I wasn't sure if I would but I have done another chapter. My thanks to laxgoal31 and Lost-in-a-book who reviewed the first one.

I still don't own The Hunger Games or its characters

Chapter Two

As soon as the last note of the anthem ends, the Peacekeepers escort me from the stage and into Laboratory 1. For years I have watched new tributes being shepherded into this building and it's still hard to believe that it's my turn now. I wonder if they have ever had any tributes attempt to escape? I've never seen anyone try it but there has to be a reason for the guards. Part of me wants nothing more than to run but I have enough sense left to realise it would be impossible. I probably wouldn't even make it off the stage.

I have been inside Laboratory 1 a few times before, and am no stranger to its stark white corridors, which are virtually identical to those of Laboratory 7. I am shown into a small office that looks a bit like Cassie's and left there alone. After a couple of minutes I try the door and unsurprisingly find it locked. I am a prisoner now. A prisoner who has committed no crime.

This is as far as my knowledge of the Hunger Games process goes, and I have no idea what will happen between now and when I'm taken to the train station to begin my journey to the Capitol. All I can do is sit and wait. I don't have to wait long though. I get the impression that now the reaping is over for another year, all but a few want to distance themselves from the Games as much as possible. Yes, they will have to watch on television, but I know myself that something happening on a television screen is a lot easier to deal with than something happening right in front of your eyes.

I hear the key turn in the lock and the door swings open slowly to reveal Cassie standing there, her face red and blotchy where she has been crying.

"Where were you? I looked for you when they played the anthem and you weren't there." I'm shocked by the sound of my own voice. I sound like a child, a young and terrified little girl, and I've lived through so many years of hiding every weakness that I feel horrified to hear myself sound so pathetic now.

"I couldn't bear to watch you there, Lysa. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I knew they would let me see you so I went to get this."

She holds her hand out to me and I lean over the desk to reach. Into my outstretched hand, she drops a small square of copper that looks vaguely familiar. Then I turn it over and see a roughly defined image of a fox that I have not seen for over ten years.

"Where did you get this?" I snap, annoyed that she has waited until now to tell me she had it.

"I found it. In Room 20."

That was where my father had worked so it makes sense. I remember the day when my six-year-old self had been bored and so wandered off to find the one person who I could always rely on to be doing something interesting and to not shout at me when I interfered. Father had been working but on seeing me he called me over to him and began working on a different task. A few minutes later he handed me the finished product, which was the same piece of copper I hold now.

"He told me it looked like me," I say, the memory releasing the tears that I've been holding back since my name was called.

"Lysandra, come here. Nobody can see you but me."

I stumble past the desk to Cassie and curl up on her lap like a tiny child, crying until I can cry no more.

"You have to come back," she says, although I can tell from her voice that she doesn't hold out much hope I will. This is how we have both been since I arrived back in Laboratory 7. Each trying to be optimistic for the other, neither wanting to be the one to admit to how hopeless our situation truly is.

"Be realistic, Cass. This is goodbye."

"You've given up haven't you?" she shouts. "How could you do that? Our fathers wouldn't have given up. Are you not even going to try?"

I am shocked by her anger and say nothing. Have I given up? I honestly don't know. I can't help but understand that my chances are minimal, but I will be a tribute whether I fight to stay alive or if I stand and wait for a Career's knife to bring me down at the Cornucopia. As much as I hate to admit it, Cassie's right. My father would be ashamed of me if I didn't try, and anyway, if somebody as unappealing and seemingly unintelligent as Viola Stafford can become a Victor then why can't I?

I decide to admit this to my cousin but as I open my mouth to speak the door swings open and one of the Peacekeepers walks in, asking her to leave.

"Just a bit longer, please," Cassie whispers, but if the man hears her it doesn't show. We embrace once more and then she is gone. Once again I am standing alone in the office, clutching the square of copper and staring at the door.

The door opens once more. Maybe it's time to leave? Another Peacekeeper walks in but he is accompanied by Lucius. I dread to think what I must look like. It will surely be obvious that I've been crying. Still, I have nothing to lose now. He can't threaten to hurt or kill me. The Capitol will manage that quite soon enough and will be most vexed if he takes that pleasure away from them.

"As you will surely never be returning, I need to know what stage you're at with the work you've been doing."

He stares down at me and I know then for the first time that I am capable of taking the life of another person, in my mind at least. I'm still not certain if I will be able to kill another tribute in the arena but it's a start. I ignore him completely, fighting hard to keep my face expressionless.

"Well, answer me," he commands.

"Work it out for yourself," I reply. "You can do nothing to me now, and don't even try to tell me you will harm Cassie. I know you need her and the work she is doing. Besides, if I'm as hopeless a case as you believe then it will hardly be worth your while."

"You're too clever for your own good, Lysandra Redwood," he snaps. "You will know I'm right when you don't get past the first day in the arena."

He storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him. It opens a second later and I'm taken back through the corridors to a car that's waiting outside to take me to the train. Lucius cannot seriously have expected me to answer him politely like I have been forced to do in the past, can he? No, he was coming to gloat, to celebrate my misfortune, to punish me because of whatever grievance he had with my father. After all, he had called me 'Redwood' not 'Newton', and his hatred of me could never have been caused by my own actions. I wish that I had more time here. Time to find out about what really happened, about the events that led to my father's murder. But then maybe it's better that I don't know. It doesn't matter now anyway, the chances are that I will never have the opportunity to make that decision.

I arrive at the train station before I realise this is only the third time in my life that I have been in a car. Once as a six-year-old to go from Laboratory 7 to the community home and once at thirteen to make the return journey. It doesn't seem as important to me as it might have done this time last week and as the Peacekeeper opens the door I realise that I will not have the opportunity to think any more of it.

There are camera flashes everywhere and a large crowd of people surround me, calling my name and pushing microphones in front of my face.

"What do you feel about becoming a tribute, Lysandra?"

"Lysandra, do you think that you will be a contender in the Games?"

"What will your strategy be in the arena?"

I say nothing as the Peacekeepers surround me and practically carry me in the direction of the train, fighting their way through the mob. Do they seriously expect me to answer their questions? What do they think I will say? That I am deliriously happy to be seemingly sent to my death as I have secretly been training for the moment my name was pulled from the reaping ball since I was five years old? I think it's blatantly obvious to everyone that there's very little chance of me winning, and if I did have a strategy I would be a very special kind of stupid to reveal it on a television broadcast that is compulsory viewing for the entire nation.

Somebody lifts me up into the train at the same time as Alecto, my fellow tribute, escapes the clutches of the reporters and climbs up to stand beside me. They call our names repeatedly and we are forced to pose for photographs. He looks even thinner now that I have the chance to look at him more closely, like he has gone through all of his seventeen years without ever having a decent meal.

I escape into the cabin as quickly as I can and then come to a sudden stop. I have never seen such an opulently decorated room. The wallpaper is a deep shade of red and the wood of the table and chairs is an equally deep mahogany. The table has already been prepared for a meal and every plate, glass, knife and fork looks like it is made from solid gold.

As Alecto moves to stand beside me I can see that he is even more stunned by his surroundings than I am. So stunned that he visibly jumps when Icarus and Viola bustle into the room.

"We will be departing for the Capitol immediately. I suggest you get some rest before dinner. You have a very busy few days ahead of you,"

"I'm sure we'll be very busy preparing to meet our end in the most entertaining way possible. We wouldn't want to disappoint the Capitol."

"That kind of attitude will not win you sponsors, my girl," snaps Viola. She is clearly annoyed by me already but I really don't care.

Two Avoxes in simple white tunics enter the cabin and one of them approaches me, gesturing for me to follow her. She looks even younger than me. What can she possibly have done to deserve her fate? I have seen many Avoxes before. They are a common sight in District 5 as they often come to collect paperwork for officials in the Capitol, but I still don't get used to them and the pity that I feel.

The chambers I'm given are about four times the size of my room in District 5. The first thing that I notice is that the curtains don't have a single hole in them. I walk around the room a couple of times, marvelling at the luxury that surrounds me, before I realise that as much as I dislike Viola she does have a point and having a rest is an appealing idea. I lie down on the massive bed and let the movement of the train rock me to sleep.


"Lysandra, wake up!" is the first thing that I hear, accompanied by lots of incredibly loud knocking on the door. I sit up slowly and, after a few seconds, walk over to open the door. Icarus is standing in the doorway, his hideous orange suit exchanged for an equally hideous lime green version which clashes just as badly with his hair. Why do all Capitol people look so…alien?

"Dinner's in five minutes and you haven't even changed your clothes."

I consider asking why I have to change my clothes when the ones I'm wearing really aren't dirty, but then I decide that it is better not to argue over small insignificant details. If I co-operate at this stage then there is a very small chance that they may listen to me in the future if I object to something else. I suddenly have this vision of a tribute girl from a previous year who was forced to go through the Opening Ceremony completely naked.

I rush over to the drawer cabinet and, after searching through a number of brightly coloured dresses, pull out a red tunic and a pair of black trousers. Five minutes later I open the door of my cabin and set off down the narrow corridor towards the cabin that I had first seen.

The four others are already there waiting when I arrive, sitting around the table obviously waiting to eat. There is already food there, which looks exactly like the food I had seen in the Banquet Hall. Food fit for the Capitol. I can't believe it was only yesterday that I had been there. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Alecto is clearly finding it very difficult not to start eating and has picked up a bread roll before I even sit down. He doesn't notice the glare given to him by Viola but I do and I quickly start eating my own roll before being given permission. I don't know why I take every opportunity I get to annoy her but I do. It's one of the few amusements that I have.

Now we are all present, talk turns to our prospects in the Games and what our strategy will be. I try to block them out and eat as much of the amazing food as I can. Every time I clear my plate an Avox appears, carrying something else so that I can fill it up again. I have never eaten so much in my life.

"Maybe they have hidden talents."

I look up at this particular comment from Icarus, who was staring at me intently from behind his purple fringe.

"If they have they are very well hidden."

Viola, obviously.

"I think we should get the Opening Ceremony over with first. There will be time enough to discuss strategy properly when we get to the Training Centre."

Marcus smiles slightly at me and I wonder what he has to be happy about, that is beside the fact that he isn't sitting where I'm sitting. Then I remember the girl in the square. Today had been her last reaping, she was safe and would never be chosen.

"One of them could still win," says Icarus. "You can never tell what the Gamemakers will do each year. There's still a chance."

"Yes, there's still a chance," agrees Marcus, using the same tone of voice that Cassie used when telling me that I had to come home.

There is a loud crash and I almost jump up from my seat. When did I become so easily startled? I look in the direction the sound had come from and am surprised to see Alecto, who had hit the table with his fist.

"Do you think there's a chance that my family will survive without me? Since my father left I'm the only one working to feed a family of eight. Without me they will all starve. What does the Capitol think of that? Maybe they should go to District 5 and film them as they die to provide the people with even more entertainment!"

He shouts the last sentence, directing his rage at Icarus, the only person from the Capitol that he can. Despite how shocked I was by the first sign of his impending outburst, I am even more shocked by his words. He has barely said a word since the reaping and given no indication that he felt anything more than a quiet acceptance of his fate. I feel sorry for him but I feel sorry for myself too. If I couldn't see that coming then will I really be as good at reading the emotions of the other tributes as I thought I might be? And that is the only chance I have. I can't beat them with physical strength so I will have to use mental strength, the only weapon I have.

"You'll just have to try very hard to win then, won't you?" Icarus replies.

He appears completely unmoved by Alecto's speech, as does Viola. I don't know what to say but I feel like I should say something to support my fellow tribute, despite the fact that in less than a week we will be in the arena competing for survival by trying to kill each other. I open my mouth to speak and catch Marcus gesturing for silence in my direction without even looking at me, as if he knew I was going to protest before I knew it myself. Am I that easy to read? Now I'm even more worried. Avoxes bring in the last course of our meal, a huge chocolate cake, and we eat in silence.


"We should go to watch the competition," says Marcus, breaking the silence. "They're going to replay the other reapings now."

I'm not sure if I really want to see what the other tributes are like but at this particular moment in time I'm happy to go with any suggestion that enables me to leave this carriage. The five of us get up and walk the short distance to the next cabin, again richly decorated but with dark green wallpaper this time, just as the anthem begins.

I sit down in one of the five huge armchairs in front of the television screen and force myself to watch as the commentator announces himself and the reaping for the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The seal of the Capitol appears and seconds later 'District One' flashes up in red letters.

"District 1 is always entertaining," says Viola.

It's okay for her. The Games are just a distant memory to her and her youngest child was nineteen five years ago. She can view the reapings as entertaining. I cannot.

The people and buildings of District 1 appear on the screen. They're so grand that we could almost be watching the Capitol. As they are the first district, I get to hear their mayor recite the same speech that I heard only hours before. He finishes and makes his introductions then, as the escort draws the first name from the reaping ball, a mass of people surge towards the stage. The same thing happens every year in District 1. It is such an honour to win the reaping that everyone who believes they are capable of winning the Games races to be the one to get there first.

"That's how the reaping works in District 1," says Icarus, struggling to contain his laughter. "The first boy and girl to reach the stage win."

"I can see that." I reply, struggling to contain my contempt for the whole process as much as he is his laughter. He just glares at me in return so I say nothing further.

With all the commotion going on I don't hear the names of the two tributes but I can see who they are, as the escort is holding their arms high into the air to symbolise their victory. Both are twice my size, but this is not the first thing I notice. The first thing I notice is the girl. She is incredibly beautiful, with big green eyes and blonde hair that falls in waves down her back. There goes everybody else's chances of winning sponsorship based on their good looks, not that I had much chance of doing that anyway. She looks down into the crowd of unsuccessful would-be-tributes with a look of such disdain that I can see she's been used to looking down on people all of her life. I wonder if she will find the arena as easy to cope with as she thinks she will? One thing is certain; there will be no luxury goods there.

"Looking like that will get her more sponsors than most of the rest put together."

Honestly, if it was part of the Hunger Games to award a prize to the person who can be most relied on to continually state the blindingly obvious then our escort would undoubtedly win. I choose not to comment as the broadcast is moving on to District 2.

My first impressions of District 2 are completely different to those I had of District 1. As one of the closest districts to the Capitol, it is responsible for maintaining the city's electricity supply, amongst other things that we have never been told of. I can see signs of this surrounding the area where their reaping is taking place. The camera crews appear to be perched on top of electricity pylons and I wonder how they can possibly do this safely. The buildings look a great deal like those of District 5 in size and shape but they are grey and dirty rather than white and perfectly maintained. I imagine that's because the citizens of the Capitol see more of my district on the television. After all, they are bound to want to see where their cosmetics and hair dye comes from and would be horrified if it came from somewhere that looked like District 2.

The usual introductions are made and I wait for the mob to rush to the stage. They never appear. A slip of paper is pulled from one of the reaping balls, which both look unusually full for a district with a population of only around seven thousand. It appears to be the male tribute who is chosen first and when the name is announced a small boy of about twelve or thirteen walks towards the stage. There is something strange about this boy that I can't quite work out.

As I watch him get closer and closer I realise what it is. There are no horrified cries from his parents, no collective drawing in of breath as a sign of disgust from a crowd that does not wish to see another defenceless child sent to his death. Even the boy himself does not look the slightest bit scared as he climbs the steps and takes his position on the podium. I am about to ask Marcus if this is normal, as I watch the boy smiling and waving at somebody in the crowd, when the escort asks if there are any volunteers. The group of eighteen year olds immediately clears a path for a hugely muscled, vicious looking boy, well, man really, who saunters up to the stage, announces himself to the crowd and moves to stand beside the mayor as all of the people gathered there cheer. What chance can I possibly have against the likes of him?

"I don't understand," I say. "I know that District 2 is a career district so why was there no competition to win the reaping?"

"They have the competition a whole month before the day of the reaping. To give the winners time to recover before the Games start. In the other Career districts nobody obviously trains for the Games but in 2 they're all trained together."

I decide immediately that I don't wish to know what happens to the losers in that particular competition. "A school for Careers?" I suggest slightly mockingly to Marcus. "Doesn't the Capitol know? Everyone knows it's illegal to prepare for the Games."

"I thought you were cleverer than that, Lysandra. Of course they know. But having the Career Tributes makes for more entertaining viewing. As long as they're not fighting in the streets and don't have 'Hunger Games Tribute Training Centre' on a sign over the door, the Capitol are more than happy to deny all knowledge."

"Oh," I say. It all seems obvious now that he's said it.

"Orphaned children, or children whose parents simply can't afford to feed them are often left at the gates of what they call the Training Centre. These are the children who will grow up to have the chance to fight to represent District 2 in the Games when they're eighteen. That's why the other children take as many tesserae as they like and have no fear of becoming tributes. The only time the person whose name is drawn on reaping day will actually go to the Capitol is if they are a Career Tribute older than fifteen."

"How do you know so much about them?"

"I heard them talking about it in training when I was a tribute. Both from 2 were more than happy to discuss how many they killed to get to the position they were in."

I find it both interesting and horrifying to hear about the lives of people from other districts. Many things I hear about District 2 make me think more fondly of my own district. 'Stop it', I tell myself. You're only thinking that because you know you will never see it again. Things happen in my district that make District 2 look like paradise.

My focus returns to the television just as the escort announces the name of the girl tribute. A girl by the name of Clove. I don't quite catch her last name as the crowd are still cheering for the man called Cato so loudly that the Capitol escort's voice is drowned out.

The camera fixes on a girl standing at the front of the seventeen-year-old's enclosure. She has pale skin, shoulder length dark hair, and in her way is just as beautiful as the girl from District 1. Except she looks a hundred times more deadly. The shock of being chosen shows on her face, although she is clearly trying to hide it. A boy only slightly smaller than Cato who is standing behind her gives her a slight push, and when she quickly spins round to face him he runs backwards so fast he falls over the people standing behind him. Clove smirks and walks away in the direction of the stage. This one is clearly feared. Disgusted with myself, I realise that I fear her too.

The cameras return to the group of people on the stage as Clove approaches them. They especially focus on Cato, who is watching her intently. He's probably thinking of how he's going to kill her, I decide, but even as I think it I can see that is not the case. There's another emotion showing on his face, one that I can't quite identify but definitely isn't hatred. They shake hands and turn to face the crowd for the anthem. Neither meets the eyes of the other even once.

The programme quickly cuts to District 3 but nothing really stands out about this reaping. I see a girl who appears to be my age or a little bit younger and a boy who looks barely old enough to be eligible. They have both been well fed though, and do not have the haunted look in their eyes that a lot of Panem's children possess. By the time we see District 4 I am too busy thinking about my own reaping to notice much of what is going on on the screen. District 4 is traditionally the third Career district and although the tributes do not make the same impact on me as those from 1 and 2 did, I do notice this year is no different.

Then I see the familiar buildings of District 5. I see Mayor Stafford standing on the stage with Icarus, Viola and Marcus, just as I did in real life only hours earlier. As Icarus moves towards the first reaping ball, the nerves I felt at the time return to me in full force, even though I already know what will happen. I cling to one of the armchair's many cushions but make myself continue to watch, tasting blood and realising that the self-inflicted cut on my lip has reopened. I remember how hard I was trying not to let my emotions show and hope I was successful. My name is shouted into the silent crowd once more and the camera finds me almost immediately. The pessimistic side of me thinks I look small and weak. The more optimistic side of me, such as it is, sees that I am not crying. In fact I don't even look upset. If anything I look angry.

"You do at least have enough sense to look like you have a plan then," hisses Viola. "That's the secret, to always appear one step ahead of everything even if you don't feel it. That will get you sponsors because they will want to see what you do next."

From a woman as perpetually miserable as the mayor's wife, I take this as a compliment. The first one that I have ever heard her give. Maybe she doesn't think I'm a complete lost cause. She thinks that I look like I already have a plan, so I suppose I should try to think of one. If I work really hard in training I might be able to learn to use one weapon well enough to survive. Or I could use Viola's own strategy of doing whatever she could to stay out of the way and make the others forget about her until the very end when there was only one other tribute alive. I even consider attempting to form an alliance with the Careers. I then come to the conclusion that I will never be able to learn to fight in three days and that Cato and Clove would kill me before I could even speak. Only Viola's method has potential.

"Lysandra, are you paying attention to this at all? How will you compete if you don't know against whom you are competing?"

Viola brings me abruptly back to reality and as my gaze returns to the screen I see a boy with a crippled foot hobble to the stage to complete his part in the familiar ceremony. He makes his way slowly up the steps and in a way I'm glad to see him struggle. This means one less tribute to worry about, for surely he will not be a threat.

Shockingly, I have been daydreaming throughout not only the end of my own reaping but also for the duration of four other ceremonies. The boy with the crippled foot must be from District 10 because red letters spelling 'District Eleven' appear. It's immediately obvious that District 11 is the agricultural district, as wide expanses of fields and orchards are clearly visible, stretching into the distance behind the dilapidated buildings and narrow, dusty streets of the main square.

Apart from the Careers, this year seems to be the year for very young-looking tributes. On seeing the girl from 11 it's almost impossible to believe that she is any older than ten. I wait for her to break down and weep, sure that this will be one who has to be dragged onto the stage kicking and screaming for her mother, but I am proved wrong. The girl holds her head high and walks with short but determined steps all the way from the back of the crowd to the front. As she climbs the steps there is a call for volunteers but none come forward.

The male tribute is selected and he doesn't have nearly as far to walk. The only thing he has in common with his female counterpart is his dark coloured skin and eyes. He has the appearance of a Career Tribute and is easily as big and threatening as Cato. He moves to stand next to the girl, towering over her. He is at least four times her size and could kill her with only his bare hands and very little effort. He isn't a Career though, that much is clear to see, for when he looks down at her I see nothing but pity in his eyes.

All I feel is relief when 'District Twelve' flashes up on the screen. Only one left. I feel exhausted and seeing my fellow tributes has done nothing to increase what little confidence I have that I will live to see the end of next week.

District 12's only surviving victor staggers drunkenly onto the stage and makes a grab for the Capitol escort, who pushes him away as quickly as she can, but not before he knocks her bright pink wig way off-centre. I can't help smiling, especially when I imagine Viola's face if she was put in the same position. The escort, Effie Trinket, rapidly tries to salvage something from the situation by trotting off on her ludicrously high heels towards the girls' reaping ball. She calls 'Primrose Everdeen' and yet another tiny girl makes her way to the front of the group. Then another girl sprints after her, screaming her name. She pushes the younger girl out of the way and shouts that she wants to volunteer with obvious desperation in her voice. When she is accepted onto the stage and announces her name as Katniss Everdeen I realise what has happened. The escort calls for applause and there is complete silence, then everyone in the crowd raises their left hand with their three middle fingers outstretched in salute to the girl who has given her own life for her sister's.

The rest of the final reaping passes without incident and before I know it, the anthem is playing to signal the end of the broadcast. I can hear the others begin to chat amongst themselves but I try to block them out. All I can think about is Katniss and the sacrifice she made. Now she is a tribute on a train to the Capitol, just like me, but her circumstances are so very different. She is not a tribute because her name was drawn from the reaping ball, she is a tribute because she has a sister who she loves so much she is willing to die for her. I realise that despite the fact we will surely share the same fate in the arena, what I am feeling is jealousy.