A/N: Kinda hit the wall a bit in this chapter; apologies if it's a little jarring. Lemme know what I can improve on from these first four chapters!

The short ride to the train station had been a quiet one. Laredo's expression showed nothing but a stony eagerness to getting on to the Capitol, and Augusta – apparently having had enough of life in District 10 for this year – remained happy enough to let the two tributes mull over their futures. Sam didn't have a mind to talk anyway; she spent the time trying to steel herself for what lay ahead; for her final minutes in the district. Once the train pulled away from the station, the Games would really be on – every second wasted after that would be time that could have been used to begin preparations. Although Sam had no qualms about her chances, she didn't want to go out with a whimper – at least, not one to be thrown aside and forgotten just as soon as life had ended. That would be a disservice to herself, to her family, and to the district as a whole.

Mulling over all these thoughts had led her to forget that this had been her first car ride. It wasn't all that different from a horse, although it was enclosed – but Sam's apprehension led her to ignore the new sensation entirely. It wasn't pressing.

"Smile for the cameras," Augusta motioned halfheartedly as she stepped out of the car and a rush of hot, dusty wind blew into the interior.

Sam steadied herself before getting out of the automobile – and instantly flashbulbs snapped and live feeds began rolling. A dozen microphones held by suspension floated above and around the two tributes as Augusta cleared a path to the train, getting anything to satisfy the insatiable hunger for entertainment demanded by the far-away Capitol denizens. Sam blinked and squinted against the attention and fanfare; this was not something she enjoyed, and her face reflected anything but the strength and power so craved by wealthy sponsors of the Games and viewers everywhere. Compared to Laredo, who strode with a sense of purpose in long, measured steps and a head held high, Sam appeared as fodder headed for the slaughterhouse.

The train loomed like a sleek, silver stallion before the run-down station. Its contrasts with the wind-swept prairie of District 10 were evident immediately in the mechanical prowess presented by the lean locomotive; its design built as a shrine to Capitol extravagance and economic strength. Augusta smiled at the return of the civilized tastes of fine living; it sure beat the dusty end of the road that was this outlying dirtball.

"The fastest transportation you'll see in Panem," Augusta gloated, exemplifying her acute lack of empathy for the tributes and their predicament. "It can go from District 12 to the Capitol in under two days. From here, we'll be there by tomorrow midday."

She hustled the two tributes onto the train before the cameras; Sam couldn't even manage to get a look through the flashes and lights. With a hiss and a burst of air, the door of the train slid shut – cutting off District 10 and likely her final and last chance to see the one place she had ever called home.

"Come along now, can't dawdle in the hall all day."

Sam noted that Augusta's mood had picked up considerably since leaving the Hall of Justice – or at least the speed in which she talked and acted. All the fancy words couldn't possibly prepare her for the train's interior – and the opulence she had never seen.

Blue, velvet-lined walls rimmed a room that seemed hewn out of silver. Chrome trays of all sorts of colorful edibles and sumptuous-looking sweets tempted Sam's self-control with promises of new and exciting tastes. Cushion-laden chairs invited a comfortable seat, while glimmering chandeliers hanging from the glossy ceiling coated the room in a soft white light. Two foot-wide windows, shaded by tinting agents to keep the unsightly late-morning prairie light out, already gave a view that showed the train's distant departure from District 10 – the border fence on the edge of the cattle grazing fields slowly fell towards the horizon as the journey towards the Games began.

In this sort of setting, the dust of the district that attached itself everywhere had no place.

"Impressive, isn't it? Same sort of impressive like the first time a piglet takes a dump."

Cheyenne could have left the tributes some space as the trip began, but the tobacco-addicted mentor had other plans – namely, insulting anything and everything she could.

"Why are you still here, Augusta? Oh right, because nobody here ever wins so you never get to advance to District 4 and sleep with Finnick Odair," Cheyenne rattled on, flicking cigar ash directly onto the formerly-spotless violet carpet. "Not like he would anyway. There's actual big fish in the Capitol."

Augusta responded with a curt scowl that she left no attempt to hide. "I'm going to go invite Dallas in. Maybe we'll have a civilized conversation." She turned with a hmpf, trotting away with her lemon-yellow hair bobbing to her steps.

Laredo had apparently not been impressed by the surroundings, despite his poor upbringing – he immediately turned to conversation with Cheyenne rather than standing around hesitantly like Sam.

"So what's the deal?" the muscular boy asked gruffly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning into a wall. "What are you supposed to be doing for me?"

Sam vaguely noticed his use of the singular "me" rather than "us," but the mentor's abrupt reaction took over the spotlight.

"'Doing?' I don't think you understand how that works," Cheyenne flicked ash into a corner, letting loose a tobacco-laced cough and wiping her mouth with the backside of her left hand. "I'm here because the Capitol thinks it's good sport that I show up every year. If you want somebody to hold your hand, maybe you can go get Dallas; he seems to like doing that kind of thing. Ever since he won, the two of us have just watched tribute after tribute die every year. It's status quo, like stinking cow dung and dead grass is back in the district. You think you're gonna change my mind? Prove it."

Laredo considered this prospect momentarily before deciding this was an acceptable proposal. With little fanfare, he swung a quick hook at Cheyenne's head with his right fist. Despite her abrasive demeanor and notoriety amongst District 10 for hostility, Cheyenne was a remarkably quick opponent – that she'd won the Games at all seemed so much more obvious once she began a fight. She ducked from the swing and came up under Laredo's armpit, driving the muscular boy into the wall. Sam shrieked and stepped back as Cheyenne finished the move, sliding behind Laredo and pinning him against her in a headlock. A more competent fighter could have escaped; he had the brawn, but not the experience – and probably not the brains either.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Dallas's voice rang out clear and crisp as he and Augusta stepped back into the car, with both staring on in a mix of shock and bafflement. Cheyenne pushed Laredo off of her with a playful shove and tossed a dangerous grin.

"Hands-on training. What are you doing, snarfing scones? You're setting such a poor example," She turned towards Laredo and mocked brushing dirt off her shoulder, closing an eye and visually scanning him from head to toe. "We might just be able to make something out of you. Not like the usual scared twigs we get in here. I gotta get some air, everybody…so damn judgmental. I'll be back at dinner."

With a look of contempt thrown Sam's way – who had avoided the scuffle entirely and pulled back into a corner of the ornate room – Cheyenne stepped into the hall of the next car and let the door slam behind her.

"Barbaric," Augusta sneered at her retreating form, adjusting the arms of her bright clothing. "Is this how you settle personal disputes all the time, Dallas?"

"Let's try to forget that ever happened," Dallas lamented with a look of exasperation, running a hand through his tussled blonde hair. He turned his attention to the two tributes again, getting his first close look at who he'd be working with.

"I don't know if either of you know me – Laredo, Samantha," he nodded at the two before slumping into a nearby chair. "But there's going to be Reapings all day, since our district's one of the earlier ones. 1, 6, 8, and 11 have already gone by now, but that still leaves a lot to come. That's the best chance to get an early look at your competition – and we've got plenty of time to start figuring out what's the best way to approach this."

At least one of the mentors wasn't an aggressive lunatic, Sam thought as she took her place on a couch as Augusta flicked a screen on to the Capitol's Hunger Games coverage. Still, with a first impression like that, how could she figure these people would help her out? And with a fellow tribute apparently ready to start snapping necks at a moment's notice, what chance did she have?