A/N: Thanks to melliemoo for reviewing the last chapter! The support is appreciated :)

Compared to many chapters, I feel that the lyrics for this chapter really do fit the mindset for the night before the Games - I can see this one working out well!

As ever, I hope that you all enjoy reading today's chapter :)

"By the time reality hits

The chimes of freedom fell to bits

The shining city on the fritz

They come out of the cracks, thirsty for blood

Just as the apocalypse finally gets prioritised

And you cried some of the hottest tears you ever cried, multiplied by five."

- Alex Turner, 2018.

Chapter Ten

Vivian Hayes (17), District 10 Female

11.30 pm, Saturday 18th July, year of the 74th Hunger Games

Arctic Monkeys - One Point Perspective (2018)

We are silent in the elevator back up to the tenth floor of the Training Centre for my final night in the Capitol that, quite probably, will be my last night anywhere. Tomorrow the Games begin, and in almost seventy-five years, hardly anyone as small or as weak as me has managed to escape the arena alive.

It goes without saying that the odds certainly won't be in my favour tomorrow.

Everything that has happened to me this week has felt as though it's been happening to someone else, which in a way I'm grateful for, as my entire experience in the Games has been a disaster. Ignored during the opening ceremonies, only managing a five in training, a nervous wreck during my interview tonight that even Caesar Flickerman struggled to pull me through. Needless to say, I doubt I'll have any help from sponsors this year. Especially after that announcement by Peeta from Twelve...

My district partner Angus stands next to me in the elevator, looking firmly away from me out of the window, his fists clenched. I can tell that he is as frustrated as anyone by Peeta's interview; as I'm sure he realises, the boy from District 12 has made himself unforgettable, and by extension, he has made everyone else average at best. I've had almost no contact with Angus since the reaping; being younger, smaller and far more timid than him, I get the impression that he didn't want to waste his time with me. He's been trying to sneak his way into other tributes' alliances all week; clearly he views me as competition and not as an ally, so I've taken to keeping my distance from him, too.

With this rift, which my mentor Indiana insists is commonplace during the Games, our district's team has become divided. I rarely see anything of Angus or his mentor, Fernando James.

The elevator reaches our destination and the doors slide open. Both Angus and I move to step out of the elevator, but our escort reaches out and grabs us both by the hand, stopping us.

"This is where our journey comes to a close," she says, a trace of tears in the corner of her eyes. Of all the people I've met in the Capitol, she's the most ditzy and clueless of the lot. "And I just wanted to tell you both what an honour it's been to escort you this year. You've been wonderful and such an inspiration to me... You are so strong, you actually have a good chance of winning this if you work together!"

Angus and I exchange a quick, confused glance at each other. Has she been paying attention to anything that's happened this week? She must know there's no chance of us remaining on the same side tomorrow.

Neither of us really know what to say until Angus speaks up.

"It's been a pleasure, Marie," Angus says, grasping her hand. Marie gives a nervous gasp, then quickly pulls us both into very tight hugs - giving Angus slightly more space because of his injured knee - the tears threatening to make another appearance.

"You'll do your district proud," she says, releasing us as the elevator doors begin to close. "I believe in you."

Then the doors block her from view, and we are alone in the corridor. It doesn't take long for our mentors to appear; they returned to our floor after the interviews before we could get here.

"Good job tonight," Fernando smiles, and Angus shrugs, walking past all of us using a cane into the sitting room. Fernando follows, leaving me alone with Indiana again. For the first time in hours, I breathe a sigh of relief and try to relax, difficult as that may be given the circumstances.

Indiana, reading my mood well, leads me to my bedroom, sitting me on the bed as she leans against a dresser. Locking the door behind us, she looks across at me, her face showing obvious concern.

"How are you feeling, Vivian?" Indiana asks me.

"How do you think I feel?" I say defeatedly. "I'm less than twelve hours from the start of the Hunger Games, and I know I don't have a chance of winning." It is the first time I have admitted that out loud, and the thought of giving up is almost as scary to me as my impending death. I feel myself beginning to choke up as I become, for the first time, truly aware of what is happening to me. There are no more obstacles in the way now; first I sleep, and then I must fight to the death.

Before I know it I am crying, and Indiana crosses the room towards me, putting a hand over my shoulder as the panic, the sorrow, the fear comes flooding out of me in sobs. I grip her hands with mine and we stay there silently for a long time; to her credit, my mentor never moves or gives any indication that she feels burdened. Indiana has always been fuelled by empathy.

For most of the years since her victory, Indiana has volunteered to work at the school in our district, helping to nurture our next generation. It was years before I knew my favourite teacher, Miss James, was even a victor. I didn't make the connection until I was eight or nine. Frightened and dependent as I was when I was a young child, she understood me in a way that few others did at school. Maybe, once upon a time, she had been as frightened as me. I have no doubt she was terrified of the Games, just as I am. We aren't taught to enjoy the Hunger Games in District 10 like they are in some of the other districts.

So, in a strange way, Indiana's comfort calms me in a way that I had never expected, making me feel like a young child again. Make it all go away...

Whatever good Indiana may have done last night, I wake with a heavy sense of dread when my stylist, an elderly man called Artem who's been our district's stylist since before my parents were born, wakes me just after dawn. I go through the motions for possibly the last time without thinking about anything. In just a few hours I might be dead; is it possible to think about anything else?

Artem, who strikes me as old-fashioned but with good intentions, wears a look of concern as he leads me into the elevator for the last time. For a change, instead of taking me down towards the entrance and the gymnasium, I'm taken upwards, past all twelve floors to the roof, where I wait in the crisp, clear dawn for a hovercraft to take me to the arena. It appears suddenly above me, as though it materialised out of thin air. I'm slightly taken aback as a ladder drops to the surface of the roof, which I grasp before it pulls me upwards into the hovercraft.

Almost as soon as I'm into the hovercraft, a Capitol doctor approaches me and injects me with something that she insists is just a tracker, so that the Gamemakers can keep tabs on me in the area. The experience unnerves me slightly, but before I can stress about it any further, Artem is by my side again, and he leads me along the walkways within the hovercraft towards a small dining room. It is the first time I have ever flown; I expect this to make a large impression on me, but I am far too preoccupied to give it much thought.

In the dining room, an Avox provides me with a banquet of breakfast foods fit for the president, and despite my terrible nerves I find myself eating as much as I can, desperate to take this time to store up on food and energy. Once in the arena, who knows how often I'll be able to eat?

Artem sits across the table from me, staring out of the window in silence as the Capitol disappears further and further from view. He knows as well as I do that I need space and time to think. Eventually the windows black out and Artem gets to his feet, ready to move. We must be close to the arena; I guess we aren't meant to see the arena from above before the Games.

Eventually the hovercraft lands, and I'm ushered out of the dining room. I grab one last piece of toast from the table as I leave, desperate for as much food as I can get. We walk out of the hovercraft straight into the catacombs deep beneath the arena. Two Capitol attendants walk alongside us as we're led down busy tunnels towards the Launch Room, where I will make my final preparations for the Games.

Eventually we reach the Launch Room, and Artem lets me enter first. The room is small and roughly square-shaped, with white walls and artificial lighting. In a small alcove to the side, there is a shower and a toilet. On a single wooden bench along one side of the room sits a bag that contains the clothes I am to wear into the arena. It will be identical for each of us. At the back of the room sits the pedestal, identical to all of those used throughout the years, that I will have to stand on at ten o'clock, lifting me into the arena. Just the sight of the pedestal sends shivers down my spine.

A glance at a small clock on the wall tells me I have twenty minutes before the 74th Hunger Games begin. Just twenty minutes... When your time runs this short, suddenly every second feels important.

Artem gives me a minute to compose myself while he sorts through the clothes I've been provided with; a light green blouse, tawny trousers, a thick belt and a thin black hooded jacket, lined with a type of reflective material. Skin-tight socks and soft leather boots complete my outfit. Artem believes that the arena could be cold, as the jacket's inner lining is designed to reflect body heat. If I had to pick, I would rather face the cold than unbearable heat.

"If you want your district token," I've got it here, Artem tells me, holding out a small brass hairpin. When I told Indiana last night that I had nothing from my district, she insisted that I take something to remind me of her in the arena. If she can calm me down, maybe having something of hers with me during the Games will calm me down, too.

"Thanks," I say, grasping the hairpin tightly in my hand. I choose to tuck it into a pocket in my jacket so I don't lose it.

"You and Indiana have a plan sorted, I presume?" Auric asks me. He has been a distant figure for much of the last week.

I nod, not wanting to talk about it any more. I would rather spend as much time as possible thinking about anything other than the Games. But as the seconds drift by, as the minute hand crawls closer to twelve, I can't shake the fear from my mind.

A day ago, I was ready to give up; I know that I'm not good enough to win the Games, I understand how little of a chance I have. Wouldn't it be easier just to give up, to run to my death on the first day rather than suffer for weeks, just to reach the same destination with more pain?

Somewhere along the way during the last day, mostly since speaking to Indiana after the interviews last night, I've found myself less and less willing to give up. The proximity of the Hunger Games, the knowledge of how soon the end must be coming, has awoken something primal in me, an urge to go on that I never knew I had in me. With just a few minutes to go before I'm required to stand on the pedestal and begin the final short stretch of my journey to the arena, there is only one sentence running round and round in my head.

I don't want to die.

Eventually a woman's voice comes from a speaker above, telling me that I have thirty seconds to get onto the pedestal. Artem steadies me as my shaking legs carry me forwards towards the pedestal, which feels unforgiving beneath my feet.

"Good luck, Vivian," Artem tells me sympathetically. I can see the pain in his face as he lets go of my hand; I can tell he doesn't think I'll win. "You're going to be a star."

Before I can reply, a glass cylinder slides down around me and our contact is cut off. The pedestal begins to rise, and I watch the Launch Room disappear beneath me as I'm thrust into darkness as I ascend. It is so quiet I can hear my rampant heartbeat.

Suddenly I burst out into bright sunlight that dazzles me as I feel the sun on my back, a strong wind carrying an unfamiliar smell with it.

Somewhere overhead, I hear the voice of legendary announcer Claudius Templesmith boom out.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games begin!"

Here we go...

A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, please review! Constructive criticism is welcomed.

I feel I should also mention that, if anyone is interested, I have written more about each of the victors used as mentors in this story across several of my other fics, most notably 75 Games, 75 Victors, 75 Oneshots and 75 Games: Meet the Victors!

I'll be back with the next chapter, where the action takes a violent turn, very soon :)