I look out the window into the darkening surroundings. Everything is blurred by the incredible speed of the train zipping through the landscape. As the evening sets in, we haven't yet reached the Capitol. It's a day's journey away from District 6, even by train, so time management is key.

I don't mind the long trip, though, as long as I'm being left alone. Since I can do plenty of preparations before our arrival, I'm not bored at all. Although I should exercise to keep my muscles on edge, I spend most of my time remembering Ian, my deceased soulmate.

His deep voice, his crooked smile, that confident glint in his eyes. After our sexual collisions, I used to rest my head on his slightly hairy chest and stare into those grey eyes for hours, but it were never really hours. His teasing gaze always invited me for another round of love making. He never even had to say a word.

I also remember the first time we made love. We had been going steady for over half a year and somehow we had ended up in bed. Ian had felt so confident that he even farted four times in front of me. I was not amused, but he just laughed at my inconvenience and gave me that same smouldering look he always gave me. I don't know how or why, but we had made love a second time right after.

Love making. I've always considered people who called sex that way fools. Even when Ian and I were together, I had simply referred to it as sex or copulation. I suppose that was a lingering influence of the Cult.

Now I catch myself being a fool. It's astounding how Ian changed me. Or rather, how his death did. You never know what you have until it's gone, I hear sentimental folks mutter in the back of my head. I chuckle. When did I become such an emotional wimp?

Without a doubt, Ian's death triggered something inside me. Seeing him get murdered, Live, broadcast over the whole of Panem, penetrated me all the way to my core. There was no way I would just stand by idly anymore. Something needed to be done.

With renewed fury, I thrust myself into training again. I spent every waking moment of the day perfecting my muscle and nerve control and pushed myself to exceed all expectations. Mother was quite pleased. She said my performances had never been this exquisite.

Remembering Ian's death brings back other memories than training too. Much more recent ones actually, of the televised events of today, mostly the Reaping. Leshana Merryweather calling out my name with her booming voice, the quiet crowd, Holly Jones, the female tribute, scared to death beside Leshana. Next the surprisingly emotional parting with my mother and the amusing tantrum of the High Priestess.

After our goodbyes, Holly and I were taken to the train station in a small car. We were accompanied by Peacekeepers and the ever so positive Leshana. However, during the ride, none of us said a word, which was a relief. The last thing I wanted was mindless cackling.

Our little car drove past the tree line leading up to the pompous train station of District 6 and stopped as soon as we arrived. So near to the station, the building looked even more overwhelming and enormous. But since transportation is District 6's specialty, the size of our train station isn't surprising.

When I turned to my side, I was surprised to see Holly looking up at the station like a tourist would. Not that any of the districts ever receive 'tourists', though. Following her example, I stepped out of the tiny vehicle and gazed at the immense building.

Although Holly might have been admiring it, this was strictly business to me. As we had been almost constantly filmed since the Reaping, I quickly searched the high, sandstone walls for cameras and film crews. I also knew from previous Games that the Capitol liked images of the train stations, especially ours for obvious reasons, so there had to be cameras.

To an ordinary person the lenses would have been nearly impossible to spot, but I saw them. I knew exactly where the Capitol had hidden their devices and used that to my advantage. Cockily, I looked straight into the cameras and grinned. Let them gawk at that!

While Holly was still distracted by the station, two more cars skidded to a stop behind ours. The last one was pretty plain and stuffed with Peacekeepers. The other one, on the other hand, was in excellent condition, shining bright like polished cutlery. However, its passengers were more intriguing.

Besides Peacekeepers, a man and a woman stepped out of the vehicle. The woman appeared to be about 5ft. 7in. tall and had long, curly, blond hair. The man, on the other hand, was clearly over 6ft. tall (my best guess was 6ft. 3in.) and slicked back his long, blond hair.

The two of them had remarkable green, almost blue-ish eyes. The more I examined them, the clearer their similarities became. They obviously had to be related, possibly siblings. But then I realised something: I recognised them!

I hadn't paid much attention to them, but I had seen them at the Reaping. Not just this year's, I'd seen them sitting on that stage for as long as I could remember. They were our mentors! Then a second realisation hit me.

Only former Victors can be mentors, so this meant that they both won a previous Hunger Games. Siblings! The odds of siblings being reaped are very slim, but the odds that they both survive are astronomical! This pair could teach me more than any of my Cult tutors.

Before I could use this information, though, the Peacekeepers escorted us into the station. Leshana in front, Holly and I behind her and our mentors behind me. I couldn't tell what either of them was whispering because of the loud trains, so I simply stared at the station's architecture.

The District 6 Station can be divided into two large parts: the upper-levels, where the fancy trains like the Capitol's are, and the lower levels, where less important and local trains are kept. Today we would only see the upper-levels, which included the phenomenal main hall.

The main hall was tiled with clean, polished, deep blue marble. Humongous sandstone walls rose up into the air, flowing over in large arches. This created the illusion of a wide open space together with the natural cascades of light shining through the windows.

Above the entrance a big old-fashioned clock ticked away, not caring about the worries of the humans below, but simply counting the hours with its typical tick-tock. High above, where the large arches connected, a marvellous dome with frescoes decorated the building.

The frescoes showed the story of how Panem came to be, how the Capitol struck down the rebellion and how they send children off to the slaughter in their 'honourable' Hunger Games. Although the painted figures were beautifully styled, their message was clear: We, the Capitol, control every aspect of your life; do not forget!

Slightly distracted with the architecture, I didn't notice Holly making a beeline for the information desk. But just when I did, she stopped, turned around and rejoined our group. You're a bit peculiar, aren't you? I thought.

After passing a few platforms with ordinary trains, we reached the Capitol train. It truly was a sight to be seen: ultramodern, a flashy bright red colour and clearly superior in every way. The Capitol wouldn't be satisfied with anything less. Its seal was printed on the side of the train next to the word 'Capitol', should we forget where we were heading.

A Peacekeeper held the door of the train and Leshana boarded first, but then Holly decided to test her luck and said:

"Leshana, you forgot to say something to the gentleman holding the door."

Our mentors behind me nearly gasped and the other Peacekeepers stiffened. I, on the other hand, raised an eye-brow and smirked. Scratch peculiar, insane will do.

Leshana, either embarrassed or angry, glared at her as if she was going to rip Holly's head off. Now, you've done it! You'll be dead before you even board the train and Leshana will probably use your blood as her new hair dye, I joked in my head. Surprisingly, Leshana just cleared her throat.

"Yeah, thanks," she muttered with evident sarcasm. She turned around again and went about business as usual. Holly, relieved to be still alive, boarded next, then me, our mentors, and lastly the Peacekeepers.

When we were all in the first carriage, Leshana resumed her role as Capitol Representative. She gestured to the shiny bar and the small tables.

"This is the bar car. My cart is the next one. Don't go in there," wasn't planning to, "After that there are two carts that house your mentors. Ladies first, boys second."

The male mentor scoffed, which Leshana didn't notice at all. Apparently he didn't like being called 'boy' and I couldn't blame him.

"Holly," she continued, "yours is next, followed by Finn's cart. After that there's a cart for the Peacekeepers, and finally there's the dining cart. Now, goodbye."

Without further ado, she made her way through the aisle to the next carriage. I wondered how she was able to hold her balance in that huge, red dress of hers through that narrow space, but frankly I didn't give a damn. A door slammed, which meant we were left to care for ourselves.

Our group then scattered through the train. Most Peacekeepers and the male mentor stayed in the bar carriage, serving themselves a cool pint of beer. A few Peacekeepers and the female mentor, on the other hand, went ahead and made their way to their carriage.

The train had started moving, rapidly building up speed, as I also went to my carriage. Holly followed me closely. I didn't pay attention to her until I had passed her carriage and she asked me a question.

"Finn, how could you be so confident at the Reaping? You were just chosen to die and you seem as if it's normal for you."

Her actually semi-intelligent question took me aback, so I answered as honestly as I could. "We all have to die one day or the other. Only now it's in the Hunger Games."

It wasn't the whole truth, but it wasn't a lie either, so my tone should have calmed her. Instead, she was completely shocked. Her pupils had even widened to the size of marbles.

"Yes, but it's murder! Murder to children who have the rest of their lives ahead of them. Odds are, Finn, we're not getting out."

"I know. It's a cruel, inhumane thing, but this is the way it is and we can't change it now. The best we can do is fight, fight with every shred of strength we have inside of us," I tried to cheer her up.

"Easy for you to say. You're a guy. Boys are stronger and built more for this sort of situation. I'm just a girl who works at a train station fixing up trains and handing people their tickets. Though," she paused, "I guess you're right."

"Gender plays no part in the Games. Whoever's more cunning will win and that might as well be a petite girl who fixes trains and sells tickets."

This finally did the trick as her pupils shrunk again and a little confident smile appeared. She wasn't done, though, and, for some reason, I didn't mind. With her sweet innocence and quirky manners, Holly had built a bridge between us.

"What about the Careers? There are six of them. Even if I were to have amazing skill at something and lots of training, I couldn't beat them all. I'm just one person," she asked.

"Don't worry about the careers. I'll handle them," I smirked mischievously. Again, I wasn't lying. My plan is to take out the Careers first at the Cornucopia, so I won't have to deal with them when my strength has dwindled. That didn't soothe Holly, though, because I could see worry take control of her face again.

"Well, I guess that's another thing I don't have to worry about. I better get going, talk to you later."

She entered her room and I headed toward my own. When I opened the door, my room was dark. I quickly felt for the light switch and found it on my left. As the light washed over the interior, I stepped inside and closed the door.

It didn't take me more than a quick glance to notice the superfluous luxury. Posh, fluffy carpet, crystal chandelier, leather sofas (plural!), oak chairs and table, silk bed sheets and a mattress as soft as a cloud. This was more luxurious than anything I could ever need or want.

I also noticed a caramel-coloured wooden door. I went to it first and opened it. As if the room hadn't been extravagant enough, it had a squeaky clean bathroom with all the modern comfort a Capitol citizen could imagine.

The bed had been tempting already, but the shower in the bathroom had my name written all over it. I almost ripped my cloak from my back and hurried to undress myself, but then my training kicked in.

Luxury and wealth blind us. They distract us from our purpose and duties. Don't fall for them, because they will simply lure you into a gilded cage, my mother's voice sounded through the cracks of my memory. I stiffened as this doctrine echoed on.

I then looked down at my naked body. I was still dirty from a life in District 6, but I also saw my training scars, or 'reminders' as my mother liked to call them. And on my left index finger was the biggest reminder of them all: the gom jabbar. That tiny silver snake snapped me back into reality.

I carefully picked up my clothes, which I had thrown on the bathroom floor just moments ago, and folded them. I placed them on the sink diagonally across from the shower and then picked up my woollen cloak. I need to handle this with care. This is my background, my origins. I mustn't forget!

I hung the cloak on a hook across from the sink and cautiously stepped inside the shower cabin. I only pressed the hot water and soap buttons, the bare necessities. The hot water and soap poured over me and I promptly washed.

As soon as I was clean, I pressed the same buttons to stop the flow and exited the cabin. I dried off and took my clothes and cloak into the room again. There I laid them on the bed and turned to the wardrobe across the room.

The clothes inside were brightly coloured, expensive and, needless to say, too excessive. However, I did find a white T-shirt and dark blue trousers. Not quite my taste, but they would do. I put them on and covered myself with my cloak again, so I at least felt like me.

I heard the door open and instantly jumped around, ready to attack if needed. In the doorway, frozen half in motion, probably startled by my reaction, stood the male mentor. I relaxed when I saw him and he continued to enter.

"You have strong reflexes. Good," he complimented me. His voice was a deep bass that oozed authority. "But those reflexes alone won't help you."

"I'm aware of that," I said stoically.

"Well," he moved uneasily, "I'm Anthony Kingston, your mentor. Your name was Finn, right?"

"Yes."

Clearly uncomfortable in this situation, Anthony got right to it: "How are you planning to win?"

"I will run for the Cornucopia, grab whatever weapon I can get my hands on and start killing of the Careers," I was curious how he'd respond to that. Most tributes are given the advice to grab something and run, but I wanted to kill.

"You need to be pretty darn fast to do that," he laughed. "You honestly think you can take out the Careers in the first few minutes?"

"I can try," I grinned.

"You'll need a better strategy than that. I suggest you..."

"No," I interrupted, "the Careers are my biggest obstacle. If they're out first, I can take out the rest one by one. That way I will have used most of my energy on the tougher ones when I still have the energy to do so."

He frowned. He realised I made sense and that I wouldn't change my plans, even if the Careers were giant demons spawned from hell.

"You know, as your mentor, I could help you with..." Anthony started.

"I know," I nodded. "There's much I can learn from you, but strategy-wise I'm covered. However, survival and tracking are not my forte."

He snorted. "At least there's something I can teach you," he smiled, "Let's talk this over at dinner. My sister can give you some tips too."

Sister. I was right. I wasn't that hungry, though, so I said I wouldn't be joining them at dinner. Anthony grumpily accepted my apology and left my room.

A while later, right before dinner time, I heard my door open again, but I didn't turn around. I assumed it was Anthony again, trying to convince me to come to dinner anyway. I was doing muscle exercises on one of the leather sofas with my back to the door and an expensive lamp stood next to me.

"Anthony, I won't join you guys for dinner. Just..."

Yet then I heard someone take a deep breath and jumped up. Just when I did, a black baton crashed over the sofa and smashed the lamp next to me to pieces. Its parts flew across the floor and the room became slightly less lit.

Hunched over the leather couch was a female Peacekeeper holding the black baton. She didn't hesitate to launch herself at me, leaping over the sofa. With her arm stretched, she came at me baton first.

I turned my body to dodge her strike and swung my right leg up. My foot kicked her hand, which made her release the baton. Then I turned my body even more and sent my hand crashing down on her neck.

She collapsed on the floor, but rolled over facing away from me and scrambled to her feet. Yet before she could attack me again, I propelled forward kicking my legs up, alternating between them. Some of my kicks hit her chest, others her face, and one even got all the way up in her eye.

When she fell down to the floor again, I pounced her, rolled her over and grabbed her in a headlock. Her head tightly locked in my left arm, I brought my face to her ear. I could already smell the alcohol on her breath.

"I know five ways to rip your throat open unarmed. Two of those involve my teeth, so you better answer my questions, got that?" I hissed into her ear. With her eye already discoloured and the rest of her face badly bruised, she nodded quickly.

"First of all, who sent you?"

She bit her lips to keep quiet, but when I tightened my grip, she squealed and blurted out:

"The High Priestess!"

I was flabbergasted, but then anger helped me focus again. "Why?"

"She wanted to enhance your background. If you arrived in the Capitol bruised, the people in the districts would be outraged. It would also help explain your hatred toward the Capitol. She only wanted people to empathise with you."

"Really? She didn't think I could get people to pity me? To feel the pain I've felt? Well, I've got news for her: I don't need her artificial background. I have a background of my own which will bring tears to the people in the districts and it will be far more effective than a couple of bruises."

I let go of her head and she plummeted to the floor. Her body convulsed and she threw up on the fluffy carpet. The stench of almost digested alcohol filled the room and the Peacekeeper spy coughed as if she was about to drop dead.

I shook my head in disappointment. "If you're supposed to be undercover for the Cult, you're doing a lousy job! Drunk and poorly prepared. You are a disgrace to us all! Leave my sight!"

She looked up at me and scowled. She wiped the vomit off her lips, got to her feet and stood in front of me.

"The High Priestess won't be pleased if I don't finish what I started," she slurred.

"You're lucky I didn't kill you!" I yell. "Leave my room at once or I'll finish what I started. Be sure to remind the High Priestess of our earlier conversation. She'll understand."

Badly bruised, she left my room wobbling on her drunk feet. After she left, I threw the shattered lamp in the trash and cleaned up the vomit. The rest of the evening passed uneventfully.

So here I am, looking out the window, watching the sky go dark. Although I refused Anthony's invitation, I am quite hungry now. I haven't eaten much all day, so I really should get some food. Hunger triumphs over stubbornness and I go to the back of the train.

When I enter the dining carriage, the table's already cleared away and only personnel and a few drunk Peacekeepers are still present. The latter doesn't notice me, but the kitchen staff watch me with terrified eyes like a deer about to be run over.

"I know I'm too late for dinner, but could I perhaps get something to eat?" I ask as polite as I can manage. Two waiters exchange confused looks and run off to the kitchen. Unsure if I'm actually going to be served, I sit down at the cleared table and patiently wait for my delayed dinner. The drunk Peacekeepers still haven't noticed me and keep mucking about.

After a few minutes, one of the waiters returns and arranges a complete set of plates, glasses and cutlery in front of me. When he's done, he stands beside me.

"What would you like to drink?" he asks kindly.

"Water will do."

He nods and walks off to the kitchen. Not much later, he returns and fills one of the glasses with water. He takes the other glasses with him and leaves the water bottle behind in a bucket of ice. I take a sip of my water and lean back in my chair.

I catch one of the Peacekeepers talking about his colleague who got herself a black eye and some bruises by bumping into a cabinet, after which a suitcase fell onto her face. I chuckle at the spy's excuse and how gullible her colleagues are.

A few moments later, the other waiter serves me a few ladles of steaming soup. I thank him and dive my spoon into the deep plate. The soup is very creamy, almost velvety, and has vegetables and spices in it I've never tasted before.

Without a big fuzz, the other courses are served and I don't leave a crumb behind. Absolutely stuffed, I leave the dining carriage and go to my room. As soon as I crawl into bed, I fall asleep. However, a single thought goes through me: This bed is way too soft.

The next morning I'm up early, flexing my muscles and practising my kicks. Leshana catches me in the middle of my exercises and her jaw drops. I immediately stop when I see her.

"I just came to say breakfast will be served shortly," she takes me in from top to toe and purses her lips, "I see you'll make a fine tribute. Carry on training! The Capitol loves a show."

She leaves and I resume training, although it now weirds me out to. After a couple more kicks and twists, I head towards the dining carriage and seat myself among the others.

The waiters are already bringing around plates of scrambled, boiled, fried and even poached eggs. A basket with buns, rolls and toast sits right under my nose and I take one of the buns, butter it up and take a big bite. I also scoop some scrambled eggs and small grilled sausages onto my plate.

Soon Holly arrives as well and coincidentally sits down across from the Cult spy. She doesn't notice, though, and eats some fried eggs and toast, but when she looks up, she immediately spots the spy's wounds.

"What happened to your, umm, face?" she points out rather bluntly. The bruised Peacekeeper turns her head and I catch a glimpse of fear in her eyes as our gazes meet.

"I don't want to talk about it," she responds. Holly doesn't think twice about it and continues her breakfast. At this point our train shoots through the tunnel that leads to the Capitol. The windows are completely dark, but the glowing light bulbs enable us to see.

We quietly continue breakfast until Leshana jumps out of her chair and glues herself to the windows. The dark tunnel has disappeared and a shiny, bright city comes into view. Leshana can't contain her excitement and starts babbling about the riches of the Capitol.

"We're here," I hear Holly mutter on the other side of the table.

So Capitol, we meet at last, I think. Let the Games begin!