Always' A/N: Hello, everyone. It is my delight to welcome you to the first chapter of "Blood Dreams", a 24/24 collaboration, with twenty-four very talented authors [including me!] each writing the P.O.V. of one tribute.

The first 24/24 collaboration is called "Tears Of Blood" by 24tributes24authors. I recommend that story, and the sequel: "Bring Them To Their Knees".

Now without further ado, we bring you. . .the reapings of District 1!


Blye Ivory, 15 ~ District 1 Female

I've got cookies

Blye Ivory. . .won't volunteer this year. She won't volunteer at all. She is. . .

Worst nightmare ever.

I wake up in reality.

The rising sun and buzzing alarm clock remind me that yesterday was real: I won the pre-reaping.

I waited for the last girl to end her demonstrations.

There were twenty-seven of us who wanted to volunteer. I wasn't the youngest: there were two fourteen-year-olds, and one thirteen-year-old. I was fifteen – the perfect age. In fact, District 1's last victor was fifteen: Glitz; she won four years ago, so that made her nineteen now.

Finally. The last girl came out.

This is how it works: We go to the Career academy. When we feel ready, we go to the pre-reaping. When we have submitted our names, they call us one-by-one to personal demonstrations.

When the victors came, we all straightened up.

"After hard thinking, we have decided. This year's tribute will be. . ." Please say Blye. Please say Blye. "Blye Ivory."

Yes, it's me! I'm the best!

Well, that's not much of a big surprise. I could take them all down, the other girls who put their name in. There is nothing wrong with me being picked as volunteer tribute. If the victors picked someone else, I would've launched myself at her and killed her with my bare hands. But there was no need. I was way ahead.

"Blye, are you awake?" Mom asks, when she opens my bedroom doors and looks inside.

I am an only child. My father runs a jewelry store, so my mother doesn't have a need for work. They trained at the Career academy, but weren't picked as volunteers.

"Yes, Mom."

She's a little worried - that I'm so young. She doesn't want to let me go.

One way or another, I won't come back to this home.

But I can't say that she's awfully sad. She has this little pride inside her – that her daughter will volunteer at such a young age. And she has a little envy too – because she couldn't, even at eighteen.

"Then get dressed. You need to look beautiful." Pride comes up.

"Well, thanks, Mom. But it's only seven-thirty. I can still do a little jog around our street."

"If victors and trainers think you are so good at everything, then you don't need any jogs. Because you are that perfect." And here comes the envy. Gosh, sometimes she can be so irritating.

"And so what? I'm gonna' win this thing. 'Cause I am that perfect." This is my last word. I stomp to my bedroom doors and slam them in her face. I get ready for the reaping.

I'm wearing a pink dress with a high belt. I know that I'm a dangerous killing machine, but I like to look good. And Mom won't be as pissed as she should be, so she'll do my hair.

When she's done, it's only 7:50. I have some time to watch TV, but I know what will be shown there: Caesar Flickerman and the announcer guy talking about last year's Hunger Games, and what they think will happen in the District 1 reaping. I could eat something. . .no, I can't. I'm already feeling the knives, swords, and spears in my hands. Ohhh, the sweet feeling of brutalized dummy or precisely-thrown knife right into the bull's-eye.

"Blye, it's time to go." My mom rushes me. "I'll take you there by car."

"No, I'm going on foot." 'Cause I missed the morning jog because of you.

Okay, Blye, say bye to your house: Big, white, two floors. Music center. My bedroom. Walk-in closet. Furry carpet where I spent some nights because I was too sleepy. Leather sofas. Huge beds. Three flat-screen TVs. Tablet PC. And memories.

"Well, if you want to go by foot, then you should start going. It's ten minutes past eight," Mom warns.

"Bye, I'm going. See you there. I guess."

Walk, walk, walk, walk. No – jog.

I'm almost late. It's already 8:20. I don't want the victors to be mad at me.

I go to the fifteen-year-olds.

Five more minutes. Look around. Look for somebody you know. Oh, Althea – we sit together at lunch. I wave at her. She waves back. She's still in the Career academy. She told me that she doesn't feel ready this year, but I should give it a go.

Yes! 8:30, and our crazy-looking escort Faustina Glassapple settles into her seat. She has unnatural light green skin, golden hair, and a purple skirt suit. I can't say that her name is any better than her looks. I mean, Faustina? Seriously? And let's not talk about her surname.

At this time, the mayor goes to the microphone and starts to read. It's the history of Panem. Beautiful country that's in a place people called North America. He tells us about everything that this place has been through; as a result, we now have Panem. There were the Capitol and thirteen districts. After the rebellion, District 13 was destroyed and they made the Hunger Games.

When he is done, Faustina Glassapple goes to the microphone. "Welcome, everybody." And her accent. The way she pronounces "l's". . .Ugh. "Happy Thirty-seventh Hunger Games. And may the odds be ever in your favor. Now, let's pick our tributes. Ladies first."

She puts her green hand into the bowl of thousands of names. There should be four of mine, but so that no one volunteers in my place, they took all "Blye Ivory"s out. Of course, that's illegal – but in District 1, no one cares.

And the Capitol closes its eyes too, so that there can be stronger and weaker tributes.

"And this year's girl tribute is Majesty Jewett. Where are you? Come here."

Majesty is on the stage.

"Are there any volunteers?"

"Yes, there is! I volunteer as tribute," I say in a very calm tone.

I know that if I'm the first one, no one else will get this spot. Well, no one else is supposed to get this spot anyway.

I run to the stage in a little jog.

This Majesty person is so pissed by my actions – she gives me a very cold look when she goes away from the stage. She has blonde hair and light blue eyes, like me. She looks older and stronger than me. I haven't seen her at school, but where have I? The Career academy. I've seen her there at training. She's good. But I'm better.

"What's your name?" Faustina asks me in her ugh-ish accent.

"Blye Ivory," I say simply.

"Well then, let's congratulate our female tribute from District One - Blye Ivory!"

They cheer for me. And they will cheer even more when I come back as a victor. A winner of these Games.

"And with the boys." Faustina reaches into the bowl of boys' names.

It's. . .

"Delight Livingston!"

I know him. I know where to look before people open a path for him. He's my neighbor. We used to play in my sandbox when we were little. We spend some time together now, too, but not so much. He's blond and has bluish-gray eyes, like I do; well, most of us here have bluish-gray eyes.

He starts to move, not being sure about it.

"I volunteer as tribute," shouts a voice from the Sixteens' area.

But he isn't the only one. A boy from the Eighteens says the same.

"Hey!" Sixteens boy says. The Eighteens boy starts to come up the steps. Sixteens boy starts to run.

The Peacekeepers go to the Sixteens boy; it seems that they want to stop him. But they don't.

"Oh, wow. . ." Faustina seems to be very entertained by all of this.

"What are you doing? Get back there!" Sixteens boy yells at Eighteens boy.

The Eighteens boy pushes the Sixteens boy. "Shut up."

This will be good. I bet this will turn out as a fight.

And it does. Sixteens boy runs at Eighteens boy, who tries to punch him, but the younger one ducks. Sixteens boy punches the big one two times. Well, maybe this won't be as entertaining as it seemed - they fight just for a little while before Wonder, one of the District 1 victors, comes to split them up.

"All right, that's enough." Wonder gestures the Sixteens boy to the stage. He tells him something more, but I can't hear it over the cheering.

"Excellent. I think it's safe to say that this is going to be an interesting year. What is your name?" Faustina asks.

"Gleam Jewett," he announces.

"District One," she declares, "I present to you your tributes for the Thirty-seventh annual Hunger Games - Blye Ivory and Gleam Jewett."

She takes a step back. "Shake hands now."

I shake his hand, once.


We go to the train station by car. A very usual one. I thought it would be a limo or something, but I guess not.

The train is more fancy than the car. Leather sofas, again; I guess those are very popular now. Carpets, crystal glasses, and a lot more. Not that I've never seen stuff like this. I mean, it's not like my dad is a jeweler or something. . .

"Sit down. Make yourselves comfortable," Faustina tells us, as we are already taking seats like this is our own house. Gleam doesn't sit next to me, but on the other side of the sofa. Farther, better. I don't want to talk to him now or later. Instead, he looks out of the window. I do the same thing.

Is he really that good, that they picked him at the pre-reaping? I mean, I've seen bigger guys at the academy. I will need to watch him. Just for my own safety.

The train pulls away from our home, District 1. I see the beautiful city of 15,000 as we pass by it.

"Now, of course, I understand that this may feel. . .very much like home to the both of you," Faustina says warmly, "and that is to be expected; we owe many of our comforts to District 1. Take those glasses, for example." With a motion of her hand, she indicates a pyramid of crystal glasses partway filled with multicolored liquids. Beside them there are various tall, full crystal bottles. "And that mirror." She points to an ornate, gold-framed mirror that hangs on the wall across from us. "And all of our artwork. In fact, District 1 is so very like the Capitol that all of the other escorts beg for my job; you see them trying to bribe their way into better positions all the time. But it'll never work!" she says, smiling self-righteously. "I have seniority!" She places her hand on her chest. "I've been in the business since the very first Hunger Games. So ha-ha!" she exclaims, head held high with what I think is a haughty expression. "Tough luck for them!"

It takes a moment for her to recompose herself.

"Well, anyway," she says as she folds her hands, "despite all of that, I believe that the Capitol will still hold a few surprises." We don't reply, or even show that we hear her. "You each have your own room, and though you'll only be here for a short time, you're free to take anything you want. Make yourselves at home. Any questions?" Faustina asks us. I'm not feeling like answering, and I think, neither is Gleam. "No. . .? Very good. Ah, and here comes Wonder – your mentor, Gleam," she says, as she gestures to Wonder.

I didn't see him yesterday at the pre-reaping, but I've seen him in the Hunger Games as mentor.

The compartment door slides open, and Wonder comes in from the other living room.

"Where is Glitz? Wasn't she with you?" Faustina asks curiously.

"Yes, she was, but I lost her somewhere," Wonder says with a small smirk.

He is thirty-three years old, and a typical District 1 blonde, grey-eyed, muscular, and 6'5". I heard that he's married to Glamor, who is eight months pregnant with their first child. So she's staying home this year.

"Then I better go get her. She can't be that lost." Faustina leaves to look for Glitz.

"I just love to mess with her like that. I needed to pump this place up a bit." Wonder's smirk grows bigger. Neither of us respond. "So while Glitz isn't here yet, are there any questions?"

I want to see the reapings so I can start thinking about alliances. Will I stay with the other Careers, or leave? Are they too weak? I just hate weak people.

"Does she ever shut up?" Gleam asks.

"Not usually, no. That won't be a problem, will it?" Wonder still tries to be funny. Never gonna' happen.

"What do you think of the competition?"

"I stopped watching around 3, but I would definitely advise you to be wary of District 2's male. He looks like trouble."

"Don't they all. . ." Gleam says, unsurprised.

"You don't say," I chime in. "I mean, District 2 and something that we should be worried about."

The compartment door opens again, and this time it's Glitz. My mentor.

Finally.


Dance's A/N: First of all, I would like to thank John 'Doc' Holliday, newbie11, and everyone else on the "Blood Dreams" team who helped me with this chapter. Your advice vastly improved it. I would also like to thank just about everyone else on the team for generally being awesome.

It's always fun writing a Career, so I'm glad I signed on when I did – you get to explore the side of the story that Katniss only glimpsed from afar, the moral relativism. Gleam and Blye might not be the strongest in the pack, but then, brutal District 2 can stomp spoiled District 1 into the ground. And despite this fact, District 1 has won before.

Gleam Jewett, 16 ~ District 1 Male

Dances With Vampires

Someone sliced a girl's head off with an axe, and kept running. (One of my sisters let out a high-pitched scream.)

It fell to the grass separate from the rest of her. Her eyes stared.

Blood ran like water.

I cried, and turned away to face the glass coffee table. I stared at the soft, pristine white carpet. She was from 9; she didn't deserve to win anyway. But I was too young to know better: I was three-and-a-half, and this was my first Hunger Games.

In District 1, we mark this day like we do a child's first steps. . .or when they stand as straight as possible in a doorway, and find out they're a fraction of an inch taller. It's a sign they're growing up.

I look forward to sharing it with my own kids. Maybe I'll take them out for ice cream or get them a puppy afterwards – you want it to be a good memory.

"Gleam, keep watching," my uncle Glaze said gently.

At that time, I didn't know he was my uncle; Crystal trailed after him, calling him Daddy. And we looked so alike, aside from his piercing blue-gray eyes. It was a rude awakening when I found out that the world wasn't that perfect.

I shook my head. He sat on the leather sofa in front of me, with an arm around my aunt Charm who was video-recording the whole thing. My four-year-old cousin Crystal sat next to her, totally caught up in the violence.

My sisters weren't much more thrilled than I was. Majesty cringed away. Sublime was on the verge of hiding behind the other sofa – that had escaped his notice. Meanwhile, I'd chosen to be right up front.

"No."

"Gleam," he said sternly.

"I don't want to."

My uncle sighed. "Keep watching, or you're going to take a nap."

I didn't say anything. I just crossed my arms and sat there. He couldn't make me.

He stood and came over, and grabbed my arm. I tried to jerk away – "No!"

"Then watch!"

I calmed down, and so did he; he rejoined my aunt. She gave me a sympathetic smile. I glared at him with all the anger I could summon, and turned around.

"She's not really dead – right?" I asked hopefully after a moment.

"Right," my aunt said. "It's just a TV show."

The boy that'd decapitated the girl was killing other people. People were getting killed everywhere. What was going on? What was this show?

"You see him?" my uncle said. "Do you know who that is?"

"A rebel?" I asked.

He and my aunt both laughed; she didn't seem able to stop. "No. . .it's Flash, a boy from District One." The boy from District 1. "Our district. He was chosen to fight in the Games, and if he wins, he'll have a lot of money. Even more than we do."

Death is as familiar to a Career as their own face in the mirror. It's ugly, but it's what you have to do to win the game.

The prize is freedom from all worries and-or cares.

Paradise.

"So he's not bad?"

"No – he's a good guy. He's a hero."

-An hour before the reaping-

I study myself in the mirror above my dresser, frowning slightly. My eyes are dark brown. My short, wavy blonde hair is combed back, and still slightly damp from showering an hour ago. I'm in a white suit that contrasts brilliantly with the healthy tan of my skin; it has a diamond embedded in the tie, near the neck.

What would he say if he could see me now? His only son: not a miner, not a jeweler, but a Career. No, hundreds of boys are Careers. Make that: a Career hand-chosen to be a tribute, by the victors themselves.

Yes – that is impressive.

Would he be proud?

Would he even give a damn? After all, he wouldn't know achievement if it walked up and slapped him.

Splendor Mowery (my father) met my mother Allure Holcombe at his day job at a spa resort. Her best friend took her there for her birthday. She was twenty-six, pretty – from the pictures I've seen, where she, her older half-brother Glaze Jewett, and their younger sister Beauty Holcombe lived with their parents and had a happy family.

They went out for a short time. He got her pregnant, and didn't even bother to show while she was dying.

Committed suicide eight years later; the story aired on the news. My uncle told me about it. I thought, that sucks, some guy jumped off a building. And then I went back to stabbing my sister with a foam sword. I'd never even spoken to him once. He didn't try to find me. He didn't care.

He was pathetic, and I'm never going to be like that.

I cross my arms over my chest and raise my head, staring at my reflection with a cold indifference. At 6'1", I'm tall and strong, and if the academy girls like to stare, why not those in the Capitol? Add that to my training scores, and you're looking at the next resident of the Victor's Village.

Not that my current setup is all that bad. It's pretty damned good, actually, all things considering. I could be in the community home, living day-to-day on bread. Would I be in the position I am right now, preparing to mount the stage? Yeah, not likely.

So what happened? Well, the cosmos decided to give me the greatest uncle and aunt that District 1 – no, Panem – has ever seen. They adopted my twin sisters and I, and raised us with their own four kids in a gated community near the square. We're talking jewelers, furriers, and vintners for neighbors; two-story houses with three-car garages, crystal chandeliers, and emerald-green lawns. That's not even the best part, though: they're both Career trainers. Could this possibly get any better?

In case you were wondering: No, it can't.

I glance around my room; one way or another, this is the last time I'll ever see it. The desk is bare below tall, rectangular windows. The curtains are open. There are acres of sun-warmed carpet between the king-size bed and the white beanbag chair that looks like a giant pillow; I've actually fallen asleep more often there, in front of the widescreen TV.

My bright blue lava lamp glows on the nightstand, next to the alarm clock. It reads – 7:45 – in bold red numbers. Time to get going. If I'm late, the victors will be pretty ticked.

I walk along the sleek, dark mahogany railing of the second-floor hallway, which overlooks the foyer. I turn the corner and fly down the carpeted stairs. "All right, I'm out of here," I call when I hit the base. "Is anyone coming with me? Maj'?"

Majesty (as a Career) is hands-down my favorite sister. No offense to Sublime, of course; she just can't appreciate what a big deal this is for me. Last night, we went out to dinner. "That's really cool," Sublime said, nodding and smiling politely. "Good job." She never said anything else about it for the rest of the night.

"Not yet," Majesty answers distractedly, holding up a hand. Shush.

Around the corner in the living room, her back is to me. Her long, curly blonde hair is in ringlets; she wears a sleeveless, jeweled pink top and jeans. She is sitting on one of the leather sofas, her pale blue eyes fixated on the TV over the fireplace.

Caesar Flickerman and the announcer show a quick highlight of last year's Games, and then talk about their anticipation of the District 1 reaping. (I cross my arms on the sofa and watch with her.) District 2 isn't exactly a favorite this year: Ace Markham was stunning as the thirty-sixth victor, but what are the odds they can pull it off twice in a row? Not in their favor. This means more people – more sponsors – are looking our way (and, to a somewhat lesser extent. . .District 4's). Good news for me.

"In a minute," Majesty assures, glancing back.

"Well, I sort of have to go now," I tell her quietly.

She sighs mock-exasperatedly and stands. "Fine, I guess I have to be extra nice to you today. . ."

My nine-year-old cousin Glitter walks over to the archway. "I'll go with you. Please?"

I consider, and then give a slight nod. "Sure."

I grab my keys off a nearby table. Majesty flips a light switch and puts in a code – the garage door rolls back.

She and Glitter walk down the three steps into the room, and over to my new red sports car. The paint still shines in the sun. I had one similar a few months ago, but some moron scratched it. I unlock and start it from a distance, and get in, pressing buttons to switch from the Capitol news broadcast to the music station.

"I'm really going to miss this thing," I say, shutting my door. "Not more than you guys, though. Well. . .maybe just a little."

Majesty slaps me hard, and I reflexively hold the back of my head, cringing. "Ow! Hey! What happened to being nice?"

Majesty smiles. "Shove it."

I laugh, and make sure that Glitter has her seatbelt on. (She puts it on now.) Majesty stares out the window.

Before long, we're in 'merchant territory': the shopkeepers and trades-people that live in smaller two-story houses and apartment buildings, but still aren't poor enough to take tesserae.

We come to a complete stop long before we reach the square – all lanes are packed with last-minute arrivals, and Peacekeepers are directing up ahead. Definitely earning their wages today. They hardly ever actually arrest or kill anyone, at least not here.

"Can I borrow your phone?" I ask Majesty.

"Yeah, sure. . ." She pulls it out of her pocket and hands it to me.

I dial my uncle's number and wait. He answers on the second ring.

"Hello. How is everything going?"

"Could be better."

"What's wrong?" He sounds surprised, and a little concerned.

"Well, we're all the way on Fourth, and traffic's backed up at least four blocks, maybe five. I would leave now, and probably take Seventh, if I were you."

"Every year," he sighs. "Don't worry, we're on our way now."

"Okay, awesome. See you soon."

I hang up and hand the phone back to her.

"Do you have to volunteer this year?" Glitter whines almost immediately.

"Yes, I do," I answer matter-of-factly.

"Why?" she persists. "Why not next year – or the one after that?"

"You know why."

I can't decide not to volunteer after all. I asked for this honor, and it was given to me. Only me. So if I say nothing, the reaping winner goes into the arena, and that's not the District 1 spirit.

Children are supposed to sleep soundly on reaping eve, knowing that even if by some infinitesimal chance their name is called, they won't need to move because someone will already be there to gladly take their place.

I was never afraid.

I don't doubt my choice for a second.

"You shouldn't have put your name in. . ."

"Well, I'm grateful that you have such a high opinion of me," I tease. She doesn't say anything. Her head is ducked, and she's staring at the floor. "We'll talk about this after the reaping, okay?" She still doesn't say anything.

I sigh.

We arrive at the full lot and park in the space reserved for this year's male volunteer. The female's space is empty. Well, she'd better hurry; it's already 8:20.

Hundreds are crossing through the grass and trees to the town square. They crane around and over each other as I step out of the car. Some wave – "Hey!" a girl calls. A guy in his twenties salutes. I smile and give a thumb's-up.

District 1's square is at the edge of a park, across the street from the towering brick Justice Building with marble pillars. It has a permanent stage (normally used for concerts and shows) in-between four fountains with flashing colored underwater lights, and gold coins lining the bottom. The sign-in tables are along the fountains, but most have already taken their positions.

The podium and reaping balls are at the forefront of the stage. The mayor, escort, and five victors sit underneath a backdrop of the Capitol symbol, making light, casual conversation.

I approach the stage, stopping far enough away to where the Peacekeepers only watch. They know who I am; they don't think I'll be any trouble. Of course I won't.

Wonder stands after a moment, and comes down the steps to meet me. "You'd better hurry – reaping's in five."

"I know," I say quickly. "I just wanted to thank you again."

He raises an eyebrow. Cameras are rolling. We can't say too much, just in case, but he knows what I mean. He nods.

"You can thank me by doing what you're supposed to. Now go on. Deep breaths, clear and confident."

I turn without another word and do as told.

-The reaping-

I find Majesty and Sublime in the Sixteens. Sublime smiles encouragingly.

"Ready?" Majesty says, barely above a whisper. I nod, and turn my attention to the stage – everyone is quieting now as the clock hand falls upon the '6'. 8:30.

The mayor stands and walks to the podium. He clears his throat and begins to read what I like to call the Panem National Anthem: it's always the same, and always just as long, and every citizen can recite it from memory. Can't they write a summary and be done with it?

"In the mid twenty-fifth century," he says, "North America, spanning all corners of Panem and farther, began to show signs of cracking under wildfires, earthquakes, floods, tornadoes, hurricanes, famines, droughts, and civil war. As the rest of the world looked on.

Three hundred years later, North America was unrecognizable. The sea had swallowed so much land. What had once been the brightest, most modern cities lie in broken heaps. Dilapidated. Pitch dark at night. Crawling with vermin and disease. So few people were still alive, most of them skin and bones, that it seemed as good an apocalyptic wasteland as those in any film that had ever existed. There was murder and anarchy. As the rest of the world looked on.

But just when the rest of the world had counted them out, the people of North America found the strength to rise up off of their knees and begin civilization anew. It would be the greatest civilization in history, more prosperous and efficient than any before. And thus, Panem was born. It shuts out the world because when it was in need of help, the world shut it out.

No citizen of Panem would go unemployed, the noble and compassionate Capitol vowed – everyone would have a purpose: to serve the greater good of the collective. In District One, this meant adding comfort, beauty, and elegance to an otherwise harsh and unforgiving reality.

But over time the thirteen districts became ungrateful. They wanted more than their fair share, which the Capitol – of course – denied them. So the districts declared war. Of all the things they could have done, this was clearly the least responsible because it cost millions of lives in a country that had just ended centuries of civil war and pulled itself back from the brink of extinction.

However, the districts were not as enlightened as the Capitol and didn't learn from their mistakes. They were barbaric and treasonous. They made attempts on the President's life. They destroyed the shining metropolis that had protected them and given them everything. They killed innocent people. Children. But in the end they got what they deserved, and order was restored, all rebels punished or executed. Civilization was saved.

And so, every year, the twelve remaining districts must sacrifice two of their own children to the Capitol they so wronged. They mustn't be angry, for they brought this on themselves, and the Capitol is enlightened and merciful – one of their sacrifices may be allowed to return home. It is a time for repentance and a time for thanks. In District One, five of our sacrifices have been returned to us: Silka Quile, in the fourth Hunger Games; Mylar Hawbek, in the eighth Hunger Games; Wonder Royal, in the twentieth Hunger Games; Glamor Delsbey, in the twenty-fifth Hunger Games; and finally, Glitz Fenon, in the thirty-third Hunger Games."

Each victor stands when their name is read. Wonder takes Glamor's hand and helps her to her feet; she's well into her pregnancy.

The applause and cheers are deafening.

All at once, they are seated again.

The mayor gestures to a middle-aged woman with gold hair and green skin, dressed in a purple skirt suit. "Now, if you will all welcome our escort, Faustina Glassapple. Thank you. And may the odds be ever in your favor."

Faustina is all smiles as she's given the floor. We applaud. "Welcome, everybody," she says breathlessly. "Happy Thirty-seventh Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favor. Now, let's pick our tributes. Ladies first." She draws a name from the girls' bowl. "And this year's girl tribute is Majesty Jewett. Where are you? Come here."

I look at Majesty in shock, and then grin. For many reasons:

What are the odds?

This is such a joke; the escort acting like a reaping winner will actually go into the arena.

She is going to be so pissed two minutes from now; she already didn't win the nomination – this is adding insult to injury.

And we both know it.

"Why?" she mouths to me incredulously – before the Sixteens part for her, and she nevertheless walks onto the stage with her head held high. Disdainful of us non-reaped mortals.

"Are there any volunteers?" Faustina asks.

Are we in Panem? Are there twelve districts? Are there going to be Hunger Games from here to eternity?

Majesty tenses. She's hoping against hope that no one will answer. But of course, that's just a dream.

"Yes, there is!" someone says in a calm, clear voice. "I volunteer as tribute."

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of a short, small girl with long, wavy blond hair jogging past the Sixteens.

I raise an eyebrow – the victors chose that as my competition? That? Thank you again, cosmos. I really do owe you one.

Majesty stares at the girl coldly as she passes her on the steps. I laugh and shake my head.

I lean closer to her when she returns. "You could take her down six ways to Sunday."

"With a bow and one arrow," she whispers in disgust. "Blindfolded."

"What's your name?" Faustina asks the girl once she's on stage.

"Blye Ivory."

"Well then," Faustina says brightly, "let's congratulate our female tribute from District One - Blye Ivory!"

Again, there is applause and cheering. Majesty and I join in, simply out of tradition. Respect? I don't know, maybe. There had better be more to her than meets the eye, or I will have very little problem taking her down on Day One.

"And with the boys."

Here it is – my moment. Instantly, I straighten up, but I feel tense; maybe I'm not ready after all.

I close my eyes. Deep breaths. Clear and confident, I remind myself, trying to relax my muscles. They open again, staring at the Sixteens in front of me, just as she announces:

"This year's boy tribute is Delight Livingston!"

As far as tributes go, he isn't half-bad either: average height and build. He starts toward the stage, a little uncertain. . .

Move! I order myself.

Delight doesn't take three steps into the aisle before I turn and pass Majesty and Sublime, coming forward – "I volunteer as tribute." Delight stops in his tracks.

I'm not the only one who says it.

Magic, from the Eighteens. He received the next-highest score at the pre-reaping.

My muscles tense again, but this time it's not from stage fright. "Hey!"

He starts up the steps.

I break into a run – the Peacekeepers start to move as if to stop me, but decide against it – and slam him against the stage.

"Oh, wow. . ." Faustina looks appalled and a little frightened at the scene below her.

"What are you doing?" I snap at him. "Get back there!"

He grabs me and throws me to the foot of the steps. "Shut up."

Dazed on the ground, I know this is about to become a fistfight – he's coming down toward me. I quickly get to my feet and run at him. He responds with a carefully planned roundhouse punch; I duck, and the wide swing whistles over my head. I launch two punches in quick succession, one arm then the next, knocking the wind out of him.

And as I stand, I follow with an uppercut, bringing my fist into the bottom of his jaw; he's sent staggering back.

With a howl of rage and pain, he comes charging at me, probably to catch me in a bear hug. You watch this at the academy: a larger, more powerful Career using his brute strength to crush the life out of his opponent, until they either break free (not likely) or pass out (almost inevitable). My first impulse is to run. Dodge. Something. But Career or not, nobody is going to sponsor a coward, and that's not what I am. I'm a fighter.

I stand my ground and bring my right leg up toward him, then snap it out and push it into his gut. He falls backward onto the ground. I watch, breathing hard, hair falling into my eyes.

"All right, that's enough." Wonder has come to stand next to the podium; he beckons me onto the stage. "Good work."

Two Peacekeepers escort the boy to the Eighteens. The crowd is going wild. Justice has been served; the rightful tribute is taking his place next to the female. I gaze around at all of them – my adoring fans, my district people – and punch my fist into the air. Many eagerly do the same.

This high. . .it's like I'm already a victor.

Faustina beams. "Excellent. I think it's safe to say that this is going to be an interesting year. What is your name?"

"Gleam Jewett," I announce proudly.

"District One," she declares, "I present to you your tributes for the Thirty-seventh annual Hunger Games – Blye Ivory and Gleam Jewett."

She takes a step back. "Shake hands now."

I approach Blye and grip her hand firmly; I shake once, smirking.

-After the reaping-

"Are you nervous?" Uncle Glaze asks, as he holds out my token. It's a wide bracelet inlaid with at least five-dozen small diamonds; it's a work of art.

"Should I lie, or tell the truth?" I reply, admiring the bracelet as I put it on. "No, I'm not nervous at all," I lie confidently. "I know I can do this."

My family are my only visitors, so they were given the full hour. They're all standing around me, except for Glitter, who stubbornly insists on waiting by the doors.

"You can do this." My uncle places his hands firmly on my shoulders. "That's why I recommended you – 'Let me tell you something about Gleam', I said. 'He doesn't have friends; he has sparring partners. He eats, sleeps, and breathes the Games; attachment to alliances will not even be a factor.' Fail, and I won't be able to show my face in there again." I nod grimly. "And that would be a fine way to repay me for all that I've done."

He's given me everything. Now I have to prove that I was worth it.

"I'm just afraid of ending up like Flash."

"Now's not the time to be afraid," he says. "Now's the time to learn from his mistakes."

I nod again. "I will."


The hour is almost over, and Glitter is sitting all alone in a corner with her knees to her chest.

I've already said my goodbyes to everyone else. I cross the room, and kneel in front of her.

She glances at me, and then looks down.

"I know," I sigh. "I'm a horrible human being. How dare I show my face in your presence?" She's chewing her lip, fighting an involuntary smile. "Do you think you could ever forgive me?"

She shakes her head.

"Well then, there's really no point in coming back from the arena, I guess. . ."

She looks up, startled, but quickly realizes that I don't mean it. She's amused and upset at the same time. "Stop it!"

"Stop what?" I ask, frowning in mock-bewilderment.

"That!"

"What?"

"Joking! This isn't funny!" Now she's all anger.

"I can't win unless I know you believe I can," I tell her seriously. "Trust me. I'll be right here at your reaping."

"And what if you don't win?" Tears start to form in her eyes.

"If for some weird, totally bullshit reason I don't, that's no excuse for you to stop training. Do you hear me? The Jewetts aren't quitters. You might succeed where I failed, and then our family will still have a victor."

Glitter wraps her arms around my neck and starts crying. I carry her to the sofa, where she sits on my lap until it's time for all of us to leave.

A Peacekeeper opens the door. Shine, Glow, and Crystal are the first to file out into the hall.

I pry Glitter's arms from around my neck, and set her aside on the sofa. "Okay, come on," I tell her, motioning toward the door, "time to go."

She's mostly gotten herself under control now. With no expression, she stands and walks out with Uncle Glaze, taking his hand.

Aunt Charm gives me one last embrace, and I hug her back, closing my eyes tightly. "I love you."

"I love you too," she says quietly. "So help me. . ."

-On the train-

As I stare out the window and watch the city flash past, glowing in the morning sun, filled with ordinary citizens happily going about their lives, I know – I swear – this will not be the last time I see District 1.

Faustina Glassapple starts talking. On and on. A little about the district: how great we are. We already know. But she can tell us again if she likes. Mostly about herself and how great she is.

Then something about Blye and I having our own rooms; good thing she acknowledged we won't be here that long, or I'd be tempted to roll my eyes. Very disrespectful to a Capitol citizen, something expected of a lesser tribute. So I control myself, watch the meadows of District 1's wilderness dissolve into a green blur, and keep a dull, almost bored expression on my face. There's no point in changing clothes or falling asleep, because we're only a two-hour ride from the Capitol.

The compartment door slides open. It isn't my mentor this time – it's Blye's.

Wonder, Blye, and I watch Glitz Fenon approach, smiling pleasantly at all but the former.

"Blye, Gleam." She nods to each of us. "Good to see you again." It's only been since yesterday at the pre-reaping. . . "You're ignoring each other. Typical," she continues, amused. "But both of you look like real fighters; you were chosen for a reason – because we believe that out of all the students who submitted their names yesterday, you are the most likely to give District One its next victor."

Suddenly, Glitz rounds on Wonder: "Now what's this about losing me?" she demands, playfully offended. She pokes him hard in the chest. "I was in the dining car with the other mentors, as you knew perfectly well."

"Ow, that hurt," he teases. "I didn't mean anything by it, honest. I was just trying to get her out of the room."

"Uh huh – sure you were. Am I getting on your nerves, Wonder? Am I a pest?" Wonder just laughs. "Well, I'm gonna' be!"

"You'd think they were married," I murmur to Blye, smiling. "Want to go watch the reapings?"

"Yeah, sure. Why not?" Blye says unemotionally.

We stand and enter the other living compartment that Glitz just came out of, where there are more sofas and chairs made of soft leather; another table covered by an expensive cloth and more food than the escort, all five victors, and both tributes combined could possibly eat in two hours (without getting sick); and a wall-mounted television that's been on since we got here.

District 4's reaping just ended. Now it's a commercial break, and then the Capitol will show recaps and move on to 5's. The power district. They're important, necessary, etc. – who doesn't love electricity; we're using electricity right now, in fact – but their tributes are usually less than uninteresting.

So we sit there in an awkward silence. All I hear are the sharp knives next to the steak calling my name. We gaze around the room, or out the window, where you can see the first stone quarry. It's near the edge of the district fence, deserted for today.

Then the recaps start, and we focus intently on the screen, not wanting to miss any details about the other Careers.

She's just fifteen, but Blye is way more relaxed than I am when she takes the stage. She seems calmer in general, and more reserved; she's hardly said a word since we got on the train. Then there's the fact that I narrowly avoided having my skull bashed in on live television. According to the announcer, there's something to be said for a tribute that wins a fight before the Games have even begun.

There isn't much to District 2's female, Lila, either; she's completely average in every respect – height, weight, and appearance. I have to laugh when she's just staring at the crowd, everything's so quiet you can hear a pin drop, and then the escort has to go and ask her name in a tone of voice that makes it sound like she's an idiot.

True to my mentor's word, however, the male – Dominic – could tear me to shreds, let alone an outlier. Holy shit. . .is all I can think, because when he tells everyone that they're looking at the next victor, you sort of can't help but believe him.

District 3 is nothing special, no one useful. They have a volunteer, but he doesn't appear to be any more lethal than their usual reaping winners. What chance does he think he has?

District 4 is better. Strong enough to compete with us. The male – Nolan – is several inches shorter than I am, but he's muscular. And the female – Alison – is deceptively pretty for someone so vicious. The display she makes with her challenger isn't as violent as mine, but still impressive.

These – with the obvious exception of 3 – are our allies and our worst nightmares, rolled into one.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Blye asks, lifting one eyebrow.

"We'll have our work cut out for us, but at least District Three won't be a problem?"

District 5's reaping is starting now; their mayor is reading the National Anthem. But we're completely ignoring it.

"No. We should team up with Districts Two and Four. And yes, District Three won't be a problem. But now we are thinking about alliances, Gleam," Blye says harshly.

I'm stunned for a moment – but only because she's being so deathly serious about something so ridiculously simple. I smile. "What is there to think about? District One always teams up with Two and Four. I would honestly be in shock right now if you'd suggested turning and running the other way."

Not that it would be that bad of an idea. With competition like this, the finale of the Thirty-seventh Games is sure to be quite legendary.

"Yeah, well, we don't know what they will think of us."

I narrow my eyes and cock my head to the side in mock-indignation. "What are you trying to say, exactly?"

"Look at me," she replies, in that same deathly serious tone, "I'm short and all. You, maybe. I will have to prove myself."

"Yeah," I agree, "you they might have questions about, but me? No, I don't think so. . ." She's still glaring. "I'm kidding, relax. You'll do fine. There's a reason they chose you and not some eighteen-year-old."

I would love to know that reason, but I'm not stupid enough to ask. I don't even know if Wonder's allowed to tell me what it was she did at the pre-reaping demonstrations.

"Well, maybe they will be. . ." She pauses when she sees something on the screen. I follow her gaze, and stare. Smoke is coming from the District 5 stage, and the crowd is panicking and fleeing the square. ". . .worse than they look," she finishes very slowly.

A few seconds later, the feed cuts out.


Capitol TV

Currently Experiencing Technical Difficulties

We Apologize for the Inconvenience


The above message is displayed in black letters on a bright red background.

"What was that?" I ask.

The train glides past a distant village.

Blye doesn't say anything, and the TV displays that same unwavering message.

I decide I might as well shut the steak knives up. I collect all four from the food table, and then sit at a chair, facing the opposite wall.

Blye stands and walks around the sofa, leaning against it.

"I challenge you," she says with a smug, competitive smile. "I must warn you, though, I am awesomely good at throwing knives. Go first."

I hold out two knives without looking at her, and she takes them and waits. I select one of mine – they're identical: long, serrated silver blades with smooth, dark wooden handles. I hold the tip steady slightly above my eyes. I let the knife fly with a snap of my wrist – it whistles through the air, and hammers itself into the white-and-silver wallpaper with a vibrating thud.

"Your turn," I tell her.