Haus Der Toten; 95th Hunger Games
"Ready, Set, Launch."

Merlyn Edian, 17, District 2

"Mum, I just wanted to say thank you."

With a sip of her tea, she places the cup on the table with her eyebrows raised. "What's there to thank me for, dearie?"

I scoff softly, smiling as Miss Jonsdottir shakes her head slightly in confusion. "Well? Go on boy, I'm listening."

"Well . . . I wanted to thank you for the years of wisdom you've instilled in me." I say with a stern nod. "Without Corbulo Academy's structure and your tutelage, I would be just another quarryman's son with more talk than sense."

She hums in agreement, sipping her tea as she cups her hands with mine.

"Ours is a noble system, the 'Career' program." she inclines. "While the other Districts see the Games as punishment, we - as well as our cousins in the other districts - take our penance with stride, knowing that the very fabric of our nation is preserved by our tribute."

"In victory and death?" I inquire, as she raises the cup to her lips.

She bobs her head once, setting the cup back down. "Both victors and vanquished have a part to play."

My heart twinges at her words. In CAMS- Corbulo Academy of Military Science - the instructors always drilled us on success success success, by any means necessary. When she agreed, it gave me a sense of . . . self assurance? At least if the worst case scenario occurs, I would still be considered 'valuable', not discarded because I 'wasn't up for the task'.

Fortunately, that scenario won't be occurring because I will win. Where my allies show excessive ego and the constant need for praise, I show . . . well, nothing but the bare minimum, as per The Marceline Devereaux Show.

"It has been an amazing seventeen years overseeing you, Merlyn." she soothes, pinching my cheek gently all the while. "Your granddad would be absolutely proud of you. No go," she gestures to my allies, who lounge on the couch in the living room. "You have some final plans to draft before the big day. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

I smile while I give her one last pat on the hand as I drift over to my pack, saying my hello to our Escort Olivia as I crash beside Nicolao. Aliyah nods my way as a panel from PBC give an analysis of each tribute on the television mounted to the wall.

"What did you think about the District 11 girl and her little show tonight?" asks Skylar as she slurps on a milkshake.

Aliyah shrugs. "A futile but appreciated effort, No one in their right mind would sponsor a younger tribute for that reason alone."

Luana raises a hand. "I've seen her run a gauntlet and climb a tree pretty well. If she has a moment to showcase her skill, sponsors might give her a glance regardless."

"She was voted most favorable tribute in a 'popular' sense," adds Nicolao. "That would also make her a target for the reasons Luana stated."

This earns mumbles of agreement from around the living room, as Aliyah chomps a whole strawberry in one bite.

"Alright, our current game plan is 'anything goes', if the arena calls for It." she shrugs, reaching for another piece of fruit. "The Eight boy, Rafaela and those nosebleeds from Seven, all of them are targets. Every, single, tribute. Once the gong goes off, put in as much work as you can, then regroup once things settle down, okay?"

The response is a resounding nod from each and every one of us. We have a capable group this year with a simple plan. I don't see why it wouldn't yield the results we seek.

Occo Barst, 16, Distirct 5

"So, we connect the yellow wire and the blue wire, and then fuse it together with the single red one?"

I nod, sketching the diagram of our trap all the while. "Then we need a conduit to store the energy. It can travel in multiple directions, so the snare method or even a 'landmine' style trap would work like magic."

Valentina nods slightly, stopping as her face contorts into a frown. "What happens if we don't have an ideal arena?"

I chew on the leg of my eyeglasses. " . . . Then we'll always have our punji sticks and spiked ball trap.."

She still looks unsatisfied. "And if we still don't have an ideal arena? What if they do something really weird this year?"

I shrug, grimacing inwardly at the possibility of not having an arena to work with. "Then we'll have to rely on the old fashioned method. It's nothing a basic club, branch or brick can't fix."

Piper and our Escort Quinton continue to watch on from the other end of the table. Judging by the looks on their faces, they feel much more elated than they were after the reaping and the train ride out.

"I'm very proud of you guys for quelling all the doubt and stereotypes people boxed you in." says Piper. "Snow, even I'm slightly surprised you guys pulled off that joint nine . . ."

Quinton seems to agree. "Piper darling, these two have done more than that!" he drawls. "In fact, you two have drawn in a healthy following! If you guys just play it smart, I don't see how you can fail!"

Valentina and I exchange glances. I'm assuming that my features reflect hers- one of hopefulness. Just the other day we were written off as a bunch of kooks, and now here we are as viable competition. Who cares if the arena isn't ideal, maybe we'll get sponsors to kick start a trap? With sponsors, we get an extension, a renewal.

. . . Maybe I can transfer that renewal to Mom, Dad and my siblings?

I glance at Valentina who continues to dunk her cookies into a glass of milk, drinking it while the cookies remain at the bottom- to Quinton's annoyed chiding about table manners. For my renewal to happen, she too would need to die. What about Cveta and her family?

Nuh-uh, we'll cross that bridge when we get there. As long as they're still live, the other tributes need to be dealt with.

Evara Winslett, 15, District 3

As I sit here, finishing the final bites of the apple pie served to me, I can't help but think 'hey . . . this will be the last dessert that'll ever grace my lips.' And to top it all off, the 'normalcy', the way people are so cordial about the whole process, all of it all just irritates me. Going from A to B, wake up, breakfast, train for a deathmatch, dinner then sleep again . . . I'm surprised at myself for feeling so desensitized to it all.

Then again, I guess that's what a century of this stuff does to people.

"So," I sigh, swallowing the remainder of my pie. "Tomorrow is the big day . . ."

Gwen smiles faintly, exhaling through her nose as she nods. "P-p-pretty mm-much, yeah."

"Do you have any last advice for me?"

"Like w-w-what?" she mumbles, visibly unnerved about the conversation.

"I dunno, anything I guess." I shrug, smiling as an Avox serves me a glass of water. "It's mostly for reassurance, if anything."

Gwen shakes her head, apparently at a loss of words. "Unfortunately, there's not much advice to give." she says, caressing her shoulder. "No m-m-mmatter how much advice we give year after y-year, it doesn't make much of a difference."

I raise a finger to counter her claim, only for her to jut up her hand- cutting me off.

"Like you s-ssaid during your interview, you h-hope that your tenacity and cc-confidence will give you the edge over your competition. Rely on those traits, just as I relied on my brains. Hopefully, it'll see you through.

Now that seems slightly reassuring. Hone in on the Evara that stalked the Careers who were entirely unaware she was there. Hone in on the Evara who defended James against Vincent.

Hone in on Evara- the girl who was unlike the other typical stringbeans that hail from District 3. I can and I will.

Cian Landon, 18, District 11

Berglind Jonsdittir, female tribute representing District 2 during the 3rd Hunger Games, quickly snaps into action as the pistol fires. It's interesting to see how much more primitive the Games were back then. It was just a simple arena, a stadium of sorts. Capitolites cheering for the blood they craved.

The young woman sprints to the cornucopia, selecting a scythe as she moves to engage the other tributes coherent enough to get off their pedestals and select a weapon. How someone masters such a cumbersome weapon is beyond me. Berglind hacks, whacks and eviscerates her competition as they tried to engage her. Two hours later, after finishing off the exhausted District 6 male, Berglind raises her bloodied scythe into the air to thunderous applause. President Snow Senior could be seen in a VIP box of sorts, chatting amiably with his wife over Berglind's victory as they applaud. Cradled in his wife's hand, is presumably the most recent President Snow.

"There we have it ladies and gentlemen! BERGLIND JONSDOTTIR- VICTOR OF THE THIRD HUNGER GAMES!" roars a man by the name of Cornelius Estevez. "I swear as we keep going on, these Games are getting BETTER AND BETTER!"

His co-host launches himself out of his seat, bursting with joy. "It was a spectacle, a slobberknocker, a bloody melee! . . . A, a-"

Cornelius and his co-host turn to each other, a identical expression of euphoria spread across their features. "A BLOODBATH!"

"I like that, a bloodbath . . . a cornucopia bloodbath."

"So what," I deadpan, adjusting my position in my lounger. "You want us to kill mindlessly like a Career?"

"C'mon man, if you wanna get out of that arena alive you'll be a murderer, regardless of your 'morals'." scoffs Tybalt as he shuts off the television. "Listen, say whatever you want about the Careers, but the strategy employed by Berglind was a perfect one."

Herrick raises a hand as Tybalt paces past. "These games were roughly one hundred years ago. Everyone has kind of caught on to the whole 'move your butts' memo."

Tybalt nods. "Yes, but a variation of what Berglind did here wouldn't hurt." he says. "When everyone is distracted by the frenzy, we'll try and pick up a kill or two, it shows we're willing and capable."

"So we get sponsors and stuff?" I inquire.

"Exactly." answers Tybalt. With that being said, the room falls into a momentary silence. "So," announces Tybalt as he plops down in the seat beside me. "Tonight may very well be our last night."

"I suppose that's true." agrees Herrick. I'm surprised when the District 3 boy juts his hands towards Tybalt and me. After a split second pause, we all engage in a handshake. They've made for really good acquaintances this past week or so. If things were different, we all could've been good friends.

"Regardless of what happens in there, it's been a good couple of days." nods Herrick, earning a 'likewise' from myself and a Tybalt. We go over the strategy one last time, before Herrick and Tybalt leave for their respective floors.

"So, what type of birdie are you?" I seethe, eyeing Clarence as he waltzes in through the elevator. "A 'backstabbing' birdie, a 'lapdog' birdie?"

The Victor casually shrugs off the insults. "I was only making sure the Capitol was aware of your family and their transgressions about them."

"Even if that means the death of your fellow citizen who has a good chance of coming out alive?"

The man frowns, a first for the pompous loyalist. " . . . That's up for the Capitol to decide."

I scoff, waving him off as he shrugs once again and saunters into his room. I'll show him and the rest of those Capitols that I am redeemed.

If it means partaking in tomorrow, then so be it . . .

Nicolao "Nic" Lucritus, 14, Snow Island

"How's this going to work?"

Captain Onassis groans in annoyance as Melanie tries to undo his tie. She sits playfully on his lap, tongue sticking out the side of her mouth as she fidgets with the accessory. "Oh relax, you big baby. I'd imagine being a Peacekeeper, feminine touch isn't something you're used to.

"I'm stationed on Isla Nieve, I know it all too well . . ." he smirks as Melanie pouts, resuming her work as he turns back to me. "I'm sorry Nic, how is what going to work?"

I hum in thought, looking towards the balcony in which Rafaela tinkers with her token on a hammock, deep in her thoughts I guess as Francisco lounges with her. Meanwhile, Joyceta, Onassis, Melanie and I finish up with dinner. Quite possibly, if things don't go smoothly, this'll be one of my last full meals I'll ever eat.

"You know, with Rafaela being in a rival alliance and me being in the Career pack." I say. "You said we had a good following, so how will sponsorship go, or help in general?"

Joyceta glances toward Melanie, who glances at Onassis.

"Well, for practicality sake, we'll be focusing more on Rafaela than you."

I can't help but twinge with nervousness and annoyance at his answer. "Why might I ask?"

He glances at Joyceta. "Joyceta, you need the practice, why would I withhold sponsorship from Nic in exchange for more focus on Rafaela?"

Joyceta glances up from her dinner, caressing her cheek. "Because . . . since Nicolao is in a power alliance, he has access to better supplies than Rafaela will. So that means Rafaela is at a disadvantage?"

"Smart girl," he quips with a wink. "So now you see why I made the decision I did? Of course you'll still be considered, but seeing it from Rafaela's shoes . . ."

I nod. Rafaela is no longer one of us, which means she's regarded of lower stature- possibly. It's the least I could do for her, knowing that I watched as she was alienated by Aliyah and marked for death.

"Oye," I announce, stepping onto the balcony. "¿Rafaela es gratis?"

Francisco and Rafaela glance at me, exchanging looks as Rafaela motions me over.

"Alright, I'll see you guys inside, alright?" says the thirteen year old Victor, patting me on the back gently as he eases his way past me. With the wind blowing a gentle spring breeze our way, I settle myself beside her. The skyline looks amazing, with its giant steel buildings and gargoyle statures, It reminds me of Havana- the way the city lights up with a flurry of colours, all contrasting well against the lake shore.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" she breathes, eyeing me with her hazel orbs.

I frown, swaying my head. "I suppose so."

She nods once, caressing her token- a family ring of sorts. We remain silent for a while, listening to the chants of "Hunger, Hunger, Hunger!" from down below.

"Listen" I begin, my eyes focused on the city square below as the crowd lets out another cheer. "I'm sorry about not following your lead during the whole leader lucha."

"Why be sorry? You were only looking out for yourself." Rafaela retorts, crossing one leg over the other. "And now here I am, marked for death," she laughs a bitter laugh, resting her head on the other end of the hammock."

Here's hoping I can pull a fast one on your allies tomorrow, eh Nic? Maybe if they catch me, they'll make you do it rather than Aliyah. I'd prefer that to be honest."

My heart pangs out in sorrow, a sorrow I don't have words to place on. On the other hand her plight benefits me, one less person on my list to worry about, no?

I shake the thought from my head. We hail from the same island, we're blood - sangre. Even if we're not related, our connection with Isla Nieve trumps any Career pack.

I just wish I had the gall to act out on my thoughts. I suppose that ship has sailed, however. Or maybe, I could redeem myself; make it up to her somehow.

If only the solution was clearer.

Orville Mullen, 13, District 6

We might die tomorrow.

Marcia and I are sat in a reclining sofa on my floor's living room, one large glass filled with chocolate triple thick milkshake- one straw for me, one for her - and a large blanket to keep us warm as one of those Capitol action films plays in the background. I could feel the warmth radiating off her skin as her head lies against my shoulder, her leg right up against mine. I could even feel her body gently rising up and down with each breath she takes. We kinda just eased into the position and got used to it, I guess.

I see it all the time at school, at the local diner, other kids holding hands and what not. Now that I'm experiencing it for myself, it feels so awkward, yet so right . . .

"Doesn't a Victor from District 1 play the main character in this?" she asks.

I nod. "I think his name is Kaiser Von Delight, he has another one coming out in August, and everyone was talking about it when my school let out for the semester."

She scrounges her nose in confusion. "What type of last name is Von Delight?"

"It's District 1," I shrug. "They always have really dumb names."

We laugh softly, eventually falling back into silence. I think back to the interviews just a couple hours ago, being taken aback by her amazing singing skills. Maybe it'll help us along the way, if we make it that is. If the worst does occur, Marcia being the ray of sunshine that she is, would have tons of people who would miss her at home. How could a girl be so lucky to have such great talent, only for it to be squandered because of a randomized lottery?

I stir a little bit as Marcia grips onto my arm. "I've come around to your point of view, Orville."

"What point of view is that, Marcia?"

"The high chance of us not making it past the first five minutes." she frowns. "I do like how they gave me one last chance to at least have a taste of my wildest dream- to sing on a grand stage. At least I'll be remembered on a rerun or something . . ."

'Mix those things altogether, your team, Marcia, your training as well as your yearning for something better and apply it in the arena- its fool proof. You're competent, that's all one needs- competence.'

"On the flip-side," I say, easing towards the milkshake and taking a sip from it. "I was beginning to agree with your mentality."

From the corner of my eye I watch as she cracks a small smile, easing her straw into her mouth. "Really, why is that?"

I nod once, turning towards her with a smile on my face. "If we're smart about our movements, I don't see why you and I don't have a chance. If I have to take it one day at a time, I'll take it with you. Marcia Mata, my good friend."

"I'd like that a lot, buddy." she replies, her small smile now a full blown grin.

"Orville Mullen and Marcia Mata versus the world, if only for a little while."

Landry Danton, 15, District 7

"Psst," chides a male voice. "Landry darling, it's time to wake up girl."

My eyes snap open, only for Connor to be sitting at the foot of bed as he caresses my foot.

"Today is the day my dear." he says, frowning as he gestures to the closet. "Choose any outfit you want, we'll be waiting downstairs for breakfast."

I simply nod; forcing a smile as the young Escort gently taps my leg one last time before leaving. So, today is the day eh? I look out towards the blue 8:00 AM that beams at me from the clock on the dresser, then towards the depolarized windows. The day is a bleak as the feelings that many tributes alongside their family and friends must be feeling or will be feeling today.

Ma . . . Pop, I doubt they got sleep at all last night. Bless them; they have so much to lose if the worst does happen.

Showered and dressed in jeans and a sleeveless blouse, I slowly make my way downstairs to see the rest of my team already seated. Tamir seems just as shaken as I am, shooting a pleasant smile my way as he continues to slowly nibble at his breakfast.

Celosia's eyes catch mine, as she swallows her food and motions for me to take a seat. I nod my thanks to the Avox who pulls a chair out for me and settle on pancakes to eat, topped with a tall glass of apple juice.

If this was going to be my last breakfast, 'mise well be my favorite?

"So, Celosia," I begin, sipping from my apple juice. Snow my hands are shaking something fierce. How long were they like this? "Do you have any last words for us?"

Her blue eyes dart over to mines. "Based on what you've been telling me, it's for the best that you stay away from the cornucopia." she presses firmly, inclining her head and holding it for a full second or two. "When a Career has a vendetta, best stay out of their line of sight or reap what you sow."

Tamir raises his hand. "What . . . instances would you recommend we take a shot at rushing the cornucopia?"

Our mentor ponders his question, her cybernetic arm caressing her chin as she hums in thought. "Sometimes, the launch pods are dozens of feet away . . . thirty feet at max. Unless you're really determined, it takes a couple minutes for all the tributes to close in and meet at the mouth, giving you ample time to pick something and leave."

My stomach lurches as I swallow a bite of my breakfast. "I don't think it's a good idea to go regardless. I'm more than willing to partake, but I know my chances when I see them . . ."

Celosia nods. "Me either. The Ones and Two's- apparently being military trained and all . . . its brutal how they clean house so methodically." she chuckles- albeit dryly, flashing her prosthetic arm our way.

"As you can see here, I barely got out after going toe-to- with one of them."

I remember Celosia's games. The District 2 male manhandled her like a baby does an object it fancies. I remember hearing the audible crack! as his mace collided with her arm, rendering it limp as he dragged it into a vat of acid. Her arm was in ribbons as she cried out in sheer agony. What if they get a hold of me? Sure, most of them seemed tame, but that's because the games haven't started yet. What happens if Mom, Dad, Everett and Birch see it too? Oh Panem, it'd ruin them! What if they close down the tavern, squander their money on drugs and drink like dozens of other families across the District?!

Oh no . . .

"Sometimes . . . they're a little bit too eager." Celosia continues, jabbing a spoon at the both of us. "It's happened in my Games, countless others. A rock, a dagger on the outskirts, their bare hands . . . Hope you're not next to one, or that they fixed their sights on a weapon. It would suck to get your neck wrung or your face curb stomped into a pedestal."

Shoving my chair aside and zooming past perplexed Avoxes, I scramble to the sink- retching loudly as my breakfast goes down the drain.

Luana Evison, 18, District 1

"Are you guys full?"

Glisten and Cessna smile as Vincent and I push ourselves away from the dining room table just to give us a little breathing room. They, alongside Kaiser and Zenira piled our plates with carbohydrates and a whole bunch of foods that'll apparently keep our energy levels high, enough to last us the day and maybe the next until we get situated in the arena.

The arena.

Years upon years of being yelled at by Second Rebellion veterans, spending hours in a classroom preparing for all the various frills that the Games bring- have brought us here, on the grandest stage of them all.

I'm nervous . . . but excited at the same time! It's like the moments leading up to a class presentation. Your stomach clenches up each moment your teacher selects a name out of a hat, you get up out of your seat and slink your way to the front of the class- then you pour your heart out. Once you get into the swing of things, you feel much more comfortable.

Yes, that describes today to a tee. Today, I get to show the Capitol all my years of diligence and dexterity.

"I'm stuffed," says Vincent as I nod along in agreement. "I hope I'll be able to move once the gong goes off . . ."

"Well," I begin, "We could just roll our way to the cornucopia?"

A pleasant round of light laughter is a welcoming sound, it eases the pre-game jitters.

"I think you guys will do just splendid." chirps Rouge, our mousy Escort as she caresses our shoulders.

"Of course they'll be fine," says Glisten as he finishes up his own breakfast. "The hoverplane ride to the arena will give you enough time to digest, and then another hour or two you'll have a light meal which will give you enough energy to last the initial bloodbath, then the next day."

I nod at this. I could only imagine how things must be for the outliers, especially that weird kid from District 12. Knowing that half of them have to be pried from their floors crying and screaming gives me satisfaction.

"Sooo, do you have any last minute advice?" I ask, smiling as Cessna and Glisten exchange a quick glance with the other Victors, then among themselves as they turn back to Vincent and I.

"Nothing that ten years of training won't cover." answers Glisten. "Just play it smart and think things through and you'll be alright. When it comes to your alliance, be cordial- strictly professional and you should last long enough."

"Sounds like a plan!" says Vincent as he claps his hands together, glancing over at me with a warm smile. He juts his hand out towards me.

"I just wanted to let you know, it's been a good couple of years and um . . . may the best tribute win." he nods.

It doesn't take a second for me to return the handshake. People like Vincent, Kite and Skylar were exceptional allies to have. We may not be the most 'chummy' of alliances but we know the stakes, what's expected of us as Career Tributes.

"Like I said on interview night," I say, pumping his hand. "You're here for me, I'm here for you. Let's do this."

Lumina Reiss, 17, District 12

"Try to find a vantage point for that crossbow, if they have a crossbow."

"So you're saying that the cornucopia is on the table for us?" I ask, albeit hurried.

Ainsley hesitates before nodding her head vigorously. "Both of you are capable enough to contend in my books. Just keep your eyes peeled. Get in, get out."

Just as I nod in understanding, my heart drops as I hear a chime from the elevator. We all rise out of our seats as squad of Peacekeepers barge in from the elevator. The lead Peacekeeper removes their helmet with a soft hiss to reveal a younger looking dark skinned woman- maybe a year or two older than Jai and I.

"Am I correct in saying that this is the floor of District 12 tributes Jai Matisse and Lumina Reiss?" she asserts, her eyes scanning the room.

"Yes, yes you are." answers our Escort Francine with a hesitant smile.

"We are here to collect the tributes and escort them to the hoverplane." the Peacekeeper deadpans.

We all exchange terse looks with one another, only for the Peacekeeper to clear her throat and motion her rifle towards the elevator doors. Francine mutters something along the lines of 'Yes, well . . .' as she quickly moves from her seat and plants a kiss on our foreheads. Usually, I would be the first to chew her out for such frantic behavior. But for all her support she's offered us this past week or so, it's a welcomed gesture. I will genuinely miss the young Escort.

"Lumina, Jai," she begins. "You two were a spectacular first pair of tributes an escort can ask for. You'll do just fine, I can see it now!"

"Thank you Francine, I'm charmed." I mumble from her shoulder as she embraces me with a hug.

"Likewise, darling. You're a diamond among coals." she says, moving to hug Jai. "If District 12 doesn't get a better rap now, I don't know who else will do it! Okay, go on now. The nice officers are waiting."

Her hand slips from mine as I begin my walk towards the elevator, Ainsley and I exchange a warm smile and a nod. Our Mentor is a medicated mess, but at least she gained enough confidence to try and aide us in our predicament. That, on top of surviving her Games is enough to warrant mutual respect.

Unfortunately, Jai remains dormant at the dining room table, his face as pale as a phantom as he stands in place, his head teetering back and forth in apparent disbelief.

"I . . . I can't do it."

The Peacekeeper, annoyed to have been kept so long, moves to drag him along- only for Ainsley to zip over to the shocked boy and whisper into his ear. After a couple of seconds of comforting words, Jai nods, Ainsley patting his shoulder as he joins me in the elevator.

"Are you ready for this?" I breathe, lurching as the elevator launches upward.

He doesn't answer. Instead, he clasps his hand in mine- giving it a gentle squeeze. I can't help but return the gesture.

We're marched up to the roof, joining the other tributes in a double file line as the Peacekeepers usher us into the back hatch of the hoverplane. Our Escorts and Mentors stand off to the side, most looking like attendees to a funeral and the obvious ones waving and cheering on their respective pair as were wordlessly escorted in.

Instead of the usual cargo bay the tributes are placed in as per the recaps, the Peacekeepers motion for us to take a seat on the left and right hand side of an expansive cabin. It looks like something straight out of a Pan-American Airways commercial, the cabin was fitted with wood-paneled walls and crimson seating alongside golden trimmings. I take the window seat, as Jai and I are shackled to the legs of our chairs. This precaution is apparently for 'safety measures' assured a Peacekeeper as he secures our binds and moves on to Cian and Marcia's.

. . . Because we wouldn't want the tributes breaking free and rushing the cockpit, right?

After securing our binds, the Peacekeepers disembark and the hovercraft slowly ascends and zooms away. The Capitol, at least downtown- faced south towards the lake . . . So, I'm assuming that our location is eastward, as we would be heading towards the mountains if we went any other direction.

After a couple minutes of flight, the cabin was devoid of noise, besides the arcane small talk among District Partners and those in your immediate area. District 6 is on the opposite end of the isle, looking frightened out of their minds. District 8 both look especially defeated and panicky as well, I don't blame them. Teams of what I assume are Peacekeepers or doctors? Emerge from downstairs with suitcases in their hands. I'm going to assume judging by the red crosses on their suits that they're doctors as well.

I'm confused because their uniforms are unlike anything I've seen before . . . besides the film they always show at the reapings or archive footage of the rebellions. Oh yes! They seem to be a variation of what Father's workers at the factory would wear when dealing with hazards of sorts. The doctors wore Peacekeeper-white hooded suits, black harnesses with a belt and a holster alongside black gloves and long boots as well.

A middle aged woman with graying hair and hard blue eyes knelt down toward Jai and me, unclasping her case as she assembled her equipment. She reveals a 'gun' of sorts, yanking my hand forward as she jabs it into my forearm.

"Your tracker." she says coolly, moving on to the next piece of equipment. She reveals another needle-like instrument, with blue liquid affixed in a vial.

She holds my hand in place as she slowly sinks the needle into one of my veins. "Relax, it makes it easier to dispense that way."

As she injects the mystery substance into me, I can't help but wince as a burning sensation begins to take hold in my arm, then my chest, then the rest of my body.

"What was that miss?" I hiss, shaking my head in a poor attempt to dilute the side-effects. She motions the zipping of her mouth and the tossing away of a key, as she moves on to Jai who as well finds the instruments to be unpleasant.

After the team of doctors leave the cabin, the silence returns- apart from the Careers who have the audacity to giggle among themselves like we're on a damn field trip of some sort. Part of me hopes that once they see the Games for what they are, they'll snap out of it. However, we all know that this is- metaphorically at least, the beginning of their lives.

After what seemed like hours - in which the windows were polarized mid-way though - the hoverplane comes to a stop, resting on what I think is a landing pad. Everyone lurches forward as the craft begins to sink lower and lower underground, before coming to a complete stop as the craft shudders in place. The Peacekeepers come back, but this time, they looked like they mean business.

Their hoods are pulled over their heads, their faces replaced with white masks and black circular lenses that make them look like elephants rather than humans. They lugged rifles that glowed violet in the middle alongside black backpacks. All that could be heard were their crackling radios and their deep breaths. They were speaking to one another? Their voices were garbles and unintelligible as they undid our binds.

"Onyourfeetsinglefilenow." the lead Peacekeeper garbled.

". . . What was that?" Adele from District 8 asks as she peers from her seat.

The Peacekeepers' shoulders drop in annoyance. They press a few buttons from their communicuff, followed by a soft hiss from their mask.

"Tributes, get on your feet and in single file, and then follow me." snaps the female Peacekeeper. We follow her command, lining up in a boy girl boy girl pattern from Snow Island to Myself and Jai.

Slowly but surely, the Peacekeepers lead us off the hovercraft and further into a complex of sorts- sometimes a hallway lined with series of piping, or laboratories with rectangular windows and sickly green walls. Every five minutes or so, each tribute would be directed elsewhere, each and every one of them until I remained.

"Ah, there you are girl." chides Cameron as I saunter into the room- the Peacekeeper closing the door behind us. "Come come, let's have you change and get something to eat."

I follow my stylist to the closet, in which he reveals the outfit I will wear when the Games begin. He allows me privacy, only returning when I call for him to come back again. He stands me up in front of a full-length mirror, circling me like a vulture does its meal.

"Hmm," he hums, coming out of his thoughts. "A black shirt on top of a coal-black windbreaker of a more sturdy material- knee length with khaki trousers akin to those of a Peacekeeper utility uniform- again with multiple pockets. Then, we have some calf length boots- very sturdy like the jacket and tight fitting. Ooh and they're steel toed. With the boots being all black, you kinda forget." he finishes with a sad chuckle.

"So," I say, adjusting the jacket. "What do you make of the outfit in general? What will the arena be like?"

He scratches his chin. "Most of this stuff is tight fitting, which means you should expect a lot of moving around. The boots are a testament to that running around; those won't be breaking apart or falling off any time soon. With the trousers, the skin tight feature helps with your agility and the pockets give me a hunch that there'll be plenty of things to scavenge, possibly."

"What about the weather?" I inquire, motioning towards the black jacket with silver accents.

Cameron caresses the sleeve in his hand. "Again, thigh length windbreaker with multiple pockets and decent inner padding . . ." he caresses his chin once more. "It'll be good for housing extra items. In terms of weather, expect gentle breezes and monsoons. Water will slide right off this thing. Your t-shirt is functional, form fitting. If it does get a tad hot, you could wear it alone no problem."

Well good, at least I don't need to worry about freezing to death or eating Jai's dead body . . .

"Do you have any idea where we are?"

He shrugs. "Nope, I'm just as blind as you are, for they shipped us out as soon as the interviews were over. If you've paid attention in your geography class, you'd have an inkling of where we might be located. North America is a big continent m'dear; however, if I were to make an educated guess, we're in the east or even west."

So I was right, as far as being east goes. That District 12 home advantage may play into our pockets. I suppose any advantage is good at the moment.

Cameron and I look up towards the ceiling as a pleasant chime emits from the PA system.

"Tributes, you have thirty minutes until launch." Chimes a pleasant voice that sounds a lot like that female hologram Vi's.

Cameron gently ushers me over to a table, fitted with various types of light finger foods. 'Eat up' he urges, as he provides me a plate, 'You never know what awaits you up top.' So I do, selecting the salmon I'm so enthralled with alongside some vegetables to hold me over until I find a food source on the surface. As I assemble these foods and place them in front of me, I can't help but think this'll be my final meal if only for a little while. It also makes me think about Mother and Father, the social gatherings we would have with what few upper echelons District 12 had. Father will have to deal with not having his 'Little Treasure' around to nurture anymore.

And then we had Hedy, Cordin and Leonardo . . . I'm sure Cordin and Leonardo could figure something out if the worse does happen. Hedy will be fine, she has tons of potential many in our downtrodden District will never have.

"Tributes, you have five minutes until launch."

"Are you ready to get going, Lumina?" Cameron asks, watching as I pat my lips with a napkin.

" . . . Ready as I will ever be, Cameron." I answer.

He nods, motioning me to the 'elephant in the room', the pedestal that'll be hoisting me to the slaughter. The stockyards people back home call it, and they couldn't be anything but right at the moniker. I take one step, two steps before I enter the tube as Cameron gently spins me around- an item cupped in his hands.

"It's a communicuff of sorts." he says, clasping it on my forearm. "Your roster of tributes will be the first to use it in the Games. It acts as a PDA with pieces of the arena map, the time, limited radar, info on mutts, et cetera. Mind you, that people have to pay a pretty penny to sponsor you with those microchips to put into your cuff, so try and keep it in tact, okay?"

I observe the hefty piece of tech, before nodding and turning back towards the pedestal. "Okay, Cameron. Thank you for the information . . . and your superb styling skills. Be sure to send the rest of the prep team my love, okay?"

"Of course darling." he says. "And um . . . Lumina, I just wanted to say it has also been a pleasure styling such a graceful young woman such as you. You'd think all District 12 children were urchins just like the generation before them. But you, you raised the bar for everyone else that follows. Thank you."

"What can I say Cameron," I turn around, facing the young man. "The Reiss family is known to make lasting impressions."

With that, the pod encloses around me with a soft hiss as it seals tight. My stylist and I exchange a polite nod as I wait for the playing of the anthem while I begin to be hoisted upward into the unknown. I have a good life back home, family, friends and acquaintances that love and appreciate me. I've been tutored in everything ranging from chemical reactions and ballroom dancing. Surely, my yearning for a more 'hands on' approach to my experiences will translate well into this arena?

It'll have to be.

Five minutes turn into ten minutes as no other announcement was made over the PA system, as time ticks on my stomach continues to twist itself into a bundle of nerves. I assume that every other tribute was in a comparable state. Was this some sort of trick or sick joke? I turn to Cameron who shrugs my way. He seems more confused if not more than I am.

Why in Snow's name haven't we launched yet?