Chapter Thirteen.

Private Gamemaker Sessions.

Everything would work this year.

Eroica sat with her Gamemaker robes fluffed and pushed out around her, leaving a thick, velvet cape that stretched all the way to the tip of the alcove. Her and her fellow Gamemaker were ready. Waiting.

She sat poised; a pen in one hand and a clipboard in the other. It had taken many years for her to reach this position – Head Gamemaker – and she wasn't about to disappoint the President today. Everything had to be perfect. Perfection for Eroica was an easy task; a woman with her life, her background, her repertoire of successful endeavours would not fail.

First, though, it was her time to assess and score the tributes. A mundane task, she couldn't help but think. It wouldn't effect much. Targets were already made. Alliances secured. Sponsors pretty much decided already – looks were a convincing enough device to lure in the money.

Those who had it were sponsored. Those without would have to prove themselves in the Arena before buying the hearts and wallets of those in the Capitol.

But first: today.

"Chop chop, everyone to their seats. We have a busy day." Eroica clapped her hands quickly, rousing the attention of everyone around her, locked in a repetitive loop of gorging on the buffet and gossiping about nothing.

Nothing that interested Eroica anyway. And if it didn't interest her, it wasn't worth the air she breathed.

"We have tributes to score."

At least if she got this over with quickly, the night would still be fresh. Ripe for the taking. Eroica enjoyed her frivolous lifestyle, starting from the very bottom and growing to the top had taken it's time. Precious time. But everything was worth it.

Nothing would ruin what she'd created. These tributes would impress her, give her something to work with, or she'd force it out of them.

Boring would not do.

Boring would get her killed.

I'm not dying today, or tomorrow, or for a long, long time. She'd kill as many tributes as it took to save her own hide – twenty-three this year, next year, the year after and every year to follow.

The difficulty of her job this time round, however, relied on what was about to happen. What they could all do. What they each had inside of them.

She expected perfection, and perfection she would receive.

It was that, or else.

A part of her wanted them to fail, to push her to the alternative. She'd always enjoyed the else. That's when the real fun began.

The moment Lysander stepped into the training hall, he politely requested for a sword. It was simple, he knew that, but simplicity didn't equate to being boring. Not if he could help it. A good score meant a bundle of sponsors, and sponsors meant life.

There was no part of his plan that required him to hide anything. For the first time, he could show what he truly had. His full potential.

Every dummy that sprouted up from panels in the ground were torn apart as quickly as Lysander's feet could carry him in their direction. If the cotton were real blood, the floor would be drenched in it. Instead, tufts of red spiraled and landed on the ground, coating it in the innards of fake enemies.

"Thank you," Lysander smirked triumphantly and strode from the room, confident. Maybe even arrogant. For once, in his mind, that wasn't a weakness. Pride made sense – perfect sense.

Tallis was a bundle of nerves. But she couldn't let that faze her from what she had to do. If she did then she'd fail Lys. She's fail her allies... her friends. She'd fail herself. And father.

He wasn't here. She knew that. She wanted to accept that. But every step felt cold, every step like his sharp breath was right behind her.

"Good morning." Tallis smiled and requested for the only weapon she truly felt comfortable with. The Gamemakers had just witnessed Lysander use one, but they were willing to be open-minded about it, especially since Tallis was from One. She was supposed to be good.

Good, Tallis started to feel. Not great, but good. Was it enough, she had no idea. Good could mean anything – life or death. But it made her feel confident enough when she left the room, dummies dismembered in her wake.

Good. But father would want great.

Dario had everyone's eye. The Capitol's heart. He walked in with a surprising spring to his step. A spring that wasn't fake.

He felt ready. Ready would get him through today, through tomorrow, and through the day after. And hopefully, through the Games. All the way to the end.

The weapon he requested was a longer sword, the blade curved as it flicked upwards and ended in the same sharpened edge all the other weapons did. He took it with a nod and headed for the dummies. There wasn't anything new here. Dummies were restocked between each session, and although it was boring, Dario didn't care.

He attacked everything that got in his way. Quickly. Aggressively. He channeled everything he'd ever felt growing up into today, because it meant a lot. Lysander would smile and say it was no big deal if he failed, but it would show in his eyes... the disappointment.

I'm not going to be made out to be weak. He ended his session with an unexpected shout. The last dummy's head turning and landing by Eroica's feet.

"Excellent."

He's perfect. She thought. He had everything she wanted in a tribute.

"Crossbow. If that's okay."

Leven tried to piece together the confidence expected of her. All through training she'd had Dario, and Dario like he had always been since meeting him, made her feel comfortable. Now under pressure, she knew it wouldn't last long.

If she failed, she'd be deemed weak. Leven knew she couldn't let that happen, weak was bad by any standard. But for a Career? That wouldn't only hurt her chances, but her entire alliance's. And she cared about them. Each of them.

"Thank you." She took the crossbow in hand, loaded an arrow and leveled it with the target. First, she did it close, only a few feet away. The bolt hit the centre, exactly.

Yes. A spark of confidence appeared inside her, growing as she took another step back. Another bolt. Another perfect hit.

All the way to the opposite end of the hall, where the target was hard to see, the rings non-existent, Leven came to a halt. Without aiming, without thinking, without even breathing, she poured everything she could into this last attempt to impress them.

Come on. Please.

When she went to check on the arrow, it was embedded deep in the centre. All the other bolts had fallen out just before the one before had been shot – technology, whatever, she didn't care.

Today she'd proven herself. A part of her still felt like it wasn't enough, but she'd always feel that way. It was a part of who she was.

But so was this. Who she was becoming. The right sort of Career.

If he had the choice, Soren would rather have been stood anywhere but where he was. In front of the Gamemakers. To top it all off, they were raised in a cutting in the wall, looking down at him.

Always down, he thought sadly. He didn't want to think like that. Not any longer. With Ash, something, he wasn't sure what, but something was starting to fit. Starting to work.

He wanted to do his ally, his friend, proud here. He didn't want to burden him with dead weight.

"I will be demonstrating what I can do with a knife."

Someone behind Eroica snorted. It warranted the worst sort of reaction in Soren. Initially anyway, a silent tear that trickled down his cheek was followed by nothing else.

Let him laugh. Soren nodded, felt his fingers clench then relax. Slowly, he walked over to the knives, gripped the one that fit his palm the best, and went to work on a dummy tethered to a stand. It's inability to move like some of the others would automatically lose him points, Soren knew that, but it was better than sitting down and doing nothing.

It went well. Well enough anyway for someone of his stature and skill level. A few times the knife slipped through his fingers, clattering to the ground and echoing through the room, rattling his skull with its harsh sound.

But it was enough for today.

Soren left with his head high. It wouldn't last long. But right now, he didn't want to think like that. Not for as long as he could help it.

Meva skipped on into the room with as much vigor as she'd tried to push into her alliance with Clarence. She figured, looking up at their bored faces, that the better the show, the better it would be for her and her new found friend.

As quickly as she could, she went over to the very knives she'd been practicing with yesterday when they'd rejected that girl. Meva still felt guilt over that. Everyone deserved a little bit of peace and comfort before their death. But she wasn't her responsibility, so she shook that thought from her head and began to throw what she could at the targets.

It was nowhere near good enough to rival the Careers, but it was still good. Each knife hit something. The outer-board, a blue ring, a red inner ring. Sometimes her aim was off, sometimes it went better than she thought she had inside her.

As long as she felt confident in something, she had potential to go far. That's what mattered to Meva. Potential. As long as she had that, anything was possible.

Sheen didn't want to risk ruining the reputation his alliance had set up, but he didn't want to lose himself at the same time.

So he did just that. He took the risk, sitting down away from the weapons, pulling out the same book he'd shown Raegan yesterday. He hoped, walking back to the centre, that the Gamemakers would understand it better than she had. Actually see the truth he held in his hands, the strength the pages possessed. The knowledge it gave him.

Without relaying everything the text said, he started to go on about what he knew without having to look back at the page. Except to point with his finger, he was doing it by heart, remembering key facts and points and giving out the information about ways to heal what. Ways to kill. Make death quick. Make death painful.

It would have made him flinch, but flinching here would sign him off almost immediately. That would not happen. Not in front of them – the real judges of where he was. Who could kill him instantly. Or who could let him live.

"Thank you. That was very interesting, Sheen."

He smiled up at the Head Gamemaker. At least she didn't sound false.

Did it work? He'd have to wait until tonight. A score meant a lot here. Something so trivial with such heavy rewards.

I did good. Sheen let himself believe that. The alternative wasn't an option.

Men.

Eroica rolled her eyes the moment Gemini walked in, flipped some of her hair over a shoulder, and strutted in like she was something... something special. She isn't. But the men certainly seemed to think so. Grinning on the edge of their seats.

Unlike Eroica, though, Gemini believed as best she could that she was that special something. If she didn't hold that belief, then she'd crumble. She'd fall apart when things were only beginning to get serious.

All her life she'd grown up taking things like a joke. Believing nothing mattered except living life properly. To its fullest.

But now she saw what could happen to her, and she did not want to die unprepared. She'd trained with a spear, so that was the very weapon she walked over to, adding a little swish to her step. Anything to gain their attention.

Using her body didn't deter Gemini – she was used to it. Used to reaping the rewards her... assets... gave her.

At first, Gemini went for close combat. Stabbing dummies. Cutting off arms, heads, legs. The usual. Then to try and prove she had more up her sleeve, she started to throw the spears. It wasn't exactly uncommon, but a mixture of both close and long range should give her points in their eyes.

It wasn't perfect. Some spears shuddered mid-flight and soared at a weird angle, others missed, but the majority hit their target.

Gemini left with the same swish, the same smile, the same energy. It would never be as good as some others, but she had the right attitude. And that was just as important. If not more.

Assisi was nothing special to the Gamemakers. He sat in the middle of the room, playing with berries and squishing them between their fingers. Some scowled miserably from their chairs. Overs peered over the ledge and jeered at him, shouting for something. One even threw something at him, but Eroica had him removed from the room.

With force.

She, on the other hand, saw something. His nature mightn't be done with rebellious intentions, but to some, it would be perceived that way. To her she saw defiance. A spark of something naturally related to rebellion, without being anywhere near as dangerous.

"Is that all you plan on doing?" Eroica sat with one leg over the other, betraying nothing of what teemed inside her head.

Assisi looked up, grinned, and pointed back at the berries. "Weapons aren't the only thing that can kill. And all that nonsense." He went back to rolling some between his palms, squeezing the juice from them, and flinging others over his shoulder in random directions.

It was a show of nothing. Nothing at all. But a spectacle in its own right.

"He's doing nothing. He's making a mockery of the system!"

No he isn't. Eroica saw something special in Assisi.

Come the Arena, she looked forward to seeing if she was indeed right about him. Hopefully. If so, they'd be in for a real treat.

Raegan stared at the Gamemakers with as much pride in herself as she could muster for the occasion. Lysander had pulled her aside earlier, before leaving for his own session. If she failed, he wouldn't be mad, but it would make things harder.

Raegan made it her goal right now to show the same traits she knew he and the others valued. What had gone through her on the first day of training went through it again, only at a faster rate, repeating itself over and over and over.

Confidence. Strength. Talent.

"You may begin."

She eyed up the weapon that would get her through this. Raegan wasn't entirely sure she had a name to put to it, but it was efficient enough, easy to use, and fast.

The hook sliced through the fabric like butter. Cotton spewed out and fell past the steel and to the floor, right by her boots. Raegan took another deep breath to relax herself. The heat was getting to her, the pressure, the stress.

The Careers were not a group to mess around with. This year seemed strangely relaxed, but that didn't matter. They had still trained to kill. Trained to eradicate weakness. She would not be that weakness – not for herself, or her parents.

"Thank you for your time."

Raegan didn't realize she was panting until a buzzer rang out. The hook clattered to the ground, shuddered once, and fell still. Only after she'd left the room did she regret doing that.

That was rude, not putting it back. She didn't want to offend the Gamemakers. Had she ruined her shot? Had she...?

No. She hadn't. She would never let herself think that. To admit weakness was to truly become weak.

And I'm not weak.

Charles gave Eroica a salute, smiling as he jogged into the room. He spaced both feet apart, nodded his head and requested a war-hammer.

It was a large thing. Bulky. But Charles, without wanting to boast too much, was strong enough to wield it. When the handle slipped through his fingers and up it went, over his shoulder, a certain pride washed through him.

So what if it came across as arrogant? Right now, he felt strong. Capable. Maybe even a future... Victor. That'd be nice.

With two hands he brought the war-hammer up in one sweep, then back down, pulverizing two dummies at once. Wood and rope snapped with the force, Charles jumping back to avoid potential injury.

"Oops." He laughed, scratched his head and shrugged. "Guess I should have gone for the moving ones. Come on guys, let's party."

He ran towards them – or jogged, sprinting with the weapon in his hands wasn't quite as easy as he'd like to believe – and went on the offensive. It was hard work. But thrilling. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and pushed him on faster and faster.

By the time he was done, even Eroica was happy to smile. It wasn't very efficient or tidy. The sluggish way the weapon went would get him killed – but he was at least trying. That's all she wanted.

Charles dropped the hammer, saluted again, and left the room fist-pumping the air.

He felt like a clown, but who cared? He'd done it! He was on the right track. Sailing through to victory.

Celeste smiled. As she always did.

Eroica replied with nothing but a short, simple nod. Her face showing nothing and hiding everything.

"Proceed Miss Damount."

Truthfully, Celeste hadn't quite gotten over yesterday. It still stung everytime she thought about it. Meva and Clarence had sat together and chatted like friends. Everyone else except the other two going it alone had had each other to cling to with the fear of what was coming.

She'd had no one.

With each step over to the rack of knives, Celeste's heart thumped against her ribs. Her lungs burning. Her breath growing sharper and sharper.

I can't do this.

She took the knife in a shaky hand and went to throw it. The second it began to leave her fingers the handle slipped from the nervous sweat building up from her palm. The aim was off completely.

She felt like crying the moment it hit the floor, scratched the paneling and hit the wall with a final clang. If she did, like yesterday when it was so hard, what would be the point of carrying on?

It'd be like giving up, and giving up wasn't something she was ready to do.

Instead, if she couldn't show them strength in weaponry, she could show them strength through her resilience. Whatever happened, she'd pick herself up, brush herself down, and move onwards. Always forwards. Never back.

The next knife missed. The one after that. Only after the tenth did one finally make its mark. The outer ring was nothing special but at least she'd hit it.

Not enough for hope. But enough for something.

What that something was, she didn't know. A good score was out of the question, but maybe she'd get to keep her dignity.

That's all she had left, really.

All she could really hope of keeping intact. What was inside her.

The weapons were Alfie's future, but not his present. Instead of heading in their direction, Alfie made his way towards the climbing station, various nets and poles and beams of random heights and structure awaiting him.

"I thought I'd show you how fast I am."

It was true, his best skill in someways. If they couldn't catch him, then they couldn't kill him. That's what he told himself to remain together. The fear was predominant most days, but as he put each foot against the wall and began to climb, a certain peace pushed that away.

It was enough, today. He made his way to the top, looked out and smiled at them. He even dared to wave, laughing to himself.

The next part was scary. But he did it, launching himself through the air, he caught one of the furthest rungs and propelled himself forwards, then shimmied back down the pole and landed on the mat.

"Ta-da!" His knees felt a bit shaky, but apart from that, everything had gone to plan.

"Thank you Alfie."

He'd done something hopefully they hadn't seen so far. If they had, then he'd be nothing special. But that didn't matter – in fact, that was pretty much why he'd climbed instead of fought. The fact it made him a nobody.

Unlike Alfie, Etolie went straight for the weapons.

Axes and hatchets were to be expected from where she came from, but that didn't stop her from taking the largest from the rack and heading straight for some dummies, positioned in a ring formation.

Etolie tried to act as calm and rational as possible. One deep breath and she was gone, forwards for the first one that had been programmed to attack her as well.

It parried her first attack but was quickly sliced in half with a cut across the midsection. At least for now, that didn't faze her.

It was a dummy. No brain. No feelings. No pain. It'd be a different story when it was another living, breathing human she was cutting open, but for now she focused on the present rather than the nightmarish future awaiting her.

The next few dummies fell like dominos, one after the other. It wasn't amazing, but Etolie had proven she was competent to hold her own. It was a strength in itself.

Without smiling like some of the others, or even a sense of saying goodbye, she stormed out the room with a neutral face, accepting the fact she'd done okay. It was average. Average was good.

It meant she wasn't bad, but wasn't a Career. She was just an ordinary girl, trapped in a shitty world.

Cort was one of the first to actually attempt a show of something different.

Instead of the weaponry, or the climbing frame that Alfie had attempted, he walked in the direction of the station he'd met Etolie. Well, when he proposed the alliance. They'd met before that.

When she'd snapped at him.

That was what he liked about her anyway: her no-fuss attitude. It kept them together. It built up a barrier between the two without either having to even say the word. They knew their boundaries, but they also knew the way they could and would work together.

Etolie supplied the muscle, whist Cort supplied the very skills he was showing to Eroica and her fellow workers.

It was a record time, for himself anyway. The berries were sorted into piles of poisonous and non poisonous. Then to wrap things up, he made a few sturdy examples of shelter, knotted some rope together, and threw one knife. Just one.

It hit a dummy in the leg and that was it. Everything he could cram into his session, he'd done it. Cort had hoped for the best and that was pretty much what had happened. His best wasn't superb, but his best was still better than some of the others.

He had a chance.

It made things a little easier. Knowing he could make it home. As long as he could fight, he could win.

The thought was enough for him.

"Stab this one," Chiffon called out in a sing-song voice. Her knife entered one dummy's stomach, then she took a small leap to the left. "Stab this one." She repeated it over and over. Chiffon would stab a dummy, call it out in a voice that grated on every one of Eroica's nerves, and then complete the circle again.

It was made even worse by the fact each dummy was stationary. And she wasn't even trying to impress them. Anyone could move their hand forwards and stab a dummy. It took power to obliterate them, speed to go through the dummies quicker than others.

Chiffon didn't care.

She'd told herself going in here that whatever she knew, it would never been good enough to really impress the Gamemakers. They'd have seen people better than her and people worse.

Instead of giving up entirely, she did this. Stab after stab.

It felt like she was shoving her middle finger up at their snide, snobby faces. Chiffon took that feeling and used it to smile, despite the glares thrown her way. She could have grown angry, she could have retaliated, but what was the point in making things harder for herself?

"Thank you very much," she curtsied, placed the knife back where it belonged, and skipped out the room.

Annoying, sure. They probably hated her. But she didn't want nor need their approval. The Capitol had done this to her, she wasn't about to graciously smile and bat her eyelashes for them.

But she wasn't about to throw her life down the drain either.

A score meant nothing, but what was to come did. That's when she vowed to do something.

Win.

It'd be hard, but life always had been. This was just another challenge. Another trial to overcome.

His first step to true acceptance relied on this. If he didn't try his hardest to make the Careers come across in an even brighter light, Lysander would think he was holding back on purpose. If he went all out and beat him, he'd be killed before he could even jump that first hurdle towards fulfilling his goal.

The right balance was important.

Great score, but not too great.

The Head Gamemaker nodded at him to proceed. Evander wasted no time, jumping straight to it he buckled down and walked briskly towards the pole-arms. First, he chose a rather tall staff that loomed over his head, both ends blunt but heavy enough to do some damage.

Then, like pretty much everyone else, Evander moved in the direction of the dummies and began to beat the stuffing out of them – literally.

He didn't want to show any break from focus and composure, but he allowed himself a small smile. It felt good. Each brutal attack followed another, and for each dummy, it was one of the Careers.

Even Raegan. Her falsity made him sick. She'd joined for no other reason than to actually be one of them. He could tell. He could see that side in her.

Instead of letting the anger ruin his performance, he harnessed it into finishing up his show. When all the dummies allocated to the section he'd chosen to perform in were beaten to nothing, he left with a curt nod.

He knew he'd done good enough. Great. Possibly better than Lysander, but today he hoped not. Any other time he'd loved to have shown him up, but not in this. That would get him killed.

And that was something he couldn't afford to let happen. Not for a long, long time.

Tamarin felt compelled to prove herself wrong.

Inside, somewhere, being with her alliance made her feel inadequate. It made her feel like the kind of person she'd never, not once, hoped to be. So today started the change inside her. Instead of thinking about the potential downfall of her alliance, she would do everything she could to ensure that they stuck together.

Through strength. Friendship. She'd like to think they were friends, in someway. It was hard because they really weren't, when she thought about it honestly, but they could be. And could was enough right now.

"Tamarin Bray, District Nine."

She nodded politely, smiled, and moved for the weapon station. Eroica could tell those behind her were losing patience. There were only so many ways you could use a knife on a dummy, but Tamarin still went for it, with surprising speed coming from a girl from a District like Nine.

Then, changing it up, she moved progressively up the size scale. A longer knife. Then a short-sword. Then the largest sword. Then a spear.

Finally, the buzzer went off before she could move onto the bow clutched in her hand. She frowned for a brief moment, but inside she felt happy enough with it. There had been enough diversity to prove she had something to provide the Capitol with. Something that she could use to benefit her... friends.

Friends.

A tough way to put Charlie and the other two, but it made it feel right. Natural.

Friends was the right way to put it, so she clung to that ideal. Anything was better than the truth, when she thought about it. The truth was painful. The truth was deadly.

"Howdy one and all."

Cayden tipped an imaginary hat in the direction of Eroica. She enjoyed his attitude almost instantly. Her eyes had been trained to identify contenders, and here was one.

Natural charisma could go a long way. It seemed he had it in heaps.

"Hope you like the show." He clapped his hands and went straight to it, running along to the maces.

Eroica leaned forwards at his choice of weapon. At least he hadn't gone for a knife. So many knives. Year after year.

It was boring unless they were being thrown. And even that lost its effect after a while.

A mace though was brutal, it could be messy, and messy sometimes impressed the crowd. It kept them entertained. Satiated their blood-lust.

With a grimace, Cayden dove into it. Bits and pieces of dummies tore apart with each blow, and as much as it irritated him to be acting like a performing monkey for the very people he despised, he kept going. On and on.

His arms started to ache. Muscles tensed, pain rocketed through his bones, but he kept on. Over and over until nothing was left.

"Aaaand, that's all folks." He saluted – like Charles, Eroica noted – and ran out the room as quickly as he could. Almost too quickly. Almost. His impatience to leave had been witnessed, but neither Eroica nor Cayden cared.

He'd done his bit. Played his cards right. Fit the role.

Now it was up to Dilara to finish it off. She worried him, but whatever, the other two were all there in the head. Good and talented friends.

He was happy to have them, he hoped they felt the same.

Cayden had put himself together before walking in. Sayla on the other hand, had not.

Her eyes drifted from Gamemaker to Gamemaker. A weird, hostile scowl on her that didn't quite reflect whatever entrancing distance was locked in her eyes.

"Good morning."

"Afternoon," Eroica corrected. "It's afternoon now."

"Afternoon then."

Sayla started to move towards the weaponry station, a united groan going up the moment her hand reached for the first knife handle, but she thought better. Biting her bottom lip, instead she drifted over to the dummies without anything.

Eroica, like she had with Cayden, admired the initiative to do something new. She couldn't possibly have known no one had done this, but still, it was appreciated.

Sayla was by no means a tough girl. What little meat she had on her bones left her panting with every fist thrown at the dummies. Some struck back after she went for those that were mobile enough to attack her. But they were weak attacks, designed to only force the tributes to defend themselves.

After one more punch, a well-timed kick, Sayla let her arms clap against her sides and she turned back to face Eroica.

"Done."

Her face was glistening with sweat. Quite disgusting. But it showed she was willing to do everything she could. Push herself to the limit.

It was another trait she admired in the girl, even if she wasn't as talented as a lot of the others. She had a different kind of spirit.

"Thank you."

Sayla left feeling content enough. She'd gone in there hoping to not come across as violent, but come across as useful enough to warrant a decent score. The last thing she wanted was to hinder her allies and ruin their chances.

They were that team she had struggled to accept at first. But it worked. Together, they would make it far, and she'd be an integral part of what made it work so well.

For once, she actually felt confident. A tranquility she hadn't expected from being here. Being at peace felt relaxing.

It felt right.

Clarence could feel every eye on him. Every single movement he made was being judged, every emotion on his face, every breath he took.

He missed Meva.

That was a strange thought, or at least it would have been a few days ago. On that train ride, the closest he'd come to another tribute was Dilara, and her unwelcome approach made it easier. Easier to picture every tribute as nothing but enemies.

Then along came Meva. She didn't judge him for being quiet. Or for struggling to show how he felt on the outside. She saw what was on the inside, somehow. He valued their alliance, their... friendship.

So he'd get a good score. A great score, to support them in the Arena.

That's what friends did.

He pretended not to hear the overbearing groan that swept through the room the moment he clutched a knife in his hand. If they were bored, there was nothing he could do but make these next minutes worth their while.

Instead of throwing the knife, or stabbing a dummy immediately, he threw his hands to the side and then forwards, tackling one to the ground. With a bit of rope he snagged from another station a few seconds ago, he tied it up, dragged it over to the fake trees standing by the camouflage station, and hoisted it up.

He tried as best he could not to see... Meva's face. It wasn't Meva. It was a dummy. Dull, lifeless fabric. It wasn't his friend.

Slowly, he started to carve up the dummy. It felt wrong, acting like he was some sadistic freak giving the Gamemakers a teaser of what he could do. He'd never stoop to that level, but at least it caught their eye.

It was different enough for Eroica to feel a buzz in the air.

Once Clarence was done, he left the dummy swaying, both arms now gone and a leg dangling by a thread near its head. If it were a human, Clarence wouldn't have been able to cope.

But it wasn't. Not yet.

He held his head high and walked on out the room, happy. As happy as he could be for where he was.

His show had been good enough. Good for someone like him, anyway.

Dilara didn't want to act like their puppet. All she wanted, what she really felt like doing, was sitting there and staring.

If she were by herself, then maybe. But she had an alliance that relied on a good score. Each of them would have given it their all, so by default, she knew she had to do the same. It was that or become a disappointment.

In some situations that wouldn't have fazed her. This group though, these particular three especially, would never let her live it down. They'd say it was alright, but somehow they'd make her hate herself. Make her doubt her worth.

Like always, she swore she'd never let that happen. Not again.

Eroica was less impressed with what she could do with a crossbow. It had been a while since Leven's display, so the interest was still there, but it wasn't as strong.

Some arrows missed the mark. Some swerved through the air and hit different rings than intended. Each time she failed, Dilara felt herself getting angrier and angrier. Her face heating up. Her heart beating faster... faster...

Then, finally, a bolt hit the middle. The actual middle, and Dilara bit down hard to stop herself from cheering. That was definitely not the impression she wanted to create for herself in front of these people.

After a few less impressive shots, Dilara left the crossbow and walked out the room. Calmly, she made sure of it. No rush but no pause. It wouldn't do if they say her falter. Saw her break out in the grin that overcame her the second she left the room.

It was far from anything she'd wanted, but she hadn't expected the centre either. Maybe it balanced out. Hopefully.

She hadn't disappointed herself.

She refused to disappoint her alliance.

If Ash were any older, this act – or at least she assumed it was an act – wouldn't have worked. But because of his size. Because of those adorable freckles. It did work. And it worked perfectly.

The eldest amongst her co-workers audibly cooed his name, clapping her hands together. He was doing what Alfie had done, climbing like a little squirrel up the wall, and even venturing further into the rafters that held some of the structures below.

It was dangerous. Eroica was pretty sure it wasn't even allowed since there were no mats for him to fall on if he did in fact slip. But for some reason, maybe some sick fascination in what the little cutie could do, Eroica held her tongue from ordering him down.

Ash on the other hand felt a weird high. A buzz that filled him from head to toe. Maybe it was the height and the thrill of having everything below him for a change. Or maybe it just the fact the Gamemakers actually seemed to like him.

He hadn't expected that, especially since he wasn't demonstrating any skill with a weapon. The very items he thought they cherished like their own children.

"And that..." he let his legs fall and worked his way along with just the bare muscles on his arms. Small muscles, he noted. Weak too, the strain hurt as he made his way back down. But it was worth it in the end. "Is how you do it."

He clapped his hands and bowed, glowing in the aftermath of their applause. Eroica was impressed enough. Not because he had done anything particularly entertaining, but because he had spirit. It was a certain characteristic – a quality – that shone inside some individuals.

Ash was nothing special, but he had that going for him.

Maybe it would be enough to keep him alive, maybe not. Ash hoped, and even Eroica hoped, that it would. He wasn't ready to die. And she wasn't ready, just yet, to see him go either.

Riva was the last session, meaning the Gamemakers were shaking with anticipation. Not to see the girl from Twelve. On the contrary, most except for Eroica, ignored her completely. It was the time they could spend outside. Living their bountiful lives. Enjoying the time they had to live.

Riva couldn't help but feel anger watching them smile and jump up and down in their seats, checking their watches and the clock on the other end of the hall.

At least they got to leave and spend time with their family and friends. She was stuck here. Stuck forever maybe, unless she killed, won and became a monster.

Unlike some, however, Riva was more than willing to become that kind of girl. Not because she was a bad person. In fact, if anyone were to become a bad person, Riva would have expected herself to be the last person to do that.

No. It was just because she had to make it home. Everyone else did of course. But it would be her that made it.

The fire inside her seemed enough to drive her to a somewhat impressive degree of aggression. The machete in her hands made its mark, cutting out strip after strip and chunk after chunk from the last few dummies left to wilt from their hooks.

Just before the buzzer could go off, Riva threw her weapon aside and jumped at a dummy. With her legs, she did a funny little twist and made her way up it's neck. If it were a human, they'd either have a broken neck or be dying from suffocation.

That was all she could do, because then the buzzer did go off and she had to leave.

I can do this, I can do these things when it comes down to it. She thought about the dummies being her allies. Her... friends, maybe. And it hurt, it stung more than anything. But it also showed her what was waiting for her to an impossibly vivid detail. Somehow, she found herself accepting that. Accepting that she could do such things for the safety of herself.

If they wanted a fighter, they would get one.

She made a promise to herself. It was one thing Riva was most proud of, her ability to keep promises. This would be no exception.

Er, yeah. Since it has only been a day, I'll leave the poll up and wait for a few more votes :D

Any tributes that stood out here? If so, why?

Yes, so stating the obvious first, I switched it to third person. That made a whole load more sense for this chapter and the way it was formatted. I couldn't go between twenty-four first person POVs... that would have been too difficult, and hard to read for that matter.

Anyway, that wasn't the most exciting chapter but it's a part of the Capitol that has to happen so eh, whatever. Up next is interviews, the bane of my existence, and then Launch which is easier. And then the Games.

Nearly there! Oh and training scores will be on the blog since they weren't given out in the chapter. Plus, I am aware the little sections got longer as the chapter went on... just the way it worked out XD

See ya next time.