Reiko and her allies will be far more careful with arrows sailing over their heads. The last thing I want is for them to sneak away while Citrine and I cower behind cover waiting for the others to get in position. This in mind, I crawl along the mound until I reach the edge, where I carefully peek out pass it. The whipping snow diffuses my vision as I stare out at the mountain, trying to see if the others have gotten into position—
An arrow rips past my head and I pull myself back with a curse. Heart pounding. Teeth gnashing. What was that? Reiko was meant to be cowering in her cave! She shouldn’t have been watching! Citrine gives me a look as I lean back against the snow and smash a fist into the ground. “I can’t see if those idiots are in position!”
If I can’t see, then I can’t plan. If I can’t plan, then what good are my allies? As I stew in my thoughts, Citrine scoots to the opposite side and tosses a snowball over the mound before quickly popping her head out of cover. Within a few seconds she’s back behind cover and approaching me. “Alexis is in position, but Reiko has her pinned. Apparently she does have an angle to shoot.”
Clever girl. I hadn’t thought Reiko capable of finding a way to counteract my plan. Still, it doesn’t matter. I’ve just come up with an even better strategy. One that’ll put Reiko into checkmate. 
“We’re going to sit on opposite sides of the mound, then I’m going to stand up and draw her attention,” I begin laying the plan out to Citrine. “Once I give the signal, wait a second then stand up yourself and throw your chakram at the girl. Aim for the head or neck, because that’s her weakest point.”
“Why do I have to do it?” She demands. “Why I can’t I be the decoy?”
I give her a withering look. “If you want Reiko—a highly skilled archer—to be thinking of using your head as a pincushion, then be my guest.”
As I thought, this gives Citrine pause and she ends up deciding that she doesn’t want to be the decoy after all. Predicable. People are so easy to manipulate that it’s almost boring. I scuffle along underneath the mound until I get into position, then call out to Citrine, asking if she’s ready. When she gives the affirmative, I remind her to pop out a full second after the signal, then begin counting down. “One…two…three…now!”
I remain crouched behind the mound, crossbow in my hands. Citrine is on the complete opposite end and is unable to see me unless she stands. There is no way for her to tell that I’ve remained motionless. I wait for two seconds—enough time for Citrine to have moved—then I finally stand up and zero in on the cave. 
Reiko has shown herself and has her entire torso exposed, arms stretched back as she aims her bow. If she knew I was here, she’d undoubtedly put an arrow in my skull. 
Fortunately for me, she has a different target in mind. 
Citrine never even has time to throw her chakram before Reiko’s arrow punches through her throat. The girl tumbles to the ground with a surprised gurgle as I press the trigger of my crossbow and send my own arrow flying. 
I am too far away to hear her gasp of pain, but I see how Reiko falls as my arrow strikes her in the shoulder, sending her tumbling backwards into the cave.
A slow smirk crosses my lips as I sling the crossbow over my shoulder. It may not have been the killing blow I wanted, but it’s incapacitated her regardless. Reiko will not be able to draw her bow with an arrow in her shoulder, meaning there is now precious little stopping us from advancing on their position. 
I skirt around the mound and go check on Citrine. The blonde girl is lying in a pile of red snow, hands clasped around the arrow sticking out of her throat as she burbles unintelligibly. Her eyes are wide with fear and confusion as I crouch down beside her.
“Yeah, looks like you’re dead,” I say with a shrug. I didn’t want her to die—I want my allies to stay alive as long as they’re useful—but I needed a way to distract Reiko. Sacrificing Citrine so that I could kill Baron and his entire alliance was well worth the tradeoff. 
Citrine’s reply is some sort of disgusting babble that hardly resembles a human voice at all. Well, there’s nothing to be done for her now. This type of injury is far beyond my ability to heal. I casually raise my spear and jab it straight into the girl’s heart. Citrine goes slack, hands falling limply to her side.
Boom!
Some viewers may interpret my actions as a mercy killing, but the truth is that I simply wanted to pad my stats. Ardor already has two kills, and the last thing I want is to fall behind that idiot. “At least your death meant something,” I tell Citrine’s corpse as I take up her bag. “Lots of people’s deaths don’t.”
This task done, I finally turn my attention to the cave. I have no worries that Baron and the others may have run off while I was attending to Citrine—Alexis and the District 4 pair would’ve alerted me if they tried. So I move at a relaxed pace as I climb over the mound and begin my approach. A figure scrambling over the rocks gets my attention. Alexis.
“What happened?” She frowns at me as I join her on a ledge overlooking the cave. As much as I’d like to charge straight in, I need to be more careful. Peppa and Viscera aren’t threats in the slightest, but Baron could wreak some real damage if we just strode in without a plan. “I heard a cannon. I saw you hit Reiko, was it hers?”
“Citrine died,” I say bluntly. “But yes, I did hit Reiko. She’s lying wounded in that cave right now.” Just ripe for the plucking.
Musical notes begin to play overhead. The Fallen has begun. There’s not much to see. Citrine’s face—probably hastily put in—is the only one to appear in the sky. Everyone was playing today rather safe, it appears. Well, there’s about to be four more deaths. Once we regroup with District 4 we’ll enter that cave and finally put an end to—
Awoooooooo!
A single piercing horn shakes the night. For a brief moment I think that this might be some sort of announcement from the Gamemakers, but then I hear a loud rumbling and the very ground beneath my feet begins to shake. 
“Above!” Alexis’ cry is barely audible over the earthshaking trembles of the mountain. I look up and feel my heart sink.
A wave of snow is descending down the mountain. It cascades over the rocks, pounding down in a flurry of white death as it hurtles onward. For the first time since I step foot in this arena I feel a wave of cold wash over me. 
An avalanche. 
“Get moving!” I scream at Alexis and sprint toward the base of the mountain. There is no time to run away. That avalanche is moving too quickly. If I tried to run, I’d die. 
I hurtle through the snow, taking high steps in an effort to avoid being slowed. Alexis follows behind me. My chest begins to burn with effort as I approach the mountain. There is a small opening just underneath an overhang. Another cave. If I can just reach it I may be safe from the avalanche. If I don’t…
It feels like the entire world is shaking as I run. My body goes into overdrive and I use every last ounce of energy I have. Oddly enough, I feel no fear. Just excitement. This is what I’ve been missing. Adrenaline. Life and death situations. It’s almost as exhilarating as uncovering secrets.
Almost.
“Into the cave!” I bellow my order even though I don’t think Alexis can hear me. The ground is shaking so much. The air itself is trembling. A white flurry of death rushes down. I sprint towards the cave opening and fling myself forward. In the corner of my vision, I spot Alexis doing the same. 
A second later the avalanche smashes down upon us.
===Ash Carrow (District 12)=== 
My breath comes out in a fog as I sit before the crackling fire, warming my hands and trying to remember what it felt like to not be freezing cold. I can’t manage it. Feels like a lifetime ago. 
Stupid arena. If I ever get the chance, I’ll kill the idiots who created it. 
My fire is small and hidden in a deep divot in the forest. The tall trees which surround me should be enough to hide both the smoke and light it produces. It’d be far safer to avoid making any fire at all, but this arena is too damn cold for that. 
Today has been uneventful. I spent the daylight hours roaming the forest in search of other tributes, but I found nothing more than some tracks which led towards the big mountain in the north. I didn’t want to risk approaching that behemoth yet, so I chose to abandon the trail and continue my search of the woods.
My main goal was to find some food or more supplies, and I was somewhat successful in that regard. While the only food I found were nuts hidden beneath the snow, I did manage to locate a small shack deep in the forest. The shack, shockingly enough, had several containers of explosive materials hidden inside. 
I can’t believe it was a coincidence. The Gamemakers know both my past and my skills. They intentionally put those supplies somewhere I’d find them. For a moment I thought about just leaving the stuff—I didn’t want to accept any help from those bastards—but eventually I realized that would be monumentally stupid. Why refuse something that will keep me alive? If the Gamemakers are dumb enough to provide me with resources, then fine, I’ll accept the offer. 
It’ll just make killing them a lot easier.
Awoooooooo!
I go very still. A single piercing horn resounds throughout the arena. What is it? The Fallen was broadcast just moments ago, and the only death was one of those bastard Careers. What could this new signal be about?
I don’t have to wait long to find out. The ground beneath my feet begins to shake and tremble, and I skirt away from the fire to avoid falling in. When I do so, I spot the far mountain through a gap in the trees. A massive wave of snow is making its way down the slope.
“A landslide…” I’ve seen similar things happen in the mountains of District 12. There were more rocks and dirt there and less snow, but the outcome will be the same. 
The complete eradication of anything in its path.
The world goes very silent as the trembling subsides. The only sound is my soft inhalation. Then the cannons start. 
Boom! Boom! Boom!
I was right. That avalanche did cause a few deaths. Not surprising. Anyone who was near that mountain would have been—
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
The cannons don’t end. They just don’t. I stop thinking and try to count along. How many tributes just died? How many are left? When the sky finally falls silent, I sit and wait for another medley. But nothing more comes. Thirteen cannons have sounded, not counting the one which occurred prior to the landslide. Fourteen tributes have died this night. That means there are already only eleven tributes left in the arena. 
That is an outstandingly high number. Maybe the most deaths which have ever occurred in a single day. Good. The more dead kids, the better. I kinda wish there had been even more—
Boom!
A small smile crosses my face. “Keep them coming,” I whisper to myself as I return to my position beside the fire. “Keep the deaths coming.”
===Easton Harlow (District 14)=== 
Boom!
Vizio and I pause to stare at the sky. The wharf is cold and quiet. A chill wind blows in off the sea. Yet another cannon…that brings the total number to sixteen. Sixteen deaths within a handful of hours.
That has to be a new record. 
Vizio adjusts his glasses and frowns. “Well, we’re certainly dropping like flies, aren’t we?”
“Indeed.” There are only nine tributes left. That is an astoundingly low number for what is not yet three full days of the Games. Whatever happened in the northern expanse of the arena, it certainly was bloody and eventual. 
A sharp contrast to our own day. Vizio was the one to suggest that we just lay low and remain hiding inside the boathouse, and I couldn’t find it in me to disagree. While I would’ve liked to search for Halley I understand that the safest play was to simply stand pat and do nothing. 
Until now, at least. 
Vizio claims that after midnight is the safest time to explore, and my own viewing of past Games backs up that assertion. Hardly anyone ventures forth at night in a regular arena, and the likelihood of them doing so in this frozen wasteland is close to zero. 
So Vizio and I have ventured out onto the wharf, exploring its nooks and crannies as we search for anything of value. I haven’t found anything yet, but Vizio has grabbed some small leather pouches and a few cloth sacks to carry his things in. The Fallen had shown up whilst we were exploring, then the arena shook and something occurred at the mountain in the far distance to cause all those deaths. 
Thinking about that brings a frown to my face. We’ve already reached the single digits and it hasn’t yet been three full days. These Games have surpassed the 14th as the quickest to do so. I wouldn’t be surprised if these end within the next day or two. 
A truly frightening thought.
There is only place left on the wharf that we’ve yet to search, and that’s a small warehouse on the edge of land. Vizio leads the way inside, breath coming out in a puff of mist as he carefully pushes the creaking door open. 
The warehouse is one large room filled with crates and stacked boxes covered in tarps. A pair of double-wide doors rest at the far end of the room, undoubtedly leading out into the frozen tundra from which we originally arrived. A series of cabinets line the walls and there is an oval table in the corner, but there is precious little else to see. “This does not look too appealing,” I say with another frown.
Vizio adjusts his glasses and steps forward. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. These kind of places always hide the best stuff.”
Well, at least he’s optimistic. My own sense of positive thinking has died with those cannons. While it is true that less living tributes mean I am closer to Victory, it also means conflict is that much closer. Can Vizio and I win any real fight? I am unsure. It would depend on who else is still alive. If the Careers all died then our odds have certainly skyrocketed. If they all still live, however…
I drift aimlessly among the crates as Vizio searches in a neat, organized manner. He seems to find many things he wants, for he sticks a sizable amount of items into those pouches and sacks of his. From what I can tell most of it appears to be various odds-and-ends; a few mechanical parts, some wire, pieces of string. Nothing that really stands out to me. 
My wandering comes to a halt in the far corner of the warehouse. A wide white sheet that covers two distinct shapes piques my curiosity. Just what could this be? I reach out a tentative hand and remove the sheet with a flourish to reveal two sleek, black snowmobiles.
“Ah! Now that is a good find!” Vizio rubs his hands together as he approaches. He kneels down to inspect the vehicles, gently running a thumb along their base. 
“I take it you know quite a bit about snowmobiles?” From the way he’s acting, he must. 
“Of course.” He doesn’t look up from where he’s begun to inspect the tracks. “I would hesitate to call myself an expert, but I think my experience with vehicles of this nature is superior to that of any other person in this arena.”
“Stupendous! I myself am also well-versed in this nature!” Father and I spent several winters up in the mountains of District 14, and that is where I learned how to operate a snowmobile, as well as where I learnt to ski. 
“Is that so? How very fortuitous.”
I think back to those days in the mountains. That is where I was taught how to lead men. How to become a figurehead. I was meant for something more than these Games. I wasn’t born to huddle in the snow and fear steel swords wielded by overgrown children. I was born to rule. To govern. I was destined to one day raise this country into something every citizen could be proud of.
But these Games have stripped that all away. If I do not win, then I will become nothing more than a footnote in history. Less. No one remembers the name of a dead tribute. 
Vizio steps back from his investigation of the snowmobile and goes to sit at the table. He has emptied his bags and pouches, and begun work on some sort of device. I can’t hope to understand what he is doing, so I just begin my own inspection of the snowmobiles. Surprisingly they are the same exact make and model that Father and I used in the mountains. Coincidence? Or something more? Father had several friends among the Gamemakers, and I know that they are not keen to lose their connections to a Great Family. 
At any rate, these snowmobiles are a definite boon to our circumstances. The mobility and speed they will grant us shall far outweigh anything that the others could manage. Ideas for what we could accomplish with these vehicles are already circulating in my mind.
“FInished.” Vizio’s voice, so calm and emotionless, draws my attention back to the table. A small round object lies before him. It looks remarkably similar to a compass, but with a digital interface.
“What is it?” I approach the table and lean over to get a better look. There is a soft green light flickering on the radius, pointed directly at me. 
“A DFG-49 tracker,” Vizio says idly. “Or, if you wish to be humorous, a tracker tracker.”
“A tracker…” I feel at my arm, where an Agent had implanted a tracker before the beginning of the Games. Is it possible? Can Vizio truly track someone by their tracker?
“Well, I suppose it’s more of a sensor than a tracker,” Vizio adjusts his glasses. “You see, whenever our little device here gets close enough to a DGF-49—around half a mile or so—the lights on the screen will turn on. The closer it is to the DFG-49, the brighter the light will become.”
That in itself is an astounding feat of engineering. I know that Vizio created the DFG-49 and thus has an innate understanding of the technology at hand, but to so easily put together a device capable of sensing the trackers with nothing but leftover parts is mindbogglingly impressive. 
“If you combine this tracker with the snowmobiles we found, then we have quite the formidable array of tools at hand.” Vizio carefully attaches the sensor to his wrist and begins to put his tools away. “I daresay that the other tributes will have quite the difficult time hiding from us—assuming we want to find them, that is.”
“And do we want to find them?” I ask.
“That depends on two factors.”
“Which two?”
“One. Do you believe you can kill the others? Two. Is Halley alive? If she is, then finding her could be a good use of our time.”
Quite true. That cannon medley has made it clear that only nine tributes still live, meaning that if Halley is alive and we manage to find her, our alliance will make up one third of the remaining competition. Of course, there are lot of “ifs” involved in this hypothetical. 
“Too bad the material here is insufficient, or I may have been able to create a device capable of triggering the explosives inside the DFG-49.”
“Yes, that is unfortunate—what?”
“The explosive inside the DFG-49,” Vizio taps a finger against his forearm. “If I had enough materials, I could fashion a device that would be capable of prematurely detonating it.”
“I…there’s an explosive inside our tracker?” This revelation hits me like a punch. I’ve been walking around with a bomb inside my arm? The mere thought of that is horrifying. 
“Oh, yes.” Vizio nods, seemingly completely unfazed. “The yield is not particularly high; it’s just enough to kill you without causing too much damage to your surroundings.”
“But…why? Why did you put an explosive inside it?”
“Why? Because they told me to, of course.” He says it so matter-of-fairly. “The explanation they gave me was that the Gamemakers needed a way to dispatch troublesome tributes without any additional casualties, but to do so in a way they could just wave their death off as an arena trap.”
“That doesn’t sound very fair,” I frown. 
“Indeed it doesn’t. However, it is very much in line with current government policy.” Vizio pauses, as if thinking. “Hmm. This is only the second year of the DFG-49 being in use. Wonder if they removed it from Hadrian after he won?”
I never stopped to consider whether they would remove the tracker after the Games or not. It’s a disconcerting thought, to think that I could have a tracker inside me for the rest of my life. No. When I win, I’ll ensure that it is removed. I doubt the President shall mind. There is little point in tracking the scion of a Great Family, after all. 
A thought strikes me.
“You could just disable the entire device, couldn’t you?”
Visio pushes his glasses up and frowns. “What makes you say that?”
“You designed it. Surely you put in some kind of emergency deactivation?”
Vizio falls silent for a moment. He drums his fingers along the table and hums an unfamiliar tune. “Perhaps. But to what end? Deactivating it in the arena would serve little purpose but to make ourselves the Gamemakers enemy.”
I can see the answer in his eyes as well as if he’d shouted it. Yes. Vizio can indeed disable the DFG-49, and he could likely do so with ease. But he’s right. There’s absolutely no reason we would need to do that, especially not when the Games are already proceeding so rapidly. If everything continues at this rate, I’ll be having breakfast with Cronus in a week. 
“Let us return to the boathouse before anything else untoward happens tonight, yes?” Vizio rises and finishes collecting his things. I remain standing, lost in thought as I watch the snowmobiles. Everything which occurred today has played directly for our benefit. We have supplies, mobility, and numbers. We have everything we could possibly need. These Games are lining up splendidly for us.
Why, then, do I feel so uneasy?
===Viscera Clomp (District 10)===
It is dark and cold. I cannot see. There are soft scuffling sounds in the dark. Something moves around me. The Misery Man?
I have finally regained control of my body. Up until now it’s been moving on its own accord since that awful horn rang out. Maybe it was The Author trying to save me. Those people were trying to kill me. Baron hid us in this cave to protect us, but…
Where am I? I tentatively reach out with my fingers. At first I feel nothing but air, so I cautiously step forward, groping at emptiness. Fear fills me. Am I trapped in eternal darkness? Has The Misery Man finally captured me? I thought he’d kill me, but maybe his plan is worse. Maybe he intends to keep me in the darkness forever. 
I am not alone. I can feel its empty eyes watching me through the gloom, and there is something in this dim, cavernous cave that does not want me here. I try to scream but can’t form the sounds. Skittering little footsteps resound. So dark! Dark, dark, dark! Where is the light? What has He done with it? Why can’t I see? Why am I alive? Am I alive? What if—
Light flickers into existence. 
A little pool of yellow light forms in the center of the cave. My gasping stops and I go very still, eyes focused on the person in the middle of the light. She is small, with colored hair and a metal lamp in her hands. I don’t know her. Don’t recognize her. Never seen her in my life. 
One of The Misery Man’s monsters!
She’s searching for me on His behalf! She wants me dead! No! Can’t allow it. Won’t. Baron has proven The Misery Man can be beaten, and I no longer have to cower in fear. I can slay this monster. I can!
The lamplight doesn’t extend far enough to reach me. I am still hidden in the darkness. Out of sight. The monster can’t see me, but I can see it. Slowly I reach down and pick up a rock, one large enough to fit in my fist. Smash it over the head. Beat it to a pulp. I am not afraid. This is not where I die. If I am to be killed, it will be The Misery Man himself who does it, not one of his monstrosities.
I take a careful step forward.
The monster turns around and swings the lamp towards me. I shy back from the sudden flare of light, blinded by its intensity. Can’t see! I fall to a knee, one hand still clasped around the rock. Can’t fight! Was I wrong? Has The Author mislead me? Is this where I—
“Viscera?” The monster calls out in a low voice and steps closer. Its lamp makes a little jangling sound. “Is that you?”
It knows my name! It…knows my name? I blink and rub at my eyes until they adjust to the light. The monster is a little girl with colorful hair and pale skin. Not very threatening. “Wh-who are you?”
“It’s me, Peppa!”
Peppa…
Memories wash over me. Of our journey from the pretty village to this horrid cave. Being chased by the Careers and shadows. Baron stumbling and bumbling through the snow. Reiko shooting arrows. The little one, Peppa, falling behind and being scooped up by Baron.
“Oh.” I blink a few more times. “Peppa. You’re my ally.”
She nods. “Yes. That avalanche blocked us in this cave. At first I thought we’d die in this darkness, but then I found this lamp and…” She gestures at the wall behind us. The narrow crack that used to take up the far wall has widened into a large fissure which leads into another chamber. “We’re not trapped anymore. We can explore further!”
“Oh.” My eyes slide over the wall to the corner, where another shape is slumped over. “Oh…”
Peppa moves her lamp and illuminates the corner. Reiko lies there, head askew and eyes closed as an arrow sticks out from her shoulder. I feel a pang of sadness. “She’s dead.”
“Not quite.” I give a little yelp of fear and spring away as Reiko pulls herself into a sitting position. The girl makes a gasping sound and feels at her shoulder. “This arrow is not enough to kill me. Praise the Veiled Demon.”
I remain silent. I don’t like talk of this demon of hers. Demons are evil. Demons work for The Misery Man. Even though she insists that her demon is different, I don’t think I believe her. Reiko isn’t evil. But her demon…
My eyes drift away to a little pile of snow on the floor. It’s a familiar shape. Looks like the map Mother has in her room. She told me it was a map of the country, and that she brought it with her from District 14. I loved staring at it. The map was so beautiful and—
Peppa steps forward and crushes the map underfoot.
I stifle a gasp. Broken. Destroyed. Destruction. I stare at Peppa’s foot and her shadow behind it. An overhanging icicle drops from the ceiling and strikes her shadow in the heart. My eyes widen. A message from The Author. 
Peppa will destroy the country unless she dies in the snow. 
“Where is Baron?” Peppa rotates her lamp around the cave. It is dark and empty. The entrance is nothing but a massive mound of snow. Baron is nowhere to be seen. “Did he…did he not make it?”
My heart skips a beat. All thoughts flee my head. Baron is immune to The Misery Man. He is meant to help me survive these Games and defeat him. He can’t have been killed by something like an avalanche. He can’t be dead. He’s too important. I can’t have lost him. I can’t!
“I last saw him at the cave entrance,” Reiko says softly. “He was guarding it in the event the Careers rushed us.”
All our heads swivel to the entrance and the massive pile of snow that blocks it. If Baron was there…
I rush forward and drop into the snow. I dig with my bare hands, ignoring the icy chill. Baron! I need to find him! I need him! He can’t die yet! I dig and dig, and then dig some more. Nothing. No Baron. Just ice and snow. Cold death. The Misery Man’s influence—
A hand bursts through the snow.
I ignore the others gasps and dig around the hand. Baron! It must be! Who else could survive The Misery Man’s trap? I’m giggling with excitement as I finally expose enough of the hand for the person to pull himself free from the snow.
Baron emerges like a hero from legend. Shaking the snow off his massive shoulders as he staggers into the lamplight, breathing heavily and looking at everyone near him. “We all survived?” He gasps. 
“Yes!” I giggle and dance around him. Baron thwarted The Misery Man once again! He truly is immune! Soon we’ll defeat him once and for all!
“Good.” Baron sinks to a knee and takes another shuddering breath. He seems tired. “I am glad. You…are all my friends. I do not wish to see you die.”
I thought I’d die in the arena. It’s what Mother taught me to do. Die and pay for her sins. I was meant to be a sacrifice for The Misery Man. But no longer. I won’t die. I’ll live. 
The others begin to talk in quick, hushed voices as they go over the situation. The entrance to the cave is blocked, but a new route was opened by the avalanche. Peppa checks it and out and says that it leads into some sort of mine. There’s overhead lamps, tracks, and everything. “Probably connects to the mining village,” Baron says. “The mine may run through the whole mountain.”
“We should explore,” The little girl suggests. “Who knows what’ll happen if we stay here? Maybe another avalanche will block us in.”
“One moment, please.” Reiko struggles into a more comfortable position. “The arrow in my shoulder did not come out the other side. Baron, can you push it through? Then we can snap the arrowhead off and remove the rest.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’ve already felt at the wound, and it is not lodged in bone, nor did it come loose. Pulling it out with the head intact would only exacerbate it.”
I watch with quiet interest as Baron quickly and forcefully shoves the arrow through, then snaps it in half like a toothpick. Reiko shudders and makes a soft grunting noise, but she does not otherwise react to what must be a painful experience. How queer. She really is a strange person. 
Reiko stands after Baron removes the rest of the arrow. We have no true medical supplies, so she treats the wound with moss and cobwebs found in the cave. Then she uses her jacket to craft a makeshift sling for her arm, before quietly mumbling what sounds like a prayer to that demon of hers.
“You can’t use your bow,” I say when she’s finished.
She stares at me with those strange red eyes. “For now. Yes. But I shall manage.”
I give one last look at the blocked entrance behind us. It is covered in ice and snow. Cold death. Dark shadows. Everything that The Misery Man surrounds himself with. Marinates himself in. But the mines are different. Warm and inviting. Bright and cheerful. What The Misery Man fears most. It is a clear sign from The Author.
The Misery Man is trapped outside. The mines are a safe haven free from his grasp.
“This is a good thing,” I say quietly. “We’ll be safe as long as we remain inside the mines. This is good.”
The others don’t speak. The two girls exchange looks. Baron simply nods and leads the way into the new passage. He lost his crowbar somewhere in the snow, so now he uses a piece of wood he pried from the wall as a weapon. Reiko carries her sword in one hand, bow slung over her shoulder as she silently follows Baron. The other one has no weapon. She just gently caresses the necklace around her neck, occasionally glancing at the ceiling in what looks like fear. 
We don’t have much weapons or supplies, but I am not afraid. We survived that avalanche and made it inside the mines. The Misery Man is trapped outside. Maybe the people chasing us died, or maybe they didn’t. It doesn’t matter. Not really. The Author has given me a sign, and it couldn’t be more clear.
The mines are safe. Stay inside and we’ll live. Leave…and we die.
===Halley Vega (District 0)=== 
I sit in an overgrown bush, shivering uncontrollably as I stare out at the large mountain in the distance. Even in the dark I can see the displaced white snowcaps as they lay at the bottom of the once prestigious mountain. 
My acoustic resonance anemometer has done its job well.
I spent the vast majority of the day building the device. It wasn’t easy. I had to ransack that festive village for technology and parts, and I got lucky by finding a storage shed which contained practically everything I needed, including a megaphone, which I’d anticipated I’d need to craft myself. 
The next step of my plan was simple. Get as close to the mountain as I dared, then play the loudest noise possible. My goal was to cause an avalanche. 
I absolutely succeeded in that regard. 
I felt a mix of fear and awe as that wave of snow cascaded down the mountain. The destructive power of nature at work. Stronger than anything man could accomplish. It was a deadly and dangerous situation that had rapidly spiraled out of control. Yet…there weren’t any cannons.
Earlier in the day I spotted the Careers tailing an alliance and followed them, keeping a safe distance away as I watched the alliance approach the mountain. I purposely triggered the avalanche during their battle, and while it definitely crashed down around them, not a single cannon sounded. It was mystifying and unfortunate, but hardly the end of my plan. Immediately after the avalanche I used my acoustic resonance anemometer to replay a sound I’d recorded earlier—a cannon blast. 
I played dozens of the cannons. Enough to convince the other tributes that the avalanche had wiped out more than half the playing field. My goal was to panic the others and get them to turn on their allies, creating a free-for-all frenzy that caused a multitude of deaths. But this is where my plan hit its first snag. 
There have been no real cannons. None. Each one that has sounded in the sky since that earlier death has come from my anemometer. No tribute has truly died. Not from the avalanche, nor from any in-fighting. Did I overthink things? Did I have too little faith in the bonds the others have created? Surely someone would have been alarmed enough by the apparent fact there’s only nine tributes left to start killing their allies. But no. There has been no killing. No death. 
Just my fake cannon blasts.
Making a concentrated effort to overcome my shivering, I reach out and flick a buttton on my anemometer. 
Boom!
Another cannon goes off. To anyone out there listening, they’d think there’s only eight tributes left alive. Quite a low number. Usually right now they’d start doing in-depth stories on the survivors, including interviews with loved ones. I wonder what my parents would say about me. Do they think I have a chance to win? I don’t. Maybe if those cannons were real I would, but the hard truth is that there is still over twenty other tributes alive. Tributes who are stronger, faster, and more skilled than me. I would like to say that I am the smartest, but the existence of Vizio means that isn’t true. And not even Vizio being my ally makes me feel any better. He’s in it to win for himself, after all.
I continue to stare out at the mountain and the massive pile of snow which has buried its foothills. What if…what if it isn’t that the tributes have been it ignoring my cannons, but that they can’t hear my cannons? What if they’re all inside the mountain? Many caves and tunnels typically honeycomb mountains, so it’s not out of possibility that the other tributes have took shelter inside. And considering the avalanche has blocked off all entry points…they very well could be trapped there.
I doubt the cannons can be heard from within those caves, so they probably don’t even know they’ve gone off. Only the tributes left outside—however many that might be—are aware of what I’ve been doing. In hindsight it’s so obvious that I feel stupid for not noticing it immediately—of course that’s where they all went! How else would the Careers have survived an avalanche which fell right atop them? I almost feel disappointed with this result.
Almost.
The simple truth is that even if dozens of tributes have escaped the avalanche by hiding inside the mountain, it’s only delayed the inevitable. They’re all trapped inside together. It’s only a matter of time before they encounter one another, and when they do…
The blood will begin to spill.
==Day 3/ Dead Is Dead==
===Reiko Sonatas (District 6)===
When my eyes open, I find myself in a field of whiteness. Swirling mist gathers at my feet, billowing softly even though there is no wind. I take a careful step forward, cognizant of the fact I feel no pain. My shoulder does not ache. My arm is not down in a sling. 
I am in the Spirit Realm. 
This is surprising. I did not intend to come here. I thought I was asleep, but evidently it is possible for one to slip into this realm without meaning to. 
Dangerous.
I see no immediate threats as I look around, but that does not mean there aren’t any. The last time I was here those spirits had came out of nowhere to attack me. I do not know how I would’ve fared against them if Autus hadn’t come to my aid. Thinking of which…
“Autus?” I call out his name. I do not know how this place works. Can he hear me? Is he nearby? Or is he, perhaps, miles away? “Are you here?”
The only response is the shifting mists. 
I continue onwards. A shape appears ahead. Round and opaque, it is remarkably similar to a bubble in structure, with a soft, translucent surface and smooth edges. Smooth edges? That…does not sound right. Yet it is the truth before me. This bubble seems to defy all physics. 
I reach a hand out towards it.
“I’d be careful about touching those,” A cheerful voice calls out from the mist. “You never know what they’ll show you.”
I spin around, dropping into a defensive position, but relax when I spot the speaker. A black-haired teenager with a casual smile. Autus. 
“What is it?” I ask, stepping away from the thing.
He shrugs. “Don’t really know. I call them Bubbles.”
“What does it do?” For some reason I suspect it is a weapon of sorts. 
“If you touch it, it’ll show you images. Of things that are, things that aren’t, and things that might yet be.”
“That is a very vague description.”
Autus throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, it is. But that’s all I was told when I tried asking some of the spirits.” He steps up to the Bubble and peers inside. “I’ve touched a few. They certainly showed me things…though I am unsure how much of it is true.”
“Have you ever seen anything pertaining to me and the Games?” That is my only concern. Until I win, I cannot do anything else for myself or the Temple. 
“No.” There is a slight quaver in his voice. A moment of hesitation before responding. Autus lies. 
“I would like the truth from you. What have you seen?”
“I’m not trying to lie, it’s just…” Autus sighs and turns away from the Bubble. “Not everything they show is true. Some of it is…I don’t know how to explain. It’s from a different world. Something that could’ve been, but wasn’t.”
I watch him silently. His explanation is sparse but makes some sense. Not everything in this realm is true, so it only stands to reason that the Bubbles would contain falsehoods. “I would still like to know what you saw.”
“You’re very stubborn, you know?”
“It is one of my better traits.”
Autus raises an eyebrow. “I can’t tell if that’s a joke or not.” I do not respond, so he sighs again and shakes his head. “Very well. But let me preface this with saying that what I witnessed occurred in a Games which progressed differently from yours. The avalanche actually killed people there.”
I feel my heartbeat pick up speed. He knows about the avalanche! That means he truly does know what is happening in the arena! Dozens of questions race through my head. “The avalanche did not kill anyone?”
“No. The only tribute who died yesterday was Citrine.” The one I shot with an arrow. I am not surprised. Few people can survive an arrow through the throat—even with immediate medical assistance. “Everyone else somehow survived, though I suspect many are trapped inside the mountain.”
I tell him that is where me and my allies currently are and he frowns. I file this information away inside my head. Autus clearly does not know everything which occurs in the arena. “But the world the bubble showed you was different?”
He nods once more. “Yes. Only around a dozen tributes survived the avalanche…including you.”
So far so good. “Then what happened?”
Autus runs a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter. This was…it was a different world. What happened to you there won’t, can’t, happen to you here.”
So I died. It is morbidly interesting, but there is no point in delving into the details. All that matters is what lies before me. Tsuki and the Temple come first, as always. “Do you have any pertinent information to offer me? Anything involving the arena or the other tributes?”
“Not much, no.” Autus shuffles his feet and smiles weakly. “I wish I could do more for you, but…”
“Do not feel bad. You have done plenty.” Autus already lost his life inside the arena. He needn’t beat himself up over his inability to provide me with information. “I just…if you see the Veiled Demon again, please tell him that I apologize for leaving so abruptly last time. My faith in him is still unwavering, and I promise I will have a longer conversation with him later on.”
Autus nods slowly. My body has begun to shimmer and tremble as it turns translucent. I am on the verge of waking, it seems. Very well. I have done all I need to do here. My real challenge lies in the physical world. 
“I take it you remember what he told you last time?” 
I frown at Autus as my body continues to flicker in and out of focus. “What do you mean? Whose words? The Veiled Demons?” Yesterday I couldn’t hear whatever he told me. His words were lost in the inane mumbles of Viscera. “What did he say?”
Autus opens his mouth and speaks the words, but I do not hear. My vision has turned black and everything fades. The last thing I see is his lips moving as he tries to pass on the message.
Then I wake.
——
“The Misery Man cannot touch us as long as we remain in the mines!” 
My eyes snap open. I am lying propped up on a backpack, one arm in a makeshift sling as I stare at a dark cave wall. All my aches and pains flood into me. The stiffness of my shoulder. The prickling of a cut on my face I received from the avalanche. The soreness of my neck.
I am still alive. Praise the Veiled Demon.
We are tucked in a dark corner of the mine, away from the main thoroughfare and minetracks. The only light comes from Peppa’s lamp. The little girl sits next to it, playing with her necklace as she stares at nothing. Viscera and Baron stand behind her, seemingly in the midst of a conversation. 
“If you think we should stay, then I agree.” Baron says as I struggle to my feet. I pull up my sword—the one I took from Lartius’s body—and approach the pair. Though I am weakened by this wounded shoulder, I am not broken. Little does anyone know that I am ambidextrous. Even one-handed I can still kill with this sword easily enough. 
“Stay where?”
My words bring both masked heads turning towards me. Only now do I realize I never asked why they wear those masks. “Viscera thinks we should stay in the mines,” Baron rumbles.
“Why?” I see little reason for us to remain here. It is dark, dangerous, and unpredictable inside these cavernous caves. 
“The Author told me it’s safe,” Viscera says quietly. “The Misery Man is trapped outside. As long as we remain in these mines, we are safe.”
“Oh goody, the mystical being is back,” Peppa mutters the words under her breath. I don’t think the others heard her. 
“I do not like this idea.” Staying in the mines is dangerous. This space is too enclosed, too narrow. The darkness offers too many corners and crevices for our enemies to hide. It may be freezing cold out in the snow, but at least there I can spot my enemy coming. “Just about anything could happen in here. We should leave as soon as possible.”
“No!” Viscera shakes her head vigorously. “Leaving means we die! We must stay!”
I had not anticipated she would be so adamant about this. Surely escaping the mines would be in everyone’s best interest? “Are you certain? There are any number of possible dangers—”
“I told you that the mining village was safe,” Viscera continues to speak, clearly agitated. “But you didn’t listen! We left and were chased! You got injured and Baron was nearly killed! The Author is trying to help us, but you won’t listen!” 
She pauses, chest heaving, eyes shining with a ferocious light. I remain silent, stunned. I’ve never seen Viscera so worked up before. Baron tries to placate her, says some comforting words, but she ignores him and goes to sit in the corner. After a few moments she begins to mumble quietly, presuming communicating with this “Author” of hers. 
“I think she’s cuckoo for Capitol puffs,” Peppa mutters as she steps closer to me and Baron.
“I do not understand that saying,” I confess.
Peppa blinks. “Oh, uh, never mind. It’s just something my daddy used to say. It means she’s crazy.”
“Viscera is not crazy,” Baron grunts. He watches the girl with dark, expressionless eyes. Just what is his connection with her? I’ve always wondered but never asked. Did he know of her prior to the Games? “She is just…feeling stressed. Her Author has been right before.”
Though I do not believe in Viscera’s Author—she exhibits too many of the classical signs of mental illness for me to believe—I do not wish to dismiss her claims out of hand. Many people have done that with me and The Veiled Demon before, and it is a hurtful experience. “Even so, staying trapped in the mines is a foolish idea.”
“How would we leave?” Baron gestures a hand at the darkness which surrounds us. “We are trapped. The entrance is completely blocked. I explored a bit while you slept, and I discovered these mines extend far beyond this area. If we are to leave, then we must explore further.”
“Staying here won’t do us any good,” Peppa agrees. 
No. It will not. We have a conversation for a few minutes more, discussing all our options and avenues of escape. Eventually it is decided the best course of action we can take is to search for extra resources and a possible exit. But even if we do find an exit, we won’t actually leave the mines, because Baron doesn’t wish to upset Viscera. 
I have no real qualms with the plan. If and when we locate an exit, our group can simply stay inside the mines on the very edge of the exit. Thus we’ll still be inside the mines as Viscera wishes…but we’ll also be close enough to escape if that becomes necessary. 
Baron passes the news onto Viscera and the girl appears to accept the plan with minimum fuss. I do not know if it is because she truly thinks it’s a good idea, or if she agreed simply because Baron was the one to suggest it, but it does not matter. As long as we all work together, our chances of survival will improve. 
And yet, as we all begin to gather our stuff, I cannot help but feel that Viscera does not truly trust either myself or Peppa. She keeps giving the both of us quick, fleeting looks and sticks even closer to Baron than usual. I’ve meaning to have a private conversation with the girl to clear the air for a while now, but I can never find the right moment. It doesn’t seem like it’ll happen anytime soon. Viscera is clearly in no mood for conversation.
“What have we here?” Baron’s voice draws our attention to the far corner, where the giant reaches down and removes an object from a pile of boxes. It is a long-handled pole with a slab of solid metal on the end. 
A sledgehammer. 
Peppa whistles softly as Baron hefts the massive tool in the air like it was a toy. Already I can imagine the damage he could inflict with such a powerful weapon. Broken bones, crushed skulls…the list is practically endless.
“Let us continue,” Baron sets the sledgehammer atop his shoulder and takes Viscera by the hand. “We have an exit to find.”
===Ardor Prodigy (District 1)===
I tap my fingers along the table, forming a rhythmic beat as I stare out the window at the falling snow. Morning has come. Daylight begins to peek through the clouds, basking the village in a gentle yellow glow. Behind me wafts the tantalizing scent of breakfast.
It is the third day of the Games, and yet only eight tributes remain.
I thought the Games would be simple, but even I never imagined they’d be this simple. There are only six opponents left before I am Crowned. How many of them are even threats? Whatever took out all those tributes yesterday—an avalanche, the elves claimed—would surely have taken some of the genuine contenders out. Perhaps even the entirety of the Careers.
That would be somewhat disappointing. How can I prove my superiority over Brick if I do not encounter the guy? I prove nothing by beating the chaff. No. To be honest, I’d prefer if four of the remaining six tributes were Brick and his lackeys. 
“I require more syrup!” Tesla’s gratingly high voice echoes from somewhere behind me. I was a bit surprised to see the elves bring her back to me yesterday; I’d completely forgotten I had set her in that chest. But it was good they did. Keeping Tesla around was meant as a handicap, and now that most of the others are dead, I will need a handicap more than ever. 
“Yes, my Queen! More syrup is on the way!”
I sigh and turn around. A long wooden table is set up in center of the room, and a certifiable smorgasbord of food lies upon it. The elves promised to make breakfast and they did not disappoint. Waffles, pancakes, smoked sausage, eggs, and toasted bread are just some of the items on display. Where the elves possibly found all this foodstuff I know not, but it is a tremendous boon to our morale and sustainability. 
Tesla is busy ordering the elves around, demanding more elaborate plates and extra food, but she actually touches very little of it. Tesla isn’t so keen on the actual food; it’s the power which she craves. A tentative reminder that she is not completely toothless. 
“Are you finished with your meal, my King?” One of the elves steps up to me, his little hat in his hand as he stares at me with a wide grin and flushed cheeks. 
“Yes, I am. It was an adequate meal.” I ate lightly, for I do not want an overfilled stomach to slow me down later in the day. I have no plans to spend it lounging around doing nothing.
“Very well, my King!” The elf departs with a bow and I grimace. This stupid “King” talk started with Tesla. Originally the elves simply called me their hero, but then she showed up and, because of her alliance with me, the elves began to treat her with the same amount of respect and kindness. Unfortunately this went to Tesla’s head rather quickly and she began demanding they call her a Queen. Naturally the elves assumed this meant I was the King, so it snowballed from there. 
It is very irritating. “King of the Elves” is hardly the moniker I’d have chosen for myself. 
I return my gaze to looking out the window. Snow falls in lazy swirls onto the festive village, gathering on the rooftops and the eaves. Six other tributes are out there, somewhere. Six more opponents before I am Crowned. How…disappointing.
This has been far too easy. Even easier than I originally imagined. I will hardly need to lift a finger in order to win. When I first volunteered for the Games, I’d thought that I may finally find a worthy opponent, but now I’ve begun to think that will be impossible. While Brick certainly could pose a threat and Vizio is quite literally a genius, I personally have my doubts that either one is still alive. Both of them seem to be the type of person to be right in the thick of things, and it is not hard to imagine that the avalanche took out those type. The only people left may be the ones who tried to avoid conflict. 
“Have you finished your breakfast?” I turn back to the table and Tesla. The girl seems to have only taken a few bites of her food, but is busy lecturing the elves on how there is too much pulp in her orange juice.
“You must never rush a girl when she is eating!” Tesla gives a haughty sniff and pushes her plate away. “But yes, I am quite full.”
“Good. Then begin collecting your supplies, we shall depart momentarily.”
The girl blinks at me, mouth opening and closing several times. “Depart? Depart! Depart to where? We are literally in paradise!”
I anticipated she’d react like this. Not many people would understand my current thought process, and Tesla is the least likely to agree. “To find the other tributes, of course. There are only six left, and we must encounter them before they kill one another.”
“You are mad!” Tesla abruptly stands up, nearly elbowing an elf in the face. “Why would we search for those…those ghoulish fiends! They want us dead!”
“Indeed. That is why I intend to kill them.” 
“Surely the safer strategy would be to remain here with the elves and our resources!”
Tesla is not wrong. What she proposes is the safer and more reliable strategy. With all these supplies and an army of elves at my back, I’d be practically unstoppable. But that is the problem. Staying here would let me win too easily. What is the purpose of winning a Games where I barely lift a finger? Of handicapping myself with Tesla? I may as well just stayed with the Careers!
I’ve been the best for so long that it’s grown tiresome. I am weary of being able to succeed at everything with hardly any effort. I want a challenge. Something which will force me to actually dig deep and use my full assortment of skills and knowledge. 
Staying here and allowing the elves to hand me an easy Victory is not that. 
“I seek worthy opponents, Tesla. Remaining here will guarantee I’ll never find them.”
Tesla gawps and guffaws, complaining about my idiocy and lack of decorum, saying I’ll get us both killed. She is used to a life of luxury, so of course she wants to remain here in the elves care. It is perfectly logical. 
“You can stay here if you wish,” I say politely. “I am quite certain the elves will be more than willing to continue assisting you.”
“But—but…but you promised to protect me!” She darts forward, laying her hands upon my chest. “You can’t just leave! You can’t! Don’t you want to stay here and be my king? We can rule these elves!”
“I have no intention of being king of anything.” Especially not to a bunch of elves.
Tesla backs off, crestfallen. Then she glares at me. “Of course! I wouldn’t want a pompous idiot like you for a king anyway!”As if she didn’t just ask for exactly that. She sniffs and folds her arms. “But! I will not stay here alone. You made me a promise, and I will not let you wiggle your way out of it!”
“I would never dream of it.”
We begin our preparations. I calmly and politely let the elves know our intentions, and while they are disappointed, they do not make any attempt to stop me. Instead they start gathering supplies for our “heroic journey” and rush off in a disorganized mass. I find it bemusing how a group of mutts can be so very helpful and kind. Quite an unusual situation. 
Tesla has trouble deciding what she’ll take with her. For some reason the girl seems to want to bring every little thing. It’s not until I tell her to travel light and only bring the essentials does she decide to just take some food, water, and a somewhat large kitchen knife she found in a drawer. Tesla insists that she’ll be able to kill the other tributes with it. I have some serious doubts over her ability to kill anything, but I keep them to myself. There is no purpose in dampening her spirits.
I myself take a sizable portion of food—you never know when you’ll run out—some water, my halberd, ski goggles, and a rolled up tent. The elves have also given me some tools, a screwdriver, wrench, and pair of pliers, that I stick onto my belt. Perhaps I shall find a use for these later on, but perhaps not. It matters little in the long run.
Once we’re finished packing, the two of us make our way outside and into the village. It is there, to my great chagrin, I discover that the elves have been gathering themselves up to throw a parade for us. 
“Behold! Our King and Queen!” One of the elves blows a little trumpet as the rest gather in little colorful lines, whooping and cheering as Tesla and I walk among them. 
There is no way to describe my embarrassment as we march through the streets with dozens upon dozens of elves cheering us on. Even though I realize that this only benefits me, that an army of mutts which practically worship me is a good thing, I still can hardly fathom the thought of people back home watching this. I am unsure if any previous Games have ever held such a ridiculous sight.
“Goodbye!” The elves shout out as we walk. “We’ll miss you!”
“Goodbye, our King!”
“Good luck!”
“We hope you succeed on your holy quest!”
Yes. These elves are quite strange indeed. I have no regret about leaving them behind. I want my Victory to be mine, not theirs. I didn’t waste all my time entering into these Games just so people could say I was carried by a bunch of tiny little men in tights.
“You better not get me killed!” Tesla mutters as we exit the village. Almost immediately the falling snow begins to collect on our shoulders.
“Don’t worry,” I say lightly. “I very much doubt there is a single tribute left in the arena who could even harm me.”
===Mazie Sunnoria (District 9)===
I crouch with hands on my knees as I watch Meta carefully arrange her mechanical parts in a small circle atop the wooden crates we’re using as a table. I don’t know what time it is. It’s impossible to tell in these dark mines. But I feel that morning has come, and it will soon be noon.
The only light source is the overhead lamp, gently swaying as it illuminates the stretch of tunnel we currently inhabit. We’re on its side, set in a little alcove just off the tracks which crisscross through the mines. Old barrels and wooden crates surround us, with the occasional stack of metal plates. 
Theodore and Scyler stand guard at the edge of the alcove, conversing in quiet voices as they wait for Meta and I to finish our preparations. Brann, meanwhile, just sits nearby atop an overturned barrel, examining his sickle and occasionally murmuring to himself. 
I still do not believe he has fully come to grips with losing his arm. Terrible guilt presses in on me when I think of this, but at the same time I know I had no choice. I either took off his arm or allowed him to die. There was no other choice. And yet, the guilt persists. If only there was someway to make it up to him…
“Whew! Almost there!” Meta leans back and uses her sleeve to wipe sweat from her forehead. The device that lies before her, some of the remnants of the explosives we found yesterday, looks remarkably unremarkable to me. “I’ll just need to attach the detonator, then it should be good to go!”
“Is it safe?” I ask quietly.
“Yes. No. I mean, no explosive is ever truly safe.” Meta grins and then looks away sheepishly. 
“I think what Mazie meant,” Brann sits up straight and looks at us. “Is will that thing blow up in our faces?”
“Oh.” Meta falls silent for so long that I begin to feel a surge of panic. “No. Of course not!”
My heartbeat returns to normal and I take a deep breath. So it’s not dangerously volatile. That’s good. I mean, I had faith in Meta’s skills—that’s why I suggested we begin work on crafting this explosive—but it’s good to know that my faith wasn’t misplaced. 
“I worked with my mother in making fireworks before,” Meta picks up the detonator and begins to attach it to the device. “It was something we always did in the summer. The process here is pretty similar.”
“Did you ever mess up?” Brann asks.
“No. Well…I mean, I may have once accidentally…one of my fireworks might have prematurely exploded before.”
“Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen here,” I say wryly. Can’t think of a worse way to die than to be accidentally blown up by my own explosive. 
Meta finishes assembling the device and then promptly gives us all an explanation on how it functions. It’s basically a handheld grenade that can be tossed with ease, and supposedly won’t explode until a button on the corresponding device is pressed. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure it won’t spontaneously explode,” Meta finishes with a nervous laugh.
I remain silent. Expressing any doubts or worries I may have won’t help with Meta’s confidence—and I can already tell that my friend has trouble with both her self-confidence and anxiety. One of the first rules of friendship is that you should never bring your friend down. Instead, you must build them up. “Don’t worry, Meta. I have full confidence in your abilities.”
The girl flashes me a bright smile. “Thank you, Mazie!”
This task accomplished, we gather up our remaining explosives and carefully set them back in the burlap sacks we’ve been using to transport them. We only used the slightest amount to craft our grenade—the rest must be preserved for when we find an exit to these mines. 
We couldn’t see the avalanche of course, but we sure could feel it. It felt like the entire mine was shaking and I was truly afraid that the ceiling would simply collapse upon our heads. In fact, Theodore still seems to think this is a possibility. He’s been urging us onward since we woke up, insisting that we find an exit before the entire mine crushes us. 
I don’t particularly think he’s wrong. I wish to spend as little time in these mines as possible, and I would much rather we find an exit sooner than later. But at the same time I know we must be prepared for all eventualities, and that means we need to stop and take the time to actually prepare. 
Unfortunately we don’t have much in the way of weaponry. Meta has her axe and Brann has his sickle, but the only weapon I carry is a blowgun and three darts. Not the most dangerous thing, true, but I cannot simply sit on my hands and wish for a better situation. No. If I want to fix Winnow’s eyesight, then I must be proactive. So I will.
I ask Brann for his antidote and sleep syrup. I remember from our first day in the arena that he had both in the bag he took from the cornucopia. He hands them over easily enough, saying that he doesn’t really have a use for either one, and I take them with a smile and nod. 
“What’re you doing?” Meta leans over my shoulder as I set my darts upon the crate and begin costing their tips in the sleep syrup. 
“Trying to make my darts more effective.” The sleep syrup is meant to be administered orally, so it’ll be stronger if it enters the bloodstream directly. I don’t know if it’ll immediately knock anyone out, but it will begin to take effect quicker than if they swallowed the stuff. 
“I understand the syrup,” Brann says from behind me. “But why the antidote?”
“Well…” This is more of a pie-in-the-sky fantasy, but it can’t hurt to ask. “I was hoping Meta would be able to reverse-engineer it into some type of poison.”
“Oh! Oh…” Meta falls silent. “I mean I’m definitely skilled with chemistry, but this…I don’t think I can do this. Maybe my mother could, but I’m not well-versed enough for it. Not yet, at least.”
I thought as much. Still, it was worth trying. “That’s fine. I didn’t expect—”
“If I had a proper lab, I could do it easily enough.”
Scyler’s voice causes me to turn around in surprise to see him and Theodore watching us. Both boys are staring at my darts, one with a small smile and the other an impatient scowl. 
“I didn’t know you were skilled in chemistry!” Meta pipes in. 
He shrugs. “My studies were wide-ranging and covered many topics. Father wants me to be an omnidirectional leader, so that I’ll be well-prepared to help lead the country.”
“We don’t have time for this chitchat!” Theodore steps forward and draws all eyes to him. His scowl has deepened. “I don’t know if the rest of you have forgotten or what, but we’re currently trapped inside a mine with a ravenous blob, probably dozens of other tributes, and who knows what else! We should be trying to find an escape before this whole place collapses on us!”
No one speaks. Maybe it’s because we all know his words carry truth. These mines are a literal death trap which will claim all our lives if we aren’t careful. “We just wanted to make sure we’re well-prepared,” I say. “The last thing any of us want is to run headlong into a situation where we are outmatched due to a lack of preparation.”
“You know what’s worse than that?” Theodore glares. “Being killed in a collapsed mineshaft because we spent too much time sitting around and sucking our thumbs!”
I don’t want to argue with him, so I just nod and say that we’ll wrap things up and be on our way. None of the others speak as we gather our remaining supplies. I take extra care as I grab my container of chlorine. The mines are oddly warm, and it’s quite possible that the contents have returned to their gaseous state. If so, then we must be cautious. Chlorine gas can be very damaging. None of the others protest when I tell them to wear their balaclavas at all times. Either they all understand the risks or they simply don’t care, I have no idea, but I’m glad that they listened anyway. 
Then we’re off. Theodore leads the way down the mines, quietly insisting he knows where to locate an exit. I don’t necessarily believe him. He couldn’t find one yesterday. Still, it’s better for him to lead. It’s not as if the rest of us have any idea where we’re going. 
The mines are dark. Even darker than yesterday. It seems as if the avalanche has knocked some of the lamps off the ceiling. We find a few of them on the ground, smashed to tiny pieces. Meta kneels down beside the third such lamp and touches the glass shards. “They’re still warm,” She says with a frown. 
“So?” Theodore continues on past without stopping. 
“This implies it was broken recently.”
“Aftershocks?” Brann suggests.
“Maybe.” Meta sounds doubtful but doesn’t press the subject as we follow Theodore down the dark, narrow tunnels. The walls are so close it’s almost suffocating. I find myself slipping to the back of the group, surprised to find Scyler next to me. Usually the tall boy is stuck to either Meta or Theodore’s side like glue. 
“We haven’t had much opportunity to speak, have we?” He keeps his voice low as we walk, a precaution against echoes. 
“No. We haven’t.” Scyler is probably the ally who I know the least about. 
“Meta tells me that you’ve spent some time on the internet.”
“Yeah. That’s where we first met.” Why would he be interested in this? Such an odd topic. Maybe he’s just trying to break the ice. 
“You spent a lot of time on the forums, huh?”
“Some time, yeah.” I notice the way he pauses. He wants to ask me something but doesn’t know how. Maybe I should help him out. “Want to know anything specific about my time there?”
“What? Oh! Yeah, I was wondering…do you know who The Whispers are?”
From the way he says it, they sound like a group of some sort. Maybe a band? Lots of people used the forum to exchange musical albums and the like. “I don’t think so. What do they do?”
“You really don’t know?”
“No.” 
“Oh. Well, The Whispers are a…how do I put this…rebel group that’s fighting for a better tomorrow.”
Now this sounds familiar. The forum was full of people talking about the countless ways to improve the country and make everyone’s lives better. I never interacted with them often—it reminded me too much of how reckless I was before The Incident—but it was almost impossible to tune them out completely. There was just too many disillusioned people for that. “I might’ve heard of them before. Can’t say I really know much about them, though.”
Scyler doesn’t respond. It almost seems like he’s studying my face, but the low lighting makes it hard to tell. Maybe he’s just digesting what I’ve told him. Eventually he sighs. “Is that so? I’m sort of disappointed, to be honest.”
“Sorry. But I tried not to interact with those kind of people. They…just cause conflict. District 14 isn’t that bad.”
“How so?”
I shrug. “They made the surgery that will fix my sister’s sight. And the Games…they’re inhumane, sure, but they’re the only reason I even have an opportunity to fix my mistakes.” 
“Does that make up for all the wrongs they’ve committed?”
“Maybe? I don’t know.” I can’t worry about things like that. I’m only one girl. The fate of country is way above me. I tried intervening in affairs like that before, and what did it get me? Nothing but pain and sorrow. 
“Some people think those of us who grew up in District 14 have it easy,” Scyler says quietly. “But they’re wrong. They don’t understand the kind of pressure I’m faced with. The trials and tribulations I go through. Do you want to know what happened to me on my fifteenth birthday?” I don’t answer, but he continues on regardless. “I was awoken with a punch to the stomach. A group of masked men were in my bedroom. They shoved a bag over my head, kidnapped me, and brought me to a room of solid stone. Then they beat me. No questions asked, no reasons given. They just beat me until I lost consciousness.”
“That’s…” I don’t know what to say. Awful? Absolutely. But words can’t do it justice. 
“When I woke up, I was strapped to a chair in a different room. That’s when they began to ask me questions. All sorts of questions. About things I couldn’t possibly know the answers to. Questions about our government and security and everything else. I resisted at first. But you can only resist torture for so long. Eventually I broke and told them everything I knew, and then some. I made up things to tell them. I told them whatever they wanted to hear. Anything to make the pain stop.” Scyler clenches and unclenches his fists as he speaks. His eyes stare ahead blankly. “One day they let their guard down and I found a way to escape. I slipped out of the building and fled into the woods. I thought I’d got away, but…”
“They found you.”
He nods. “They found me. I was brought back to the room and presented with more questions. Endless questions.”
“I…”
“Then I escaped again. I didn’t understand it. I thought they were being careless. I fled into the woods, but this time I wasn’t going to let them take me back. I was about to fling myself off a cliff when he arrived. My father.” Scyler gives a grim smile. “My father started clapping and revealed that he was in on this all along. The whole thing, the kidnapping, the torture, letting me escape, it was all one big test. A test. Do you know what they were testing?”
I cannot even begin to imagine. “Whether you would break or not?”
“Oh no!” He shakes his head. “Everyone breaks. Father made that part very clear. He didn’t care that I broke. Everyone breaks.”
“Then…?”
“The test was twofold. First, they wanted to see how I handled adversity. Apparently I passed with flying colors. Second, they wanted to know if if I was willing to do whatever was necessary.”
I don’t understand it. Not really. What Scyler just told me sounds so insane that I can’t even really imagine it. Who could do that to anyone, let alone their own child? It’s so inhumane it’s almost unbelievable.
“So you see, it’s not just the other districts who have reason to want District 14 gone,” Scyler gives a tight smile. “Personally I want to get in contact with one of The Whispers agents—who I know are present in this arena—and try something, anything, to make this country a better place.”
Fixing the country would require overthrowing the government. Overthrowing the government causes chaos. Death, destruction, and famine. All sorts of things that will make life harder for me and my family. Things that may even kill us. No. I do not wish to see District 14 overthrown. 
But I still wish to help Scyler in some capacity. 
“I…saw people talking on the forums about rebel groups before,” I say slowly. “They didn’t mention names or anything specific, but they did say that District 7 is currently a hotbed for…that kind of activity.”
“District 7…” Scyler frowns. “Do you think their tributes are involved with The Whispers?”
I shrug. “Maybe.” I don’t even remember who the District 7 tributes are, let alone if they’re secretly working for some rebel group. Personally I doubt it, but this doesn’t really have anything to do with me. Scyler can make whatever choices he sees fit. 
We don’t talk anymore after that. Scyler returns to the head of the group to be at Theodore’s side and I just trail along behind, lost in thought. Rebellion…civil war…none of that is appealing to me. People often overlook this, but it’s always the commonfolk who suffer the most in war. The bigwigs and their soldiers may do the fighting, but they’re not the ones who lose everything they have for reasons far beyond their control. 
The tunnels grow ever darker. The gaps between the lamps become larger and larger. Soon enough we come to a stretch of tunnel that is pure blackness. A lone light shines in the distance. Tantalizingly close, but just out of reach. 
“It’s so dark!” Meta breathes.
“Reminds me of the Tower’s oubliette,” Scyler says casually. 
Brann scratches his head. “The what?” 
“The oubliette is located far beneath the Tower,” Meta says quietly. “When the Tower first got stuck on the mountain, our government began digging into it, building a complex series of tunnels beneath the Tower itself. The oubliette is at the very bottom of those tunnels.”
“But what is it?”
“It’s a prison,” Scyler responds. “One used solely to house New Panem’s most dangerous and vile criminals. Ruger Klauss is imprisoned there, along with the District 8 bomber and many other heinous individuals.”
“Like Azathoth Price,” Meta whispers. 
“Why were you in the oubliette, Scyler?” Theodore finally joins in on the conversation. I thought he’d dismiss it as a useless waste of time, but apparently not. 
“Father wanted me to sit in on an interrogation once. Quite a nasty place. I very much recommend avoiding it if you can.”
“Considering most of us will die in this arena, that’ll be very easy,” Theodore says with a laugh. No one else joins in. We don’t really want to think about death in such a dark and desolate location. “Anyway, let’s keep moving. Sitting around here won’t help us escape.”
He leads the way into the darkness and the rest of us are forced to follow. The light up ahead serves as a beacon, a guidepost. It is our destination. Darkness closes in on all sides. Presses on me like an anvil. The only sound is our soft breathing and faint footsteps. There is nothing—
Wait.
Just off the side I can see a faint orange glow far below us. I pause and blink, surprised to notice we’re standing on a ledge. To our right is nothing but a sheer drop and some winding passages below. Small pinpricks of light show the existence of lamps. How deep do these mines go? What can possibly be the purpose of it? Why would…
Down below I spot a mass of pure darkness moving along between the lamps. Black tendrils trail through a cloud of inky shadow, reaching and grasping at the walls. There is something in the center of that mass. A distinct form. A…person?
Fear and awe grip me. What am I looking at? The form is definitely a person, or at least the proximation of one. But no. Not a person. A mutt. It has to be. But then—
“What’s the holdup, Mazie?” Brann’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. 
I blink and turn away. “There’s something down there! A…” I look back and it’s gone. No shadow. No person. Nothing. 
Brann steps up to the ledge and peers down with a frown. “Looks like a long fall. You should stay away from the edge.”
Was this all my imagination? Am I just seeing things? No. That thing, whatever it is, was real. It’s down there in the darkness, lurking. Cold fear seeps through me. These mines are even more dangerous than we thought. I turn away from the edge. “Let’s keep moving.”
The ledge disappears as we continue toward the light. We end up back in the narrow confines of the tunnels, but I can feel some dark alcoves hidden on the side. As I bypass one such alcove, I swear I can sense movement. Maybe my fear is getting the better of me. Surely there can’t be anything hiding just out of sight…
A shape moves in the blackness. Through the murky shadows I just make out the form of a crossbow as the figure lowers it and takes aim at Scyler. The loaded arrow is pointed directly at his chest. The moment the arrow is fired it’ll punch straight into his heart and kill him. I have to warn him! I have to—
Too late.
The arrow launches. It slices through the air and right into Scyler. Except it doesn’t. The moment the arrow should make contact there is a flash of light and it pings off harmlessly to the side. I don’t have any time to think about this strange turn of events, because moments later the figure is rushing out of the darkness.
Meta screams in pain as a spear flashes out, raking across her face. Theodore turns and runs. The rest of us gasp in surprised horror as our attacker twirls the spear around and thrusts it directly into Brann’s leg.
As Brann collapses with a cry of pain, I finally get a good glimpse at the assailant. He is tall and wide-shouldered, with a thick white parka and balaclava pulled over his face. A pair of tinted goggles cover his eyes, helping mask his identity as he rips the spear back out and turns his attention on the rest of us. 
I stagger backwards down the tunnel, too shocked to even think properly. Mr. Gravio spoke of this in his training workshop. The paralysis one experiences when faced with an unexpected emergency. You think back to your training. Analyze the best response. And do absolutely nothing in the meantime. You just stand there. 
Like I am right now. 
Scyler rushes past me, a crying Meta in his arms. Brann feebly swings his sickle at the attacker, missing by a mile but still forcing him to take a step back. I remain frozen. Thinking constantly yet unable to come up with a response. If I sit here, I die. There must be something I can do. Something…I feel at the chlorine bottle on my waist and it suddenly clicks.
I snatch the bottle up and raise it into the air just as the attacker reverts to his crossbow. I chuck the bottle, intending for it to land between Brann and the attacker, where it’ll create a smokescreen for his escape. But something else happens. An arrow is fired from the crossbow…
…and collides with the canister in midair.
A spew of gas bursts out. It quickly spreads down the tunnel, forming into a massive cloud. I stagger further back, horrified by what I’ve done. Brann is trapped behind the gas! He is stuck with the attacker! No! This wasn’t meant to happen! I was supposed—
“Mazie!” Meta calls out to me. Her and Scyler stand a little ways back. She has one hand pressed to her cheek, where a nasty gash sits just underneath her left eye. “We need to go!”
“But Brann—”
“Leave him!” Scyler screams. 
I don’t listen. Instead I take a step toward the gas. Maybe I can save him. Dart inside and grab him while the attacker is distracted. I can—
An arrow rips through the expanding cloud of gas and slices past my shoulder.
I fall back with a gasp. Blood dribbles down my shoulder. Scyler grabs me by the elbow and begins to tow me down the tunnel. I do not resist. I can scarcely breathe. Guilt gnaws at me. Feeds on my mind. Brann…
Scyler lets go of me when we’re far enough away from the rapidly growing cloud of gas and scoops Meta up into his arms. He sprints down the tunnel, heedless to the uneven ground, and I follow numbly behind him. I failed. Again. I fail and fail and fail. Why do I hurt everyone? Why do all my decisions backfire so horrendously?
I find my lips trembling as I run. “I’m sorry, Brann. I’m so, so sorry.”
===Brick Slayte (District 2)===
Smash!
The lamp falls to the ground and explodes into shards of glass. Almost instantly the light evaporates and leaves us in total darkness. I take in a deep breath and smile as everything slowly comes back into focus, my night-vision goggles doing their job. 
“You know I can’t see in the dark, right?” Alexis chides me sternly. The dark-haired girl is my only tool left after that avalanche last night. I don’t know if Tidus and Penelope are dead, lost, or what, but it hardly matters. The two of them are unlikely to rendezvous with me anytime soon, and that means they are my enemies from this point on.
“Keep a hand on my shoulder,” I tell the girl. “I’ll lead you.”
“And how am I supposed to help you fight if I can’t see?” Alexis grumbles and complains, but she still sets a hand atop my shoulder regardless. 
We’ve been combing these mines in search of other tributes for some time now. I thought we’d run into the Weirdos relatively quickly, but so far we’ve found nothing but rock and stone. At first we just wandered around, but after seeing how sparsely lit this mine was, I came up with the strategy of smashing every lamp we come across. That way the mines will be left in total darkness and no one else will be able to see beyond their own nose.
But I will.
I’ve had these night-vision goggles since the beginning of the Games. I found them in the cornucopia alongside the rest of my supplies and I’ve carried them with me ever since. Always thought they would give me some sort of advantage, but I never anticipated it would wind up giving me quite this massive of one. 
The tunnels are narrow and confining as we press onwards. I can’t tell if this benefits me or not. There’s not much room for dodging or ducking, which makes it harder for anyone to avoid my arrows, but it also means that I do not have as much room to utilize any fancy spear work. Simple thrusts and slashes will have to suffice. 
Still, any small wound from my arrow should be more than enough to finish off the other tributes. One of the very first things I did after recovering from the avalanche was to go over my and Alexis’ supplies, and the most interesting thing I found happened to be something she was carrying. 
A vial of poison.
It took little effort to convince Alexis to hand it over to me. I had all the arrows. What could she do with it? Slather it on her warhammer? Not likely. “We’ve never really gotten a chance to sit back and talk, have we?” I start up a conversation as we approach another lamp. My spear makes short work of it, plunging us back into darkness. 
“Talk is meaningless.” Alexis says.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Talk is how I learn of secrets. Secrets, secrets, secrets. That is the fuel for my engine. Everyone has something they wish to hide. “Conversation is the root of understanding, after all.”
“I care nothing for understanding anyone.”
“Not even your mother and sister?”
I hear a sharp intake of breath in the darkness behind me and slowly smile. I knew Alexis’ family was her weakpoint. “What do you care about them?” Her voice projects strength and nonchalance, but I can sense an undercurrent of worry and fear in her words. “They have nothing to do with the Games.”
“Your sister was driven out of your home, yes?” I poke at her insecurities with a stick now. “She was diagnosed with…what was it? Sociopathy?”
“Schizophrenia.” Alexis’ voice is practically taut with tension. Oh, she does not like this topic. 
“Ah, yes. That was it.” I’ve spent some time studying Alexis. I’ve long known she’d volunteer alongside me in the Games, so it was worth the time and effort to learn more about her. “Schizophrenia runs in the family, does it not?”
“This topic has no bearing on the Games.”
“Doesn’t it? I think it’s rather important. After all, I want to be well-prepared in case you go schizo on me.”
There is no response. My smile widens as I realize that I have truly struck a nerve. Interesting. It is good to know exactly what makes my last remaining tool tick. “This path is narrow. Be careful.” There is a sharp incline to our left. A series of twisting pathways lie below. “We should pause up ahead. It shall make for a good vantage point.”
Alexis mutters something unintelligible but does not make any further comment. That is fine. I have learned all I need to know about the girl. From this moment on silence is fine. Indeed, we remain completely silent for several long minutes as we sit in the darkness. I am debating our next move. Remaining shrouded in the shadows is my best option, since no one else will be capable of seeing me, but it is also quite…what is that?
“Voices,” Alexis whispers.
I nod slowly. The faint sound of human voices echo down the tunnel, stemming from the direction we’ve come from. Another alliance is headed our way, it seems. I carefully raise my crossbow. “We’ll attack when they pass by,” I say quietly. “I will shoot the strongest tribute, then we shall rush out and dispatch the rest.” It doesn’t matter how many of them there are. They are far weaker than us. 
The moments stretch on. The voices and footsteps of the approaching alliance grows louder. Those fools aren’t the slightest bit worried about wandering straight into an ambush. That’s fine. Easy kills.
My night-vision goggles grant me sight as the first of the tributes appears. Theodore. The muscular boy is walking forward with a cocky smirk on his face and a sword held in an outstretched hand. Though he passes within a handful of feet from me, he never so much as suspects my presence. Right behind him comes Scyler, the son of New Panem’s top general and military commander. A real threat. 
I carefully take aim with my crossbow. 
One of the others—the girl from 9, I think—seems to notice me, but it’s too late. My finger twitches to the trigger and I press down. 
The arrow launches forward and straight at Scyler. I grab my spear and rush in, silent and deadly. There’s a brief flash of light and then the tip of my spear slashes across a girls face as I twist it back and thrust it into Brann’s leg. The boy falls with a cry of pain as I rip the spear back out and examine my opponents. 
Five of them. No, four. Theodore has already turned and fled, showing remarkable intelligence. The others are either backing away from me with looks of horror or, in Brann’s case, slouched on one knee. I switch back to my crossbow and take aim at the three retreating figures. I fire.
Some sort of canister collides with my arrow in midair and a burst of gas explodes onto the scene. I stagger away, cursing, as my view of the others becomes obscured. Gas! What is it? Poison? Corrosive? Either way, I dare not touch the stuff. I retreat further down the tunnel and reload my crossbow before launching an arrow into the cloud of gas. I can’t see through it, so I don’t know where it goes. Maybe I got lucky and hit one or maybe not. Hardly matters at this juncture. 
Brann limps toward me. He, too, seems to fear the gas. His blue eyes are wide above his balaclava as he stares at me in terror. His left leg drags behind him uselessly and his arm…well now, one of his arms seems to be separated at the elbow. “What happened here?” I sling the crossbow over my shoulder and heft my spear. “Did someone else already claim your arm?”
The boy doesn’t respond. He drops into a defensive stance—or at least a poor approximation of one—and raises a sickle in his lone remaining hand. Killing a cripple is hardly a feat worthy of my time, but adding another kill to my stats is definitely necessary. I step forward and thrust my spear towards the boy.
Brann slaps the tip away with his sickle. “Very good!” I laugh and parry his counterattack. The boy slips to one knee. “You almost had me!”
I feint a strike with my spear and as Brann makes an effort to block a blow that never comes, I lower my spear and drive it into his gut. The sickle drops from his hand as he keels over, a soft gasp escaping his lips followed by a bubble of blood. “Nice try, good effort,” I rip the spear back out and press a hand against his shoulder, tipping him over. He thumps quietly to the ground. “But you stood no chance against me.”
There is no time to waste celebrating my victory. That gas is rapidly expanding and though I have my face and eyes covered with my balaclava and goggles, I do not want to risk being caught in it. Who knows what that gas truly this? Better to get away quickly. So as the gas passes over Brann’s corpse, I retreat further down the tunnel and back into the darkness. Odd how there was only Brann left behind. What happened to Scyler? The boy I shot with an arrow? He wasn’t on the ground, nor did he seem wounded in the slightest. How could that have happened? What did I miss?
It’s not until I begin thinking this do I notice Alexis is absent. 
I look around. Where is she? She was right with me prior to the attack, but I don’t remember seeing her during the actual combat. Could she have fled? But why? We won handily. And yet, as I continue to search, the truth becomes evident. Alexis is not here. She’s gone. “Stupid brat,” I mutter to myself as I head further into the tunnel; that gas isn’t slowing down. “Where did you go?”
While it’s plausible that she got trapped on the other side of the gas, there’s only one real possibility in my mind. Alexis purposely left. She abandoned me. Betrayed me. She waited until I was distracted, then fled immediately. Coward. Stupid, weak coward! Does she think she’ll be able to win without me? Fool! She will be slain by the first alliance which finds her!
So be it. If she wants to die on her own, then let her. I will finish these Games alone. Victory is all but guaranteed and I shall not let anyone stand in my way. From this point on all the other living souls in this arena are my enemy and I shall treat them accordingly. There will be no mercy. No quarter given. I shall end them with extreme prejudice…but I shall do it from the shadows. Softly, softly from the shadows.
Secrets, secrets, secrets. Everyone has some…and I shall find them all.
===Tempest Galveston (District 0)===
It is hard to keep track of our path as we traverse the dark, narrow tunnels of the mine. Rooker leads the way while I hang in the middle and Edison lurks at the rear. The air is thick and warm. Almost uncomfortably so. I spent a considerable amount of time pondering why that would be, coming up with a handful of rational possibilities, only to realize it was a futile process. These mines—like everything else in this arena—are artificial and created wholly by the Gamemakers. It may be warm simply because they want it to be. 
“I’m telling ya that there ain’t gonna be an easy way outta here,” Edison growls.
Rooker glances over his shoulder. “So what do you suggest we do? Give up?”
We’ve spent majority of the day searching for a possible exit from from these mines to no avail. While we have found two entry points, both of them were completely blocked with rock and snow. Last night’s avalanche has trapped us inside. 
I have experience with avalanches. I witnessed several occur in the mountains of District 0 before. When the mine began to shake and tremble with sudden ferocity, it was not difficult for me to ascertain what was happening. What we saw when we finally located an exit just proved my theory correct. 
“There has to be some sort of way to escape,” I try to keep my voice cordial. The last thing I want is to cause any conflict between my allies. “The Gamemakers wouldn’t want to trap us here indefinitely.”
“So yer an expert on the Games now, huh?” Edison scowls at me. I might be offended if I didn’t already know he scowls at everyone. 
“I have extensively studied Games theories and strategies, yes.” It was part of the curriculum at Father’s academy. Being skilled with weaponry would be pointless if you didn’t have an innate understanding of the Games and their idiosyncrasies. “I have watched all twenty-three iterations of the Games, and can conclusively say that the Gamemakers never trap a tribute in a situation where it’s impossible to escape.” It’s part of that “fairness” mantra New Panem is always going on about. Just thinking that brings thoughts of Mother bubbling to the surface…
“Half the Gamemakers have been the same for every Games,” Rooker says idly, continuing on down the tunnel. “In fact, Ortho Burnham, Branson Chron, and Malos Remington all helped President Price fine-tune the very concept of the Games.”
“Malos Remington?” Edison frowns. “Why do I know that name?”
I shrug. “Because he’s a Gamemaker?” And probably some bigwig back in District 14. All the Gamemakers are. The very thought sends a shiver of anger down my spine. They didn’t lift a finger to help Mother. None of them did. 
Edison mutters something under his breath but doesn’t press the topic. I’m glad. Thoughts of District 14 are dangerous. They bring me close to the edge. Those bastards are the cause of all our problems. The world would be better off without them. But…I can’t let myself become blinded with anger in the arena. It’s too dangerous. One mistake could cost me my life, and where would that leave Father? 
I don’t think he can take anymore loss. 
The tunnel begins to widen out as we walk. The walls grow further apart and the ceiling reaches higher. Eventually we find ourselves in a large circular chamber. Small wooden shacks slant against the walls, and a series of minetracks lead into a deep, dark maw of a cavern. A foul smell wafts up from its depths. 
“Sulfur,” Rooker says as we step into the chamber. 
“What now?” Edison peers at one of the shacks. A large pickaxe lies beside it. 
“That smell. It’s sulfur.”
He’s right. I recognize the scent now that he’s mentioned it. I wonder why it’s here. I don’t know enough about mines or chemicals to really say. “Mind your step,” I warn as we approach the nearest shack. “There are holes in the ground.”
Roughly circular with frayed edges, the holes dot the chamber and lead into a deep dark chasm. The sight is almost enough to send a shiver down my spine. How far a drop would that be? 
Edison spits into one of the holes as we skirt around it. Rooker peers down and shakes his head. “These mines are deep. Wouldn’t want to fall.”
“What are these shacks for?” Edison taps one of the wood-paneled walls and draws Rooker’s attention away from the hole.
“Oh, those? Well, if this were a normal mine I’d guess that this was a staging area for the miners. These shacks would likely serve as an area for them to rest and store their supplies.”
“So we may find something useful inside.” I’m certain that we can find an item or two that’ll help us. Miners are hardy folk.
“It won’t be this pick,” Edison kicks the tool with his foot. 
Rooker frowns. “Indeed. It is too heavy and unwieldy for any of us to use as a weapon. Lugging that thing around with us would be tiresome. Edison and I are better off with our knives.”
Makes sense. The reason I chose a staff as my main weapon is that it’s both lightweight and exceedingly deadly against unarmored opponents—which is the vast majority of the tributes. Something I learned at Father’s Academy is that most people don’t put any thought into the weight of their equipment. They don’t realize the physical toll that carrying around dozens of pounds takes on a person, especially one who is underfed and slightly dehydrated, which is the case for many tributes in the arena. 
“Bet that giant could use it,” Edison snorts as he pulls the shack door open. 
“Yes.” I don’t even want to think about the kind of damage Baron could deal with this pickaxe. Probably less than what he could do with a more typical axe, but it’d still far outstrip anything we’re capable of.
“Huh. Would ya look at that…”
“What?” Rooker and I jostle past Edison to stare into the shack. I let out a low whistle when I see what’s inside. Boxes. Dozens and dozens of boxes full of dynamite.
“I don’t suppose either of you are skilled with explosives?” Rooker says with a small smile.
I shake my head. “No. Explosives are highly restricted in District 0.” 
Edison growls. “Pike used explosives from time to time, but we had a designated expert for that.”
“Figures.” Rooker sighs. “Unfortunately, as awe-inspiring as this find is, I suspect that we shall be forced to leave it alone. Without the prerequisite knowledge required for using these explosives, I fear we are more likely to blow ourselves up than anything else.”
“We’re not that dumb!”
“Of course not, Edison, but explosives are finicky stuff. Without a good understanding of the forces at work we could make a catastrophic mistake.”
The conversation goes on for a little longer, but eventually we all decide to leave the dynamite alone. None of us want to risk fiddling with the stuff when we don’t really know how it operates. Rooker shakes his head ruefully as we shut the door on the shack. “If only Ash were here.”
“Your district partner?”
“Yes. I don’t know if you knew this, but she’s actually an expert with explosives. She destroyed an entire Peacekeeper facility and was imprisoned—”
His words trail off as he turns around. A person stands in the entryway of the tunnel we came from. Tall and bundled in white clothing, his russet hair is unbound as he watches us with predatory eyes. My fingers tighten around my staff. Tidus.
The Careers.
“Shit!” Edison unleashes a litany of swears. “There’s one on the other side too!”
He’s right. The only other exit from this cavern is also blocked. A short blonde girl wielding a long spear stands in our way. Tidus’ district partner and fellow Career, Penelope. Not good. We’re surrounded. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. 
What do we do?
“They’re the ones who assaulted Edison in training,” Rooker murmurs. I shoot him a glance.
“So? What does that—” I cut myself off as understanding dawns on me. These two have a peculiar grudge against Edison, and Edison alone. If we…
“Lower your weapons, please!” The blonde hefts her spear as she steps forward. “This doesn’t need to result in violence if you’re willing to hear us out.”
“Screw that!” Edison has his sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. He will not go down without a fight. 
But that doesn’t mean we have to.
Tidus and Penelope continue to draw closer, ruining any possibility we may have had to rush one and cut them down before the other could react. We’d have to fight both at once now, and I very much doubt that is possible. But there may be another option. “What do you want from us?”
“We just want to speak with Edison,” Tidus gives a disarming smile. It’d probably be more effective if he didn’t have a spear in his hands. “You two can just walk away and we’ll leave you unharmed.”
Rooker was right. Whatever these two want with Edison, it’s involved with the discussion they had in training. I try to remember what it was about. Something to do with a kidnapping? 
“You’ll let us go?” Rooker glances at Edison and takes a careful step away from the red-headed boy. “We will not be harmed?”
Penelope nods. “You have my word.”
Rooker shrugs. “Sorry, Ed. But protecting you isn’t worth losing my life.” He slips his dagger back into his belt and raises his hands in the air. I feel my heart sink. I know that our whole agreement was based on doing what was best for ourselves at all times, but to see how quickly Rooker just abandoned Edison is…unsettling. 
“Will you harm Edison?” I have to ask the question. I can’t make a decision without knowing the answer.
“Not if he tells us what we want to know.” It’s Tidus who answers. He seems calm, under control. Quite different from Penelope. Her grey eyes look like a storm cloud as she stares at Edison. She hates the boy. It’s obvious in her posture. “We’re just going to ask him some simple questions. If he tells the truth, we’ll let him go as well.”
Rooker is watching me with a cool, even gaze. I know what he wants me to do. Abandon Edison and go with him. It’s the safe, obvious choice. What our alliance was founded on. But it also goes against everything I stand for as a person. And yet…I need to be smart about this. Pretend to do what your enemy thinks you’ll do. One of the first lessons learned at the Academy. 
“I’m sorry, Edison, but I agree with Rooker. I can’t risk dying here.”
Edison growls wordlessly. He doesn’t so much as spare us a passing glance as we slowly and carefully step away from him, literally distancing ourselves from the situation at hand. Maybe this is what he expected. I doubt Edison would’ve resisted very hard had the Careers came for me or Rooker. 
“That’s a smart move,” Tidus says cheerfully as we back away. “No point in getting yourselves killed if you can help it.”
We remain silent, moving to the far end of the cavern and into the adjacent tunnel. The two Careers face down Edison, demanding he surrender his weapons, but the boy refuses. He takes a step forward and slashes out with his sword, but Penelope easily sidesteps the strike then slams the butt of her spear into Edison’s gut. Tidus slaps his weapons away and forces him to the ground, using a length of rope to tie the boys hands behind his back. I watch this all go down with a heavy heart until Rooker grabs my shoulder and steers me away.
“Edison made his bed,” He says quietly. “He’s not our problem anymore.”
Is that how this works? Our ally is only someone to look after as long as he is useful? I can’t agree with that. Such a myopic worldview isn’t something I can ever accept. I wait until we’re far enough along the tunnel to be out of earshot and sight before bringing up my real plan. “We’re going back for him.”
“What?” Rooker stares at me incredulously. 
“Edison. We’re going back for him. They’ll never expect it. The two of them think we abandoned him, so they won’t be even thinking about our return.”
“Are you insane?” Rooker shakes his head. “Those are Careers! Careers. And you want us to go back and fight them? They’d slaughter us!”
“Not if we have the element of surprise.” Tidus and Penelope are strong, sure, but so am I. I was also trained in an Academy. Maybe not one as good as theirs, but what difference does that make?
“What if the rest of the Careers are there?” Rooker demands. “We’ll be outnumbered!”
“I don’t think they are.” If they had more bodies, they’d have shown them. Their whole goal was intimidation, and what’s more intimidating than overwhelming numbers? Besides, I don’t think Brick is the type of person to let anyone go peacefully. If he was with Tidus and Penelope, they’d never have let us walk away.
Rooker sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Assuming that is true…why should we even risk it? As I’m sure you’re well aware, Edison has only made our time in the arena more difficult than necessary.”
“I know.”
“And I assure you that he wouldn’t even think about going back for you or me.”
“I know.”
“Then why bother at all?”
“Because he’s one of us.” I refuse to just abandon him. That’s what District 14 would want us to do. What they expect of us. I am not going to be their toy. 
Rooker gives another sigh. “You’ve played chess before, yes? Well, think of this like you’re playing a match. Sometimes you have to sacrifice a piece now for better position later.”
My hands curl into fists. I’ve heard thinking like this before. The stupid thought of how some people are worth more than others. “Chess is just a game,” I say tightly. “Real people aren't pieces, and you can't assign more value to some of them than to others. Not to me, not to anyone. People are not a thing that you can sacrifice.” Rooker narrows his eyes but does not speak. I go on. “You know what I think, Rooker? I think that anyone who looks at life like it’s a game of chess deserves to lose.”
“We have completely different worldviews then,” Rooker shakes his head. “You think all life is precious, while I don’t care about any life that isn’t mine or my family’s. I’m sorry, Tempest, but I won’t risk dying just so I can sate your desire to save someone who wouldn’t even lift a finger to save us.”
That hurts. I was hoping for Rooker’s assistance in the battle to come. Saving Edison without him will be much more difficult. And yet I can’t back down. I know that putting myself at risk makes it less likely for me to return home to Father, but he would want me to stay true to my morals. I won’t let anything change who I am. Not Rooker, not the Games, and not District 14. 
“I’m sorry to hear that, Rooker. I would’ve liked your help.”
He shrugs and backs off down the tunnel. “I hope you rescue Edison. I suspect you’ll fail, but…I hope you succeed.”
“I will. I’ll save Edison and return to show you what real teamwork can accomplish.”
Because I won’t accept any other outcome. 
===Penelope Finbar (District 4)===
I stare at the boy tied up before me and feel a rush of emotions. Joy, anger, sadness, fear. I feel it all. This is the boy who worked for Pike. Who helped invade my home and kidnap my brother. He’s one of the scum who keeps polluting the earth. 
And now I have him at my mercy. 
We’re still in that cavern where we captured him. Moving would’ve been too much of a hassle, and this area is nice and open anyway. We should be able to see if anyone is approaching. Tidus stands nearby, casually leaning on his spear as he waits for me to begin the interrogation. I still can’t believe he has risked everything just to help me save my brother. Tidus is a better person than I could ever hope to have by my side. 
“I’m gonna slice yer guts out!” Edison struggles against his bonds, spewing obscenities and threats. I’m not too concerned about him escaping; if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s tie a secure knot.
Tidus frowns. “You’re not a very likable guy, are you?”
“Wot you know about me, eh?”
“I know that your allies abandoned you the first chance they got. Doubt that was because you had a sunny personality.”
Edison bares his yellow teeth in a wide grin. “And where’s your allies, eh? Leave ya?”
“We left them, actually. Neither of us liked the direction Brick was going. He was too unhinged.”
Yes. His behavior after the bloodbath deeply unsettled me, and forcing us to trek through the snow for an entire day did little to change my opinion of the boy. But Edison doesn’t need to to know this. 
“Tidus. We’re not here to gossip.”
He grins. “Oh, right. My bad!” 
Tidus is so charming that it’s hard to stay mad at him for long. But Edison is different. When I look at the boy it’s hard to hide the revulsion I feel. He’s as ugly on the outside as he is on the inside. Is it any surprise he would work for a man as awful as Pike? 
“We have some questions for you,” I say, careful to keep my distance. Edison continued to struggle even after we took his weapons away, biting and scratching at Tidus as we tied him up. “If you answer them satisfactorily, then we will let you go.”
“Fat chance of that!” Edison spits at me but misses. “Moment I give ya what ya want to hear, you’ll slit my throat!”
“We’re not monsters,” Tidus says. 
“No. But yer human.”
Edison has lived a hard life, to think so little of humans. While there are definitely awful people like Pike and Brick in the world, there’s also good people like Tidus and my mother. And then there are people like myself and Tiber; deeply flawed individuals who try to do the right thing, but don’t always… 
“There’s no reason for you to resist,” I say quietly. “Just tell us the details of Pike’s operations. Where does he stay? How many safehouses does he have? Where does he keep his prisoners?” Where is he keeping Tiber?
Edison goes very still. His lone eye flickers between me and Tidus. “If I tell ya any of that, I die.”
“We already promised not to harm you,” I say, exasperated.
He shakes his head. “You don’t understand. If I talk about Pike’s operations, I’m a dead man. It don’t matter if you let me live or if I win the Games. If I talk, I die. Simple.”
Tidus frowns and shuffles his feet. “How?”
“Pike’ll kill me.”
It takes me a moment to sort his words in my head. He thinks Pike will kill him if he talks? “You’re misunderstanding our goal here,” I say slowly. “If you tell us everything about Pike, then he’ll be shut down. District 14 will send Agents and Peacekeepers to arrest him immediately. He won’t be able to harm anyone ever again.”
“Is that what you think?”
Five words. All it takes is five simple words to shatter my resolve. I knew this was too simple. I knew Pike couldn’t be taken down so easily! Why was I so foolish? Why didn’t I see—
“What are you talking about?” Tidus frowns at the boy. “Pike getting arrested would end his reign of terror pretty handily, I’d say.”
“Ya really think it’s that easy to take him down?” Edison makes a small noise that might be a laugh. “Pike likely started to go into hiding the moment you started asking about him. By now all his operations and shelters have been moved. You ain’t gonna be arresting nothing.”
I feel despair at his words, but Tidus only smiles. “You don’t understand how the Games work, do you?” When Edison doesn’t respond, he continues. “The whole thing is on a tape delay. The Games aren’t really live; the footage shown to the District’s is delayed for editing purposes. The Gamemakers can cut out anything they want. Our conversation here? Everything we said? Pike will never hear a word of it.”
Edison goes very still. His eye flickers back and forth. I doubt he ever put any real thought into how airing the Games worked before. I know that I didn’t. It wasn’t until Tidus explained did I learn. “So please,” I turn my attention on Edison. “Just tell us everything you know. My brothers life is in your hands!”
Edison snarls wordlessly and I feel a sudden rush of anger. Why must he be so obstinate? Doesn’t he realize that talking only helps him? What does he want from us? Death and pain? Fine. I can give him that! I pull a hand back to strike him in the face.
“Pike has connections,” Edison speaks and I slowly drop my hand. “He knows people who are high up. Real high up. No matter what you do, he’ll be warned in advance. So I can’t tell ya nothing.”
“District 14 will want him arrested,” Tidus insists. “Especially if he’s as dangerous as you say he is. They’ll send Agents after him, maybe even a Card or two.”
“Won’t make a difference. Pike will escape.”
The fear inside me boils over into a rage. Can’t he just be helpful? Must he contradict every little thing we say? Why is he so adamant on protecting PIke? Does he still wish to work for that awful man? Edison is in the middle of snapping out a retort to something Tidus said when I punch him in the face. 
The boy sags to the ground, spitting out curses as he tries to orient himself. “This could’ve been avoided!” I grab him by the collar and haul him to his feet. “You could have just told us what we wanted to know!”
I punch him again. And again. Again and again. All my fear, all my despair, turns to blind rage as I smash my fist into the boy’s ugly, disfigured face. Tidus doesn’t try to stop me. He just watches with a grim expression as I land punch after punch on the boy. Eventually I stop and back off, breathing heavily. It’s not that I think Edison has had enough. My fists have just begun to hurt. 
Tidus crouches down beside the boy. His face is a mass of swollen bruises and blood. He draws in a hacking cough and spits out a tooth. “Had enough?” Tidus asks. “Or does Penelope need to go a second round?”
“Screw you!”
There is no reasoning with this boy. He isn’t even a human. Just a wretched little goblin that wears the skin of one. All he knows is pain and misery. He’s practically Pike’s son. That’s why he won’t betray the man. He has some sort of twisted worship of him. He must. Why else be so stupid? 
I draw a knife then set one foot on the boy’s shoulder, forcing him to the ground. “I will give you one last chance. If you do not tell me everything I want to know, then you will pay.”
“I ain’t fear death!”
“Good. Because I won’t kill you.” I feel Tidus tense up beside me, but he remains silent. Even though he doesn’t know where this is going, he trusts me enough to let me handle this. “Instead I’m just going to make you wish you were dead.”
I lower my knife until the tip is hovering just over Edison’s lone eye. I can see myself reflected in the green iris. Such a beautiful angel of destruction. “The very first thing I will do is put out your eye. That way you’ll be blind and will no longer be a threat to us or anyone else.” For the first time I see fear in Edison’s face. True fear. Good. He’s not an automation after all. “Then, if you still won’t talk, I’ll cut off your fingers. One by one. But I won’t let you bleed out. I’ll bandage them back up and keep you alive. I will literally carry you with me until the end of the Games, forcing you to beg for your food every night. You will be weak, helpless, and totally at my mercy…or you can simply tell me what I want to know right now. Your choice.”
Edison stares at the tip of my knife for a very long time. His face has gone pale beneath the bruises and blood. Fear. The little bastard is finally feeling the fear he and Pike have forced so many others to feel. There’s a sense of euphoria seeing him get what he deserves. Why can’t this happen more often? The bad guys getting the tables turned on them? 
“Time’s ticking,” Tidus says. “Make your choice soon, or we’ll just have to start—”
“Pike’s main point of operation is a red warehouse in the Perfumed Quarter!” Edison speaks in a quick, garbled mess. He rushes the words out in a jumbled haste as he tries to say everything at once. I try to hide my elation as he continues, answering all of my and Tidus’ questions instantly.
Tiber is apparently being kept down by the largest dam in District 5, inside an abandoned factory. Pike himself has dozens upon dozens of safehouses, but Edison knows that he always keeps his high-profile victims there. Edison gives firsthand accounts of many atrocities and crimes Pike has committed, but I remain silent and let Tidus question him on these topics. I don’t know enough to try and swim these murky waters. 
Apparently Pike was grooming Edison to become a big time player in his operation, which is why the boy knows so much about it. He even learned some things he never should have known—Edison is keen on listening when everyone else thinks he isn’t. 
“This should be more than enough to put Pike away,” Tidus says with a satisfied nod. Edison has just finished explaining where Pike keeps his contraband goods. “I’m sure the Agents have already begun drawing up a plan to arrest Pike and raid his businesses.”
I remove the knife from Edison’s eye and toss it on the ground. My hand is shaking. Can barely see straight. Tears build in my eyes. “We did it!” I give a small laugh. “We did it!”
“Don’t be so sure about that!” Edison struggles back up into a sitting position. His face is still twisted with fear. “Right before the Reaping, Pike told us he was going to District 14 ta meet with an acquaintance of his. A man named Malos Remington.”
I blink. “Who?”
“He’s lying.” Tidus grabs me by the shoulders and steers me away from the boy. “Don’t listen to him, Penelope. He’s just grasping at straws to try and make himself look tough.”
I remain quiet. I trust Tidus. Edison broke and told us everything. Surely there is no one in District 14 important enough to save Pike now. He will be brought to justice and Tiber will be saved. My debt will be erased. Mother can live freely and happily. I…
I break into tears.
“What’s wrong?” Tidus grasps my shoulders. “Are you hurt?”
I shake my head. “N-no. It’s just…I’m so happy! We did it! We saved my family!” I feel dizzy. Can’t believe this is happening! Never allowed myself to believe this could occur. Pike always felt so far out of reach. But now…I wrap my arms around Tidus’ neck and pull him into a hug. “Thank you!” 
He chuckles softly. “I didn’t really do too much. It was mostly you. You’re the one who got Edison to crack.”
“What do we do with him now?” I know we promised to let him go, but…Edison is a hard, cruel boy. Not the type you can send back into the wild without a plan. He will want revenge. Especially after what we did to him. 
“We’ll have to let him go, won’t we? I can’t imagine carrying him with us throughout the—Oh!” Tidus gives a strangled gasp and I spin around to see what’s startled him. What I see sends an icicle of dread straight into my heart.
Edison is standing on his feet, the rope we used to tie his hands up falling to the ground. Another boy is helping him, a long wooden staff in his grip. Tempest. It’s Edison’s ally, Tempest! He came back for him! 
Edison snarls and covers the distance between us with a few long steps. Tidus reacts and thrusts his spear out at Edison’s throat, but Tempest whirls around and slaps it away with his staff. 
I remain frozen in place. Confused and afraid. Edison wasn’t abandoned. His ally actually came back for him! I can’t believe it. Why? What has that bastard done to deserve such friendship? 
Tidus slashes out with the spear and Tempest matches him blow for blow. They’re a flurry of movement as they dance across the cavern. The air is alive with the heavy thwock of wood against wood. Then I spot Edison. He bends down and scoops up a knife off the ground, crouching low as he starts forward. I begin to move, mouth opening to shout a warning just as Edison strikes.
He moves like a cat, blade flashing out and cutting into the back of Tidus’ knee. My friend gives a scream of pain as his leg suddenly gives out on him. Tempest backs off, confused, but Edison takes full advantage of this opportunity. The small bastard pops up and slams the knife straight into Tidus’ throat.
“No!”
My spear thrusts forward and misses Edison by an inch. The redheaded boy scampers backwards as Tempest intercepts my second strike with his staff. I scream. Scream and scream. Tidus! No! No, no, no! This can’t be happening!
Tidus falls to his knees. Choking and gurgling. Both hands are pressed against the blade in his throat. Eyes wide with terror and confusion. Dying. He’s dying. 
“You bastard!” I lash out with my spear. Tempest slides backwards under the pressure. Edison snarls at me then turns and runs. He stumbles down the incline as he retreats deeper into the mines. My heart screams at me to follow, but I can’t. Not yet. I turn my spear on Tempest. “How dare you!”
Tempest knocks my thrust aside and falls into a defensive stance. “I do not wish to fight you,” He says softly. “I only came to rescue Edison and—“
I thrust my spear at his face.
Tempest dances out of the way and swings his staff. I barely manage to deflect it. Can hardly see straight. Everything is red. Red with Tidus’ blood. “You’re a monster! You and Edison both!”
“You promised you wouldn’t harm him!” The boy turns aside my thrust and sends an attack that hits my spear so hard it sends a nasty vibration along its length. “But you lied! You were torturing—”
I scream and stab again. But I overextended myself. Tempest steps aside and lashes out with his staff. The heavy wood slams into my right hand. There’s a burst of agonizing pain and I instinctively let go of my spear. I drop to one knee, hand throbbing. A finger might be broken. Tempest backs off, face grim. “I didn’t want this. But you left me no choice.”
No choice? He had all the choices! I was the one who never had a choice! I’ve been robbed of choices my whole life! I won’t sit here and die. I won’t. I choose to live!
I throw myself at him. His eyes widen as I slam into his chest, momentum sending him careening backwards. That’s when it happens. His left foot hits open air. The holes dotting the cavern floor. He stepped into one. Tempest gives a loud gasp as he slips back and disappears into the gaping chasm behind him.
Then there’s nothing but silence.
No screams. There are no screams as Tempest falls. I crawl up to the edge and peer into the hole, but there is nothing to see but pure darkness. My heart thumps deafeningly loud. Gone. He’s gone. So is Edison. The boy turned and fled without even a second thought for his ally. Bastard. 
I pull myself away from the edge and stagger over to Tidus. He lies flat on his back, one arm slack at his side and the other cupped around the knife in his throat. His eyes, almost golden in color, stare sightlessly at the cavern ceiling. I clasp his hand. Fingers curl around his. He feels so cold already. “I’m sorry,” I whisper the words. “I’m so sorry you died for me.”
Tidus would never have been in this situation if it weren’t for me. He wouldn’t have kidnapped Edison. Would never have interrogated him. Wouldn’t have turned his back to comfort me, allowing Tempest time to sneak in and free Edison. None of this would’ve happened if it weren’t for my selfish desire to save my family. But what about Tidus’ family? Why did they have to watch him die? So I could live? Is that fair? Is any of this fair?
I bow my head as sobs wrack my body. Tidus deserved better. I failed him, as I fail everyone who I care about. Tiber may have been saved…but at what cost?
One too high.
===Barker Caspum (District 7)===
Thistle’s face is flushed pink with the cold as we approach the cornucopia. A flurry of snow beats at the golden horn as it shines in the afternoon sun. A faint layer of clouds drifts in the sky. Today has been the sunniest its ever been in the arena.
But it’s still gray and drab.
“Doesn’t seem like a Feast is happening today,” Thistle says as we wait. She’s been antsy all day. Can’t blame her. Those cannons yesterday have really thrown a wrench into our plans. 
“We’ll see.” It doesn’t look good. There were only eight tributes left before the day began and two more cannons have already sounded. That means these Games are rapidly approaching their end. But if we don’t get a Feast…
“Barker.” Thistle sounds unusually serious as she turns to face me. “What happens if today is the final day? If it comes down to…”
“It won’t.” The plan is meant to prevent that. But there was also meant to be a Feast. How am I supposed to get it done without one? “We will find a way.”
“You seem so sure.” Thistle shakes her head. “How can you be? What if they…”
She’s being careful not to draw any undue attention to us with her words. But I still understand her question. She wants to know how I am certain a Feast would occur. Well, The Whispers promised. Our source promised. I can’t lose faith in the cause now. Not after we’ve come so far. I haven’t told Thistle this yet—I don’t want her trying to stop me—but this plan encompasses so much more than just escaping the arena. 
“Cornucopia looks clear,” Thistle says quietly. Scattered snowflakes drift overhead. “Don’t think anyone else has came here yet.”
There’s no supplies to be had—we made sure of that yesterday—but the others don’t know that. They’re likely to come investigating the golden horn, meaning that this will bring them straight into our hands. If we take this opportunity to further cull the numbers, things will be well in hand.
But if there’s no Feast…
“Let’s move.” We’ve already gone over the plan and know it intimately, so there is no need for further discussion. Thistle nods at me and jogs off for the cornucopia, feigning a limp as she goes. I bury myself in the snow, much like yesterday, and begin to lie in wait. The other tributes will come.
They have to. 
Thistle trusts me implicitly. She’s never even questioned how The Whispers are so confident there will be a Feast in the Games. But I did. Information like that can only come from one source, and it’s a dubious one at best. 
A Gamemaker.
A Gamemaker is working alongside The Whispers. Quietly, of course, and with great caution. Whoever he is—Ivy refused to explicitly name him—will only do small things to assist. My teeth grind against each other as I think of this. A Gamemaker. A prominent member of District 14’s society and part and parcel of the problems facing us. Expecting him to help us is akin to expecting a ravenous bear not to maul you. But I trust Ivy and The Whispers. They haven’t led me astray yet. They truly want what’s best for the country, and I have to believe in them. I don’t have the manpower or infrastructure to take this fight without them. 
Yet if there is no Feast…I cannot help but feel like we’ve been left out to dry. 
My thoughts are a jumbled mess as I sit and wait for another tribute to show themselves. I can’t stop thinking about our long-term plan and how it could all be ruined if today is the final day. What can I do to stop it? To change our fate? I don’t have all the cards necessary. This game is stacked against us. Without that—
A figure appears in the distance. Two, actually. One is tall and broad, with short hair and a red jacket. The other is smaller and has an orange jacket. District 1 and 5. Ardor and Tesla. 
The muscles in my arms twitch. Of course Ardor survived the avalanche. He’s one of the deadliest tributes in the arena. Things couldn’t be too easy for us, now could they? At least it’s Tesla who’s with him. That girl is weak and easily disregarded. Cannon fodder who somehow stumbled her way through the Games. I don’t even see a weapon on her as the two slowly approach the cornucopia. Ardor is another matter. The boy holds a long halberd in his arms, and I suspect he has other weaponry hidden around his person. He’s too well-trained not to. 
I wait until Ardor gets within a dozen feet of Thistle before moving. I stay low to the ground as I half-crawl, half-crouch through the snow. Thistle has struck up a conversation with Ardor. Telling him some sob story about how she lost me or something. I don’t know what. I let her choose whatever story she wanted. Thistle is good at improvising. 
I keep moving until I am within twenty feet of the trio. Their backs are to me as I slide a knife up into my fingers. This will be a tricky throw, especially considering the wind, but I dare not get any closer. The element of surprise is crucial to this play. 
I can hear Thistle’s fake sobs, but Ardor’s response is lost in the wind. I take stock of the boys profile, pick a target, then ready my knife. One strike, one kill. Easy.
Tesla turns around just as I rise to my feet.
She screams. I have trained too much for the sudden noise to disrupt my aim, but at the sound of her warning Ardor spins out of the way. I remain calm as my knife sails into the snow behind him. Panicking does not help. It hurts. Unexpected situations happen all the time. The trick is to adjust accordingly. 
My second knife deflects off the rim of Ardor’s halberd as he pulls it up to protect his face. He, too, is not panicking. I thought as much. A deadly opponent indeed.
I draw one of my swords as Thistle drops the crying act and launches an axe at the boy. He spins out of the way and then parries my lunging strike without breaking stride. I fall back, feet sliding in the snow as I hold Clarity up in a loose defensive grip. “Underhanded tricks will not avail you here,” Ardor says as he adopts his own stance. It is one unfamiliar to me. “I shall slay you on the field of battle fairly and easily.”
“We’ll see about that!” Thistle sends her second axe flying, but not at Ardor. It slams into the ground before Tesla, throwing up a spray of snow as the girl sinks to her knees with a yelp. 
Ardor raises an eyebrow. “You don’t seem very good at this.”
He doesn’t understand. Thistle missed on purpose. She was gauging Ardor, testing his commitment to his ally. She wanted to see whether he’d try and protect her or leave her to die. As for why she didn’t actually kill Tesla…Thistle is a softie at heart. She’d never be able to bring herself to kill somebody who wasn’t a threat to her, and it’s very clear Tesla isn’t a threat to anyone. 
Thistle growls and slips a machete free from her belt. She and I circle around Ardor, seeking an opening. The boy does not react. He remains stationary, eyes flitting back and forth between the both of us. Why is he so confident? Does he have some sort of strategy? Time to see.
Thistle and I strike. We dance as one, raining blows down upon Ardor. He remains on the defensive, using his halberd’s long reach to keep at us at bay. That weapon is a problem. It can strike us at a much further distance than we can hit him from. And Ardor is an expert with it. Every little movement is practiced and perfect. He seems to know our next attack before we even know it ourselves. There was a reason he earned a thirteen for a training score. He is a skilled fighter.
But he never fought Thistle and myself before.
He cannot keep this up forever. Sooner or later he will tire out or make a mistake. Even as I think this he overextends himself while blocking Thistle’s attack and I swing Clarity in with force. The blade rips through his clothing but doesn’t hit flesh as Ardor retreats backwards. His foot hits an icy patch and I see my opportunity. I step forward, Clarity aimed straight for his neck.
Something wraps itself around my leg and all my momentum comes to a screeching halt. 
Tesla!
The tiny girl clings to my knee, hands beating against me as I stagger forward. I hear Thistle give a warning shout but it’s too late. I can’t stop what’s about to come next. 
The butt of Ardor’s halberd smashes into my face and everything goes black. 
——
I come to, bloodied and dazed, rolling to a stop. I am unable to move or even think. The pounding of my heart is the only thing that tells me I’m alive. Cold snow presses against my skin. A gray sky hangs overhead. 
Why am I not dead?
“Barker, are you okay?” An upside down head appears over me. Thistle. Her orange hair hangs loose and tickles my face as she gazes at me with concern. 
I cough. “Been better. What happened to Ardor?”
“He grabbed the girl and ran off.” Thistle sounds worried. I don’t know why she would be. Forcing Ardor to retreat all on her lonesome is impressive. 
“Good.” I feel at my face and the blood there. Think it’s from my mouth. I can’t shake that coppery taste. “You showed him what we’re capable of.”
She frowns. “Wasn’t me who he ran from. You, er, should probably get up.”
I force myself into a standing position. Feels like the whole world is spinning. There’s a strange mechanical sound in the air. “What is that?” I ask. 
Thistle points a finger in the distance. “Snowmobiles.”
Two of the vehicles are headed this way. They zip across the snow at a pace which is unmatched by any tribute. There is a person on each snowmobile, though they are too far away to make out any concrete details. 
I begin collecting my fallen weapons. 
“Think they’ll attack?” Thistle asks.
“Yes.” 
They’re clearly headed straight toward us. There’s only one reason for them to do that. I stick Clarity back in its sheath and hold two of my knives as the snowmobiles draw closer. Eventually they come to a stop and the tributes disembark. One wears ski goggles, the other a distinct pair of glasses. 
“Hmm. Look at that, Easton, it appears we have found the pair from District 7.” The shorter boy crosses his arms and smiles. I feel a faint sense of relief at the sight of him. He’s not dead after all.
Vizio. 
Easton keeps a careful distance from us, but Vizio himself approaches with nary a sign of concern. “Don’t worry, Easton,” The boy says. “We have a truce, remember?”
Do we? Was that what we agreed? I firmly remember only asking for his help once the Feast occurred, but I’m not going to dispute him. Considering our current circumstances, I think having Vizio at our side is paramount. He is, after all, the lynchpin of the plan. Honestly, maybe Thistle had the right idea all along. We should’ve kept a closer leash on the boy.
Easton takes off his goggles and stashes them on his belt. A frown crosses his face as steps closer. “There are only six tributes left, Vizio. Any truce we have between the four of us is not bound to last long.”
“Hmm.” Vizio makes a little pouting face. “Is that truly the case? Are there only six of us left?”
There is no immediate response. Neither Thistle nor myself have spoken a word since their arrival. We’re too busy trying to work out what this means in our heads. Eventually Easton speaks. “The cannon’s indicated such, did they not?”
“Indeed. However, are we to trust those cannons wholeheartedly?”
I tense up. What is he talking about? “Why wouldn’t we trust the cannons?” Thistle asks the pertinent question.
“Ah, yes. Well, you see, those cannons which went off yesterday…let’s say, they had a different sound to them. They were tonally distinct from the pair which have gone off today.”
Can’t say I noticed any difference. Thistle taps her foot. “Meaning?”
“I also noticed that the cannons which occurred yesterday did not emanate from the sky. That is to say, they were not broadcast over the entirety of the arena. They were, in fact, localized in a particular area of the arena.”
“Near the mountains…” Easton mutters.
“Quite right. The exact same area where that horn occurred, which struck me as particularly odd. Why would the Gamemakers broadcast the cannons from inside the arena, as opposed to over it?”
I understand what he’s getting at now. I think we all do, but it’s Easton who speaks. “You’re saying that it wasn’t the Gamemakers who set off those cannons?”
“Indeed. I believe it was someone else—a tribute, to be precise.”
“Is that even possible?” Thistle sounds incredulous.
“That’s the very question I asked myself. The answer is, yes, it is very possible. They would need a particular device; one that is capable of recording and broadcasting sound. The first such device I thought of would be an acoustic resonator sorts.”
None of us speak. I don’t think we fully comprehend most of what Vizio is saying. That poindexter is too smart for his own good. Though that is why we need his assistance. 
“The goal of this little ruse was simple,” Vizio paces back and forth, gesturing with his hands as he speaks. “Our perpetrator, let us call her Jane Doe, wanted to eliminate the other tributes. Her resonator gave her two avenues of doing so. One: she triggered the avalanche in the hopes of eliminating many tributes. Two: afterwards she sought to throw the remaining tributes into disarray by broadcasting fake cannons throughout the arena. Her goal here, I imagine, was to trick the tributes into taking risks they normally wouldn’t.”
“How long have you known this?” Thistle demands. 
Vizio pauses. “Hmm? Known? Not very long. I needed to hear some real cannons before I could decide one way or the other. But I’ve suspected this was a ruse since the moment of the avalanche.”
“Then why didn’t you say anything last night?” Easton frowns. 
“Because while I suspected a ruse, I did not yet know if this was a Gamemaker ruse or not. The last thing I wanted was to anger the Gamemakers. Drawing their ire can lead to disastrous consequences.” He pauses and gives me a lingering look. I remain quiet. Point made. I knew the possible repercussions of my actions long ago. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing will stop me from doing what is right. District 14 shall fall. 
“I haven’t heard any real proof,” Thistle sounds dubious. “Just you sprouting a bunch of theories.”
Vizio gives a small smile. “Oh, I have proof. It is here.” 
He holds aloft a small black device and proceeds to explain what it is. A DFG-49 sensor. Apparently it’s a piece of technology he invented that can sense the tracker embedded in each of us tributes. While he gives specifics on its construction, neither I nor Thistle can understand any of it. This science mumbo jumbo is far beyond us. Still, Vizio explains that his sensor has picked up multiple tributes in the vicinity; us four, Ardor and Tesla, and another signal somewhere to our west. 
“That is more than six tributes,” Vizio says, adjusting his glasses. “And I suspect that, should we venture closer to the mountains, we shall pick up yet another signal.”
“Why is that?”
“Because our perpetrator, Jane Doe, is likely hanging around the mountain where—and this is just an educated guess, mind you—I suspect the remaining tributes are trapped inside.”
Everything he says makes sense. I have no counter-argument or rebuttal. Vizio is a genius. It’s not hard to imagine he has figured everything out. That’s partially why The Whispers require his assistance in the first place. 
So, since we have no reason to doubt his assessment, that means that there are still over twenty tributes left in the arena. The Games are not near their end. Which means we have little reason to turn Vizio away. I wanted to keep my distance to avoid unnecessary suspicion, but at this point not aligning with Vizio would be even more suspicious than staying with him. 
“Guess we’re stuck together,” I mutter under my breath.
Thistle raises an eyebrow. “Is that so? Well, fine by me.” She saunters across the snow and pokes Easton in the shoulder. “Hel-lo handsome! Looks like we’re allies now!”
Easton gives a polite response as I narrow my eyes at Vizio. The bespectacled boy casually approaches me. “The plan remains the same?” He asks quietly. 
I nod. 
“Then I suppose the Feast will supply the necessary resources?”
I nod again.
“Hmm.” He makes a pouting face. “If we are to continue with this plan, then I would like to suggest you help Easton and Halley escape as well.”
He doesn’t realize the full scope of The Whispers plan. He thinks we’re just going to escape the arena. That’s not the case. We’re not going to escape. 
We’re going to end the Games entirely.
But I don’t tell him this. He doesn’t need to know the truth. Not yet. No one does. It’s too risky. So I just stare at him. “Why?”
“Because I think they’d be very valuable to your cause. Easton is the head of a Great Family, while Halley is quite intelligent and creative. I fully believe she is the “Jane Doe” of whom I spoke earlier.”
I don’t really care about Halley, but I hope that bastard Easton dies soon. Head of a Great Family. That means he’s one of the worst people in this country. One of those uppity pricks who run us citizens into the ground while living off of the resources we supply. He’s the reason my family is dead. Him and his ilk. 
But I can’t tell Vizio any of this, so I just nod. “Sure.”
We have a quiet conversation about some finer details of our plan—both long and short-term—before turning back to Thistle and Easton. The boy is nodding along to something Thistle said while she trails a hand along his shoulder. I grunt in dissatisfaction. She’s having too much fun with him.
“We’ll be heading to the mountain,” Vizio climbs atop one of the snowmobiles and starts the ignition. “Our goal will be to reunite with Halley.”
Vizio briefly explains his theory of Halley being our Jane Doe while I covertly use handtalk to communicate with Thistle. Keeping an eye on Easton is paramount. While I trust Vizio enough to follow through on our arrangement, I have no such trust for him. For all I know he’ll sell us out the moment he gets a chance. 
“We’ll need to pair up for the snowmobiles,” Vizio says when he finishes with the explanation. “We only have two, and I doubt either of you know how to operate one anyway.”
He’d be wrong. Thistle and I have extensive knowledge of the vehicles thanks to The Whispers. But he doesn’t need to know that. So I just nod as Thistle volunteers to ride along with Easton. The boy politely accepts her offer and carefully seats himself aboard the second snowmobile. Thistle clambers on behind him and makes a big show of how nervous she is. “Is it alright if I hold onto you?”
“Of course. Your safety is of the utmost importance.”
Thistle grins and wraps her arms around his waist before settling her head against his back. I can’t resist rolling my eyes when I see the look on his face. Poor guy has no idea she’s just messing with him. 
“I trust you have no intention of gripping me so firmly?” Vizio asks as I climb up behind him. 
“Just drive.” 
“Very well, Barker. Very well.” 
He kicks the snowmobile into gear and we take off. I keep an eye on the horizon as we travel over the snow, sending a spray of white up behind us. Unlike practically everyone else in the arena, I am not disheartened by the revelation that those cannons were fake. The opposite is true. I’m emboldened. There being more than six tributes left means that the Games are not in their end stage, which means a Feast is still possible. 
Soon enough District 14 will get what is coming to them, and all of New Panem will quake as the voice of The Whispers becomes a deafening shout.
===Tempest Galveston (District 0)===
Everything is dark.
My body aches with pain. There is a sharp throbbing in the side of my head. An agonizing stiffness in my shoulder. My breaths are weak and shallow. My legs are…I can’t feel my legs.
Where am I?
I crawl through the darkness at a maddeningly slow pace. My legs drag behind me uselessly. I cannot feel them. That sends a shiver of fear through me which is even worse than the pain. If my legs are numb…
Medical knowledge floods my mind. None of it good. I know very well what kind of damage can result from a long fall. Permanent, irreversible damage. Going back for Edison may have just doomed me.
I want to scream. To lash out and break things. Why did he charge them? Why couldn’t he have just stayed back and let me talk our way out of this? Stupid, selfish boy! I feel tears on my cheeks. Rooker was right. I never should have went back. Edison wasn’t worth it. 
A faint glow surrounds me. The gentle gurgle of water comes somewhere to my left. The walls. The cave walls are lined with moss that shines with some sort of blue light. Bioluminescence. I blink as my vision slowly begins to adjust to the light. There are small pools around me. Ponds of water that bubble slightly and send up wisps of steam. 
Geothermal pools.
Are they what make the tunnels so warm? I don’t know. It is hard to think. My mind is fuzzy. Pain. So much pain. Why didn’t I just leave Edison to his fate? 
A soft moan in the darkness.
I freeze. Heart pounds like a hammer. I swear I can hear the sound of my heartbeat reverberating off the walls. What was that? It sounded human, but…no human would be this far underground. Unless Edison fled here. He was wounded by Penelope. That would explain the moan. Yes. That is logical and reasonable. Edison. He is…
Another moan. Then a soft scrabbling sound. The click-clack of feet against the cavern floor. But not human feet. Something else.
I twist my head over my shoulder, desperate to see behind me. The only light is the faint glow of the moss. The only sound is that scrabbling. At first I see nothing but darkness and an indistinct shape, but then…
Something emerges from the shadows. Round and oblong, like a blob, what little I can see of it causes me to shiver with revulsion. The creature has smoky, translucent skin, through which I can see its bones. It has dozens upon dozens of limbs, and each looks like it has come from a different animal. There are human hands, bovine hooves, canine haunches, and more I can’t even identify. 
The mismatched limbs let the creature walk with a shambling gait. It crawls along slowly, moving like an awkward centipede. Its body is bulbous and elongated, but it isn’t just a blob. There is a distinct skeletal structure and I think I can see muscles and sinew through the translucent skin. 
The creature flexes the jumble of limbs as it moves, arms and legs hanging off the torso at awkward angles. Slowly it begins to approach me.
As for its head…I count at least three. One has the shape of a deer, and another that of a dog, but it is one situated in the middle which catches my attention. A human head. 
It has blond hair and brown eyes. I’ve seen it before. Back in training, when he still was a person. The boy laughed and smiled along with his allies as they waited to take their turn on the Gauntlet.
Brann.
I forget to breathe. Terror pulses through me like an electric current. This monstrosity, this living nightmare, has somehow absorbed another tribute. It…it…
I have no words for the atrocity before me. 
I begin to crawl as fast as I can. I dig my fingernails into the stone and haul myself forward. The horrific creature gives a piteous moan as I move. I hear the soft clicking of its feet against the ground. 
I pull myself faster. 
I use every ounce of strength I have. My fingernails begin to bleed and the skin on my palms get torn against the rock as I force myself onward, numb legs dragging behind me. I can’t die here. Not to that—that thing. I won’t force Father to watch it. I can’t. I imagine Albert Westcott’s face as I crawl. He helped kill Mother. Him and all those bastards in District 14. I won’t let them win. I’ll live on and make them pay. I have to.
But it matters little what I want. Though my body works overdrive to keep me moving, it is not enough. I cannot escape. Where would I go? I glance at the geothermal pool. Maybe I can crawl into the water. It might boil me like a lobster, but better that than to—
My forward movement comes to a halt and something hauls me back.
The blob has caught up to me. A human hand has extended out and gripped my ankle. Brann’s head lolls to the side, mouth ajar as it stares at me with blank eyes. A canine paw stretches out from the transparent skin, endlessly pattering against stone ground. I stare at the creature in abject horror. Why would District 14 ever create such a thing? 
The blob slithers forward. The smoky skin slides over my feet and begins crawling up my body. I swing a fist at Brann’s head to no avail. It just flails back and makes a gurgling sound as the body continues to advance. It feels like jelly. I open my mouth to scream as the misshapen limbs pull me into the blob. 
I imagine Father back home. Ripping his hair out as he watches me die. Tears streaming down his face. Body trembling. My own scream is lost to the world as the blob absorbs me. 
But Father’s scream resounds in my head. 
===Peppa Trails (District 11)===
Baron pulls to a halt. We’ve been walking for hours without any break, but now the giant pauses as we come up upon a pile of fallen stones and timber. The minetracks leads straight into the mass of stone and wood, disappearing underneath the rubble. 
“Seems like we’ve found an exit,” Reiko says quietly.
Our plan was simple. I suggested that we just pick one of the many minetracks and follow them to their terminus. After all, we know from the mining village that the tracks must lead outside eventually, so following one was the easiest and safest way to find ourselves an exit. 
“It’s blocked,” Viscera states the obvious as she stares at the rubble with a tilted head.
“We can shift some of the stones out of the way,” Reiko carefully prods at said stones. They slowly slide off the pile and thump onto the floor. “It will be hard physical work, but it is entirely doable.”
Easy for her to say. I don’t think I could lift even a quarter of those stones. “We’re not leaving the mines!” Viscera predictably begins to protest. That girl puts way too much faith in that invisible friend of hers. 
“Of course not.” Baron places a hand on her shoulder. “But we should open up a passage anyway. It will do us well to have an escape route.”
Viscera murmurs something unintelligible and goes to sit in the corner beside some crates. I watch her carefully. The girl seems to become more and more unhinged the longer these Games go on. I don’t like it. What if her imaginary friend tells her to turn on me? Would Baron or Reiko even try to stop her from killing me? 
I crouch down and hug my knees as the others get to work on shifting stones. Even though I am surrounded by people, I feel absolutely alone. No one cares about me. Not inside the arena or outside. Daddy was the only person who ever did. But then they went and murdered him…
I do not like the way Viscera stares at me. Her blue eyes shine through the eyeholes of her rabbit mask, the light of the overhead lamp reflecting off its glossy white sheen. What goes on inside that fractured mind of hers? What does she think of us? Maybe I don’t want to know. Sometimes the truth is unpleasant. Daddy used to say that all the time. 
Progress is made on the tunnel, though it’s mostly Baron doing all the work. Reiko still has one arm in a sling and can’t move many of the stones. But it doesn’t matter. Baron is so big and strong that within less than a hour—or at least what I think is less than an hour—he has successfully managed to shift enough of the rubble out of the way to reveal a small passage. 
Silver moonlight shines in through the gap. A cold breeze brings a stirring of downy snowflakes into the cave. “You cannot fit through here, Baron,” Reiko points out the obvious. The gap is perfectly sized for me, and Viscera or Reiko could probably squeeze themselves past, but there is absolutely no way Baron could ever fit through it.
The massive boy shrugs and wipes his hands off on his jacket. “That is fine. I have no plans on leaving.”
Because of Viscera and her silly little proclamations. What is her “Author” even supposed to be? 
Reiko bends down and peers into the gap. “Oh!” She gives a soft exhalation. “There are sponsor parachutes out there!”
I perk up. “For us?”
“I believe so. They’re headed right this way.”
Yes! We’ve been struggling with food and supplies for the entirety of these Games. It’s not a new experience for me—I rarely had anything to eat after Durian’s murder—but going hungry is no way to win these Games.
“It’s outside,” Viscera says. She’s come wandering over from the corner and is standing beside Baron. “And we shouldn’t leave the mines.”
I stare at her in exasperation. This girl is really starting to annoy me. “It’s right there. It’d only take us a minute to grab, tops.”
Reiko nods. “Yes. It is very close. We could grab it and be back inside easily.”
“No.” Viscera shakes her head. “We shouldn’t go out in the snow. It’s too dangerous. Although…” She trails off, eyes focused on me. 
I fidget. “What?”
“You should be safe in the snow. You can do it, if you wish.”
So she’s actually going to let us grab the supplies. That’s good. Thought she’d be even more of a pain in the butt and try to stop us. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”
Reiko wishes me luck as I walk past and crawl through the passage. I fit quite easily. Being small isn’t always a bad thing. I stand up and shiver when I reach the end. The parachutes are right above me, slowly descending from the night sky. The arena is dark and cold. A line of trees fill the far horizon. I turn in place, trying to figure out our position in the arena. Where have we come out?
It is too dark to make out much detail. Piles of snow surround me, leftovers from the avalanche. To my right the ground is steep and sloped. Massive mounds of snow lie far below, with some dark shapes positioned nearby. They look like buildings. Yes. They are buildings. It’s the mining village where we spent our first night in the arena. We’ve come out somewhere above it.
“Huh.” I shiver and hug my arms closer as the parachutes finally land at my feet. “We traveled pretty far in those mines.”
The gifts are for Baron. His name is printed on the sides of the packaging. I’m disappointed but not surprised. Why would anyone send me anything? I’m just a small, weak girl. No one cares about me. Except…
The necklace around my throat suddenly feels very heavy. Rosehair cared enough to give it to me. That has to count for something.
With the sponsor gifts safely in my possession, I return to the passage and crawl back inside. The air is immediately warmer and I breathe a sigh of contentment. Maybe Viscera isn’t so wrong in saying we should remain inside.
None of the others notice my return. I can’t spot Baron, but Reiko is in the middle of a conversation with Viscera, seemingly singing the praises of her Veiled Demon and detailing all the ways he’s made her life better. I don’t know why she bothers. No matter what she says or how she phrases it, Viscera is never going to convert to her weirdo religion.
“I’m back!” I gently set the two packages on the floor and look around. “Where’s Baron?”
“Here.” The giant steps out of the darkness, sledgehammer in hand. “I was keeping watch.”
“Oh. Well, those are for you.”
We all gather around to watch Baron unwrap his gifts. It feels kinda like Christmas. I remember how excited I’d get when Daddy handed me a present. The smile on his face as I squealed with joy at seeing what he got me. My excitement slips as Baron unwraps a packet of dried beef strips. Those precious moments were stolen from me by the men who killed Durian.
The second package contains a long-handled axe that Baron tentatively swipes through the air. The thing seems too big for anyone but him to use effectively—I struggled to carry it at all. I can’t imagine how another tribute could possibly defeat him now that he has it. Surely he’ll be able to protect us all…
A figure staggers out of the darkness.
Viscera screams. Reiko goes to draw her bow before belatedly realizing one of her arms is incapacitated and awkwardly fumbles for her sword as Baron whirls on the intruder, axe hurtling for their neck.
He pulls up short as the figure drops to her knees. Blonde hair. Freckled face. Sparkling eyes.
Penelope.
I remember our conversation during the second day of training. When she approached us and so abruptly asked for a truce. I thought it was a trick. Some sort of plan to make us drop our guard so the Careers could kill us easier. And who knows? Maybe it was. She certainly didn’t show any hesitation to hunt us down with her allies yesterday. 
Viscera continues to scream as the blonde falls on her hands and knees, sobbing loudly. I stare in bewilderment. What in the world is happening? Reiko steps forward and kicks the girls spear out of reach, her own sword pointed and at the ready. “What do you want? Are you alone?”
Penelope’s only response is an indecipherable sob. 
Baron glances down the tunnel. “I see no others. The girl is alone.”
“That doesn’t mean we should trust her,” I say. She was trying to kill us yesterday. It’s hard to forget that, even if I do think that having another—preferably sane—person in the alliance would be a good thing. 
Viscera’s wailing continues in the background. I grimace. “Baron, can you please shut her up?”
The giant nods and lumbers out of view as I step forward and set a hand on Penelope’s shoulder. “Hey. Hi. I…is something the matter? It’s okay. You’re among friends.” Even if I don’t fully trust the girl, it’s better to make her think I do. 
It takes some coaxing, but eventually Penelope recovers enough to tell us her story. About how she and Tidus abandoned the Careers then encountered Edison and his friends, which led to a brutal battle that left Tidus and Tempest dead, and Edison badly wounded. From the way she tells the story, it’s clear she holds immense guilt over how her district partner died. It’s actually kinda reassuring. Considering how distraught she is, there’s obviously no way she is lying. 
“You can join with us,” Baron returns with a calmed down Viscera. The girl hugs his legs and remains behind him, peering out at Penelope.
“I don’t know her. She could be working for The Misery Man.”
“We can’t abandon people in distress, Viscera.”
“Mmm.” The flighty girl shakes her head and retreats back into her corner. Clearly she is not fond of Penelope. That might actually be a good thing. Now she’ll have someone else to put all her suspicions on. 
“Th-thank you!” Penelope rises to her feet and gives a weak smile. She looks so fragile that it’s hard to remember she’s a trained killer. Probably knows just as many ways to kill a person as Reiko does. Sad. Why does seemingly every other tribute have an advantage over me?
Introductions are made and everyone tries to orient themselves to our new reality. There are five of us. Considering what Penelope told us, that there were only four Careers left before they separated, this probably means we are now the largest alliance left in the Games. That’s…
Huh. I don’t know how to feel about that. 
“We should get some rest while we can,” Baron says when a silence falls over the group. “The night is far from over, and danger lurks in the dark.”
===Easton Harlow (District 13)=== 
The dark night whips by as our snowmobiles cut through the tundra, charting a path towards the mountain. Thistle’s arms squeeze tight against me as we follow Vizio and Barker. I have spent much time thinking about the District 7 pair and whether or not they can be trusted. 
Vizio did not tell me of any truce he made with them. When he first brought it up, I thought it was a joke. But then the pair began to play along, and that’s when it became obvious that it wasn’t a joke at all. Vizio did form a truce with the pair. I shouldn’t be too surprised. This must have been the reason he spoke with Barker during training. Only now do I realize I never asked what the purpose of that conversation was. 
A series of buildings appear in the distance. A small village at the base of the mountain. Massive mounds of snow lie scattered across the village, tall enough to completely cover several of buildings. Some of the others have been spared, however, and Vizio steers his snowmobile to the closest one. 
“Why are we stopping?” I pull alongside Vizio as his vehicle comes to a halt before the building. An overhead sign seems to indicate it is a tavern of sorts.
Vizio turns his snowmobile off as Barker scampers away to scout out our surroundings. “The sensor indicates a tribute is nearby,” Vizio says. “I strongly suspect that this individual is Halley.”
“Is that so?” I shut off my own snowmobile and pull the keys out of the ignition. I carry them with me at all times. No one will be stealing my transportation. “How intriguing.”
“Doubt it’s as intriguing as you are!” Thistle clambers off the snowmobile and pats my shoulder. I smile politely at the compliment. She has been positively enamored with me since the moment we met. Typically I’d suspect that the girl has deigns on ingratiating herself with the heir of a Great Family, but considering our circumstances, I find that to be highly unlikely in this case.
So then why is she so interested in me?
Vizio stares at her over the top of his glasses. “Ah, yes. Easton is indeed an intriguing fellow. However, I do believe the matter at hand is just a tad more important.”
Thistle rolls her eyes as Vizio turns his back to examine the village. When she catches me watching her, she winks. “Easy there, tiger. Keep your eyes on the matter at hand, yeah?”
I feel my face flush as Vizio looks back to give me a disapproving look. I try to salvage the situation as best I can. “You were saying something about Halley?” 
“Indeed. As I was attempting to tell you, I firmly believe that Halley is currently holed up somewhere inside this village. It would be remarkably easy…”
Vizio continues to speak at length as Thistle steps up beside me, almost close enough for our shoulders to be touching. “Does this guy love the sound of his own voice or what?” She murmurs into my ear. 
I crack a smile. It is true that Vizio can become quite…long winded at times. It is part of the boys charm, to be sure, but I also see how it could possibly drive some people away. “You should see him when he’s talking about his inventions,” I whisper back. “He is capable of speaking for hours at a time then.”
Thistle grins and shakes her head. Despite some early misgivings, I find conversing with the girl to be quite fun. She is charming and easygoing, with a relaxed attitude that is a huge departure from most people whom I know. And, it has to be said, she is very pretty. Of course, there is no possible future between us. Even if we weren’t in the Games together, my position as heir to a Great Family would ensure that a girl as common-born as her would never be capable of courting me. 
Still, that does not mean I cannot enjoy conversing with her.
“…and I daresay the most likely outcome is that Halley is currently hiding inside one of the buildings which gaze out at the main entrance.” Vizio finally finishes and turns around to see us watching him with rapt attention, completely unaware of how little we actually paid to his speech. 
Barker comes walking over, a thin coating of snow upon his shoulders. “Is the coast clear?” Thistle asks him. 
He nods.
Quite the charming lad, that boy is. Rarely speaks unless it is absolutely necessary. The only person he seems to like is Thistle. What exactly is their connection to another? Perhaps I should ask the girl if I get a chance. 
Vizio leads the way into the village proper. He seems remarkably unconcerned about being attacked, as well he should. With our sensor in hand we know the exact number and position of any nearby tributes. If what he said is true, then the only person within a half mile radius of us is Halley herself. I wonder what she’s been doing to survive for so long all on her own. Suppose I can just ask her when we regroup. Still, I daresay that I hadn’t anticipated she’d be so successful without us. 
We’re halfway to a ramshackle building tucked away in the corner of the village when an arrow flies out of the darkness and strikes the snow between Vizio’s feet.
The arrow wobbles as it slowly comes to a halt. Vizio bends down and carefully pries it free from the snow. The arrowhead is still intact. “You needn’t be alarmed, Halley,” He says loudly. “It’s just us, your allies.”
For a moment nothing happens. Then the shutters on the second story slowly open and a head pokes out. “Vizio?”
Halley.
Vizio gives a small wave. “Yes, it’s me. Easton is here too, alongside some new…business partners of ours.”
Halley retreats into the window. At first I think she’s trying to hide from us, but then the window swings fully open and Halley clambers out. Only now I do realize that the avalanche has buried the entire first floor in snow. It’s almost taken out half the village. 
Halley approaches at a cautious walk. Her eyes keep flickering to Barker and Thistle, who’ve barely reacted to her presence. “H-hello, guys. I-I didn’t th-think you’d find me.”
Vizio hands her arrow back. “These are precious. You should be more careful with them.”
“Oh. Yes. I…that was meant to be a warning shot,” She ducks her head shyly.
“Ah, I see.” Vizio adjusts his glasses. “While I appreciate the fact that you didn’t put an arrow in my head, let me lend you some advice. Never do warning shots. Either shoot to kill or don’t shoot at all.”
Halley nods slowly. I frown at the heavy backpack she carries. “How much stuff do you have?” Almost looks like more than we do. 
“Oh. Most of it is just…” 
“You have an anemometer with you, yes?” Vizio peers at her bag. “And probably some device that allows you to broadcast to the arena. A megaphone, perhaps.”
“Y-yes, but how do—”
“I take it you were the ones to trigger that avalanche?”
Halley’s face flushes redder than her hair. “I—yes. That was me. How…”
“And now I presume you’ve set some traps outside the mine entrances and are waiting for tributes to wander into them?”
Halley falls outright silent. Her eyes switch from me to Vizio to the District 7 pair then back. “You really are a genius,” She breathes.
“Perhaps. But in this instance I just happen to have the blessing of knowledge.”
“Have any of your traps worked?” I ask. That’s the crucial question. If one of those cannons belonged to a tribute Halley caught…
She shakes her head. “Not yet. But…”
“But?”
“O-one of my traps w-was set off by a big boy in a white coat. Th-the mini avalanche didn’t kill him and I was too afraid to attack him head on.”
“Who was it?” Thistle steps forward and speaks for the first time since Halley’s arrival. Unfortunately that causes the girl to squeal and shrink away in fear. Thistle rolls her eyes. “Come on now, I’m not going to hurt you.”
“S-sorry!”
“The boy.” Vizio prompts.
“Oh, right. W-well he was big and…I couldn’t see his face. It was all covered.”
That is not a very helpful description, but I can hardly fault Halley for it. She likely couldn’t see any defining characteristics anyway. “Was he taller than Easton?” Vizio asks. 
“Oh. Umm…yes, I think so.”
A fat snowflake lands on my forehead and I sigh. “That would have to be Brick, then.” The only tributes in the arena who were noticeably taller than I am were Brick and Ardor. Considering Ardor was just at the cornucopia, it stands to reason that Brick is the only possible suspect. It is interesting that he is alone. What happened to the other Careers? If they split up already…
That will create a power vacuum for our alliance to fill quite nicely. 
There is not much more to be said. Vizio makes a small effort to see if he can track Brick, but the snowfall has been too frequent and heavy for him to make any progress. Afterwards we move the snowmobiles into a storage shed connected to Halley’s house then retreat inside. The arena is dark and bitterly cold. We needn’t stay exposed to the elements any longer than necessary.
Barker and Thistle sit in their own corner, speaking quietly, while the other three of us converge before the house’s unlit fireplace. Halley was too afraid of being discovered to start any fire. “That was a prudent decision,” Vizio tells the girl. “Better to remain hidden. This house will keep us warm enough as is.”
So not particularly warm, but just warm enough to prevent us from freezing to death. “What is our current goal?”
Vizio adjusts his glasses. “We wait for The Fallen.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. Until we have more information, our best move is to stand pat.”
Well, I suppose that makes sense. Settling in for the long-haul seems like a wise choice. Will definitely keep us alive longer, which is my preference anyway. 
“Your brother is your heir, yes?” Vizio surprises me with his sudden question. He is absentmindedly staring into the empty fireplace.
“That is correct. Until I produce a child, Cronus is heir to the Harlow Family.” I do hope he is faring well. There are many rats and snakes hidden around the feet of any Great Family, doubly so with one as new as ours. 
“And I assume he shares the same political beliefs as you?”
Such a strange line of questioning. Whatever has brought this on? “I suppose so. Can’t say I ever really spoke with him about politics.” 
“Hmm. Interesting.” Vizio starts pacing back and forth down the room, periodically stopping to adjust his glasses. What a quirky fellow. Though I suppose the same could be said for all of my colleagues. Halley is very asocial and shy, while Barker is downright hostile. Thistle is, well, quite the handful. 
My eyes rest on the District 7 pair as I think this. How far can they be trusted? What do they truly want from us? I feel as if Vizio knows more than he lets on.
Thistle suddenly looks around and spots me watching her and Barker. She gives me yet another wink. I sigh and turn away. This nagging sensation of impending doom has been weighing on me ever since these Games first began…
…and I greatly fear it will not go away anytime soon.
===Meta Chron (District 14)===
These tunnels are endless.
No matter how far we run, how many turns we take, or even where we go, there is no end to these dark, oppressive tunnels. The walls feel like they’re closing in on me. The shadows lurk ever closer. I swear I can hear whispers in the dark.
These mines will be our tomb.
Theodore leads the way down a wide thoroughfare, following the mine-tracks in a desperate bid to finally find an exit. He swears loudly every time a promising route leads into a dead end.
“He has no idea where he’s going,” I whisper to Mazie as we walk. 
The girl staggers beside me. She’s been in rough shape ever since we were attacked and…lost Brann. Her face is pale and waxy. Her breaths short and shallow. Every now and then she’ll shut her eyes and hesitate, as if she’s on the verge of losing consciousness. But every time I ask her how she is doing, she tells me she’s fine. 
“He’s a liar,” Mazie’s voice is soft. “He said he’d protect us, but he ran at the first sign of trouble.”
I was upset at Theodore too. He fled almost immediately after we were attacked. But when we caught up with him, he said that he only ran because he thought we were all going to do that. Insisted that he would’ve stayed behind if he knew we were staying. I think Mazie is right and that he was lying, but can I blame him for running? I would’ve done the same thing in his position.
“At least Scyler stayed,” I say quietly. The tall blond boy helped carry me away from the gas and arrows. Right now he’s walking a little ways ahead of us, just slightly behind Theodore. I had some misgivings about him, but so far he’s been nothing but helpful. 
“Scyler…” Mazie says the name oddly. “Did you see…what happened to him during the attack?”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“The boy shot an arrow at him. Should’ve went straight into his heart. Except…there was a flash of light and it just…bounced aside.”
Huh. Now that she mentions it, I do remember seeing a faint flash right before the attack. I just thought it was something the attacker did. I expect Mazie to say more on the subject, but she remains silent. Her every step is slow and plodding. Her arms hang loosely at her side. A knot of worry grows in my chest. 
What’s wrong with her?
“Brann…” Mazie mutters his name before falling to the ground.
“Mazie!”
I’m at her side in an instant. Checking her breathing, tapping her shoulder and testing her level of consciousness. She pulls herself into a sitting position and waves me off. “I’m fine. Just…tired.”
“You don’t look fine.” She looks sick. Even in the low light offered by the overhead lamps I can see her waxy skin and unfocused eyes. 
“What’s up?” Scyler comes jogging over. 
I quickly explain the situation and he takes out his medkit and begins to do a primary assessment of Mazie’s condition. It doesn’t take him long to zero in on her injured shoulder, the one which was sliced open by the attackers arrow. “Doesn’t look good,” He prods at the wound with a gloved hand. The skin is red and inflamed, bordering on being purplish in color. “Fortunately I’ve got medicine for this. She should be alright if given enough time to rest.”
“It almost seems like she was poisoned.”
“What? Nah.” Scyler smiles. “Trust me. It’s not poison. I’ve handled stuff like that in my training, and this isn’t it.”
I’m not so sure, but I have little reason to doubt Scyler’s expertise. I’m about to ask what he thinks the problem is when Theodore gives a shout and we both turn in fear. 
Oh no! Another attack! What do we do? I can’t run and leave Mazie behind! I need to—
“I found an exit!” Theodore is laughing like a maniac as comes back into the light. It’s the most expressive I’ve ever seen the boy. “I told you I would! I found it! Ha!”
“That’s nice, Theo,” Scyler rises and gives him a high-five. 
“It’s been blocked with snow and rocks, but we can blow it open, I’m sure.”
He’s too reckless. Explosives have to be handled with care. The charge has to be shaped and positioned correctly, lest you accidentally bring the entire tunnel down on your head. There’s a reason why people go through extensive training before being allowed to handle them. 
Scyler understands these risks. Tells Theodore that he and I will go help him set the explosives. I feel a little queasy at the thought. Hate being responsible for such an important task. “Stay here, Mazie.” I pat my friend on the shoulder as the two boys head off. “Soon we’ll finally be free of these tunnels.”
“Meta…”
“Yes?” I hover over her, expectant.
“If I…don’t pull through, then make sure Winnow gets that surgery. Help return her vision…help fix my…mistake.”
I swallow. She sounds so despondent. But she’ll be fine. Scyler promised, didn’t he? “Okay, Mazie. I’ll help your sister. But I might not have to. You can still help her yourself.”
Her eyelids flutter close. “That’s good, Meta. That’s…good.”
I try to think positive thoughts as I join the boys at the tunnels entrance. True to Theodore’s word, a blockade of snow and rocks lie across it. Rather thickly too. This operation will take more than one explosive charge. 
Scyler does most of the work. He seems even more well-versed with explosives than me, which is both reassuring and terrifying. How is he so multifaceted? His training must have been quite difficult and extensive for him to hold such a vast array of knowledge. 
“We’re going to do this one charge at a time,” Scyler carefully positions one of the explosives and backs away from the rubble. “Once the dust clears, we can check the damage and reassess the situation.”
“Should I sit with Mazie?” I ask.
Scyler glances at me. “If you want. I can handle things here.”
I nod and retreat back down the tunnel to the alcove where we left Mazie. When I arrive, I find her motionless. Eyes closed and body slumped against the wall. I kneel beside her. “We’re setting the explosives, so we should be out of here soon.” 
She doesn’t respond. Confused, I grab her shoulder and give it a little shake. “Mazie? Did you hear me? We’re…”
She still doesn’t respond. Mazie doesn’t so much as twitch as I shake her vigorously. My confusion turns to fear. “No, no, no!” I think back to my training and lie her flat on her back, two fingers pressed against her carotid artery, checking for a pulse, as I watch her chest for any sign of breathing. 
Nothing.
No pulse. No breathing.
Panic and fear overtake me. I feel the horror slowly spreading out from my chest to the very tips of my fingers. For a long moment I just stare at my friends unconscious body and find myself unable to act. What happened? How did this happen! Why did it happen? Dead…is she dead? 
“No!”
I scream and commence CPR, beginning with chest compressions. She’s not dead. She can’t be dead. I already lost Brann. I can’t lose Mazie. She’s my best friend. My only real friend. She can’t—I can’t….
“What the hell is going on?”
Everything is a blur. Someone drags me away from Mazie and I try to fight them off, screaming something about how I have to save her. Tears streak down my face. Sobs wrack my body. Two boys stand before me. Scyler and Theodore. One holds me back while the other crouches down to check on Mazie. 
Scyler rises and shakes his head. “She’s dead.”
“No!” I break free of Theodore’s grip and drop to my friends side. “She’s not dead! How could she be…? She was barely wounded…”
“Maybe her wound got infected.” Theodore’s voice is cold and distant. Callous. 
I spin and glare at him. “Shut up! You don’t know anything!”
“I know she’s dead.” His gaze is devoid of any emotion. “Leave her be. We need to finish setting those explosives.”
I stare at him, aghast. “How can you even think about that? Don’t…don’t you care about Mazie?”
“No. Why would I? The girl meant nothing to me.”
I slap him across the face. He barely reacts. Just stares at me with two blue eyes cold as ice. Here, in this moment, he doesn’t even look human. So callous and indifferent. He’s some kind of machine. A monster.
I snap. I scream and curse, hands beating against his chest as all my fear and anger bubble over. Scyler grabs me under the arms and drags me away. I barely resist. Tears roll down my face as Theodore shakes his head and stalks off, muttering to himself.
“Hey. Hey, it’s okay. Meta, look at me.” Scyler sets me down, hands cupping my face. His green eyes are so clear. “It’s okay. Don’t panic.”
I take a deep breath. My arms are trembling. Body feels numb. “He’s a monster,” I whisper. “You heard him. He doesn’t even care that Mazie is dead.”
“Don’t listen to him. Theo is…he’s not like us. Just be calm, okay?”
“How can I be calm? My best friend is dead!”
“Hey, hey. Breathe. Try to stay true to her memory.” What does that even mean? How can I do that? Why would I… “You talked to her about your life, right? Mentioned how your Reaping was rigged?”
Did I? I don’t remember. “M-maybe.”
“Yeah. She mentioned it to me. Said that you told her about something you knew your father was doing. Something important.” The computer. I don’t think I ever told Mazie about it, but I must have. How else would Scyler know? He sets his hands on my shoulders. “She really wanted to know more. You can honor her memory by telling me.”
That makes sense. Mazie deserved to know. She was such a good friend. But to speak about what I saw… “I don’t know. It’s dangerous. He wouldn’t want word spreading…”
“That’s why you should tell me. We can stop him.”
“Stop him?” Yes, what he’s planning will undoubtedly result in bloodshed, but that’s because what President Price has in mind is just as bad. There are no good options here. 
“Unless…” There is a fanatical light in Scyler’s eyes. “Unless he is working for The Whispers. Then we can help. He is working for them, isn’t he?”
“No.”
He blinks. Stares at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “What? Surely you meant to say yes.”
“No. Father isn’t working with The Whispers. I already told you I don’t know a thing about them.” 
His hands tighten around my shoulders. “Then what, pray tell, do you think your father is up to? Why did you accuse him of rigging the Games?”
“Because…because of something I saw on his computer.”
“What did you see?”
“I…can’t say.” It could be the end of Father. Despite what he has done, despite sending me into the Games to die, I cannot betray him like this. 
“What did you see?” Scyler repeats.
“N-nothing! I can’t—”
“What did you see!” Scyler shakes me by the shoulders so hard I can feel my teeth rattle. Fear and anxiety fill me and the words just come tumbling out. 
“Correspondence! H-he was talking about something he learned President Price was doing. Dangerous secrets.”
“What secrets?” Scyler stops shaking but doesn’t release his grip on my shoulders. 
“President Price…she has unsealed some classified records from the Capitol. Science experiments which should never have seen the light of day. She’s trying to replicate something called a Nahual, and…and she’s making more Life Models.”
“So?”
“Sh-she plans on cloning her own organs and cells. She wants to live forever. She intends to be President of New Panem for life!”
Scyler remains silent. His green eyes stare into mine for a long moment. “Your Father is against this?” He finally asks. “Is he not loyal to our President?”
“He…he was loyal. But…in his messages…he doesn’t think anyone should live forever. He thinks President Price has gone too far.”
“So he turned to The Whispers in an effort to see her deposed?”
“No! Father isn’t working with them!” Is he even listening to me? Father is adamantly opposed to resistance groups such as them. He doesn’t believe New Panem’s policies are wrong—he just thinks President Price is leading us astray. “It’s not them. It’s…”
“Don’t lie to me, Meta.” His fingers curl into my shoulder and I squirm with pain. “We know The Whispers have had contact with your father!”
“Scyler, you’re hurting me!”
He ignores me. There is a dark light in his eyes. A sight which sends a chill down my spine. Why does he care so much? Why….wait. Something he said finally clicks in my head.
“We?”
Scyler lets go of my shoulder. A flicker of doubt crosses his face. For a moment I think that maybe I’m wrong. Maybe my fears aren’t true. Scyler stands up and backs away, hands pressed to his head. “A slip of the tongue,” He speaks quickly, hurried. “I wasn’t thinking—I didn’t mean…”
My hand curls around a rock beside me. A flash of light sent the arrow spinning away from him. Isn’t that what Mazie told me? Only one thing could do something like that. Something no ordinary tribute would have access to. 
I stand up and brandish the rock in my hand. “I’m going to smash your face in!” I say it with as much emotion I can muster. I need him worried. He won’t activate it otherwise. 
“Meta, wait, please!” One of his hands imperceptibly taps against his sleeve and I hurl the rock straight into his face.
There is a small flash of light and the rock is tossed aside by an unseen force.
“You have a Pulseshield,” I whisper.
Scyler sighs. He presses two fingers against his forehead and sighs slowly and dramatically. “I really wish it didn’t have to be this way.”
My throat goes dry. I forget to breathe. Scyler has a Pulseshield. A Pulseshield. Those are reserved for the Agents and government officials alone. They can deflect and deter any physical weapons—even bullets. Something meant for warfare. For him to be wearing one in the Games…
“You were purposely sent into the arena!”
He sighs again and languidly stretches out his arms. “I was warned that you were clever.”
Scyler was sent into the arena. Why? And by who? I know who. Only one person would be capable of doing this. “President Price sent you here.”
“Guilty as charged.”
My mind is whirling too fast to focus on any one thing. If Scyler was sent here by the President, then wouldn’t that also mean…“The President rigged my Reaping too.”
Scyler nods. “Correct again.”
I stare at the boy. The liar. At his tall frame. Coiffed blond hair. Dark green eyes. The bag on his shoulder. The medkit. The medkit!
“You knew what was wrong with Mazie!” He had to. I never saw inside his medkit, but I bet there’s all kinds of advanced medicine in there. They wouldn’t have sent him in without some. But then…“You let her die. You could have saved her, but you let her die!”
“Sure did. She was poisoned by Brick’s arrow. It so was obvious that an idiot could see it. But I tricked you, didn’t I? Just had to say it wasn’t poison and you completely believed me. Maybe you aren’t as clever as they said.”
I feel my heart breaking. We had antidote. We could’ve helped Mazie at any time. But we gave it to Scyler. My voice cracks as I speak. “Why? Why didn’t you save her?”
“I was hoping her death would shatter your mental resolve. Then you’d finally tell me what I wanted to know.”
Mazie. Dead because of me. “Wh-why do you think I know anything?”
Scyler smiles. That bastard has the audacity to smile! “Because you are your father’s daughter. As I so ineloquently said before, we know your father had contact with The Whispers. And we know they plan on…disrupting the Games.”
He crosses the distance between us in two steps. His hand shoots out and grips me by the throat, slamming me back against the wall. As my head swims with shock and pain I vaguely note he must have turned his Pulseshield off—he wouldn’t be able to touch me otherwise. 
“What are your father and The Whispers planning?” Scyler glares at me. Green eyes aflame with anger. “Why did they send an operative into the Games?”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. Never heard of The Whispers or their supposed plot. But I can’t tell him that. I can’t tell him anything. He’s squeezing my throat so hard I cannot even breathe. Black specks grow on the edge of my vision…
…and then Scyler releases me. I sag forward, gasping for air, throat tingling with pain. “Father…isn’t…working with them…”
Scyler slaps me across the face. I see stars. Face goes numb. Can’t even feel any pain. “Stop lying! We know your father had contact with them! We intercepted a messenger intended for him!”
I rub at my throat. “When?” I croak. Play along. There has to be a way to escape this nightmare.
“Last Christmas Eve! The messenger had an encoded letter on him. He had snuck into District 14 to drop it off at your manor.”
Christmas Eve…we had a family gathering that day. Can’t remember any details. Mind is foggy with pain. “Why…not ask the messenger?”
Scyler snorts disdainfully. “You think we didn’t? The fool knew little. Only that he was meant to drop the letter off and leave. He didn’t even have a cipher for the code.”
“If you already know all this, then why not just arrest my father?” Where is my axe? I don’t have it with me. Can’t remember the last time I saw it. Think I left it by Mazie’s body. 
Scyler draws his sword. He sticks the flat of the blade under my chin and uses it to slowly raise my head until I’m staring him in the face. “My own father argued for that very course of action. Unfortunately, President Price is rather…set in her ways. She was loathe to arrest such a strong ally until she had unmistakable proof he was working against her.” A tight smile forms upon his face. “So instead of arresting him she did the next best thing. She decided to punish him by sending you into the Games.”
I stare down at the blade underneath my chin. My breath catches. Father didn’t send me into the Games. It was all President Price. Those awful things I thought about him and Mother…they weren’t ever true. Neither of them wanted to see me die in the arena. Of course not. Haven’t I seen how much they love me? I feel tears in my eyes.
I am such an idiot. 
“But Father knew your family was guilty,” Scyler continues on, ignorant to my anguish. “So when I was given the task to infiltrate these Games and stop The Whispers plot from within, I came up with a perfect idea. Why not befriend you? The beloved daughter of the traitor? Surely he’d told you something of his dastardly plot. I could take out both the traitor and The Whispers in one blow!”
“Father isn’t working with The Whispers!”
He frowns. “More lies, Meta? My patience is really getting stretched thin here.” 
I set a hand against his sword and lower it away from my neck. He won’t kill me. He can’t. Not until he learns what he wants to know. And that gives me the advantage. I will ruin this bastard. 
For Mazie.
“How many times must I say it before it gets through your thick skull? My. Father. Is. Not. Working. With. The. Whispers!”
Scyler stands and stares at me for a long, poignant moment. At first I think he might try and argue some more, but he just rubs a fist against his forehead. “Then who? Who is your father working for? Whom does he intend to replace President Price with?”
I…can’t tell him. Telling would be tantamount to betraying my family. Even though the person he is working alongside is considered a complete monster who had to be taken out for the good of the country, someone who will undoubtedly plunge us back into war and strife, I cannot betray my family. 
“He isn’t working for anyone.”
Scyler’s lips curl back into a sneer. “Last chance, Meta. Who is your father working for? Is it Hartford? Those bastards in the south? Equanimeous Stryker? Who?” 
“You have no leverage,” I shake my head and project more confidence into my voice than I feel. “I won’t tell you a thing and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Scyler stares at me. There is a dark, dangerous light in his eyes. “You overestimate your own importance, Meta. I already said seeking you out was my own whim. My mission is to stop The Whispers. If your father is not working for them…” He shrugs. “Then you hold no value to me.”
He slashes his sword out and the cold steel cuts through my throat.
I fall to my knees, choking and gurgling. Hot, sticky blood gushes over my hands as I try to stem the bleeding. Scyler begins to scream. I don’t understand. Think maybe I’m imagining things. But then Theodore comes rushing over, and the blond boy hurriedly explains how I tried to attack him, how Mazie’s death must have sent me over the edge of sanity. 
I can’t form any words. I kneel before the boys and stare at them with wide, shocked eyes. Never thought he’d do it. Didn’t think he could. I don’t want to die. The realization comes rushing over me like a bucket of ice water. I don’t want to die!
Theodore frowns at me. “What is she trying to say?” 
Scyler shakes his head. “Nonsense, probably. She was spewing a bunch of it before she attacked me.”
I try to form the words. Try to speak his name. A foolish, irrational part of me thinks that if I say it, if I tell Scyler what he wants to know, then my throat will be repaired. That I won’t die. That I will be able to continue living. 
But I can’t say it. My throat is mangled beyond speech. Beyond repair. I tip over sideways and hit the tunnel floor. I don’t even feel the impact. His name. It repeats in my head like a chant, like a curse. The name I saw on my Father’s computer. The name of the man my Father is working alongside. The man my Father intends to hand the country over to. The man our government tells us was a monster who President Jacqueline Price had to defeat before he led the whole country into ruin. The man who started the civil war all those years ago.
Azathoth. 
===Rooker Irone (District 12)===
I grope my way blindly through the tunnel, skin tingling with cold as I advance further and further down. The hard rock walls press in around me. The ceiling is only half a foot over my head. I don’t know where this tunnel leads, but it better bring me out of this accursed mine.
Tempest. Thoughts of the boy swirl in my mind as I follow the slight slope down the tunnel. Why didn’t he listen to me? Edison isn’t worth the risk. Even if we get him back, what will happen? The boy will just find some way to stick us into another unenviable position. It’s been the only thing he’s done all Games.
The warm air of the mines are a distant memory. This tunnel is bitterly cold. Almost completely dark. It was a small side passage I encountered off the main thoroughfare, and I entered thinking it may possibly lead to escape. So far it has just stretched on endlessly, the air around me grower colder with each passing step.
I try to think of that as a good thing. If the mines were warm, then surely the cold is a a sign I am leaving them behind? It is hard to remain positive as I barrel forward. My fingers grow numb from the cold, hard rocks. I feel my breath misting before me. Each step brings me closer to…what?
Pale light appears overhead. A ray of silvery moonlight descends from a slot in the ceiling, illuminating a patch of the tunnel. Dustmotes float in the air. I stumble through them and begin to clamber upwards towards the hole.
Escape! Sweet, sweet escape!
My head emerges into a forest full of tall dark trees. Downy snowflakes swirl in the air. The sky is finally clear and shines overhead with a large, bright moon. The snow is thick around my calves as I pull myself out of the hole and stumble onto my feet. I’m free! My giddiness is tempered by a sobering thought.
Tempest should be here with me.
Stupid, naive boy. What is he hoping to accomplish? That his acts of blind altruism will somehow convince the rest of the world to see things his way? What a waste. Whether alive or dead, he and Edison are no longer at my side, and that means I am without allies. I must win these Games alone or not at all. 
I find myself frighteningly cold as I begin my investigation of the forest. I have no shelter. No warmth. If I do not find either, then I am a dead man. Perhaps I should’ve stayed inside the mines after all…but no. That deep, dark abyss was no place for me. Too many threats. Too many nooks and crannies for the others to hide themselves in. I am a man of nature. Of the forest. It is the lifeblood of my family, after all. 
I wander among the trees. There is no scent but that of cold and ice. No movement. No sounds of animals in the undergrowth. Not a surprise. I know winter as a time when all the world goes silent, and this arena is worse than any winter I’ve ever experienced. Teeth chattering, arms held tight against me, I continue on my way. 
But not for long. A soft orange glow in the distance brings me to a halt. A campfire. Since fires don’t light themselves…another tribute is near. 
A wave of indecision washes over me. What to do? Run and hope for the best? Stop and examine the fire? I need warmth. That much is obvious. If I stay out here in the elements I will die, and my death will come much quicker than you’d think. This cold is simply too much. 
The thought of Mother and Rosemary watching me freeze to death makes up my mind for me. 
I draw my dagger and creep through the snow. The firelight flickers and dances as I settle into the bushes. A cold dollop of snow falls on my neck and slides down my back. I grit my teeth and press on. 
The fire is set in a small clearing of flat ground. Tangled bushes and thick trees surround it on all sides. A small cairn of stones keep it contained. Even at this distance I can feel the warmth and heat it gives off, and a small sigh escapes me. That fire is life itself. 
I must have it.
I see no sign of any other person. No tracks in the snow, no broken branches, nothing. The fire itself is low and reaching its embers. Whoever lit it did so some time ago. Perhaps they’ve left. Moved on. Maybe they’re not even in the vicinity anymore. I could just simply walk up and claim the fire for myself…
…but doing so would be tantamount to dancing on a razors edge.
Who’s to say the person is really gone? What if this is a trap? One designed to lure cold and frightened tributes to their doom? It’s a logical thought. The most likely one. Any other theory is whimsical and separated from reality. No one would waste all the time and energy in creating a fire to simply abandon it.
Unless it is a decoy. What if they created multiple fires spread over a wide area? That way it would throw off anyone hunting for them. They’d keep finding fake campsites, and begin to suspect no one was truly nearby. If that’s the case, then I can claim this fire with impunity. 
Too many possibilities. Too many thoughts. My body freezes as my mind goes into hyperdrive. Sometimes thinking over every little thing isn’t good. If I don’t act soon, then I am dead. My fingers can barely move right now. Doubt I can create my own fire. So I have no choice, really.
I emerge from the bushes and approach the fire warily. I don’t move slowly. There is no point. If someone is here, they’d see me coming either way, so best to be quick so they have less time to react. Quick but careful. 
No one jumps out at me as I approach. Nothing stirs but the snow. The only sound is the soft crackling of the fire. I crouch beside it and sigh contentedly as warmth floods back into my body. 
Long moments pass I as warm myself beside the fire. I am not attacked. No trap is sprung. I’ve just begun to relax when I spot her in the corner of my eye. She’s crouched in the bushes to my left, hidden amongst the thick branches and falling snow. The firelight reflects off her eyes, making them more luminous than ever.
Ash.
My fingers slowly curl around my dagger, but I make no overt gestures. I do my best to make it seem like I haven’t spotted her. What is she doing? Does she intend to attack? Even though she is my district partner, I can’t say I understand everything which goes on in her mind. I’m probably the closest person to her, the only tribute to ever hold a full conversation with her, but that means nothing in the arena. 
Ash sits and watches me for a long time. Snow continues to fall around us. The fire warms me. Brings feeling back to my toes. I wiggle them in my boots as I watch Ash from the corner of my eye. 
Then she departs. Ash steps back into the shadows and disappears from sight. I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and feel the tension in my body dissipate. I don’t want to kill Ash. If I can’t win, then I’d rather it be her, for Mother and Rosemary’s sake. 
I collect some fallen branches and toss them onto the fire, keeping it high and warm, as I think about Ash. Why did she leave? Does she not think conflict is worth it? Or does she have the same hesitancy to kill me as I have over killing her? Maybe that would be useful. I can—
The Anthem rings throughout the sky.
All thoughts are banished from my mind as I turn to look upwards. It’s time for the butchers bill.
Tempest’s face is the first to appear.
Regret washes over me. Not because I didn’t go with him—that was the smart, safe decision—but because I couldn’t convince him to give up on his stupid idea. Would things be different if I had tried harder? Could we both be together right now? Maybe. Maybe not. It’s impossible to say, and “what-ifs” are just a waste of time and energy. 
Tempest’s face fades into the dark sky to be replaced with that of the District 4 boy. So Tempest did not go gentle into that good night. He took someone with him. That’s...comforting. Makes me feel a little better.
Brann, the boy from District 9, is the third face. It takes me a moment to realize this means both Edison and the girl from 4 are still alive. Does that mean Tempest succeeded? Not in the fashion he envisioned, of course, but if Edison is still breathing…
Brann’s fellow District 9 resident, Mazie, is the fourth face. That means they’ll be Victor-less for a twenty-fourth consecutive year. Bad luck.
The fifth and final face belongs to Meta. I don’t have much of a reaction until I remember she was aligned with the District 9 pair. That means someone—or something—eliminated their entire alliance today. Intriguing. 
How many tributes are left? It’s almost impossible to say. I missed yesterday’s faces while I was in the mines. Did the avalanche occur before or after the night’s end? If after, then how many tributes did it kill? One? Two? Five? I can only guess, and guessing gets me nowhere. 
Trumpets blare in the sky.
I am so surprised by this sudden noise that I simply gape slack-jawed at the fire. What is happening? An announcement? This early? 
“Greetings, tributes of the 24th Games!” A sugary sweet voice pours out into the arena. One of the Games main commentators and announcer. What was her name again? Medina Giovanna? “I hope you’re all still awake, because we have an important message to pass on to all of you!”
I inhale deeply and tilt my head. So it begins. 
“As some of you are no doubt aware, this arena is frighteningly inhospitable and supplies have ran out quickly. Much like in the war of which we all were responsible, death from starvation and exposure have become serious possibilities. To showcase how much difference a helping hand can make, we are officially announcing that a Feast will take place tomorrow at the cornucopia!”
Thought as much. There’s only so many things an announcement of this magnitude could be for. A Feast…will such an event benefit me?
“The Feast will occur at midday and the cornucopia will see its supplies replenished. There will be food, weapons, and something special. Three bags which will contain items that are a step above the usual assortment of tools.” Dangerous. Everyone who is willing to risk the carnage will converge on the cornucopia. “I repeat, tomorrow a Feast will occur at the cornucopia during midday. If you wish to participate, keep this date in mind. That is all. We wish each and every tribute good luck and good fortune on their path towards penance.”
The announcement clicks off and leaves me in the cold darkness. 
Laughter fills the air. It flits among the trees and echoes across the snow. It takes me a minute to peg its source. Ash. The girl is still somewhere nearby, laughing her head off. The question is why. What’s so funny? The Feast? I fail to see the humor here. Many people will die at that golden horn. 
I do not know if I will risk attending the Feast. Could I even find the cornucopia again? The last time I saw it was during a blizzard, and I have no idea where I am currently located in the arena. 
Ash’s laughter fades away and leaves no sound except the whining of the chill wind. I pull my hood tighter and huddle closer to the fire. Whether I attend the Feast or not, one thing about it is absolutely certain.
Many people are going to die.
==Day 4/ The Misery Man==
===Halley Vega (District 0)===
TBD
===Thistle Hesmin (District 7)===
TBD
===Rooker Irone (District 12)===
TBD
===Ardor Prodigy (District 1)===
TBD
===Penelope Finbar (District 4)===
TBD
===Theodore Drest (District 8)===
TBD
===Edison Burn (District 5)===
TBD
===Brick Slayte (District 2)===
TBD
===Reiko Sonatas (District 6)===
TBD
===Viscera Clomp (District 10)===
TBD
===Peppa Trails (District 11)===
TBD
===Thistle Hesmin (District 7)===
TBD
===Barker Caspum (District 7)===
TBD
===Rooker Irone (District 12)===
TBD
==Day 5/ Hallelujah, Ka-Boom!==
===Tesla Wattson (District 5)=== 
TBD
===Reiko Sonatas (District 6)===
The mines are dark. I creep through them at a careful pace, pain in my shoulder suppressed as I wield my bow in both arms. This mine is a maze. One I cannot seem to find my way out of. A full day has come and gone with no sign of an exit.
The only hint of the outside world I’ve received is the faint booming of cannons from a distant passage. Many, many cannons. Few tributes yet live. A mere handful. Surely that means today shall be the final day. But if so, then I must find an exit. 
Or I shall perish within these darkened passages.
My sleep was dreamless. There was no visit to the Spirit Realm. The one moment I most desperately wished to visit the place was the one time I’ve been denied it. To speak with Autus again, to have him scan the arena and tell me the location and situation of the remaining tributes, would’ve been a blessing beyond belief. To gaze upon the Veiled Demon one last time…
It would have steadied my iron resolve even further.
I shall become Victor. I will return to Tsuki and the Temple. I shall bring financial stability and my own bloodline back to them. I shall raise us to heights greater than we’ve ever seen. 
But first I must escape these mines.
It will not be easy. I’ve been trying this very thing for a long period now. I do not know what time of day it is—it is impossible to tell from within the mines—but I don’t believe the day has gone too far. It is still early. Enough time for me to salvage the situation. 
I creep along the narrow confines of these tunnels. The walls press in on me. These cramped tunnels are both a blessing and curse. Difficult to aim a bow in so narrow a space. Yet it is also difficult to dodge an arrow. 
A true double-edged sword.
These mines cannot stretch too far. I have already explored a sizable chunk of area and found no exit, so it only stands to reason that one will appear sooner rather than later. 
A voice.
I press myself against the wall and set an arrow against my bow. Keeping it nocked, I carefully edge down the tunnel towards the voice. It speaks softly and the unintelligible words are tinged with sadness. Another tribute. It has to be.
The words slowly come into focus as I approach. 
“I know, Baron. He is going to try his hardest to kill me. But I won’t let Him. This isn’t how my story ends, no matter what The Author says.”
A frown runs across my face. Viscera? And is that Baron she’s speaking with? While it is entirely possible they both survived this far, I hadn’t actually expected it. Was almost completely certain they’d have died yester—
My thoughts cut off as I reach the end of the tunnel and spot Viscera standing in the middle of a T-intersection. Her rabbit mask is gone, and the top half of her hair—once pink—is now a reddish color, but it is the object in her hands that draws my attention. 
Baron’s head.
His dark eyes stare sightlessly from their sockets as Viscera murmurs quietly, ostensively speaking to the decapitated head. 
What in the world…?
“Hmm?” Viscera tilts her head in puzzlement. “What’s that? Someone is watching…?”
She looks up and stares right at me. 
My fingers itch to draw my bow and loose. End Viscera here and now. She was my ally, yes, but there is no more room for alliances. This is the end game. Tsuki depends on my Victory. The Temple itself requires it. I shall fell anyone who stands in my way. 
And yet I cannot bring myself to act.
“Reiko?” 
I breathe softly and let the tension in my bow dissipate. Not now. Not yet. “It is me, Viscera.”
I step into the intersection. 
“Oh.” She looks down at the head in her hands. “Baron died. The Misery Man killed him.”
I purse my lips behind my veil. The Misery Man… The Veiled Demon warned me of him. If he actually exists, then it stands to reason Viscera is telling the truth. “That is a great sadness indeed.” True words. Baron was a good person. “But we mustn’t linger in the past. Where is this Misery Man now?”
“Coming for me. He thinks I’ll die, but I won’t!” She taps a foot against something lying at her feet. A shield set with wickedly long spikes. “I‘ll fight to the end for my sequel.”
I eye the shield. It is just the object I’ve been desiring. Something like that would greatly increase my odds of Victory. Viscera does not need it. In fact, her odds of winning are astronomically low. And even were she to gain Victory, what would she do with it? Her mental state precludes any joy or happiness. Better to end her suffering now. But as I think upon it…
“Where did you get the shield?”
She looks up. “Oh. From the sky. A parachute.”
Sponsors. So then she’s found an exit? “You know a way out of these mines?”
“Yes. I found it last night.” She’s seen the Fallen, then. I ask about which tributes died and which are still alive, and she pauses to think for a moment. “Don’t know. I didn’t recognize any of them.”
Of course. I shouldn’t have expected anything more from her. Viscera had a hard enough time remembering her own allies. “How many are still alive?”
“Seven.” She pauses and consults with Baron’s head. “No, six. Six. I think.”
“Counting the two of us?”
“Yes.”
I run this information through my head. Hardly anyone is left standing. Just four people other than us two. Victory has never felt closer. Tsuki and the Temple are so achingly near…
I ask about the mine exit and Viscera gives a detailed description of its whereabouts. It is, apparently, just a few turns down from this intersection. I consider immediately heading off in search of it, but my indecision on what to do with Viscera lingers. Kill her? Spare her? I’ve killed people who’ve never so much as threatened me before at the Temple’s behest. And this is most certainly one of those situations. If I win, then the Temple shall be saved. 
I cannot afford any attachments. Not at this juncture. Viscera was my ally and I may have been hesitant to harm a single ally, but I cannot compromise my mission for anything or anyone. 
And I very much desire her shield…
“The Misery Man is coming soon,” Viscera says quietly. I glance at her but she’s not talking to me. She’s focused on Baron’s head. “He shall try to end us, but I won’t let Him. I won’t.”
Viscera’s death would just be helping to put her out of misery and freeing her from the burden of a life constantly dreading The Misery Man. Surely not the worst thing to happen. A mercy killing. 
I shiver. It has nothing to do with the situation at hand. It is just that suddenly the mine is very cold. 
Viscera gasps softly. “He’s here…”
There is no need to ask of whom she speaks. Only one person—entity—garners her attention so. I tentatively run a hand along the length of my bow. The Veiled Demon’s words run through my head. 
Beware The Misery Man.
Viscera stares down the tunnel which she indicated held the mines exit. Her eyes are fixed firmly on a cloud of darkness that has appeared at its furthest point. Another shiver strikes me and my hair stands on end.
“The Misery Man Cometh…”
===Viscera Clomp (District 10)===
TBD
===Alexis Ryker (District 2)===
TBD
===Rooker Irone (District 12)===
TBD
===Reiko Sonatas (District 6)===
TBD
===Rooker Irone (District 12)===
I trip and fall. Tuck my limbs in as I slip and slide over the flurry of ice and snow, slowly coming to a halt at the base of a tall oak tree.
I stare up into the sky and suck down air as I try to catch my breath.
Lucky. I am so lucky those elves showed up when they did. Had they only been half a second slower… I can’t even imagine what would have happened. Death, certainly. Failure. Mother and Rosemary wouldn’t have ever seen me again. 
That is a fate I must resist at all costs.
Boom! 
A lone cannon shot resounds through the forest. 
Well, that’s the end of Reiko. It has to be. No way did she fight off all those elves. There had to be hundreds of them. More than enough to overwhelm even someone skilled as her. Enough to slaughter me.
That’s the crux of my problems now. How the hell am I going to beat those things? They seemed to be serving some sort of “Queen” and I can only presume it’s a tribute. That, of course, means Tempest was right all along and it was entirely possible to reason with those elves. I can only imagine how different things would’ve been had we gotten those elves to work alongside us all those days ago.
If only Edison had controlled his anger and not brutalized that first elf. 
“Thanks, Ed,” I mutter as I climb unsteadily to my feet. “You were really such a helpful ally.”
“Who’re you talking to?”
I spin around in shock. Ash stands behind me, skinny arms folded across her chest as she leans against the oak tree, tawny eyes narrowed in a display of annoyance.
“Ash!” I am surprised by the relief I feel at seeing her again. “We’re in trouble! There’s an army of elves back there, and they all seem to working alongside another tribute!”
“It’s Tesla.”
“Huh?”
“I said, it’s Tesla!” Ash unfolds her arms and glares at me. “They’re working for Tesla. I saw them as they came marching into the forest. I wanted to reach the cornucopia, but…”
She goes on to explain how a massive blizzard has taken over most of the arena, completely swallowing entire areas and seemingly shepherding every tribute here to the westernmost edge of the arena. “The frozen lake is going to be the final destination,” Ash finishes with a shrug.
Frozen lake…
“Do you have a plan to deal with those elves?” I ask. Can’t think of a way myself. It’s not possible to kill so many. 
A small smile plays across Ash’s lips. “Of course I do. This whole forest is about to go up in flames.”
My stomach flips unpleasantly. I don’t like the thought of being caught in such an inferno. “Once we’re out of it, right?”
A match appears in Ash’s hand. “Nope. It’s gonna happen soon.”
For the first time I notice the trail of gasoline leading away from the oak tree. Lots of it. More than enough to set this whole forest ablaze. “You really think this will stop the elves?”
“Not all of them. Too many for that. So I need you to get their attention and lead them to the frozen lake. Make sure you get ‘em all on the thing. Every elf.”
I inhale a deep breath. Ash has the lake rigged to blow. Of course she does. “And how am I supposed to do that?”
She shrugs. “Dunno. That’s your problem. Just do it quick, yeah?”
Ash strikes the match and when a small flame sputters to life, she tosses it into the gasoline. 
Ash goes sprinting away, headed for the lake and her explosives. I stand in place, hesitant and unsure on what to do. Lure the elves onto the lake? Risky. But to do nothing would be tantamount to letting Tesla run roughshod over the arena. I can’t do that. Need to win at whatever cost. 
Mother and Rosemary are counting on me.
The fire erupts around me. It spreads much quicker than is natural, so Ash’s gasoline trail must be very long indeed. Dangerous.
The roars and cries of the elves rise into the air. Undergrowth shakes and trembles as they continue on their hunt. The first one to appear takes my dagger through the eye. 
I curse and sprint as dozens more emerge behind him.
Just how many elves are there?
The forest is ablaze as I run. Flames crackle and reach along the trees. Ash flitters like snowflakes in the air. The elves continue to pursue me, their screams adding to the chaos of the scene. 
I come to a halt in the middle of a wide clearing. Dozens and dozens of elves follow me, slowing down as they form a half-circle. More continue to pour in. Then Tesla appears. She’s dressed like an elf, but it is unmistakably her. 
I lick my lips. Hundreds of elves are surrounding me. More. Close to a thousand. Ash’s plan is looking more and more promising. There’s no way we can defeat this army without explosives, and lots of them. 
“Do you want to know who killed your King?” 
My question rings out over the clearing. Tesla and the elves freeze. Their attention is focused squarely on me, ignoring the inferno behind them. 
So far so good. Now I just need to ensure they’ll all follow me onto the lake. I have an idea, but it’s one that might just get me torn apart by ravenous elves. 
“Who killed Ardor?” Tesla steps forward, feet crunching in the snow. She looks ridiculous in that outfit, but the blood-coated candy cane in her hand proves how dangerous she is. “Who killed the greatest human being who ever lived?”
“I did.” 
You could cut the tension with a knife. The elves exchange looks as Tesla’s eyes bug out in pure outrage. 
“I killed your King!” I shout the words, hands raised in the air, daggers waving. “I brought him low and forced him to beg for mercy! But his pleas fell on deaf ears! I killed him like I’d kill a dog; quick and easily.”
There is sound akin to thunder as the elves all scream at once. Their anger and rage becomes a cacophonous cry that drowns out all noise as they drive forward like a wave. 
I turn and run as fast as I can.
That did it. They’ll follow me to the ends of the earth now. No matter where I go or what happens, those elves won’t stop the chase until I am dead.
Or they are.
It takes all my skills to navigate this tangle of forest as I run. Flames spread outwards, tongues of fire licking out ravenously. Muted booms echo in the distance. At first I think they’re cannons, but then I spot an elf running parallel to me disappear into red grist as the ground beneath his feet explodes.
Ash has other traps hidden in the woods.
Luck or providence guides me, for I somehow avoid activating any explosive. I sprint forward, feet pounding against the snow, boots crunching the ice. The screams of the elves are never far behind. Enraged cries. Cries of fear as they trigger bombs. Cries of terror. But mostly cries of pure anger.
The forest ends. The trees fade away and I find myself running across an open plain towards a wide expanse of frozen ice.
The lake.
An indistinct figure stands atop a small hill on the other side of the lake. Ash. No doubt she is waiting for me to lead the elves onto the ice, explosives ready to send them sky high. 
I pause when I reach the lake itself. The ice is thick and slippery. Snow has built up on its surface, concealing the extent of its size. Whatever explosives Ash has rigged this lake with, they’re hidden well enough that I can’t see them. 
I take a deep breath and step onto the lake.
The ice doesn’t creak. There’s no ominous noise or sudden motion. Nothing changes. No noise. Just the howling of the wind and faint explosions in the forest. So be it. I’ll run straight across and force the elves to follow me.
I’m a quarter of the way across the lake when the elves emerge from the woods. 
There are hundreds upon hundreds of them. Thousands. More than I believe could have ever fit inside that village. Where did they all come from?
They form a long, dark line as they rush forward, weapons waving in the air, screams echoing. Tesla is at their center, candy cane spear raised high like a banner. They’re all following me onto the ice.
They’ve taken the bait. 
I run harder than I ever have before. I race over the lake, muscles screaming in protest, lungs burning for air. I focus on my footwork and avoid tripping. I am more than halfway across when I turn and watch the elves.
The entirety of their army is upon the ice. The frontline is quickly gaining on me while their stragglers clamber on behind them. Soon we can blow the entirety of them to kingdom come. But first I must get off this lake.
Ash comes into focus as I reach the last quarter of the lake. She stands atop a small hill, a black rectangular box in her hand as she surveys the approaching army of elves. There is a grim, fanatical light in her eyes. 
Ash’s finger goes for the button.
No!
I give a desperate scream as I realize what she’s going to do. She can’t! I’m still on the ice! If she blows it up…
God, I was such a fool!
Ash played me for all I was worth. It’s so obvious now. She always intended to blow the lake with me on it. She took the trust I put in her—the trust I never should have given—and used it to stab me in the back. 
I think of Tempest as I run. He and I will share the same fate. Killed because we trusted someone we shouldn’t have. 
Ash says something as her finger hovers over the button. I can’t hear her, but from this distance I can read her lips and the words form in my head.
Click-click, hallelujah, kaboom!
I give one last, desperate scream of despair. Mother and Rosemary watched me get so close only for the rug to be swept out from under my feet at the last moment. I want to say something—maybe a final message relaying how much they mean to me—but there’s no time. Death is at hand.
Ash presses the detonator. 
The ice explodes beneath me.
===Ash Carrow (District 12)=== 
The lake explodes.
The portion of ice underneath Rooker is the first to go. A geyser of ice and freezing water erupts from underneath his feet, tearing him from existence as the explosive triggers. 
The rest of the lake follows. Screams of fear and despair ring out in the air as the ice beneath the elves explodes, sending those which weren’t immediately ripped to shreds flying into the air. Frozen water and icy blocks rain down upon the survivors as they struggle to keep afloat inside the lake itself.
But that water is freezing cold, and they won’t last long. 
Some of the elves near the back were far enough away to miss the explosion, and they turn to run for the forest. But the explosives I’ve planted there, set to a delayed timer, go off just before they reach the tree-line. 
I watch with calm serenity as, in a matter of moments, the thousands of elves are reduced to a mere handful floating in the freezing water. Even from this distance I can hear the despair in their chattering voices as they call out to one another. 
A smirk crosses my face. Fools. Did the Gamemakers think they could beat me? Did they think their arena was safe from my explosions? Nothing is safe! I’m going to burn it all to the ground! Once I’m done in this arena I’ll destroy their precious country next! Everything burns!
The last few elves sink beneath the surface as I watch. But something remains floating. A small, rectangular shape that looks vaguely familiar. A…raft?
Yes. It is a raft. A single individual rides upon that raft, visibly shivering from the cold as they use a long candy cane as an oar to paddle the raft towards my shore. 
My smirk turns into a frown. Tesla has, against all odds, survived the destruction of the lake.
I don’t know how, but she must have avoided the initial blast and inflated her raft in time to climb aboard—or maybe she had it inflated all along. Either way, she now paddles to the shoreline, a look of grim determination on her face. 
I shove away the anger which builds in my chest. She may have evaded my first trap, but that doesn’t mean she’ll survive for long. 
I pick up a small stone that lies nearby and toss it up and down in my hand as I wait for her raft to reach the shore. Tesla is about to learn what the whole country is going to soon experience firsthand. 
Oddly I find my thoughts drawn to Rooker. I killed him with my explosion. Tricked him into thinking I was going to help him. I don’t feel bad about it—kill or be killed—but I cannot help but think of the way he showed sorrow after the accident which killed my parents. The way he shook his head and cursed District 14’s lax safety standards. 
Rooker, and Rooker alone, did not blame my father for the accident. 
I wish someone else had killed him before I had to. 
Tesla’s raft has reached the shore. She climbs off it, feet splashing into water that goes up to her knees, a twisted scowl warping her face. I make no effort to hide, so she spots me atop the hill almost immediately.
“You!” I stare calmly at the girl as she thrusts a skinny finger at me. Outrage contorts her expression as she splashes onto shore. “You killed my elves! You… you tried to kill me!”
I can tell from Tesla’s voice and posture alone that she grew up rich. Sheltered and with a silver spoon in her mouth. She’s never wanted for anything. Never felt what it was like to go without. 
She is the epitome of everything I hate.
“You will pay for your insolence, you filthy heathen!” Tesla continues to rage, falling snow settling on her hair and clothes. “You will learn that one cannot simply assault me and live!”
What a fool. How did she survive this long with such misplaced arrogance? What makes her think she’s in any position to threaten me? I can literally kill her at any moment. 
“Ardor gave his life so that I could live!” Tesla’s ramblings don’t slow as she stumbles through the snow, approaching the explosive hidden at the base of my hill. “He died so I wouldn’t! I cannot allow myself to fail! His sacrifice must be repaid!”
What an absolute joke. I am beyond tired of hearing her yap, so I take the rock in my hand and roll it down the hill. It slides down the snow and comes to a slow pause directly in front of Tesla.
She frowns as a faint click permeates the air.
I smile down at her. “Kaboom, bitch!”
The explosive goes off.
Snow and blood rain down from the sky. I cover my head and snort in amusement as pieces of Tesla fall around me. The fool never realized just how outmatched she was. 
Boom!
The fifth cannon of the day goes off. That puts me one step closer to conquering these Games. One step closer to being crowned as Victor. But I’m not there yet. I still must deal with him.
I turn around and am unsurprised to see him standing on the hill across from me.
Tall and blond, with a smile that cuts like a knife, he has his sword pointed down into the snow and leans on it like a cane as he watches me with twinkling eyes.
Scyler Meios.
I knew he’d be my last opponent. His face wasn’t in the sky last night and he’s from District 14. It’s only fitting that my final enemy be from the home of our bastard government.
“Come to die?” I ask.
His smile deepens as he shakes his head. “No, I’ve come to watch you die, in fact.”
“That so? Well then, what are you waiting for?” I splay my arms wide, daring him to attack. I have a dagger in my belt, but I won’t need it. This entire hill is laced with explosives. If he tries to approach, he’ll die instantly. “Come and get me!”
“I’ve killed lots of people inside this arena, you know,” The boy ignores my taunt and looks wistfully up at the sky. “Meta, Brick, Theodore… and then those four yesterday. Thistle, Barker, Vizio, and Easton.”
I scowl. Does he mean to impress me? Fat chance of that. I don’t even remember who half those names belonged to. “Are you going to fight, or just sit there flapping your jaws?”
He turns his gaze back to me. His expression is one of calmness and serenity. “Oh, Ash. Are you really that eager to die?”
“I won’t be the one dying.” Just take a few steps closer, fool, and we’ll see who’s going to die!
He smirks. “You sound so confident for someone who has made a crucial mistake assembling her explosives.”
“You won’t trick me with such an obvious ploy.” I made no mistake. Explosives and fire are my life. My tools of the trade. If there is one thing I know how to do, it’s set an explosive. 
“It’s no ploy. One of your explosives has been poorly assembled and is about to prematurely detonate right at your feet.”
Idiot. I didn’t set any explosive within striking distance of myself. Always keep yourself out of the blast range. That’s the first rule I learned.
Scyler laughs. A deep, rich sound that carries over the wind. He laughs and laughs until he finally collects himself and gives me a small shake of his head. “You can’t win these Games, Ash.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“I’m not being hyperbolic,” He takes one step closer and lowers his voice to a whisper. “You literally can’t win. District 14 won’t let you. They’ve already promised me the Victory.”
No. That’s a lie. A trick. The Games are kept fair. That’s one of the few tenets District 14 has stuck to over the years. But then… when have they ever kept their word?
“Let me tell you what is going to happen,” Scyler flashes a knowing smile. “In a few moments the DFG-49 we placed inside your arm is going to detonate and kill you. To everyone watching at home, it’ll appear as if your own explosive backfired, just like I said it would.”
I stare at my left arm, where they placed the tracker all those days ago. If he’s telling the truth…
“What is that phrase you’re so fond of?” Scyler steps back and laughs. “Oh, yes, I remember. I believe it was… Kaboom, bitch!”
I grab the dagger from my belt, ready to plunge it into my arm and carve the tracker out of my flesh, but I’m too late. No sooner have I pulled the blade free then I feel a small tingling in my arm and…
I explode.
===Scyler Meios (District 14)=== 
Ash is torn apart as the DFG-49 inside her arm explodes. Blood, hot and wet, rains from the sky, torn hunks of flesh sizzling off my pulseshield, leaving me untouched. I adopt a mournful gaze and shake my head. 
“I told you, Ash. I knew you made a mistake with those explosives.”
It’s actually somewhat of a shame that I couldn’t personally kill her myself. Doing so would’ve set my official kill count at eight, tying me with Silenus Crannock as the second most prolific killer in the history of the Games, behind only Azrael Price himself.
Trumpets sound in the sky. An announcement of my Victory rings throughout the arena and across televisions in all of New Panem, proclaiming me Victor of the 24th Games. 
I remain stationary, watching the remains of Ash slowly slide down the hill with a practiced look of boredom. This should look easy. Simple. Hardly any effort at all.
If only that had been true.
Scenes from last night continue to play in my mind. Confronting that terrorist from District 7. Facing him down in the snowy forest. I was caught tight in the grip of fear when he launched that rocket. Had it not been for my last second use of the Gauntlet to send the rocket downward at my feet, then it would surely have killed me. 
As it was, the explosion merely sent me hurtling into the forest.
My pulseshield protected me from the fall, and I found myself lost and alone in the woods. Terrorists had broken into the arena. They’d threatened to ruin everything. I was meant to stop them. That’s why I was sent into the Games. To unearth the terrorist plot and put an end to to.
Except…
They didn’t need me after all. A communique came later that night, explaining the terrorist threat had been dealt with and I was to remain put and await further orders. So I did. I waited for hours before I was given new commands. A mutt—some blob-like creature that was supposedly an effort to recreate a Capitol created lifeform—was sent to my position. Somehow the mutt was capable of perfectly replicating the forms of tributes and I was instructed to feign a fight against these “tributes”. 
I “killed” four separate individuals in this manner. The pair from District 7, the scion of House Harlow, and that boy genius from District 3. Evidently they’d all been…misplaced, and thus the Gamemakers needed some footage of their demise to show the viewers.
A hovercraft appears overhead. I drop into parade rest as I wait for it to descend, questions burning themselves into my head. What exactly transpired last night? I’ve only been given the most rudimentary of answers. 
The hovercraft lands at the base of the hill, far enough away from Ash’s explosives to be safe. I make my way to the gangplank as it lowers, a team of doctors swarming me, checking for wounds. “I’m fine!” I wave them off and ascend into the back of the hovercraft. “Those children barely touched me!”
“You’ve done well, Scyler.” A deep, sonorous voice has me pulling to a halt. I freeze, eyes spinning frantically as I search for him. When I find him, I hastily snap into a salute.
A tall, blond man stands in the back of true hovercraft, hands folded behind him as he stares at me with a stony expression. 
Cypher Meios. Commander of New Panem’s army, and my very own father.
“Father. I did not expect to see you here.”
He inclines his head in a slight greeting. He does not smile. Father never smiles. “I came to see my son crowned Victor, and I am so very glad to find that I was not disappointed.”
A thousand questions form on my tongue but I remain silent, loathe to speak out of turn. There is nothing Father hates more than a disruption. 
“You have done well to salvage the outcome of these Games,” Father continues as the hovercraft takes off back into the air. “What transpired yesterday almost threw everything into disarray.”
I refrain from asking the obvious question. “I am glad to have been of service, Father.”
He sets a hand atop my shoulder and gives it a firm squeeze. “Thank you, Scyler. I am well aware that you have only ever sought to better our country.” He steps back. “Now, I am sure you are a little upset with having key information withheld from you.”
“Oh no, Father. I’m not upset. Merely…slightly confused.” I was told that my mission was of the utmost importance. That it was up to me alone to stop The Whispers. Yet last night I learned that our government not only knew all about the plot, but it had its containment held well in hand. 
Father nods. “Indeed, I suspected you would be. Well, as it so happens, this mission of yours was a test.”
“A test.” I faced many over the years. All of them perilous. 
“Indeed. This was, in fact, your final test.”
My heart skips a beat. “Then that means…”
Father’s face brightens. The expression he makes is not quite a smile, but it is the closest I’ve ever seen him come to one. “Yes, son. You’ve passed each and every test with flying colors. You are ready to be brought into the fold.”
Yes! While outwardly I remain calm and and composed, on the inside I am celebrating. I have passed! That means I’ll full security clearance! I’ll be allowed to attend every briefing, told detailed information pertaining to the highest level! I did it!
“Now, The Whispers may have been defeated, but we have many loose ends to to tie up,” Father continues to speak as I try to keep myself calm. Full security clearance! “We managed to lose some high-value assets, and Equanimous Stryker continues to be a thorn in our side. Not to mention how vexing Hartford is…”
I listen to Father, nodding at all the right times, agreeing with his points when necessary. There are still many threats left facing New Panem. Many enemies which must be defeated. But I know we will prevail. 
We always do.
“But that can all wait,” Father once again clasps my shoulder. “You have just become a Victor! That is something which we must celebrate!”
I allow myself a smile. “And I came so close to becoming the second most prolific killer, too.”
“Bah!” Father waves a hand dismissively. “Stats are useless. That Silenus boy didn’t even win his Games.”
True. While Silenus ran roughshod over the 13th Games—securing eight kills with half the field still alive—he did not end up Victorious. Indeed, he wound up dying from a severe allergic reaction after incidental contact with a stray peanut. 
“You are meant for great things, Scyler.” Father pulls my attention back to him. “Great, great things. Together we shall destroy everyone who seeks to dismantle our wonderful country. Together we shall secure New Panem’s future.”
“Yes, Father. Together we shall preserve the peace. Together we shall ensure that our great country will never fall.”
Barker may have gotten the better of me inside the arena, but when we next meet the outcome will be very, very different. The next time we cross paths…
I am going to kill him.
==Aftermath==
I sit in the backseat of a long black car, head bowed as we drive through the streets of District 14. The sound of laughter and cheering makes its way through our sealed, tinted windows. Everyone is busy celebrating the Victor of the 24th Games. 
Vizio sits beside me. He has his legs splayed out in a relaxed manner as he taps a pen against his knee, eyes focused on the window and the sights outside. Two men I don’t know sit up front. They wear the same uniform as Vizio and I; a pair of black pants and a black pullover with a high collar and silver insignia on the breast. The insignia means nothing to me. A sunburst held in an outstretched hand. 
“Quite the turnout,” Vizio says, disrupting the quiet. “Our Victor must be popular.”
“These people are stupid.” Anger builds in my chest. Threatens to overflow. Since Thistle’s death, anger and rage are the only emotions I’ve truly been able to feel. “They know nothing of the real world.”
“Then that would make them ignorant, not stupid,” Vizio smiles at his own words. Irritating. If he wasn’t my only real avenue for revenge, I’d kill him. 
“Whatever.” I raise my head and look out the window. Skyscrapers line the wide avenue we travel. Throngs of people crowd the streets. They cheer and dance. According to District 14 doctrine the Games aren’t meant to be a celebration, but when someone wins and becomes Victor, that means they’ve overcome their sins and served their penance. They’re cleansed of all wrongdoing. And that, supposedly, is something to celebrate.
“You truly hate all these people?” Vizio waves a hand at the window and the sidewalks full of useful idiots. “You’d see them all dead?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm. Quite the feat, I suppose.” 
District 14 corrupts and perverts everything it touches. These people help with that. They may just be regular citizens, but their complacency and acceptance is what gives President Price and her followers power. 
Our vehicle turns into a wide boulevard. A shining monorail travels overhead, crisscrossing between tall buildings with wide windows. Snow-capped mountains surround the silver city. The Tower itself looms over all. An ever-present reminder of Price’s strength. 
I see many advertisements strung up along the road. Banners and posters. Commercials running on holographic screens attached to the side of buildings. One of them features a non-conforming model and I sneer. “These people are no better than the Capitol.”
“Some of them are,” Vizio says. His eyes are trained on a large group that has taken over the streets. They hold signs and pickets in their hands and are chanting in unison. They’re loud enough that we can hear them from inside the car.
“The Games are inhumane! The Games are inhumane!”
“Protesters?”
“Indeed.” Vizio adjusts his glasses. “Not everyone in District 14 agrees with everything the government does.”
“Surprised they haven’t locked them all up.”
“Oh, no. That would go against the spirit of equality. President Price allows everyone to say what they believe, so long as they are harmless.”
“Their equality is a lie.”
“Perhaps. Yet I am confident that President Price truly believes in her own words. She genuinely thinks the way she runs the country is for the best. She does not think herself a tyrant.”
Good for her. That won’t stop me from burning her entire country to the ground. I continue to stare out the window and my anger grows as I see the people as they celebrate. Hands flourish in the air. Arms reach out. Faces peer down, beaming smiles. So many fools.
Easton was one of them. The hare-brained moron thought that this was right. It brings me anger. Regret. Maybe I should’ve let him die in the arena. Haven’t really seen him since. Vizio claims he was handed off to some “top men” to recover from his wounds, but I don’t know how much I can trust the words of that boy. 
Our car is stuck in traffic. The protesters have completely overtaken the streets. I watch them with tepid interest. These people are only putting in the mildest of effort to change things. What good does gathering in the street and shouting platitudes do? Words do not change the world. Action does.
“Why do so many people support the Games?”
“A multitude of reasons, really,” Vizio says. “New Panem is currently facing a job crisis. Our population has been booming and the demand for jobs—at least sufficiently earning ones—cannot be met. This will only get worse as the next generation comes of age.”
I remain silent. So that’s why some people aren’t concerned with thirty children being sacrificed yearly. Each death is one less competitor in the job market. 
“That’s not the only reason, of course,” Vizio continues as if I have responded. “Each year the amount of volunteers rise. Each year brings a new Academy to the country. More and more tributes are willing participants, meaning there are less children taken against their will. Thus, there are less parents who are frightened by the Games.”
“Tell that to Halley’s family.”
He nods. “Fair point. I did not mean to imply that there are no mourning families.” He pauses and adjusts his glasses. “Of course, there are also those who’ve come to fully embrace the nature of penance. They truly believe in what the Games represent, and amongst the most ardent its almost become a religion of itself.”
“Idiots!”
“And then there are the financial benefits of the Games.” Vizio flicks a finger toward the window, where an advertisement for an online gambling site is flashing on one of the giant billboards. “Reaping Day alone brings in an obscene profit for the casinos and bookies. Gambling has become rampant amongst the populace and there are far more people than you’d care to admit that view the Games as nothing more than an avenue to easy riches.” 
District 14 is to blame. They’re the ones pushing these vices and corruption upon the ordinary people of the Districts. The cretin here in this filthy city are beyond saving, but the casual citizens in New Panem aren’t beyond redemption. Not all of them, at least. 
“Many people take off from work during the Games. Federal employees typically don’t do much of anything during the time they’re ongoing. That’s why the Games have recently begun to grow shorter and shorter, if you’ve noticed. Months long holidays typically don’t play well.”
Vizio is rambling. I don’t care about what he says. None of it will help me kill Seven or President Price. He promised me vengeance and so far all I’ve gotten are empty words. 
The streets have begun to clear as around a dozen Peacekeepers and a handful of Agents arrive to wave the protestors off the avenue. The crowd complies with the orders, but their chanting never stops. 
“The Games are inhumane! The Games are inhumane!”
Traffic picks back up once the road is clear and an Agent waves us on. I stare at the man’s beetle-like mask with intense hatred. All who support District 14 must pay. 
“They have less security than I expected,” I comment as we pass.
“Of course. After all, District 14 fully believes that they’ve wiped out the entirety of New Panem’s rebels.”
“That’s because they have.” The New Panem Liberation Front is still around, sure, but they can’t do much by themselves. 
“Have they?” Vizio turns and gives me a strange look. His eyes are unreadable. I miss Thistle. Could always tell what she was thinking with a single glance. This boy is too enigmatic for that.
“Why are we here?” I demand as our car takes a turn. We’re on a wide stretch of street that lies before The Tower itself. Because of the time of day, the sun is behind the building and the Tower casts a monstrous shadow across the streets. 
“Oh, I have heard some reports from informants of mine that something important will occur today.”
“You have informants?” That sounds like a dubious claim.
“Of course. I’d make a poor rebel leader if I didn’t.”
There’s a long, poignant pause as those words sink in. I stare at him as if he just told me he was secretly a fish. 
“What?”
“Oh, come now!” Vizio smiles at me. “Surely you didn’t think Ivy actually came up with this plan all on her own, did you?”
I narrow my eyes. “What are you implying?” I’ve known Ivy for years. Since the attack which killed my parents. Ivy was leading The Whispers even longer than that. She’s been a stalwart in the underground rebellion for years. Why would I have ever doubted…
“Ivy’s whole plan was my idea. I suggested it to her. Oh, not directly of course,” Vizio waves a hand. “But I had my associates and colleagues nudge her along. Likewise with the leaders of the other organizations. I was the architect of the entire plan.”
I glance at the men in the front seat. Neither of them have reacted to this. So they already knew. And our uniforms. I look at the silver insignia on my breast. “You have your own organization?”
“Indeed. I am the secret master of the rebellion. The true counterpart to President Price, if you will.”
“Impossible.”
“No, it’s quite true. Haven’t you wondered why the plan relied so heavily on me?”
This information runs through my head at light speed. All possible ruminations. The implications. “Your plan failed,” I finally say. “You got everyone killed. You got Thistle killed!”
“Thistle was not meant to be inside the arena,” Vizio taps his fingers along the seat rest. “You know this. Her being Reaped was completely incidental.”
Yes. She wasn’t meant to be inside the arena with me. Things would’ve been so much better had she stayed outside. But the moment her name was drawn…
“You still failed.”
“No.” Vizio pushes his glasses further up his nose. “My goal was to convince District 14 that the rebels had been dealt with and were no longer a threat. In that regard our plan was a resounding success.”
He planned for everyone to die? For us all to get slaughtered like sheep? “How is this a success? How is killing everyone who wanted to topple the government a good thing?”
“We merely cut the chaff. I realize you were in the arena and had no way to know this, but plenty of people inside the organizations did not attend the attack. Many stayed away. These were my operatives. Ivy and the others assumed them to be cowards, but the truth was that they were following my orders. Only the weak and traitorous were sent to die.”
“Traitorous?”
“Oh, yes,” Vizio gives another infuriating smile. “You have no idea how much subversive trash had infiltrated your ranks. Frankly, it’d make you sick to know how many people went running to tell District 14 about your big plan.”
I do feel sick now. So many traitors. Our screening process was vigorous. How did they all slip through? “I suppose they all survived the attack.”
“Some, probably. Most received orders to attend anyway so as not to blow their cover,” Vizio says. “They were killed alongside their loyal compatriots. Rewarded as a traitor deserves, some would say.”
Even if everything Vizio says is true, it doesn’t answer the biggest question facing me. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would you lead a rebellion? You have everything in life.”
There is yet another long pause. Vizio rubs his chin as if thinking of a response. He is a rich beyond belief. His inventions have revolutionized the industry. District 14 itself holds so much respect for him that I can’t believe they’d execute him even if he were captured. He’s too important. 
But then why rebel?
“Boredom is the main reason, I suppose.”
I stare at the boy. 
He smiles back. “It isn’t hyperbole when I say that I am the smartest person you’ve ever met. My analytical prowess, while one of the most significant reasons why I am so successful, has made day-to-day life a chore for me. I can predict which corporations are on the bust, which people are untrustworthy, and which inventions will become valuable assets. In short, life is simply too easy.”
He is serious. I can tell from his expression. Boredom is truly the reason why he’s done what he has. Unbelievable. 
“I needed a way to alleviate this boredom,” He continues, “and overthrowing the government seemed to be a sufficient enough challenge for that. Of course, I could very easily have changed it from within. I’ve already received numerous offers to come work inside the government itself. Over time I could gather power, sway important people to my side, and simply take over from within the system. It’d be very neat and tidy.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
He adjusts his glasses. “Because it’d be too easy. How would that be any different from my current life? No. I needed something different. A challenge. Something unpredictable. I needed the Games.”
“The Games?” I don’t follow.
“Yes. They’re the epitome of unpredictability and danger. Inside the arena was the first time when I couldn’t accurately predict every event. The first time I felt intellectually challenged.”
He’s a lunatic. Vizio is certifiably insane. I already thought so, but this just proves it. He’s gone off the deep end and lost his mind. 
“So I came up with this plot. I’d make myself the mastermind of rebellion and concocted a plan that would require my presence in the arena. I rigged my own Reaping—volunteering would make myself far too suspicious—and had The Whispers do the same with a high-value soldier. From there it was simply handling the small details.
“I do not intend to merely overtake the country and leave it at that. No. I have a plan to create an empire to rival the greatest ones in history. The Roman Empire. The British. The American. All of them were impressive in their own way, but they will be nothing to the one I intend to craft. A human empire. One that stretches the entire globe and beyond. We shall claim the stars themselves as our own.”
I wonder when exactly Vizio lost his mind. Was he born this way? Or did it happen over time? Either way, it is clear he’s completely insane. 
“Mankind has lost its edge. We’ve stagnated. Technology has more-or-less remained the same for the past five hundred years. Such a waste. Even when Those Who Don’t Exist came upon our shores with technology that bordered upon the magical, it did not ignite our curiosity. We, as a collective, remained indifferent and indolent. I seek to change this.”
“I don’t care.” Pretty platitudes and speeches can go twist in the wind. “I just want to see the country destroyed. Can you help me with that?”
“Of course!” Vizio adjusts his glasses once more. “You cannot create something new without first destroying the old. New Panem must be brought down so that I can craft my new empire.”
I nod stiffly. “Then I am your blade.”
A small, pleased smile crosses his lips. “Very good. Then allow me to officially welcome you into the Harbingers of Dawn.”
The name is stupid but I understand the reason for it. Far easier to recruit people with a flashy name and title. Found this out firsthand with The Whispers. 
Something appears in the sky overhead. I peer out the window and frown at the sight. In the blue skies beside the Tower an airship has arrived. It is not any kind I’ve seen before. It has a flat bottom and the entire ship seems fixed to it by strong bracing. These bracings are bolted to large beams of solid metal which make up the rest of the ship’s frame. The sides of the ship is sloped inward. It is sleek and aerodynamic, and looks somewhat like an upside-down boats with a larger rear.
“What is that?” I cannot help but ask.
Vizio leans forward so that his forehead rests against the cars window. “Ah, I see. So this is my unprecedented surprise, hmm?”
I glance at the boy. What is he muttering about?
“Recognize that symbol?” Vizio gestures at the large side of the ship, where some sort of is insignia is emblazoned on the black metal. It looks like a pair of tapering towers with a beam of light shining atop them—a lighthouse?
“No.”
“That is the symbol of The City.”
“Which city?”
“The City. The one which went silent all those years ago.”
Oh. I watch the airship descend upon the District 14 airport with a disquieting sense of trepidation. The City. The original homeland of Those Who Don’t Exist, whose descendants now make up the Agents and Cards. In the first few decades of New Panem’s existence the City was the country’s staunchest ally. But over time they stopped sending supplies or ambassadors and the government grew confused by the long silence. Scouts were sent to check up on the City, but none of them ever returned. What became of the City?
No one knew. The City was never heard from again and none of their inhabitants were ever seen.
Until today, that is. 
“They fly an ambassador’s flag,” Vizio says quietly. His attention is fixed solely on that ship. “So they’ve broken their long silence. I wonder why? What is their goal? Hmm...”
I can’t find it with me to care. Their return won’t bring Thistle back. It won’t let me feel something again. It’s pointless spectacle. The only which matters is if they’ll get in my way of destroying District 14 or not. 
“This has gotten quite interesting,” Vizio’s eyes shine with an inner light as he watches the airship descend. “Quite interesting indeed.”
==Epilogue==
The results were in.
Goode leaned back in his chair and tapped away on his keyboard, sending the stream of data on his computer to all the other monitors surrounding him. The remaining six people present sat in silence and watched him work. 
The room was white and sterile. White walls, white floor, and even a white ceiling. The furniture had all been painted white and the computers were made of a white material. White was good. White was conducive for thinking. Thinking. Goode appreciated that more than anything else in life. 
“I can’t believe it took us a week to decide this!” Felipe Connors complained from his seat at the far end of the oval table.
“It was pertinent we choose the right tributes,” Lyman said with a shrug. He was by far the most jovial of the group, rarely taking anything too seriously. “President Price gave us this task for a reason, after all.”
Yes. All seven of the people assembled in this room were the among the brightest and most talented geneticists in all of New Panem. They were the ones who had completed the old Capitol data President Price found, and they were the ones to create the new Life Models for the 25th Games.
And, more importantly, they were the ones given the task of deciding which tributes would be returning. 
The Capitol data they had uncovered only contained the genetic data for a handful of Hunger Games and their tributes, but that was still a sizable sum of options. President Price had cut a few potential tributes herself, but the rest were left for the seven of them to decide which thirty would be created and sent into the arena once more. 
Of course, that created its own problem. How to decide? They’d spent a sizable discussion debating this very topic until Doctor Stone had suggested they handle it in the simplest way possible: a vote. 
There was a small ding as the results finished tabulating and flashed upon the overhead screen.
“Yes!” Lyman beat his fists against the table in excitement. “Lyman Milton will be returning!”
Lyman had debated fiercely for the boys return, championing him for no more reason than the two of them shared the same name.
“Quite interesting,” Wilhelmina leaned back, arms folded across her chest. “What an eclectic group we chose.”
Kristof said something in reply to that but, to be frank, the man’s accent was so thick that Goode didn’t understand a thing he said. 
“I suppose our ranked voting system was a sound strategy after all,” Connors admitted with a small shrug. 
Doctor Stone didn’t reply. He simply sat with hands folded before him, eyes glinting behind the glasses on his face. The head of the Science & Technology Department, Doctor Stone was a man of mystery and intrigue. Goode didn’t know much about him, but he was the only one in the group whom had direct contact with President Price, so he often held information the others didn’t.
Lyman continued to celebrate the return of his favored tributes as the rest quietly scrolled through the list of names. Goode was particularly interested to see that the boy named Topher Celene would be returning. All their data on the lad suggested he would be quite entertaining to watch inside the arena.
“The Twist for the 25th will see these tributes paired with the reaped tributes, yes?” Jandar frowned up at the screen.
Doctor Stone nodded. “Indeed.”
“But how will that work?” Jandar splayed his hands in question. “There will be thirty new tributes, but only twenty-eight returnees. Surely I don’t need to tell you the math doesn’t add up.”
Kristoff said something that sounded like an agreement.
Goode understood the concern. As all the returnees were tributes from the prior incarnation of the Hunger Games ran by the Capitol, there would be no tributes from District 14. That meant there’d be an uneven number of tributes, only fifty-eight, not sixty. 
“Oh, there’s no need to worry about that.” Doctor Stone began assembling a circle on the table before him, using what appeared to be erasers. “President Price has already given me instructions on how to remedy this problem.”
“He’s returning! Woohoo!” Lyman continued to celebrate, oblivious to the conversation occurring around him. 
“And what were these instructions?” Wilhelmina asked. 
Doctor Stone finished creating his circle and looked up with a smile. “The remaining returnee slots will be filled by two of the tributes whom finished second place in our voting.”
“And how will we decide which two they’ll be?” Goode demanded. The group had a hard enough time deciding between the original twenty-eight. 
“Oh, we won’t be the ones deciding,” Doctor Stone didn’t look up from the table. He was busy placing little toy soldiers inside his eraser circle. “In the name of fairness and equality, we will let those thirty tributes decide themselves.”
Goode and the other scientists—save
Lyman, of course—watched in silence as Doctor Stone finished creating his diorama. A neat circle with dozens of toy soldiers placed inside. 
“The thirty tributes who placed second in our voting will be sent into the Wild Card Round. There, they will compete against each other until only two are left standing,” He reached a finger out and began flicking the toy soldiers over. “These two… lucky individuals will then become our fifty-ninth and sixtieth tributes for the 25th Games.”
Goods let out a low whistle. Well now, things just got a tad more exciting.
==Status Chart==
Tribute 	Allies	Items 	Location
Alexis Ryker (2) 	N/A 	Warhammer, Dagger, Ski Goggles, Bandages, Matches, Sleeping Bag, Water	Igloo Field
Tesla Wattson (5) 	N/A 	Knife, Food, Water 	Festive Village
Reiko Sonatas (6) 	N/A 	Bow, Arrows x7 	Mines
Viscera Clomp (10)	N/A 	Knife, Screwdriver 	Mines
Rooker Irone (12) 	N/A 	Dagger x2, Soup, Water 	West Forest
Ash Carrow (12) 	N/A 	Dagger, Matches, Gasoline, Chlorine, Chemicals, Water 	Frozen Lake
Easton Harlow (13)	N/A 	Makraka, Anti-Infection, Blanket 	West Forest
==Death Chart==
Place 	Tribute 	Day Killed	Killed By 	Killed From
30th 	Kessie Barnes (13) 	1 	Ardor Prodigy (1)	Slashed chest
29th 	Techna Vision (3) 	1 	Ardor Prodigy (1)	Halberd in throat
28th 	Taylor Musslin (8) 	1 	Edison Burn (5) 	Knife in throat
27th 	Lartius Fallow (11) 	1 	Reiko Sonatas (6)	Arrow in chest
26th 	Autus Spanner (6) 	1 	Brick Slayte (2) 	Spear in back
25th 	Citrine Gleam (1) 	2 	Brick Slayte (2) 	Spear in chest
24th 	Brann Garner (9) 	3 	Brick Slayte (2) 	Spear in gut
23rd 	Tidus Flow (4) 	3 	Edison Burn (5) 	Knife in throat
22nd 	Tempest Galveston (0)	3 	The Blob 	Assimilated
21st 	Mazie Sunnoria (9) 	3 	Brick Slayte (2) 	Poisoned
20th 	Meta Chron (14) 	3 	Scyler Meios (14)	Slashed throat
19th 	Halley Vega (0) 	4 	Ash Carrow (12) 	Blown up
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Victor	 	--- 	--- 	Victor