Private Gamemaker Sessions
Prove Yourself

Argent Gaunt, 18
District One

The private sessions were just a formality, of course. Just another chance to show off. The Gamemakers already knew that the Careers would be lethal. It was just a matter of how lethal, of how well he would stack up against the other Careers. The rest of the tributes – they didn't stand a chance. It was only a matter of time before the Games came down to him and some of his fellow Careers.

And he would have to be ready for that. But first he had to get through what little remained of their pre-Games training. He was starting to wish they could just get on with it. Starting to get impatient with the trainers and their smiles and congratulations. So as he chose a pair of short swords and charged at one of the available trainers, he figured he might as well let off some steam. "Come on, then!" he called to a second one, who chose a sword and joined them.

He fought them off easily. Even when a third trainer joined the other two, he held his own. Several times, he scored what would have been a killing blow if their blades hadn't been blunted. By the time their fifteen minutes were through, he was sweating and tired, but the trainers were certainly a little worse for the wear.

Smiling smugly, he replaced the swords and left the room, not even bothering to look back. He would get a high score – he was certain of that – but none of this really mattered. Once they were in the arena, high training scores wouldn't mean a thing. Once the Games began, the arena was the only thing that mattered. And once they ended…

Well, then he could figure out what to do with the rest of his life. He'd never really given it much thought. Training for the Games was what had given his life meaning. Without that, what did he have?

Argent shook the thought from his head. He would have time to figure that out later – after the Games. Right now, he had to focus. Right now, the Games were the only thing that mattered. He couldn't afford any distractions.

Narra Tarot, 14
District Seven

Narra gave the Gamemakers a little wave before settling down at the plant sorting station. None of them waved back. Not that she could really blame them for that; they'd already been sitting around for hours, watching tribute after tribute try their best to impress them. And for what? A number that would mean exactly nothing once they were actually in the Games. Sure, a high score could help attract sponsors, but it could also paint a target on her back. And while a low score could help her blend in and fly under the radar, once they were in the Games, she would eventually have to do something impressive if she wanted to survive.

She had no delusions of getting a particularly high score, of course. Not when practically every tribute was older or stronger than her. Not when there were two Career packs vying for the Capitol's attention. No, the best she could probably hope for was an average score, but that was no reason to do anything other than her best.

She hadn't even entertained the idea of demonstrating any weapons skills. Instead, she started sorting plants right away into four of the wooden bowls that were available by the stations. She put most of the edible ones in one bowl, and the inedible ones in the other. Occasionally, she tossed a root or leaf into the third bowl, and a few more into the fourth one. Finally, with about five minutes left, she headed over to the fire-starting station.

It didn't take long to get a fire started, or to heat the contents of the third bowl. She quickly crushed the contents of the fourth with a stick, then stirred up the heated mixture in the third bowl. She held it out towards the Gamemakers. "Care for a taste?"

That got a few raised eyebrows, and Narra smiled. Had they been watching closely enough? Everything she'd put in the third bowl had been perfectly harmless, of course … on its own. But together…

Finally, one of the younger assistants worked up the courage to take a step out onto the floor, took the spoon that Narra offered him, and cautiously ate a little of the mixture. Immediately, he started coughing. After a moment, he fell to his knees, gasping. The other Gamemakers sprang to their feet, but Narra calmly shoveled a little of the mixture from the fourth bowl into his mouth.

Almost instantly, he stopped coughing and staggered to his feet, back towards the other Gamemakers. The buzzer sounded, and Narra turned to go, but before she did, she could have sworn she saw the Head Gamemaker, Jairus Fritz, give her a little wink. Maybe she'd impressed them, after all.

Brindle Young, 18
District Nine

Brindle shook her head as Ludwig emerged from the training room, his forehead covered in sweat. Pathetic. Showing off for the Gamemakers like some sort of prized animals, eager to win their masters' approval. Well, she certainly wasn't going to stoop to that. She was better than that. She wasn't going to bow down and kiss the Capitol's feet, no matter what they threatened her with.

Besides, it wasn't as if a high training score would magically erase everyone's memory of what had happened at the reaping, or the reputation her family had in her district. The Capitol was never going to love her. Never going to support her. So there was no point in trying. They could give her a one, for all she cared. Maybe even a zero. Had anyone ever gotten a zero before?

Maybe not, but there was a first time for everything. "Brindle Young!" the voice called for what certainly wasn't the first time. Brindle slowly got to her feet and made her way into the room, glaring at the Gamemakers the whole time. Maybe she would be dead in a few days, but these fifteen minutes were hers. They would have to listen to what she had to say.

Brindle caught the Head Gamemaker's gaze, planting her feet and crossing her arms over her chest. "Shame on you!" she began. "Shame on all of you. It's not bad enough that you tear us away from our families and send us into an arena to kill each other. No, you have to make a sport out of it. Make us perform, beg, for your good graces so that we'll live another day. Well, I'm not going to—"

"I think that's quite enough of that." The Head Gamemaker raised his hand, cutting her off.

Brindle shook her head. "Oh, no, you don't. I've got fifteen minutes, and I'm going to use them. You have to—"

"I have to do nothing of the sort." He pressed a button on the table, and, immediately, two men in uniforms entered the room. "Miss Young doesn't seem interested in using the rest of her time. Take her away."

"Coward!" Brindle shouted as the men grabbed her by the arms. "Are you really that afraid of what I might say?"

"Afraid?" Jairus chuckled as they dragged her from the room. "No. Just bored. Don't waste your breath, kid. And don't waste my time." That was the last she heard as the door closed behind her.

Derek Overholt, 17
District Twelve

Dead last. Of course District Twelve was dead last. Derek leaned back in his chair, waiting for Apple to emerge from the room. Would it really kill them to switch up the order a little bit? Maybe have the Careers go last. They were probably the more interesting ones to watch, after all, so why not save those for when the Gamemakers would probably be desperate for something interesting?

Finally, the door opened, and Derek sprang to his feet even before his name was called. He quickly strode into the room and reached for the first weapon he saw – a wooden spear that was lying near the door. "Look, I don't want to waste your time," he offered with a smile. "Want to just give me a ten and get this over with?"

To his surprise, one of the Gamemakers actually chuckled. "You've got to earn it first, kid," he remarked, settling back in his chair as one of the trainers chose a wooden staff. Derek nodded a little, and then charged.

His first swing went wild. Too much momentum. The trainer easily dodged, then whirled around and tapped Derek on the leg with her staff. Not hard enough to hurt – not much, at least. But if this had been real…

If it had been real, he would be dead – or at least badly injured, which was as good as dead when it came to the Games. Injured tributes didn't last long. Derek grit his teeth and swung again, this time keeping a little more control over his weapon. Not enough to hit the trainer, but at least he was able to recover in time to dodge the trainer's next swing, and the next one.

Back and forth. Swing and dodge. Swing and block. Dodge again. Every so often, the trainer gave him a tap – a little reminder that she was going easy on him. That she could easily have killed him dozens of times by now if she'd really wanted to. Derek gasped for breath as he dodged again, then blocked the next blow. She was toying with him.

That was all the Capitol was really doing, in the end. Toying with them. Making a show out of the Games, making them think there was a chance, and then … and then twenty-three of them died anyway. Every time. Every year.

Derek was out of breath, sweating, and nearly ready to collapse when the buzzer finally sounded. It wasn't fair. It was just a game to them. To them, it was all in fun. But this … this was his life. And this wasn't fun anymore.

I apologize for the delay in updates. Sometimes real life has to come first, and this semester has been hectic.

My original plan was to do eight POVs this chapter, then eight for the score reveal and eight for the interviews. But every time I tried to write it like that, it felt repetitive. So here's the layout for the rest of the pre-Games chapters. Including this one, six chapters: Private Gamemaker Sessions (this one), Training Score Reveal, Interviews, Night Before the Games, Morning of the Games, and the Launch. Four POVs each for a total of 24, so every tribute gets a POV somewhere. Since these chapters are a bit shorter, they should come fairly quickly now that I've figured out how this is going to work. (And, you know, now that summer is here.)

Since alliances are pretty solidified and we're closer to the Games now, I've thrown another poll up on my profile - Who do you think is going to die in the bloodbath? This isn't likely to actually change who will die in the bloodbath, but I'm curious. I've set the voting limit at 23 because I didn't want to give away how many tributes are going to die in the bloodbath, but that doesn't mean that 23 of them will. (Shortest game ever, right?) So ... vote in that sometime before the actual bloodbath. Results of the favorite tribute poll are up on the website.

It's good to be back.

Cap'n