District Nine Train Ride
Tuesday, July 7th, 1663 P.A.

Farah Cybele, 15
District Nine Female Tribute

Since District Nine is located right next to the Capitol, we're supposed to arrive before noon. We won't even know half our competition before we're preparing for the Games. But, it works out well due to District Nine's lack of victors. This gives us a chance to meet our mentor, a victor from Two, and discuss our general strategy. Maybe he'll tell us how to defeat the bloodthirsty Careers, assuming he actually wants us to win. His district patriotism might be strong, but I guarantee he'll want to do anything to stop being a mentor for a poor district.

"Ooh, the District Four results just came in!" Valentia Ives, my district escort, chimes from the adjacent couch. She's the definition of a pure Capitolite: a ocean green, teal, and violet mohawk with her sides shaved; pink eyebrows; red lips; and a love for the Hunger Games. "It looks like it's one volunteer and one reaped tribute."

"They didn't have two volunteers?"

"They would've had two," she says, tapping on the tablet in her hand, "but the girl declined."

"Why?"

"Because it's the Hunger Games! Who wouldn't want the opportunity?"

I bite back my retort.

"Anyways, we won't know the next batch of tributes for another thirty minutes." She stands up, placing the tablet on the coffee table. "Do you want me to get you anything? Some food? A drink?"

"A pack of cigs."

She curls her lip. "Oh, those things are disgusting! They're going to kill you!"

"Not if the Games kill me first."

"A pack of cigs coming right up!" Her cheeks turn a bright red. "Is there anything else you want me to grab?"

"Some chocolate."

She nods and leaves the room.

I grab the abandoned tablet off the coffee table, and I'm surprised it unlocks from my fingerprint. The Capitol must not care that much about security, or they gave all tributes access to it. Either way, I'm happy. After scanning each page, I click on the app labelled "Betting Table." But, since some tributes still have to be reaped, our chances of survival haven't been calculated yet. I close the app and open another, this one labelled "Current Tribute Status."

"Well damn." I grimace when I see the other tributes.

Districts One, Three, Four, Seven, and Nine already have tributes, so their profiles are accessible. The tributes from One and Four look powerful and beautiful. Even if they weren't Careers, they would gather a lot of sponsors. The boy from Three is going to die in the bloodbath; he's too young to survive long. But the girl might be a threat, assuming she's as smart as she looks. Both tributes from Seven are scary, especially the girl whose mother was a victor.

If the other districts reap similar tributes, I'm screwed.

"Here you go!" Valentia chimes from the doorway, carrying a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and a chocolate bar. "It was easier to find than you would think."

"Thank you so much!" I smile, tossing the tablet aside.

"You're welcome." She hands me the items. "You know, Havan is crying in his bedroom. Maybe you can go talk to him, calm him down a bit."

"I'm not his mother."

"No, but you're his district partner." She sits down next to me. I shift so our knees don't touch. "You two are in this together, whether you like it or not."

"Why do you care?"

"You know, I remember your sister."

"What?"

"Your sister, Amandine Cybele. I mean, you two have the same last night, so I just assumed—"

"She was my cousin."

"Well, I remember her nonetheless." She rests her hand on my knee. "I may enjoy the Hunger Games as much as the next Capitolite, but I do care for my tributes. It's not easy coming from a losing district."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome!" She doesn't recognize my sarcasm. "Go check on Havan. Trust me, he'll appreciate it."

Havan Thorpe, 13
District Nine Male Tribute

I always wanted to kiss a girl, to fall in love, to get married, to have children. It sounds stupid, but it's been a dream of mine for years. Now that I've been reaped, though, I'll never have the chance to do any of those things. The chances of me winning are slim: nobody has ever won in District Nine and the youngest victor was fifteen years old. At this point, I can only pray that my inevitable death is as painless as possible.

My tears are gone, dried up from me lying on my bed and staring at the ceiling in defeat. I'm going to die; it's as plain and simple as that. There's no point in crying anymore. Would I really want to be remembered (if anyone remembers me) as the crybaby from Nine? Obviously not. So I might as well enjoy the luxuries of the Capitol while I can.

I jolt upright when someone knocks on the door.

"Havan?" It's my district partner, Farah. "Hey, are you still in there?"

"Yeah, come in!" I wipe the tear stains off my cheek.

"I thought I heard you crying." She sits near my feet at the edge of my bed. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Just preparing for my death."

"Preach." She pulls a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of her pocket. "Do you want one?"

"I've never smoked before," I admit, but I grab one anyway. "How do I do it?"

"Well you light this end." She demonstrates with her own cigarettes. "Put it in your mouth, then take a breath." A puff of ashen smoke escapes her lips. "You'll feel a tingle in your throat."

I cough as soon as I try to inhale, and my eyes become watery.

"Don't worry! I coughed the first time I smoked, too. But you'll get the hang of it. Just try taking a smaller hit."

When I try again, I inhale a little less, and I surprisingly don't cough. "I did it!"

"Yes, you did." She smiles. "You're a natural."

I don't know if being a natural smoker is a compliment, but I smile anyway. My parents would be frowning if they saw me right now. They were huge critics towards drugs, and they'd threaten to send me to rehab if I even touched a cigarette. But they also haven't gone into the Hunger Games before. I'm in new territory, so I get to make the rules.

"I wonder what our competition is like."

"They're terrifying," Farah admits. "I saw only a handful of them, and they look fierce. I'd be surprised if I survived the bloodbath."

"Which means I'll die before we even enter the arena."

"Hey, don't freak out on me now." She places her hand on my calf. "I'll be there for you."

"We'll be there for each other," I correct.

"And maybe one of us will make it out of the arena, despite our odds."

"Maybe."

Author Note: Only two more chapters before all the tributes are revealed! That chapter will also contain a list of the tributes in the "Author Note" section. Please, if you haven't already, comment and/or follow this story!

Next Chapter: The Scars We Hide (D11 Train Ride)