Hello, ladies and gentleman! I am back finally, with the latest update. And hoo-wee, this was a long one! Yup, got some puh-retty interesting tributes in this one, as always! So thank you to their creators! And did I mention that it's literally going to be impossible to kill any one of these tributes off?

BecauseofKillianJones: W00t! Good to see you back! Yeah, school is like that. . ugh. Anyway, I enjoyed your review as always! Poor poor Lokius. Only a 3/10. But since he has very little fighting experience, that's a very understandable score. And I like what you said about Catie, acknowledging that she will do well, at least for a D8 tribute. That's certainly what I was going for! I also very much liked the little proposition you made regarding Cree and the Community Home. Very interesting...And I'm glad you liked Leo. ;) He was a great tribute to write, thanks to you! And last but not least, I THOROUGHLY enjoyed your answers to my questions. Zale Shores, huh? Thanks for your review!

CelestelzaFanLolz(10/13): Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you liked Leo so much as to call him your favorite. And also Buck, too. Wow, it's awesome that there's no one tribute that is collectively the favorite one. I think the poll results are going to be pretty split when I post the first one! Anyway, thanks for your review, as always! I enjoy reading them! :D

ghostleon: I loooove when people make hints and guesses at things, like how you did with Cree/Leo and Joust! That's a very good prediction, so we'll so what happens! And I think the answer you gave to the question was very understandable. Careers ARE typically the most villainous. Anyway, thanks for your review! Always appreciated!

HeyyMan: Yay! I'm glad you approve! And I'm glad you're enjoying the story! Yeah, Cree definitely has quite the temper, and she's certainly a fun tribute to write. Looking forward to writing more about her and your soon-to-be next tribute! Yay! Thank you for your review, as always!

T1nyDanc3r: I'm glad you see my predicament! Writing the deaths of these tributes is going to be BRUTAL! Literally, ALL of them! Anyway, I'm glad you liked Leo, too! He's a pretty cool dude. And I especially liked your answer to my question. The career pack is certainly a good assumption, but what I really liked is that you still see good in them despite the fact you think they'll be the villains. EVERYONE'S gotta be a little good...right...? Haha thanks for your review!

tasherekalb: Sorry to hear the news. :( Anyway, take your time. Attending to something like that is much more important than reading this fan fiction, so it's perfectly fine. But thanks for the review, still. :) I like how you basically gave me the rundown of each tribute and which you liked more. It's good for me to know exactly how the readers' opinions fall, so you did well to let me know! Thanks for your review, tasherekalb! :D

Disclaimer: Thank you, XxSilverEyedWolfxX, for the district ten female, and thank you, Atashi Desu, for the district ten male.

District 10

Brett Keith, age 14 (District 10 Female)

"Hurry up, honey! You must get your dress on! The reapings are today!"

Brett looked up at her mother through her grass-green eyes, a spoonful of cereal in her mouth. She knew what day it was; she didn't need to be reminded. Not by her mother or father or by her own horrible memories.

And she certainly didn't need to be reminded of the dress her mother picked out for her. "Mom, I don't want to wear a dress this year. You know I hate them. The Capitol won't mind if I show up in—"

But her mother cut her off. "Brett, I can't have you showing up to the reapings in jeans and a hoodie. Please, dear, for your mother. You always look so good in your dresses." Her mother really did love her and always was looking out for her, but sometimes Brett felt like she loved the Capitol more. They were a wealthy family, no doubt, and so her parents always found it necessary to pay homage to the authority that gave them such wealth: the Capitol.

"But Mo-om…" Brett bit her lip and sighed, relenting. "Fine." She finished her meal and disappeared off to her room where her mother had laid out her hand-picked dress. At the very least, it was black; Brett liked that. Perhaps, she thought, she wouldn't look as overbearing as some of the other girls did in their frilly pinks and vivacious reds.

Brett put the dress on quickly and stood unhappily in front of her mirror, slouching a little and wanting nothing more than to change into something comfortable. She hated the way she looked; her slightly pale skin, she felt, played horribly off the black fabric, making her paleness even more obvious and making her look like a walking skeleton. And it was so tight, too. For being an already skinny girl, she felt like she was being squeezed to nothingness by the boa constrictor that was her dress.

But it would only take an hour. Give a speech. Call out two names. Before she'd know it, she'd be back home. Brett brushed out her shoulder-length dark blonde hair quickly, ignoring the prospect of wearing make-up. That was where she drew the line; she was going to the Hunger Games reapings, not a beauty pageant. All of the girls who gussied themselves up before-hand just made themselves look stupid and narcissistic, in her eyes.

Brett left her room and began to descend the grand staircase into their equally grand foyer. It was dark and quiet in their house, she realized. It almost chilled her to the bone.

And then she heard thunder. It was going to rain shortly, she guessed. Thankfully, she didn't mind the rain. If anything, it'd be funny to hear the other girls complain about how wet their dresses were getting and how ruined their make-up was. But still…there was something ominous about the rain. And ominous rain on the day of the reapings…couldn't have been good.

Brett stared out the window of the train. It was still raining…still raining. It had been rainy and windy all day, and it still wasn't letting up. She found it almost ironic: rain on the day of the reapings. There wasn't a better recipe for depression.

How could she have been so blind, she wondered? How was it possible? To think that just two years ago, Brett would watch the Hunger Games with her parents, wide-eyed and intrigued, and happy. And to think that she used to support the Capitol in their endeavors, too. She used to look up to the Capitol as a parental figure, a good thing, something that was there to help them. She felt so stupid for being so wrong.

A person wasn't supposed to like the Capitol. She should have realized that; no one in their district liked it, at least. And so her family was hated by the rest of district ten, and yet Brett and her parents still supported the Capitol and the games and thanked them for their wealth. She used to think the Captiol was good. She used to think he older sister, Rowan, was crazy. Rowan was the rebel of the family; she saw past what her parents and Brett saw in the Capitol, and only saw it as a monstrous government that wanted to control ever aspect about every person's life. How silly Rowan was, Brett used to think.

And for thinking like that, Brett had no friends. She and her parents were looked on as pets of the Capitol. So who would ever want to be around them? Be around supporters of the things people hated most? The answer to that question, Brett found out, was no one. None of the other kids would want to be her friend, because they had probably been taught by their parents to avoid the "rich girl with blonde hair."

But no…that wasn't true. There was one boy. One boy who looked on Brett as a friend and saw through the façade the rest of district ten had painted on her. He liked her because of her bubbly, happy personality and friendly demeanor. He always thought she deserved more kind people in her life, because he knew she was a genuinely nice person. It didn't matter if she had different views than he did on the Capitol; he liked her as a person, and that was all that mattered.

Thinking of the boy almost made Brett cry. She missed him so much. She missed Arie. Her friend.

"Try to catch me!" Eleven-year-old Brett yelled down to the boy on the ground. She was high in the branches of the tallest tree in her backyard. Arie looked up at her from the ground and tried his best to get a good footing on the first branches of the tree. "C'mon, Arie!"

"Coming!" he said back. It was no surprise that Brett was the better climber. She had always loved climbing trees, not afraid to get a scrape or two here and there. She was tough for being such a kind-hearted girl. Arie liked that.

Brett was halfway up the tree and was trying to climb faster; Arie thought he could be sneaky and skip a few branches at a time, so he was getting close to her. "Last one to the top's a rotten egg!" She smiled down at Arie in between pulling herself up.

"No fair!" he called back. "You got a head-start!" And so he tried to climb even faster, so fast that he nearly caught up to Brett. "Remember when I used to be afraid of climbing trees?" he asked her as he steadied himself to her pace.

"Yeah," she said back, grinning. She picked her foot up and down, reading the branches like an expert, knowing exactly where to step several seconds before she actually did. "I had to beg you to climb your first tree. And then you cried and my dad had to come get you out." She giggled, winking at him, and he smiled sheepishly back at her. They were still climbing, much more slowly now, taking their time.

"Hey, I was really young then!" he reminded her. "And I didn't cry. I probably just had something in my eye."

" 'Something in your—' Uh huh. I definitely believe that," she said sarcastically. "Arie, you're so silly."

"It's true, though! I—" The boy shrieked as he lost his footing. He wasn't watching what he was doing, too caught up in his conversation with Brett. The weak branch on which he stepped snapped, and all of a sudden there was nothing beneath him. He held onto a skinny branch above him with one hand and wrapped his other around the trunk of the tree, but he was losing his grip.

"Arie!" Brett yelled, surprised. He looked like he was struggling to hold on. His face was straining and his arm was shaking; he couldn't quite pull himself back up. Brett looked below her; they were so high up. She dropped down to a lower branch and gave his arm a tug, trying to pull himself up. She wedged her foot between a thick branch and the trunk of the tree, using what strength he had to help the flailing boy.

She almost slipped. She tried pulling so hard she almost lost her own balance. But then she readied herself again, furrowed her brow, and balanced herself. She wasn't afraid of heights. And even though he had become an expert climber, she knew Arie was. She thought of him and only him as she gave a strategic tug to the boy's arm.

And then it was over. He was safe, and so was she. Arie looked a little pale from his near-death experience, and Brett looked wide-eyed and surprised. She felt so guilty. She shouldn't have encouraged him to climb faster, she realized. She shouldn't have pretended it was a race. They shouldn't have been that high up, anyway. It was entirely her fault, and she knew it. She wanted to apologize so badly; she didn't want her only friend to hate her, to resent her for putting him through that.

But Arie did something she didn't expect: he hugged her. He hugged her so tightly, and for a second she wasn't sure if what she was seeing was real. Then he looked up at her, his face still pale, and thanked her for saving his life. And then he thanked her for teaching him how to climb all those years ago. "Because otherwise, I would still be that kid who was afraid to climb a tree."

And that was the day Brett realized that she found an even truer friend than she ever hoped. That night, before she went to bed, she vowed to protect Arie like a brother for as long as he lived. But perhaps…that wasn't going to be a very long time, after all…

How stupid! Brett felt like such an idiot for loving the Capitol and the games. The more she thought about it, the more she liked them less. She should have known better…no one, even the Capitol's pets, are free from its power. That was something she had to find out the hard way, two years ago on that very day…

Because that was the day Arie was reaped. That was the day Brett wished more than anything there would be some other boy in the crowd who would volunteer. But there was no one. As usual, there was no one there for her. And the one person who she could always count on…was the one being reaped.

Rowan was right, Brett realized. She was right all along. It wasn't good to love the Capitol, because the Capitol did not truly love you. They killed her best friend. They killed her only friend. Mutts…dozens of them…horrible, terrible creatures. Brett had watched Arie's brutal death from the large flat screen television in their mansion. And what killed her most…was that her parent's hadn't even shed a tear for the boy who changed her life.

"You're going to do good out there girl," Rowan reminded her from the Justice Building.

"I'm scared," Brett admitted. "I'm really, really scared." She was crying a little bit, too.

"It's alright, honey," her father said, trying to console her. Even his face was filled with grief. To see his own daughter be called into the Hunger Games; it hurt him, he had to admit. It hurt him. But even yet, despite what Brett felt was the Capitol's utmost betrayal of his trust, her father said, "But if you were reaped, then you're obviously supposed to be in the games. Keep your chin up, Brett. And remember: the Capitol selected you. Even if it was random, they wanted you. And you…you should feel good and ready to support the Capitol in whatever they want…"

Leem Welsh, age 12 (District 10 Male)

"And now…we will select the district ten male!" Something about the microphone sounded off that morning, and the escort's voice sounded echoey and witchlike, like nails on a chalkboard. Her voice cut through the air like a knife, and sounded even more muffled and less attractive amongst the pouring rain. It was a miserable day. "The district ten male is…Dace Welsh."

A clearing was instantly made for a boy in the eighteen year old section. He was of average height and average build, and had shaggy brown hair that sometimes fell in front of his brown eyes. The eyes of the other kids fell upon him, and Dace looked stunned. Then, he slowly took a step forward; there was no point in fighting it. He was reaped…

"I volunteer!" a voice yelled from the crowd. Between the pouring rain and the volunteer's naturally quiet personality, their voice was almost lost. But the escort heard it…and so did Dace. And it took him only a moment to realize who it was. Dace's jaw dropped open as he watched the twelve year old volunteer mount the stairs to the stage.

"I'm Leem Welsh…and I'm this year's tribute."

The eyes of all the boys and girls of Panem looked on in disbelief. It was Dace's much younger brother. Leem stood on the stage quietly, looking out into the crowd with his own set of brown eyes. He really resembled Dace, with his shaggy brown hair; but there was more.

The boy wore a tattered, dirty t-shirt with countless holes and a pair of worn-down jeans. The shoes he wore were his brother's, making him look awkward since they were much too big for his feet. Some of the more ignorant children in the district called him a slob, a disgrace. But the select few…the select few who knew his story…knew that this was all Leem could afford. It was all he was allowed to afford.

On his arms, the children close to the stage could see bruises and scars. His right eye looked dark and bruised, and he could barely keep it open from how sore it was. Even his nose…it looked slightly crooked, as though it were not aligned right. He looked underfed, like he was starving; he weighed only eighty-five pounds. The boy was short, too, even for a twelve year old: he stood at a mere four feet ten inches. And his whole body…it looked so scrawny and weak. It didn't make sense that this was the boy who would volunteer.

Leem saw a few people in the crowd that morning…he saw his brother crying, and an older girl sobbing, too. And another boy laughing at him. And another girl staring at him in shock. But more than anyone he saw a man. A man who seemed to pay no heed to the fact that Leem was volunteering. The man was drunk. The man was Leem's father.

Was it all his fault? Was it is fault that Shilah had died giving birth to him? Was it truly his fault? He didn't think so; at least, he didn't want to believe it. But at the same time, it just all seemed so true. Like he really was that horrible person, like he really was at the heart of her death…his mother's death…but no. His father just wanted him to believe that. It wasn't true. It couldn't be. His older brother, Dace and his older sister, Enna had told Leem their father was crazy, that he was just blaming him to make feel worthless, and that he shouldn't let his cruel words hurt him. But either way, true or not, it did make him feel worthless.

Because when the day was over, he knew his father was still a drunkard. A drunkard because his wife was dead.

"You took out tesserae for him?!" Their father, Connel, was roaring, pointing at the two-year old Leem and looking at Enna with an insane look in his eyes. Enna has turned twelve that year, and being the only sibling eligible for the Hunger Games, took out tesserae for her three brothers and one sister. And that included Leem.

"Yes, father. I—"

"For him?! For that worthless pile of manure?! Your throwing your life away, Enna, for the garbage that killed Shilah. You're mother!" He had obviously been drinking; he was always drinking. He yelled for an hour, screaming at her, telling her that Leem was horrible. Telling her that Leem was bad. He often repeated himself, but he was so flustered and angry that it didn't even matter. He hated Leem.

And then, when he was all done, he ran to baby Leem and threw him onto his head, breaking his nose. And then took off his belt, and swung, and swung…and he yelled something incomprehensible to the two year old: "You're going to kill your sister now, too!"

From that day on, no one took out tesserae for Leem again.

For his sake.

Leem saw himself in the mirror in his train room. He saw his still-crooked nose that had never been properly realigned. He didn't even remember that day, thankfully, but Dace and the now twenty-two year old Enna had told him of it one day when their father wasn't around.

The boy began to examine the rest of his wounds. His black eye…his father had given that to him just a few days before. He had come home exceedingly drunk that night, more drunk than usual, and was simply looking for something to do to let off steam. Pinning Leem against the kitchen table and beating him with his fists quelled that desire.

And then Leem lifted up his shirt. On his pale, freckled skin he saw countless cuts and bruises, and scars and burn marks. Burns…they were the worst. He could take a punch, as much as he hated it and as much as it hurt him. He could even take getting whipped. But when his father would hold a burning match up to his skin…

And then Leem looked at his left shoulder and the wound that had never properly healed. It was black and repulsive-looking, and severely limited the motor skills in his left arm. He remembered getting that wound one year ago…he remembered it too well…

Dace was seventeen that year, and couldn't take much more of his father. Dace always defended Leem and tried to help him through his father's torture, but Connel didn't want to hear it. Conell blamed Leem once again, this time for corrupting his older brother into rebelling against his father. "Don't you dare defend that boy, you hear?!" Connel would scream at Dace when he was sober enough to form actual sentences.

But Dace couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't watch as Leem was physically and emotionally abused every day, and took it upon himself to stand up to the monster that their father was. He tried to attack Connel one night; Dace was bigger and stronger than he ever was before, and he had the will to fight.

But Connel was ruthless that night. He staggered into the kitchen and picked up the first blade he could find. He slashed at Dace once (almost slicing his stomach right open), and then staggered into the living room where Leem was. The boy had no time to react before the man was on him, plunging the knife into his left shoulder as hard as he could. Leem screamed out in pain and agony, squirming as the blade was pushed deeper and deeper into his flesh. Connel was yelling obscenities at Leem as he cried in pain, and he forced all the weight he had onto pushing the blade even farther into his shoulder.

From the kitchen, Dace was screaming, "Stop it! Stop it! I'm sorry, dad! I'm sorry! I'll never do anything like that again! Please—"

"Good! You better not, boy!" And then Connel pulled the knife out, twisting it a little as he did.

Leem winced as he touched the spot on his shoulder; it still hurt him, even a year later. Sometimes his left hand went tingly, and he couldn't even feel his ring and pinkie fingers at all. His entire left arm had grown weak, and he couldn't even bring it around in a full circle. His injury—much to Connel's pleasure—had not properly healed. Dace was there for him that night and tried to bandage him up, but that was all he could do for the boy.

But Leem was still appreciative. He really loved his brother, who was always there to tend to his wounds once their father had passed out on the couch. And then Dace would always give Leem a big hug, and let him know that he was the best little brother anyone could have ever asked for. After getting so physically tortured, Leem became sensitive to and almost afraid of the hugs, fearing whenever anyone touched him that he would get hurt, but he still comprehended that Dace was only doing it out of love. Yes…only out of love…

And then there was his older sister, Enna. She was a wiry young woman, also with light brown hair and brown eyes. To Leem, Enna was truly an angel sent to guide him. She always reminded him that it was not his fault their mother had died, and told him how much their mother loved him, even before he was born. Knowing this helped him…it helped him understand, and realize that maybe her death truly wasn't his fault.

And Leem could never forget the time Enna took out tesserae for him when she turned twelve…even if it resulted in his broken nose, a concussion, and possible brain damage…he knew that she truly did love him.

"You don't have to treat me so nice," Leem told Enna one day. "Please…treat me how I deserve."

Enna gave him the kind-hearted, loving smile she always did and bent over, touching his hair gently so as not to make him flinch. "I do," she answered. "I always do."

Leem really loved Dace and Enna, and they really loved him. They'd do anything for him, but concealed their kindness from their father, or else Leem would only get punished again. Beaten again, whipped again, burned again, whatever. And they hated that. And over the course of the years, they learned to conceal their love for Leem from their other brother, Flinn, as well. Flinn was the sixteen year old, curly-haired redhead who would wait to see Leem get treated kindly. And when he did, he'd go running off to Connel, telling him that Dace or Enna "had the nerve" to be nice to Leem. And then Leem's torture would start all over again.

There would be other things, too. Flinn was too lazy to do his own chores and homework, so he would boss Leem around as him father did. Leem was forced to work laboriously on Flinn's chores out in the field (chores that were much too difficult for a twelve-year old), and was forced to complete Flinn's homework every night, until his fingers cramped and his head hurt. And if Leem dared defy him: "I'll tell father you were asking for food scraps from Dace!" And Leem didn't want Connel to think that. So over the years, Leem grew to hate his power-hungry, abusive brother Flinn.

And Kianna wasn't much better. She was Leem's other older sister, thirteen years of age, with a petite frame and auburn-colored hair, and freckles sprinkled about her face. Being only a year older than Leem, and only an infant when her mother had died, she was taught just one thing by her father: it was Leem who killed her mother, and it was Leem who would have to pay for this crime. She was babied so much by her father, growing up to look and act like a gentle lamb. But she had a temper, too, and she still believed that Leem was behind her mother's death, so she partook in dealing out his torture. She was sure to give Leem a few punches or slaps whenever she thought he was doing something wrong, and she often called him horrible names as her father did. But thankfully, she wasn't very strong. Her torture was nothing compared to Connel's, and Leem would've accepted a few girly punches from Kianna any day over a belt-whipping from his father.

It was such a horrible life. It was hard for him to just keep himself alive. And yet no one knew…no one else knew of his pain and suffering. People on the streets just saw the tattered-looking boy as worthless, showing him no remorse. Leem resorted to crime, stealing food from shops at night or stealing eggs from farmers early in the morning. He pick-pocketed the wealthiest members of district ten and sold his findings on the black market. He did all this just to survive. Thankfully, he was blessed with being light, quiet, and stealthy, so he was rarely caught.

But at the end of the day, there was nowhere to go. He didn't even have any friends he could lean on. No one he could talk to whenever he wanted to help him simply get through the day alive. There was Lara and Preseton, two kids Leem talked to at school who he called his "friends," but they could do nothing to help him. When they saw Leem's bruises and pieced two and two together, they offered to tell someone of Leem's torture. But the boy merely refused. "My dad will kill me." He sounded so desperate, a pleasing look in his eyes. "He won't care about what happens to him. He will go crazy and he will kill me. Please don't tell anyone." And so they didn't.

But no…there was one person. A person Leem could confide in. A Peacekeeper, surprisingly. A man named Vitus. It was the man Leem had met just one year before, when his father made him take out tesserae at only eleven years old, pretending he was a year older than he actually was. Vitus knew Leem wasn't twelve, but he didn't yell or punish the boy: he simply felt bad for him. He saw Leem's beaten and battered body and could do nothing but feel compassion. And so from that day on, the Peacekeeper always gave Leem a little extra whenever he took out tesserae. And when he knew Leem was thieving in the farmer's barns early in the morning or in the rich people's back pockets, Vitus kept his mouth shut.

Leem began to catch on to the Peacekeeper's friendliness, seeing the extra tesserae and knowing that Vitus was looking out for him. "You should talk to the Head Peacekeeper," Vitus told him finally, knowing full well of Leem's abuse. But once again, the boy refused, and begged Vitus to remain quiet about the matter, as well. The Peacekeeper complied, but did so with pain in his heart. Little Leem didn't deserve to live an unnoticed life, Vitus felt. And unnoticed life full of torture and pain. And so, Vitus became Leem's only true friend. He was willing and waiting to help him, to give him food or anything the boy needed. He became the only person Leem could ever talk to safely and openly. A person who would listen, and give him advice. Leem loved Vitus…he loved him as a father.

The boy moved from the mirror. He had gotten so lost in his day dreams and memories that so much time had passed. And he realized he was hungry. Leem opened the heavy door to his room with his right hand (his left was probably too weak, he figured), and made his way to the dining car. Once there, he grabbed a plate, and began filling it with food. There was so much…more food than he ever could have imagined seeing in his entire life. So much more than the scraps of tesserae Dace would bring to him when his father wasn't looking. It was truly a miracle. But he didn't just grab it all; he was very specific, and took everything in small portions.

"Hi!" an exciting voice called. Leem jumped awkwardly at the sound, instantly reaching his hands to his ears as though trying to block out a loud noise. His eyes were wide with fright and his body was stiff with the feeling of nervousness, and for a moment he just stood in place; then he turned slowly to the girl who spoke, lowering his hands cautiously from his ears as he did, and saw that the voice belonged to Brett.

"Hi," Leem said quietly, avoiding her gaze.

Brett felt bad for Leem. She really did. She saw him volunteer for his brother, and her heart immediately sank. It reminded her of how much she wished that someone brave would've volunteered for Arie those two years ago. So she appreciated Leem; she respected him. And she saw how underfed, socially inept, and bruised he was. If she was going to do anything before she died in the arena, she at least wanted to make Leem feel happy. To feel loved, and like he had a friend. "Wanna talk?" she asked.

Leem shrugged. His eyes still averted hers as he held his plate in his hand. He didn't really want to talk; he didn't want to get to know her. He feared she would ask him for an alliance, and that was not something he wanted. He wanted to be alone. "No," he said, and he began to turn around slowly.

Brett tried smiling at him, and then advanced toward him quickly in hopes that she could possibly stop him. But when she did, he flinched a little bit in fear; she was approaching so quickly. Like when his father was mad and was going to beat him. Or when his brother Flinn would walk up to him in a snarky and domineering way. Leem backed up a little bit, feeling threatened.

"I'm sorry," Brett said, genuine. She looked at him through pained and compassionate eyes, just trying to let him know that she meant no harm. That she wasn't there to make his life miserable, or to hurt him. But Leem began to leave again; he quickly slipped out of the dining car with his plate full of food in his hands. Brett frowned; she wanted to help him. She wanted to make him feel loved…

"Why did you volunteer? Why? It can't…no…" Dace was crying, trying to wrap his head around his little brother's volunteering that morning. Enna was next to him, crying as well; the two both knew he would surely die in the arena. He was so small, so frail, so weak. He was going to get slaughtered. They just didn't understand. "Why?" Dace asked again, tears rolling down his face. He loved Leem so much…

But Leem couldn't explain it. And he didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want Dace and Enna to feel bad. He never wanted them to feel bad, or to see them crying. He adored them…he couldn't watch them be sad…so before he left their lives—possibly forever—he asked, "Can I please…have a lock of your hair?" He looked at them both. He pulled out a little wooden board from his jeans pocket and held it up. "So I can tie it onto here…to make a necklace?"

That was Leem's token. That was all he wanted. And Dace and Enna gave it to him. And they cried the entire time. And then they were gone. And his father didn't come to see him, thankfully. And neither did Flinn or Kianna. But that was okay with him. It was okay…

His school friends, Lara and Preston, came to say good-bye as well, and to wish him luck. But they didn't understand, either. They didn't understand why Leem would do such a thing. To go into the Hunger Games over the place of his brother like that. Leem was just thankful for their visit.

But the moment he loved most was when Vitus came, right at the end, to say good-bye. Unlike the others, the Peacekeeper had no questions: he knew why Leem volunteered. And it made sense to him. And even though he didn't want to see the boy get killed, Vitus knew that death was one salvation from his cruel, cruel life. With tears in his eyes, Vitus told the boy everything he knew about the games. He gave him all of the advice he could possibly think of, and gave him tips from when he used to practice at the training academy. "You'll be okay in there, Leem. Just believe in yourself. If you think you can do it, you' can do it. And just remember…I'm proud of you."

The words hung in the air of the Justice Building for a few seconds, and for a moment everything became quiet. "If I come back…" Leem then began, slowly. "Can I call you dad from now on?"

Vitus, wiping the tears from his eyes, leaned in and whispered, "You don't have to wait that long."

And then the door opened. A gruff-looking Peacekeeper said in a harsh-sounding voice, "C'mon. It's time to go. I'm here to take you to the train." He looked at Leem. The boy stood up. This was it. This was truly it. The moment he'd be going into the games, to leave his life in district ten behind. For better or for worse, there was no turning back…

But before Leem followed the Peacekeeper out the door, before his life would be changed forever…he turned to Vitus, and said, "I'll make you proud…Father."

:'( Such a sad chapter. Wow, this was like...wow. You guys have officially done it. Right when I thought that maybe there wouldn't be such an AWESOME TRIBUTE, you guys did it again. Brett and Leem are absolutely phenomenal tributes with phenomenal storylines.

Anyway, I'd looooooove to hear from you guys! 3 I'd love to know what you guys think of the new tributes. And for the question of the chapter, I will ask this: this is a question I've asked a few chapters ago, but now that there are so many more tributes, I'd love to hear who YOU would want to ally with if you could ally with any tribute for the games.

Thanks for reading! Can't wait to get started on the next chapter!