I'm sorry this chapter took so long. Again. This story seems to just be like that. I did, however, write three long chapters for a new fic in two days. So I'm only being lazy about my obligations. Every things else I'm getting done at light speed.

Just a note that Skye Lazar (a tribute) is a little different than first submitted but she's definitely still Skye. You'll see what I mean. (Yes, she came with the extra personality, I just changed the way they interact.)

So I'm pretty sure I had more to say but I just got a choir email which I should probably read instead of writing you this letter so I'll shut up and you can have a pretty go at the chapter now, k bai:)


Run, run, run, run, run. Grab, stab, dodge, die, run, run, run.


Madilynne Jackson, tribute

Help. Help me.

Help me, oh God, help me! Please please please please please...

But there's no one to help me and nothing I can do as the glass tube comes down down down and my platform goes up up up...

But then it hits me. The smell, it's like chocolate chip cookies. And it makes me feel calm, like it's all a dream, it is all a dream...


Helvetica Rose Reese, escort

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

I can hear the clicks, out on the street, each signifyingone second. Tick, tock, tick.

Thirty, thirty one, thirty two... Why can't this cab go any faster? I'm supposed to be in the betting room, not the street!

Tick, tock, tick, tock, BAANG!

The bloodbath is starting. It's starting and I'm missing it!

I bang on the door. "Hurry up, you stupid lump of metal!"

Of course there ins't anything I can do, since none of the taxis are actually driven by human beings anymore. They're all automated and obey the street laws to perfection. Can't even bribe them to get you anywhere in a hurry. I want a person to drive me. Why on Earth would I bother giving my money to a robot? It's all going to the Center Capitol bank and Snow himself. Snow deservs it, of course, but a robot? Uh, no.

I can't even roll down the windows,. When I try, I get the whole, "No, please don't stick your anatomy out the window. Thank you."

I try to get a view out through the tint to see if anyone's playing the Games in a shop display or something. The robotic taxi driver takes us by the tech shop, downtown, but there's only cellphones and smaller devices in the display today. They're probably playing the Games, too, but nothing has a big enough screen for me to see. Stupid shop. They normally have massive televisions out for show, but no, not on the best day of the year for a display like that. Ugh.

The taxi stops. "Fare, please," it goes. The robots sound like district kids, with their accents. Last year for the end of the Games, they even made a few fancy special edition taxis for celebration. I got to ride in one the day they were released - everything they says sounds like the victor from that year, Samantha something. I hear they're planning to release a few like that annually, with that year's victor's voice. I hope to that it's Brian's or Madi's voice this year. No, I don't hope, I know. One of them will win.

I'm distracting myself, because right now, my tributes are in the Games and I'm missing it! I pay the taxi, fumbling the massive special edition coins - I swear, everything is special edition. I fumble not just with the coins, but the door handle, my luggage, and even my balance too, wretched shoes. I totter into the betting center laden with gifts and large sums of cash to bribe whoever I might possibly need to save my tributes. I just hope those two tributes of mine listened to my instruction on the train, or they're a lost cause.

I dump the stuff in the corner and find a couch, just as quickly found by Lana, a maid. My maid.

"Miss! Miss Helvetica! You're back, oh I was so worried you'd not be coming back!"

I blink. Lana can be ridiculous. "Don't be ridiculous. You wouldn't want to end up back in the districts, girl. I couldn't have that happening to you."

She gulps, because obviously she's afraid of that, but she knows I won't be the one sending her. I'm too friendly with her to send her off. But if she's that shrill, certainly someone will order her to be fired.

"Since you asked me to tell you if anything happened to your two tributes, Miss Helvetica, I should tell you that we believe the boy Brian has nearly perished and the girl Madi has been gassed. She is unconscious on her platform." She looks at me uncertainly.

What? Out of the game already? No! They can'y be. Well, Brian I can believe, but Madi? No!

"Screen, I need a screen!" One is turned on right in front of me. Oh dear, she's right, Madi's just lying there. But there's that other girl, right nearby. Skye, her name is. "Lana, find the lowest Gamemaker. I think the newest is Evvana or something. Tell her I need the Madi saved, at all costs. Forget Brian. Tell her to use Skye - make them allies. Control her, whatever. Just save Madi. There's a diamond necklace or something else and free snacks in it for her. If she says no, say you'll be her maid for a day or two. Get!"

I see on the screen a career coming at Madi. The only one that's recovered from... whatever's knocked out Madi. These tributes are acting weird.

"Get! Now" I yell at Lana, not being harsh on purpose. I've got to save Madi, now.


Adolf Hamilton, Gamemaker

I walk around, checking every one's screens. The flood is ready, as is the earthquake, for just in case. Amelia's shape shifting hig-speed chase mutts are holed away in specific olaces of the arena. Simon's got his joystick out, ready to move supplies and weapons towards or away from certain tributes. Solomon's got- "playing solotaire, are we?"

Solomon jumps, suprised to see me. "N-no, Adolf..."

I shake my head. "Don't be stupid."

He closes his program right away. I don't feel the need to check on every one else; Solomon's the only one who usually gets distraccted.

Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen...

Already? I huff and puff up the steps to the raised platform of my desk. Just in time...

Three, two, one... I slug the gong tirgger - a head sized target painted button in the wall - with as much force as I can give it. The reverberating sound nearly knocks us from our senses but most of us still manage to yell, "MAY THE ODDS BE EVER IN YOUR FAVOUR!" Because it's not weird, it's tradition.

There's laghing, cheering and a euphoric atmosphere until every one settles down.

Now, this is when we let in the train of people willing to bribe us to save their favorites. I hope I get another diamond necklace this year; I need something for mother's day.


Skye Lazar, tribute

TEN, says the screen mounted on the cornucopia. We're surprisingly not freaking out considering we only just managed to make ourself pry our eyes open.

NINE, it says. Cars rush around the traffic circle in front of us. There's trucks and scooters and busses and even one shaped like a hotdog that just confuses us. They're all shiny and pretty and it's more like the Capitol than real life; We're in some sort of city.

EIGHT, it says. Buildings, massive, like you'd only find in the Capitol, rear up all around us. Glass or mirrors, mostly. They look too stable to ever fall.

SEVEN, it says. The cornucopia itself shines like some sort of massive beacon as the gathering place for the tributes. It's a huge contrast to the grey and beige of the city. It isn't like the city is dirty, just that the cornucopia is so bright and golden that everything around it pales in comparison.

SIX, it says. We're rocked into focus as an explosion rocks the area. There's another explosion immediately after, but it's father away. We teeter back and forth, feeling thankful for our good balance and sorry for whoever dropped their token and whoever got pushed to their doom by the shockwave.

FIVE, it says. Someone brave - suicidal, we mean - yells, "screw the Capitol!" There's another explosion, and that one knocks two others off. Five before the gong has got to be a new record; some years that's all the bloodbath manages to claim.

FOUR, it says. The remains of the five have finally landed, no longer blown into the sky. A red, sticky bit lands on the shoulder girl next to us, and she screams, bursting into tears. She won't even touch it to get it off, just sobs and stares it down, like that'll do anything.

THREE, it says. There's shop after shop after shop surrounding us and the traffic circle. They sell things only the Capitol can afford, but a few of the small spaces are a little bit run down so it can't possibly be. The Capitol is this glorious, shining city and this... isn't.

TWO, it says. What are we supposed to do? Do we run? Grab supplies? Panic sets in - you'd think it would have come already. Our way is blocked, by cars and-

ONE, it says. Our way is blocked by people.

And then the gong goes off, and chaos erupts.


Child 176 2416, "Millie," District Five's tribute.

The crowds of civilians hoarding themselves on the sidewalk ignore us tributes. I'm tentative at first, but when I realize they're just three dimensional projections, I plow right through them. They don't actually exist; only look like they're there and don't notice me; after all, I'm not part of the code that controls them.

The road diverts on either side of me; I don't have to dodge many cars. I have the feeling the Gamemakers wouldn't pass up watching us tributes become roadkill by making those holograohs, too.

The other tributes seem to come to their own conclusions - ghosts, illusions, "I've gone insane!" I know there's only one other kid here who will actually understand how this element of the arena works, because he's my male counterpart from the technology district. In the case that he does get it right away and plunges through the crowd like me, I have six years in age and size over him and there is no way he'll win the fight.

I'm right. I'm the first, on this side, anyways. The mouth of the cornucopia is piled high with nothing strewn around. I grab an already semi-filled pack and and add what I think I'll need and everything I can see: food, water, foil blanket, knives, sheath of arrows. No bow, but an elastic coil of synthetic rope. It looks like raw woven fiber, but I can tell it's just roughed up plastic.

I zip the bag and start watching as other tributes burst forth from the holographic crowd. None of them are armed yet, and I don't spot the careers. I've got time to grab one more thing- c'mon, Millie, don't dawdle - a sword. Broadsword. I can't really use it but with my big size I'll bet I look like I can.

I take a swipe at one boy on my way out but he dodges, the terror in his face more noticeable than his nose. My balance and speed are interrupted but I keep going, praying no one sees me, that no one takes a swipe at my neck.

The crowd is good camouflage. I'm tempted to stay, but it's just like standing in a thick fog. I might be hidden, but everyone else is going to be barreling through here and I'll likely be found.

The shops bordering this street will be searched by the careers later. But cities are huge; maybe I can escape into one of the high rises.

I stop bolting around, instead going slow, quiet. I don't want anyone to where I'm going.

I emerge from the crowd. A few holographic stragglers - not tributes - block spots of my vision, but the sidewalk where we all started is empty of tributes. Live tributes, anyways. The bits of the blown up five still scatter the concrete and asphalt.

Walking through a group of three my age - "Did you see her shoes? - yeah - disgusting, right? - yeah - does she even wash her hair? - yeah, she totally ruined the party - and the dress - oh, I don't even want to think about that..." They babble on. But what surprises me is I get stuck. Not on them, but on part of the bag one of the holds. They drag it and thus me towards themselves, open it - "stupid heavy thing" - and pull out a flower. Which I am stuck behind as they throw it away because apparently it isn't a part of them that I can walk through, like their clothes.

I'm free in a moment - I only have to backpedal and go around; it's only a flower. But I realize that two people carrying solid items like that, crossing paths with me in the middle, well, that could well kill me.


Skye Lazar, tribute

We're running, but we don't know why we're running. We never told our legs to go this way!

Oh dear, we're dashing through the fast roaring traffic now. Stop, Skye, stop! What on Earth are you doing?

Get a grip, Skye. It's just the Gamemakers, right? It's gotta be just the Gamemakers... Running us right to our death. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear oh dear oh dear.

We're through the traffic now. People, piles of them, ignoring me. My limbs fly right through them. Ghosts?

Nobody is -no tributes are, anyway- aiming anything at me. There are a few dead looking tributes around and a whole lotta dazed looking ones, but no biggie, I'm not dead and I'm not going to be one like them.

We seem to be running in a zig zag now. Since when did the Gamemakers get to control us like this?
"We aren't some kind of video game, you know!" We try and shout. But we can't, we're not in control of us. We almost trip and we'd be shooting off obcenities from two minds out of one mouth and doubling your vocabulary if we could. But it's okay, nothing gives us a vicious lethal stab in the back while we're down and we're okay.

We're heading towards one of those floppy tributes who're all unconscious and ruining the landscape. M-something, her name is. Marlene? Molly? Madi. That's it.

Suddnely we think we're gonna crash but whoever is steering us must know us better than us, cause we certainly aren't the ones who could tell you we could do acrobatics like that.

It's a flip we're doing, and we're snatching up the girl and sprinting away - no! the Cornucopia! All the supplies the careers are going to get and we're not... Dammit.

We must run for hours with this dead girl in my arms (at least she doesn't smell) before we get control back.

"What the hell was that for!" we scream! One of us drops the girl in the process and I make sure we pick her up gently. "Sorry," I make us whisper to her. The other part of Skye doesn't seem to care about this girl, but she doesn't stoo me from speaking.

The crash on the girl's head's woken her up and she seems to be in a lot of pain. Which isn't exactly surprising considering we just kind of threw her on the ground...

"Shit, we are sorry," We say. I truly am, the other half of Skye...

Clearly, my other half isn't sorry because she's trying to stretch our arm, armed with a knife, out towards the girl.

But as soon as I realize and I think it, our body freezes up again. What the hell, Skye, I tell my other half. What did she ever do to you?

We get our control back from the Gamemakers quickly this time. It's more like a warning to leave the girl alone.

Must be a Gamemaker getting bribed, somewhere.

In the Capitol, dimwit.

She's waking up, pay attention!
Why do you care so much after you were going to kill her?

Just because we can't hurt her doesn't mean it's the same for her. She might be some bloodthirsty, insane kid the Gamemakers wanted to use-

You watched her reaping on the recaps. She's just like everybody else. More normal than us.
Well, whatever. Allies we'll be, I guess. If she's being protected, we might as well stick around.

Should we tell her?

What, that there's two of us in one? No.

The girl rolls over away from us and groans, "you said we... Who else is there?
"Uh, we didn't say anythig," we tell her dishonestly.

Great.

This sucks.