Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine.

Note: Just a friendly reminder to vote in the bloodbath poll if you haven't already, now that we've made it through all the training chapters and you have some idea of the tributes' capabilities and alliances. (A new poll will be up with the next chapter.)

Speaking of alliances, they've been updated on the website now that pretty much everything is officially in place. And speaking of the website, I know the links on people's profiles - mine included - aren't working, so I went ahead and put the url next to each of the sites. (You'll have to take out the spaces, but they should work if you copy and paste them.) Hopefully, FF will get its collective act together and fix everybody's profiles soon.

Also, if anyone reading this has found a way to get the links on their profile to actually work, please let me know.

That having been said, here's the second part of Day Three of training, and our last batch of tributes.

Training Day Three – Evening
Strengthening

Horatio Connors, 15
District Three

He was stronger on his own.

Horatio glanced around at the groups of tributes that filled the lunchroom. So many groups to keep track of. So many people to worry about.

But the only one he really had to worry about was himself.

For three days, he'd been watching, waiting, thinking that perhaps some sort of alliance would present itself. But it hadn't. No one had asked him. Maybe no one thought he was worth the trouble, or maybe they could see that, when it came down to it, he simply didn't want allies.

And he didn't – not really. He and Percival had discussed the matter several times, and he'd come to the conclusion that he would work better alone. That simple fact didn't make his chances any better or worse. Tribute with allies had won the Games, but just as many Victors hadn't had a single ally, or had lost theirs fairly early on.

Percival himself had lost track of his surviving allies in the bloodbath. Miriam hadn't had a single ally during her Games. Both had managed to make it out alive.

Maybe he could, too.

Horatio clenched his fork tighter. There was another reason – maybe the real reason – he didn't want allies. Even if he had managed to find someone he could work with, someone he could trust, someone who could benefit him and would benefit in return … eventually, he would lose them. Or they would lose him. They couldn't both win – him and this theoretical ally he might have had. So perhaps it was better – for both of them – that the alliance was never made.

Because he didn't want to lose anyone. But he also didn't want anyone else to lose him – anyone more than the people who had to.

Horatio picked at his food, trying not to think about that. But it was the third day of training. Every hour brought the Games a little bit closer. And he wasn't ready.

He wasn't ready to die.

He wasn't kidding himself; death was a very real possibility. And it was one that seemed more likely with each passing day. There were so many tributes. So many tributes who were older and stronger than him. Two groups of Careers – or three, depending on whether or not Septimus and Liana's group counted. Several other large groups of older, stronger tributes. A few smaller groups, a few loners like himself.

What chance did he really have?

Horatio shook his head and pushed his plate away. It wasn't fair. As he looked around the room, so many of the other tributes were smiling. A few were even laughing. Didn't they realize that this couldn't last forever?

Didn't they realize that most of them would be dead soon?

And maybe they were right – maybe it was better to forget, if only for a little while. But what good would it do them, in the end? Maybe they could forget for today, or tonight, or even the next night. But once they were in the Games, what good were these few moments of happiness going to do? What help would they be – to them or to the people they loved?

What was the point of any of it?

Horatio got up and headed back for the training stations. There was a part of him – a growing part – that wished he was already in the arena. Then they could put away the masks. The charades. The constant pretending that everything was going to be all right.

It wasn't all right. It would never be all right again. And maybe it would be better if everyone could just admit that.

But they couldn't. Not most of them. They were so set on holding onto anything concrete, anything normal, any small part of their lives. But, in a few days, that wouldn't help them. Their denial wouldn't help them. All their memories of home and the warm wishes from their loved ones wouldn't do them one bit of good once they were actually in the arena.

He wished they were already there.

India Telle, 17
District Three

She was stronger on her own.

India clenched her jaw tighter as she plunged a dagger into one of the dummies. All around her, alliances were practicing together. The Careers. The other Careers. The other group that was pretending to be Careers. The idiots from Ten and Eleven who had turned down the Careers. So many groups. It was almost suffocating.

Almost.

Her one comfort was that no one had tried to force her into one of their cozy little alliances. No one had even asked. Maybe they could tell – whether consciously or not – that she wasn't interested. She didn't want to work with them. She didn't want to get to know them.

Not when she might have to kill them.

That was all she could see, as she looked around the room. People she might have to kill. The three little tributes from District Eleven, still glued to the first aid station. If she came across them in the arena, she didn't want to think of them as people she had seen during training, people she almost admired because of the way the older two had treated the younger boy. She didn't want to admire them. She didn't want to like them.

Not when they would have to die.

Even her own district partners – Horatio, Evander, Aleron. If she ran into them in the arena, it wouldn't matter that they were district partners. They would be trying to kill her. She would be trying to kill them. It was that simple.

Wasn't it?

That was how the Games worked, after all. All but one of them had to die. So what was the point of sparing someone because of district loyalty or an alliance that could only be temporary? What was the point of pretending to be friends? Right now, she didn't need friends.

She just needed to focus.

The dagger in her hand, the hatchet and sickle she'd practiced with the day before, whatever weapons she managed to find in the arena – those were the only friends she needed now. The only friends who would actually be useful. Anyone else would just be a waste of time.

And she'd wasted enough of her time already.

No. No, that wasn't quite right. It had never been her choice – the time that had been wasted. Her family had wasted enough of her time. But now they didn't matter. And, if she somehow managed to make it home, a Victor … then they would never matter again. She could forget that life completely, as she had dreamed of so often.

This was what she'd always wanted, after all – to get away from them. And, as strange as it was, as much as she'd never quite pictured it like this … now she was about as far away from them as she could get.

India turned her dagger on the next dummy. Maybe this wasn't quite how she'd ever pictured it – gaining her freedom, her independence. But the fact remained that now she had it, nonetheless. Her family, her parents, her siblings – they didn't matter here.

So why couldn't she stop thinking of them?

India sliced her dagger across the dummy's stomach, but, this time, she wasn't picturing one of the other tributes. This time, the face that came to her mind was her own brother's. It was Pierce's face. Always so kind and gentle. One of the few people who had genuinely cared for her. Who cared for everyone – without seeming to ask anything in return.

Almost like Evander.

India sliced harder. She'd done her best to avoid him ever since the reaping – ever since he'd asked Avery to be his mentor. Because the truth was that he did remind her of her brother. And she couldn't afford to start thinking like that – about either of them. She couldn't afford to be distracted. Not now.

Not when the Games were so close.

Ciere Renole, 17
District Seven

She would look stronger alone.

Ciere settled back down at the fire-starting station, watching as the other tributes scrambled frantically back and forth, trying to cram as much as they could into these last few hours. Trying to learn a little bit more, practice a little bit more, do whatever they could to convince themselves that they were ready. And that was the difference – the real difference – between her and the rest of them.

She actually was ready.

She'd spent the last three days pretending. Pretending to be interested in everything that was going on. She'd swung a few weapons, tied a few knots, set a few snares. But she'd always gravitated back to this one station. There was something soothing, something almost mesmerizing, about the fact that simply rubbing enough wood together quickly enough could create a spark. Then a flame. Then a fire.

It almost felt right.

Ciere turned the sticks over in her hands, starting in on yet another fire. It had been so long, it seemed, since anything had truly caught her interest so fully. Since anything had felt so natural, so right. Strange, that she would find something here, of all places. Something that she actually enjoyed.

But she was still ready.

She was ready for it to be over. Ready to stop pretending. Just a few more nights. Just a few more hours in front of the cameras. Just a few more things left to do.

The first thing was to get a good training score. Not that it mattered, in the long run, but she wanted to do well for her family's sake. Get a high enough score to give them hope, enough to make them think that she hadn't given up. But not too high. Not high enough to give them false hope. Hope that she might actually come home.

That was the first thing. Interviews were the second. She would have three minutes to say the perfect goodbye. Three minutes to assure her parents, her friends, that it wasn't their fault, that she was going to try her hardest to come back to them.

Three minutes to lie.

And then the Games. That was the third thing she had to do. The last thing she would ever have to do.

She would have to die.

And she would. Maybe not right away – maybe not during the bloodbath. She didn't want her family to think she was doing it on purpose. She needed to seem like she wanted to live – long enough to convince them. But, sooner or later, when death came, she would be ready.

Which gave her an advantage – a wonderful advantage – over the other forty-five tributes in the room. She wasn't afraid. She wasn't afraid of what was coming – what was inevitably coming for all but one of them. She was prepared. She was ready.

In fact, she was getting a little impatient.

There was a part of her that wished she was already in the Games. Wished it was already over with. All this preparation, all this pretending … Maybe it was useful for the other tributes, but it was draining her.

At least no one had asked her for an alliance. Had she made it that obvious that she didn't want one? Not that there was anything wrong with the other tributes – not really. But if she was going to die – and she was – then why put anyone else through the burden of getting to know her, of grieving when they lost her, when she never had any intention of surviving?

No. No, it was better – kinder, even – that she was alone.

And it wouldn't last much longer.

She just had to be patient. Just a few more days. Just a few more days, and it would all be over.

It would finally be over.

Elizabet Brower, 15
District Ten

They were stronger together.

Elizabet smiled a little as she and Fallon headed back to the edible plants station one last time. They'd visited several other stations over the last three days, but the plants station was still her favorite – and not just because of the free snacks. If she was being honest, it was more comfortable to think about learning how to keep herself alive, rather than learning how to kill.

But she kept those thoughts to herself. She couldn't afford to look weak – even around her ally. She trusted Fallon, but they both knew that alliances only worked as long as both tributes were getting something out of it. As long as they both thought they were getting some sort of help, some sort of protection.

And how could she offer protection if she didn't want to think about killing?

Elizabet stuffed a few berries in her mouth, trying not to think about it. She would much rather play the Games the way Glenn had – by hiding, keeping herself alive, and just waiting for the other tributes to kill each other. Part of her knew she couldn't spend the whole Games doing that. Eventually, she and Fallon would have to fight. Eventually, they would have to kill.

But it didn't have to be right away.

If they could spend a few days getting their bearings – finding a way to survive, a way to keep each other alive – before they had to worry about fighting and killing other tributes … maybe that would be better. Maybe that would be easier. Maybe after a few days in the arena, she would be ready to fight. Ready to kill.

Maybe.

"I'm not ready," Fallon said at last, quietly. Elizabet looked up, surprised. She'd been thinking the same thing, of course, but it was strange to hear someone else say it. To hear that someone else was just as frightened, just as unprepared, as she was – it was almost comforting.

Elizabet nodded. "I know. I'm not ready, either, but … I guess it doesn't really matter, does it. I mean, the Games are going to happen whether we're ready or not."

Fallon swallowed hard. "I know. It's just … I thought it would help – all this training. We get three days to practice pretty much anything we want. You'd think that would make us feel a bit readier, at least. But, instead, I … I think it's worse. All I've learned – all I really know now – is how much I don't know. Does that make any sense?"

"Yeah," Elizabet admitted. "Yeah, it does." They'd spent the last three days at the various survival stations, but had only wandered over to the weapons stations once or twice. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement that they would get to it sometime later. But now it was 'later,' and neither of them had suggested that maybe they should learn a bit about weapons, instead.

Maybe Fallon was thinking the same thing Elizabet was. Maybe she didn't want to think about killing, either. Maybe she would rather focus on survival.

"Have you decided what you're showing the Gamemakers tomorrow?" Elizabet asked, trying to change the subject.

Fallon shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I just figured I'd come up with something…"

"…later," Elizabet finished with a smile. "Me, too. Glenn said that scores don't really matter much, anyway. He got a two."

Fallon nodded. "Hazel got a four. But she was only twelve."

"Presley got a four, too," Elizabet pointed out. "And she was fifteen, just like us."

Just like us. Elizabet was old enough to remember a little of Presley's Games. She hadn't had any allies – just two lion mutts who stayed at her side until the finale. And she'd been fifteen when she'd won, just like Glenn. Just like Elizabet. Maybe fifteen was a good age for tributes from Ten.

Maybe she had a chance, after all.

Barry Zephir, 15
District Twelve

They would be stronger together.

Barry flashed Eleanor a smile as the two of them put the finishing touches on a shelter just as the bell sounded, signaling the end of the day's training time. The end of all their training time, actually. Three days. Sometimes, it didn't seem like they'd had long enough.

Other times, he'd found himself wishing that it would just be over. That they could just get on with it – one way or the other. If they were going to be fighting each other to the death, why couldn't they just fight already?

Part of him knew that was a stupid, childish thing to wish for. Because the sooner the Games began, the sooner he would be fighting for his life. The sooner he would be killing. The sooner he could be dead.

And he didn't want to be dead. No one did. But waiting – waiting to find out what the arena was going to be like, waiting to find out whether or not he had what it took, waiting, waiting, waiting – that was worse.

Barry shook the thought from his head as he, Eleanor, and a handful of other tributes piled into the elevator. One after another, the others got out, leaving Barry and Eleanor alone. Waiting. Still waiting.

But they wouldn't have to wait much longer.

Brennan greeted them as they stepped out of the elevator. Soon, the three of them were sitting around the generous feast that had been spread at the table. Brennan didn't waste any time. "So, three days of training. Any last-minute alliances I ought to know about?"

Barry shook his head. They'd talked about it – the possibility of joining one of the other alliances, or inviting one or two of the other tributes to join theirs. But they had never quite found the right time, or the right person, or the right group. "No, no other alliances," Barry confirmed. "Is that bad?"

Brennan shrugged. "Not necessarily. It certainly makes things simpler – not having to choose."

Barry nodded. There was something in Brennan's voice. Something he wasn't saying. "But…"

"But you'll have to keep that in mind during the Games, when you're making decisions. There are only two of you, so don't take on any sort of fight you don't think two people can win. Play it smart. You can afford to play it safe for a few days before you have to start taking chances."

Play it safe. "You think we should run?"

Brennan cocked an eyebrow. "If you come up against an alliance of four or five tributes? Yes. There's no shame in that. I did a fair amount of running during my own Games. We ran right from the start, in fact – my allies and me."

"You ran from the bloodbath?" He had a hard time picturing that.

"That we did. Didn't get a single shred of supplies from the cornucopia. But we survived. We found a place to rest and a way to ambush tributes who did have supplies."

Barry's stomach was starting to turn. "That doesn't seem…" he started, but stopped himself.

"Fair?" Brennan finished. "Of course it's not fair. Nothing about the Games is fair, and any Victor who tells you otherwise is lying. This isn't about playing fair. It's about coming out alive. And to do that, you steal. You cheat. You fight dirty. Because that's what it's going to take to survive." He leaned forward a little. "Can you do that?"

Barry hesitated. "I … I'm not sure."

Brennan smiled a little. "At least you're honest. But I'll tell you this now: You can. And you will. At some point in the Games, you'll be terrified enough, desperate enough, to do anything you can for even the slightest chance of living a little longer." He shook his head. "If you'd asked me before my Games, I would have said the same thing, Barry. I wouldn't have thought I was capable of … of what I did. But watching the Games as a mentor – as a Victor – and seeing other tributes become killers … Do you want to know the most important thing I've learned?"

Barry nodded. "What?"

Eleanor Marxs, 16
District Twelve

"You're stronger than you think you are."

Eleanor glanced up as Brennan continued. "That's the most important thing. You're stronger than you think – but you're also weaker. There will be moments in the Games when everything is clear, when you know exactly what you have to do, and you know – really know – that you have what it takes to do it. And there will be moments when you have no idea, when you're frightened and desperate and alone and don't know how you'll ever find the strength to get through.

"But you have that strength. There's a part of you that was always that strong. The Games just bring it to the surface. There's a part of you that was always capable – capable of doing more than you ever imagined. Capable of being better – or of being far worse – than you ever thought possible. Everyone has the potential to be strong, or to be weak. We all have those moments – moments that fall into either extreme.

"But, for the most part – even during the Games – you'll be somewhere in the middle. You'll feel the same way you do right now – confused, frightened, but still holding onto hope. And holding onto whatever it is you're trying to get back to. But, even in these moments, there's a part of you that's capable of more. There's a part of you that was always capable."

Eleanor nodded a little. She wanted to believe it. Wanted to believe that there was a part of her that was ready for what was coming. Or, at least, a part that wasn't completely unprepared.

She had thought she was ready. There was a part of her that had even wanted this – freedom, if only for a little while. But, now that it was here, 'a little while' suddenly seemed so short. And the home she had longed to escape suddenly seemed so familiar, so comforting, and so very far away. And, for the first time, she found herself wanting something she had never thought she would.

She wanted to go home.

But she couldn't. Not yet, at least. The only way to go home now was to win. And the only way to do that…

"So what about the Gamemakers?" Barry asked, abruptly changing the subject to something more practical. "What do we show them tomorrow?"

Brennan did his best to hide a chuckle. "Well, if it's anything like my year, whatever you plan to show them will end up being shot to pieces."

"What do you mean?" Eleanor asked, surprised.

"Our Gamemaker had … an odd sense of humor," Brennan explained. "When we went in for our private sessions, there was a sign that said 'Kill the bunny!'"

"Kill the bunny?" Barry repeated, shocked.

Brennan nodded. "Yes, I thought it was rather strange, too. I asked if that was what they did every year."

"Is it?" Eleanor asked, her stomach turning over at the thought.

Brennan shook his head. "No. It was a first – and, as far as I know, a last. Helius Florum retired that year, and, from what I've gathered from my tributes, his replacements have been a bit more … traditional. But, with everything else that's been different this year, I wouldn't count on that. Be ready for anything."

Eleanor nodded a little, but she was still having a hard time picturing it when Barry asked the obvious question. "Did you kill the bunny?"

"I did. Partly because I wanted a good score, but also because I thought it would be good practice."

"Was it?" Eleanor asked.

"No," Brennan admitted. "Killing an animal and killing a person … They're not the same thing. But, short of asking me to kill another tribute in front of them during private sessions, it was probably the best practice I could have asked for. I was scared. I was shaking. I didn't want to do it. But I did it. Just like in the Games."

Just like in the Games.

Louis Soren, 14
District Eight

He wondered if he would be strong enough on his own.

Louis glanced around the table at his district partners, wondering if he'd had the right idea, after all. Everyone else seemed to have an ally or two. Ivira and Gadget had each other and two other tributes. Adelia and Jediah had a group of six. Even Baylor had managed to find an ally…

"So how did you lose your eye?"

Baylor's question jolted Louis back to the moment. Carolina looked as startled as anyone else at the table, but, to Louis' surprise, didn't seem offended at all. "I don't suppose you'd believe me if I said it fell out in the spaghetti one night."

Baylor actually laughed a little at that. "I didn't mean to be rude. It's just … well, Lander said I should ask."

Carolina shot Lander a glance. "Did he, now?"

Lander shrugged. "Not exactly the timing I meant. I was telling him that he shouldn't be afraid of the Gamemakers, because—"

Carolina held up her hand. "Way ahead of you." She turned back to the tributes. "You want to hear the story?"

Louis cocked an eyebrow as heads began to nod all around the table. Even Kit seemed to perk up a little as Carolina began. "It was the fifth night of the Games. There were five of us left. I was alone in the jungle, at night. And it was dark – very dark. And then suddenly, in that dark, dense jungle … I heard someone screaming."

"Now, it took me a while to figure out that it actually was screaming," Carolina admitted. "It sounded like an animal – a wounded animal, maybe. But, finally, I realized it was a person. Screaming in pain. Agony. And somewhere very close by." She paused for a moment. "Now, tell me what any normal person would have done."

"Run the other way?" Jediah offered.

Lander smirked. "Kid's got a brain. Tell 'em what you did, instead, Care."

Carolina shook her head. "I ran towards the sound. In the dark, in the jungle, with five of us left – probably not the smartest thing I could have done. But I did it, anyway, without even realizing why at the time. When I got close enough, I saw a fire, and two tributes. Two boys. One of them was burning the other one alive. Roasting his body, bit by bit, and feeding it to the little mutts that were hopping and chirping around the campfire.

"Anyone in their right mind would have run. But I'd been in the arena for five days. I wasn't in my right mind. I had seen things – done things – that I wouldn't wish on anyone, and I knew, then and there, that I couldn't stand there and let anyone be tortured like that.

"And part of me knew that the audience would feel the same. That, if I attacked, they would be on my side. That maybe even the Gamemakers would be on my side. One of the boys, Kaji, was the son of a rebel. The other, Alicante, had been systematically torturing tributes throughout the Games – including one of my own allies. Given the choice, I knew the Gamemakers would pick me. And that's a powerful thing.

"So I caught one of the little mutts and I did the only thing I could think of. I threw it at Alicante. I managed to cut Kaji loose before Alicante could pry the mutt off his face. And then I made a choice. I could have run – I may even have had time to kill Kaji quickly, mercifully, and then run off. But I didn't. I chose to stay. I chose to fight.

"Alicante was the better fighter; it didn't take him long before he had me pinned. But he made a mistake. He could have killed me then and there. But, instead, he reached down, and he tore out my eye. He was about to go for the other one when Kaji hit him from behind with a burning branch. Together, the two of us were able to overpower Alicante and tie him to a tree. The mutts did the rest of the work. After he was dead, Kaji asked me to kill him quickly, and … well, I did. I was that much closer to going home – only three tributes left instead of five – and all it cost me was an eye."

All it had cost her. Clearly, it had cost her more than that. But now, more than thirty years later, she could talk about her own Games as if they were nothing more than a story, a distant memory.

He wondered if he would ever be that strong.

"You see this little hole? This moth's just about to emerge. It's in there right now, struggling. It's digging its way through the thick hide of the cocoon. Now, I could help it, take my knife, gently widen the opening, and the moth would be free. But it would be too weak to survive. The struggle is nature's way of strengthening it."