With the lights out, it's less dangerous

Here we are now, entertain us

I feel stupid and contagious

Here we are now, entertain us

-Nirvana, Smells Like Teen Spirit

CHAPTER 14

WHEN LIGHTS GO OUT

Brita Edison (17), District 3 Tribute

She's spent about two full days in the Capitol so far, and the only thing she's found remotely fascinating is technology. The level of advancement here is far superb to that of her home in District 3. And despite the fact that she's never gotten the opportunity to use half of these wonderful gadgets in her lifetime thus far, Brita can't help but enjoy the fruits of that labor.

The only thing that's a problem is the twelve-year-old boy who seems to be trying to attach himself to her hip the whole time they've been here. If anyone could repel any potential allies, it's Ed. Training was stopped by the head trainer - a gorgeous woman with pale lavender hair that Brita may have spent a little too long staring at - and Edward had made his way right back to her. In fact, the boy from Eight had made a point to avoid joining the two of them on the elevator, folding his arms and waiting for the next one instead. All because Ed can't shut the hell up. Brita rolls her eyes skyward to the burning lights that illuminate the elevator, not caring that they make her vision spotty for a moment. It's taken every bone in her body to not clamp a hand over Edward's mouth as he details what he learned today and how excited he is for the private sessions tomorrow.

I still have no idea what I'm going to show the Head Gamemaker. She frowns. Today she had attempted to get a feel for some of the weaponry before lunch once the Careers had deserted the station. Despite the 'no fighting' rule that is enforced in the Training Center, her heart had been hammering the whole time she was there, hoping the Careers wouldn't come back. The last thing I want is to be targeted in the bloodbath.

She had seen the pair from District 5 over by the edible plants station, seemingly getting into a heated argument. The girl's face had been flushed, her hands animatedly showing her discontent with the boy. But he remained very calm, stoic almost, and Brita had to admire how well he handled the situation. I've been wanting to see where their heads are at, she muses. After all, they're bound to be better allies than Edward. In a way, they are her friends from home, with one seeming emotional and the other elegant. But in many ways, it sticks in the back of Brita's head that the two of them are nothing like her friends. She isn't sure if she can put faith in any of the tributes, given that they'd likely stab her in the back at any moment. But for whatever reason, she feels herself gravitating toward the pair of them.

Maybe they could use an extra ally too. It's worth a shot, so long as they don't slow me down. After all, ever since her parents went missing, Brita and her brother have had to look out for themselves first and foremost, regardless of whoever else held a place in their lives. Self-sufficiency. She recalls giving the homeless man a few coins the day of the Reaping. It's too bad her act of good karma couldn't save Brita from years of externally inflicted selfishness. She realizes that subconsciously, her hand has flown up to clutch at her necklace, a whip-thin cord with a single data file latched on to the end. The data loaded onto it is what has motivated her to succeed these past few years, since no one else can push her to do so except herself. Pictures and audio clips of her parents, Adalia and Petyr Edison, taken from their ancient home computer before the device had been irreversibly destroyed by some kind of supervirus.

It's all I have left of them. Part of her wants to know where they are and what the Capitol has done with them, but she knows it'll be easier to presume they're dead. Brita forces herself to let her hand hang by her side again, and is thankful when the painfully slow elevator ride comes to a grinding halt, the doors springing open with a ding. Edward grabs her hand, his own clammy with sweat, and she flinches as he tries to drag her out. Within a split second she's made up her mind, and disentangles herself from him. He turns back with a gasp, and she almost feels bad for leaving him on his own. Almost. Instead, she hurriedly pushes the buttons to close the doors, and takes a deep breath, using her middle finger to push the button with a '5'. It glows, and she exhales as the elevator lifts her up once again. Her head is racing, thinking of the millions of ways this can go wrong, as the elevator carriage lifts her toward the fifth floor.

She knows she doesn't quite have enough training to see her through an entire Hunger Games, but her social interactions the past day and a half have been pretty limited, despite the rules of the Training Center being fairly free-range. So long as tributes are back within their apartments by midnight, the Peacekeepers she has heard checking their apartment both nights won't give anyone trouble.

Brita can feel her mouth go dry as she enters the fifth floor, and she needs to stand on the dark landing for a moment collecting herself. With the lights off, she feels calmer. More confident, and when she feels confident enough, she knocks on the door hoping that someone inside hears the noise.

They do, and it is the boy who opens the door, giving her a strange look. She takes a moment to appreciate how well-groomed he is: his short black hair, which resembles steel wool in texture, is brushed very neatly and where her training suit is creased and wrinkled at the joints, his somehow seems spotless and sleek. "Uh, hey," she says, making her voice sound as laid-back as possible. "I'm Brita, from District Three. Can I come in, or are you two busy?" she asks, noticing the girl behind him staring from the couch. She gives Brita a friendly wave, making her smile in relief.

The boy turns around to look at his partner, a growl seemingly brushed off his lips, and admits her inside. "I'm Sorrel," he says with resignation, "and she's N-"

"Nyx!" the girl pipes from the couch. "Don't you dare give her my full name," she scolds him lightly, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips.

Brita walks in, a little unsure of herself. "Nice to meet you guys," she grins. "I've been meaning to talk to you guys if I had the chance, and I didn't want you guys to think I only wanted to be allies after the scoring happens. You know?" She surveys the two faces in front of her; Sorrel is looking a little disgruntled but Nyx is beaming from ear to ear.

"Really? I had been meaning to talk to you too," Nyx says, seeming to perk up. "The more the merrier, you know?" The latter of what she is saying seems more aimed at Sorrel, who Brita is having a hard time getting a read on. "I'd love to have you join us!" Brita is grinning now, her heart feeling lighter with the prospect of not having to face these Games alone. After all, the Careers this year are of a larger number, and all of them look like they know how to kill her a dozen different ways.

Sorrel shakes his head. "Why do you think you're a good member for our alliance anyway?"

She can't help but feel taken aback by the sudden question. "What do you mean…?"

"The two of us are just fine without you," he says, cutting Nyx off before she can voice an objection. "Why should we make space for anyone else, least of all you?"

Ouch. She can tell it's not intended to be insulting, but it feels like a punch to the gut. "I'm useful. I saw you two practicing survival skills today. I learned a lot of things like that in school." This seems to be news to the boy. "I practiced a little with weapons today, too, when the Careers had left." A shift in his eyes tells her she's struck a chord with him. Maybe he values weapon skills? I only got about an hour of pointers from the trainers…

"Fine, so you have some skills. But how do we know you won't slow us down in the Cornucopia? It's easier to look for one person than it is to keep track of two."

"I'm fast. I can grab supplies for the group too," she says defensively. "I promise I won't slow you down." How strange that just a few minutes ago I was debating if they'd slow me down. She sighs and flips her auburn hair over her shoulder. "So? Am I in?" she asks him, hoping her voice doesn't betray how off-guard she feels. Sorrel shrugs and looks Nyx in the eyes, his expression seeming to soften a great deal.

"I don't know," is the answer she gets.

Castiel Bomber (18), District 1 Tribute

His muscles are aching, and as they shuffle into the apartment, all he wants to do is throw himself at the couch and bury his face in the cushions. Training was hard today, he reflects as he makes a beeline for his bedroom. After training had released them, he and the rest of the Career Pack had hung around in the cafeteria until the trainers had kicked them out so they could prepare for the private sessions tomorrow.

They'd broken off with the promise to meet in District 4's apartment instead. Castiel and Crescentia had spent the walk and subsequent elevator ride discussing the future of the Career Pack. With her dignified nature and amicable confidence, he's quickly found that she is much easier to click with than Nike from back home. Although she wasn't the selected volunteer, she's proven herself to be invaluable to him. I haven't seen her weapon skills very much, he considers. But her social game is really helping me keep these Careers glued together. After Hela's temper flared up following the Parade, he had worried that she might ditch the alliance altogether, but with careful navigation from both he and Crescentia, she had been brought back into the fold. And I'm more than happy to let her have that redheaded fuck-up beside her if it makes her feel more comfortable here.

He doesn't quite know where the alliance with the boy from Eleven - Asher - came from, but all he knows is that he feels slightly uneasy whenever the boy is around. Not to mention whatever Crescentia and Alton see in Siren, being mostly untrained. The sole conversation he's had with the gorgeous girl from Four has revealed she's at least been trained in the basics of spearwork. And she's strong enough, I guess. The issue with expanding the ranks of the trained Careers with unrefined outsiders is that though it makes it easier to hunt down the rest of the tributes, it makes the alliance more likely to fracture.

Some things require sacrifice, he reminds himself as he closes the door gently behind him, immediately discarding his training shirt. The supple material the shirt is made from sticks to his sweaty skin, and he groans as he shucks it off, tossing it into a heap on the floor. Time is of the essence, with the night rapidly aging, and he tries to put thoughts of all the weaker points of the alliance out of his mind. Instead he strips completely from his uniform and steps into the black-tiled shower, cranking the faucet to high heat and turning off the lights. The water is comforting against his skin, soothing the dull ache in his muscles and replacing it with the simple pressure of heat. He closes his eyes and scrubs the sweat out of his curly blond hair. When the lights have gone out, Castiel allows himself to decompress, to reflect.

To think about Charms. A twinge in his heart makes him gasp, the water making him splutter. So much for a relaxing shower, he groans to himself. He's tried to keep himself busy, and drown his feelings out. He can feel the steam against his skin, and knows it'll be fogging the glass by the time he gets out. It doesn't matter. His mind is now diving in a downward spiral. A sick feeling forms in his gut as he remembers his boyfriend's smile as he confesses his love, both in the chilly room in the Justice Building and on television the night before his Games, holding up the same bracelet Castiel wears now. I'll wear it until I'm dead. Until I win and make good on my promise to him. A wretched sob escapes from his throat, muffled by the sound of the shower water cascading around him, bouncing off his skin and raining to the floor.

I need to cement myself as the leader. I need to do well tomorrow, so I can give Charms what he deserves. With that thought, he turns the shower knob to the right, and relishes the shock of the cold water replacing the steam. He knows he's done well so far, but he's still unsure of how solid the allegiance of the others is. And the last thing I want is to be stabbed in the back, like Talisa did to Markus last year. I can't let that happen to me, not with what's on the line.

Her voice cuts through the repetitive patter of water, breaking his focus. "Castiel, are you okay?" Crescentia asks from behind the door.

He sighs. "Yeah!" comes his reply, his voice sounding too chipper. "Sorry, I'll be out in just a sec, I forgot how great a hot shower feels after training," he tells her, trying to justify the lengthy shower. The other Careers might already be waiting for us. He kills the water by turning the knob to the right and wraps a towel around his waist before stepping out to look for a clean set of clothes, pushing past Crescentia.

"No rush," she grins. "Do you think it's worth smuggling the vodka over, like we did on the night of the parade? Or nah?" She pauses, pursing her lips. "You sure you're good, Castiel?"

Castiel nods, towel-drying his hair now that he's clothed in something less restrictive. "Honestly just a bit nervous, so bring it," he says, grinning widely. "The sessions tomorrow really make or break us as an alliance. If, say… Hela scores higher than me, then I'm not the leader anymore. And you can bet Asher will be her right-hand man. I don't think any of us want that. I mean he calls himself the 'Wolfchild!' I'll admit, he has some skills, but he's too cocky. Hell, I'm not sure he even takes this whole thing seriously, even though we're literally letting him tag along."

Crescentia shrugs. "I think he's nice enough, but I agree. We don't need to create any unnecessary rifts between us and Hela. If she splits off from us too soon, we might be in trouble." True. But where does that put everyone else? With me, or on their own? His mentor Aurelia had told him it would be hard to manage five other personalities, but it's harder still for him with dissent already rearing its ugly head within the group. The pair of them head to the door, calling a quick goodbye to their escort, who is standing at the kitchen counter nursing a glass of wine.

He glances at Crescentia as they head for the elevator, letting her walk in front of him. She's right: duplicity and inner conflict are often what crumbles the Career Pack. He can't even remember the last time all six Careers made it to the end. And for all I know, she might be the biggest liar of them all.

And he can't stand liars.

Winston Thorn (18), District 7 Tribute

"See, she looks like a stork," Padds remarks, pointing a finger at the television. Winston looks at the screen - a model identical to the one they watched the Reapings on not two days ago - and sees a Capitol woman walk across the screen. She is dressed in a frilly white vest and skirt, with pink leg-length boots and a face caked in makeup. He has to admit, the boots are ridiculous and totally impractical, but the comparison Padds made doesn't quite sit well with him. Luckily he doesn't have to ask, as the girl sitting in between them does.

"What's a stork?" Bash asks curiously, her hand rummaging through the smooth glass bowl she's holding in her lap. Arley and Padds brought them over 'popcorn' from the District 9 apartment. Apparently people from where they live eat this all the time. It's salty, and an unnatural yellow color. Padds informs them that it looks a bit different than what they're used to at home, but the flavor is good enough to get them through a few terrible soap operas.

"You don't know what a stork is?" Arley exclaims, peeking her head out from beside her district partner. "They're in all the nursery stories. Every kid gets told we're dropped off by them at birth, but the adults are all lying of course. There's no way a bird could carry a baby even if that bird is pretty big."

"You don't have storks in District 7?" Padds asks, his tone incredulous. "I thought with all those woods, you'd be bound to have wetlands. We've got a lot of marshy areas in Nine, but we aren't allowed to go in them because they're afraid we'll get lost. Sometimes you'll see a stork fly overhead if it's not too hot outside." He talks almost wistfully, and Winston feels a pang in his chest. After a few whirlwind days since his name was picked from the Reaping bowl, he hasn't had much time to stop and think about much from home besides his on-and-off girlfriend, Bloom.

"I guess not," he says, shrugging. "We don't have popcorn either, but if you guys are willing to bring us more, we'll let you guys come over here when they're announcing the scores tomorrow night." The only reason they had switched from District 9's apartments was that one of their mentors, a grizzled man missing an eye, had come out of his room to chastise them for being too loud. He had showed up after the conclusion of the muffin war, and ushered he and Bash out with a bleary look in his eyes.

But now that they mention it, he misses everything about home. The tall towering trees and the birds that chirp as they flit endlessly between the tall spindly branches in the canopy. He misses the smell of sawdust in the lumberyard air, the feeling of flannel beneath his fingers, and the feeling of rock-solid certainty with his surroundings. Instead, that has all been replaced by the uncertain future as the salivating maw of death draws closer and closer. There is another lull in the conversation as they watch a man in a chase after the stork woman, calling out her name. At least it is a comfortable silence, he decides. There's never really any tension between us. If things were different, he would have never been able to get to know these three, even though he has been to the Ridgewood restaurant a few times on a date with Bloom. But it feels natural to be around them, he decides. Maybe that's what is different about them.

Bash holds up the bowl. "Nothing but kernels left," she declares. Winston gets up and snatches the bowl, heading over to the sink to run it under the water and get the grease out of the bowl. The Capitolites would probably leave it for their mute servants to take care of, but after training with weapons all day, it feels good to do something menial again.

"Are you guys nervous for the private sessions tomorrow?" Padds asks the girls, and he sees a slow nod from Arley on the couch.

Bash shrugs. "I think it'll be fine… we just have to do something impressive." Winston can't help but agree with her. Exactly like impressing a panel of judges. It's hard to get a high score as an outlier tribute, but after spending a day learning axe fighting techniques with a trainer to build up skills with a familiar lumberyard weapon, Winston is feeling more confident about his chances. If anyone scores high, it'll be Ruben, he decides. The boy from Ten had bested several different sparring partners throughout the latter half of the day, earning some attention from the Gamemakers.

He had considered asking the boy to join their alliance, so they would number almost as large as the Careers. They now have the feral looking boy from Eleven in their ranks, but Ruben gives off the same vibes that boy does. He's just calmer about it. Deadly, even. Winston feels uncomfortable whenever the boy walks near him in the training room, even without exchanging a single word with him. I don't want to go near him, he decides.

"I'm a bit nervous," he admits aloud. "But between the four of us we should rack up enough points with the crowd to get some sponsor gifts. Someone is going to love us. The only issue is what the scores will make everyone else think of us." After all, the scores usually make or break you. He's heard if Careers targeting outliers for high scores, to eliminate competition. But on the other hand, a higher score would mean he isn't messed with by anyone else.

He runs a hand through his hair, shaking it back into its normal wild state. It's more nerve-wracking than I'd like to admit. What if I screw up and they give me a one or a two? He sighs and rejoins his allies on the couch, grinning at Arley. "We're gonna do great! You know, I wonder if we'll get sent any popcorn in the arena," he muses, happy to see a smile break though Arley's face.

"That would be great!" she says enthusiastically, her excitement reminding him a bit too much of his sister. He doesn't know how to feel anymore, with all that's going on. The pressure is a sensory overload, the Capitol so fabricated with plastic lies and falseness that he can't see the truth in any of it apart from the group of tributes around him. All I want is to be back home, safe. With everyone I care about. With Bloom, and maybe some popcorn. The real kind.

He can't stop himself from the want to go back. Winston Thorn is normally not a worried person, but with the dire straits they're sailing through, he has cause enough. These three… they're my family right now, he has to tell himself as the soap opera ends with a dramatic fade to black and the room goes dark with it. With the lights off there is nothing left but the primal senses, and Winston can hear them breathing beside him. He can feel their presence. The moment only lasts for a brief couple of seconds before Padds takes the remote and starts the next show. The harsh light emerges from the glassy darkness of the screen, illuminating the room in the same sickly blue glow that was absent just a second ago.

But now Winston feels more grounded. The worries are still in the back of his mind, but he feels sharper and more focused. There's a goal he needs to complete, and tomorrow he might just be able to do it.

How well he will perform, he doesn't know. The future is still grainy, like the old tapes from back home. But if I can give it my best shot, what could go wrong?

Asher 'Wolfchild' Foster (17), District 11 Tribute

The Wolfchild has been angry with the Capitol since they got here. First, they confiscated his token. The hidden claws in the gloves Caleb had given him were seized by authorities the moment he stepped foot on the train, and when it didn't pass inspection, they had not been given back to him. Damn rat bastards, he curses. Everyone else probably kept their tokens. If it weren't for the vendetta that the white dogs have against he and his friends, he wouldn't have wound up in this mess to begin with. Of course, he didn't have to volunteer, but what else does he have to lose? Might as well make them shit themselves when I come back and they can't touch me.

He had tried to intimidate others by cackling as loud as possible during the parade, but being dressed as a scarecrow stuffed with dry itchy hay certainly didn't sell the image. But joining the Careers definitely does. I wonder if the Capitol will root for me now that I'm allied with their precious favorites? He scoffs, staring at the door while he and the others wait for Castiel and Crescentia to arrive. To be fair, it's the reason he accepted Hela's offer to induct him into the alliance. If not, no doubt the Gamemakers would have sent something after me. But there was something else he has been left with following their conversation in the dark. Hela is dangerous, sure. But Asher Foster has always been one to play with fire.

"When do you think they'll get here?" Siren asks the group, her fingertips dancing as they drum across the table.

Moses shrugs and grins at her. "Probably soon," he says, winking at Alton standing behind her even though he is addressing Siren. "Castiel doesn't seem to me like someone who shows up late." As if on cue, there is a sharp rap on the door and the burly boy from Four goes to open it.

"Hey!" he shouts, gesturing to invite them in. Crescentia plunks a bottle of vodka on the table. "This again?" Alton groans good-naturedly, stepping aside so Siren can greet the pair.

"Oh, come on," she teases him, brushing her blonde hair out of her face. "You know how fun it is to decompress. We need this," she says as if being challenged by the others. The thrills of life are easily indulged by these six, he muses.

"For once, I agree with you," Castiel jokes. "The sessions are tomorrow, and I think we could all use a little help to forget about it for a while." Hela stands from her seat next to him, putting an icy hand on his shoulder to steady herself as she maneuvers out of the tight space. It's like a little spark of electricity, and he can't help but scrunch up his neck when she's gone. It takes very little work to motivate them all to get a drink, with the pair from District Four even taking a bottle of rum from their own liquor cabinet. Siren starts to mix drinks for them, as the conversation flows between the Careers.

"Personally, I think we'll all do well," Moses says. "The Gamemakers always favor Careers." And what great joy that has brought the rest of us all these years.

Castiel lifts a shot glass in mock toast. "To Miss Vetura, and good fucking scores!" Asher frowns, wondering why the chipper attitude always feels so forced around the guy.

"Hear hear!" Hela laughs, a sharp sound with a haughty weight to it. She slides back into her seat at the table. She takes one of the shot glasses and raises it to her lips. "Think you can keep up, Wolf Boy?" she asks him, her dark eyes alluring as she drains the glass of its strong liquid. So we're playing that game, he scoffs, filling his own and drinking. The liquid burns at the back of his throat, tasting like toasted sugar. We've been playing a game of cat-and-mouse all day, he supposes. The two had followed each other at the training stations, already competing to show off their skills. Where Asher's own skills had been strong but unrefined, the elegance Hela possesses when using her weapons is a telltale sign of years of practice, and he can't help but allow his eyes to stray over her body as she spars with a trainer.

"Isn't rum supposed to go with something else?" he asks her, using his teeth to scrape the taste from his tongue.

"Sure," says Hela. "But it's more fun this way. Think you can't stomach it?" she taunts him. With this he narrows his eyes, clenching his fingers around the glass as he refills it and stares directly at her. Maybe they do need alcohol to loosen them up, he observes, watching the others stand at the counter mixing drinks and laughing. Siren is shaking something in a tin while batting her eyelashes at a seemingly disinterested Castiel. Where are their mentors, anyway? Mine is always hanging around the apartment. It hits him a second later. They're out securing sponsorships. It makes him hate them even more, the thought of rich Capitol patrons lining up around the block to bet on the odds of children.

They make him sick. They never have to work a day in their lives, he denigrates them. Do they even feel emotions, like fear? Loss? Love? Surely they must love, for love makes you weak and the colorful citizens of the Capitol are prime examples. And the one thing I've never had. He drinks again, this time for sorrow. Hela seems to pick up on the sudden shift in his attitude, and sets her glass down. "You want to get a little fresh air? We'll only be missed for a moment."

"Sure," he agrees, following her out to the balcony. Thankfully these apartments all have the same layout, even if theirs is a bit fancier than mine. They peer over the edge, silent for a moment as they watch a procession of brightly-dressed people walking down the street. Her skin gleams with the haze of lights surrounding them, and he watches her turn and grip the ornate stone balustrade tightly, turning her predatory gaze to the unsleeping city. "How can they be so festive if they're sending us to our death? Don't you think it would weigh on their conscience just a little bit?" Even back in Eleven, the unruliest of gangs had some code of moral compassion. And we didn't kill people for fun, either.

"Because that's just the way the world works," Hela says, her tone taking a dangerous edge as she nears him. Her breath smells sweet, like rum, and for a moment he wonders what it would cost him to lean in and taste it on her lips. To run his fingers through her silky black hair. She'd probably throw me over the balcony, and the damn Capitol would be a tribute short. Instead he nods in agreement. "There's always a king on the hill. Like Castiel, for example," she murmurs. "And like the training exercise we do back home, someone always knocks them off. It's just a matter of time before they do."

A thrill runs through his chest at this, and his breath feels cold when he exhales. There's something about her… Something about this girl that he wants to crack open, to dissect. Something more that I can see through her, past the emerald blizzards in her eyes. Time isn't on his side to find it, and neither is the disposition of the girl in question.

Instead, he returns to the balustrade, mind racing over the shape of things to come. An excitement is in his veins like the kind he would get back in Eleven when he was under the lash, or when he dragged the jackal back the night after they sent him to guard the fields. When I earned my name.

It's the thrill of victory. The thrill of feeling alive.

And Asher knows that somehow, he will find it with her too.

Mercedes Benson (16), District 6 Tribute

The Panem skyline is glittering like a thousand uncut gems, the refracted light spilling a multitude of colors into the starless sky. Even home in Six, where the pollution threatened to drown out the stars, they would still break free from the inky darkness to shine down on the broken world below. But here in the Capitol, she wonders if they've gotten rid of the stars, like the Gamemakers can change an arena on a whim. Have they gone so far as to destroy them?

"I wouldn't put it past them," Axel snarls. She blinks, having momentarily forgotten his presence in the garden beside her. And his was not an easy presence to forget, as for reasons she could not name it held the same weight as her girlfriend's back home. The pair of them had ditched their training uniforms back in their apartments and opted for something more comfortable before taking the elevator up to the top of their roof. With two separate towers housing the tributes, the Careers all sleep below the two of them as the District 6 apartment is situated at the top of the first tower. It makes me uneasy that they might come up here too, she thinks. After all, tributes have free range of the training center so long as it's before curfew.

"I guess," she says, more out of keeping the conversation going than out of personal interest in it. Axel wasn't very nice at all today. Mercedes is starting to ponder if she made the right decision in allying with him. "They have complete control over everything anyway," she remarks. Her partner snorts from beside her, his dark brown eyes devoid of emotion.

"They're all failures," he explains. "They control us, but their own selfishness controls them." Mercedes bites her tongue, trying to refrain from explaining to him that she's seen him be selfish too. "They're so wrapped up in fancy things to even notice that they don't have a shred of real dignity in their bodies."

He turns to face her for the first time; one half of his face is illuminated by the haze of skyline lights, the other by the steady purple glow that emanates from the UV lighting above the nighttime plants in the garden. "Wouldn't you agree?" No. That's treasonous. That's wrong. They're people too. Mercedes has no love for them either given their oppressive nature, but the outright contempt Axel has for them makes her wonder if there is a subliminal reasoning. It's getting harder and harder to have a real conversation with him, she bemoans. Axel's always in a bad mood. Like Uriana. She can't help her mind drifting back to her abusive girlfriend, as though Axel is a very different person physically, their shared contempt for everything has begun to wear her out.

She takes a deep breath, trying to gather the courage to tell him how she's beginning to feel. Trying to gather the courage to tell Uriana too, she thinks. In a way. That I'm not just someone's pawn. "I don't know if allying with you was the right choice for me, Axel," she tries to say gently, even though she knows it must seem totally out of the blue. "These last couple of days haven't been very easy for me… I know we're district partners but I think it might be better if we go separate ways and just hope we don't meet in the arena. I think I'll be better off without you dr-" she's cut off by the murderous glare on his face, and he takes a menacing step forward.

"What do you mean, Mercedes?" her ally asks, his voice low with sudden contempt. "Why would you be better off without me?"

"I-I just think that-" she begins to stammer as the blazing garden UV lights that the nighttime plants grow under begins to flicker. The pale purple light starts to wrestle with the creeping shadows, contorting the plants around the two of them. "I'm not sure we can look out for each other," she manages to say. "I don't know if I can trust you like I thought I could."

Axel's face seems to twist into a sneer as he stares at her. "Then don't ally with me, Mercedes," he says with a deadly calm in his voice. "If you're so damn perfect, then get the hell out!" His glare seems to bore into her soul, and she takes a step back, shivering. The movement is distorted by the rapid flickering of the light, and she starts to feel lightheaded as fear takes form in her gut. He doesn't stop there, and like her girlfriend, continues instead, taking a second step toward her. "Because if I knew you had a different agenda than this, I wouldn't have allied with you either, Mercedes!" The yell seems to ring out across the rooftop and into the nighttime void, though she is certain it is lost in the thrum of Capitol nightlife beneath them. "I knew you were a lost cause," he tells her icily, and it feels like the breath is sucked out of her. Lost cause. Lost cause. Lost cause. As the words bounce around in her head, the light dies, leaving the rooftop shrouded in darkness. Now she is even more acutely aware of Axel's presence, and the prickling sensation of the plant behind her as it digs into her back.

She doesn't speak, and the two of them are locked in a silent war in the dark. When the lights have gone out in the garden, she feels nervous. The tension ties knots in her chest that do not unravel when she hears him start to leave. The sound of his footsteps stop for a moment, and all she can hear is the bustling city below. "You know where to find me," he calls over his shoulder. If you really want to jump ship, I suggest you watch your back," he tells her. The words make her feel chilly, and she is thankful when the roof access door is slammed shut behind him. It's only then that she lets the hot tears out, dripping lukewarm trails down her cheeks. How did this get so bad? What am I supposed to do from here?

Never before in her life has Mercedes felt so crushingly alone. She takes her hair out of its neat bun and lets it fall down to her shoulders, the breeze dragging curls of it across her face. I'm such a mess… she frowns, wiping the tears away with the sleeve of her shirt as the sobs shudder through her body. What do I do? How do I get out of this alive?

The darkness ends with the UV light flickering back on, and by then she's made her decision. She wipes the last few tears from her skin and tucks her straight black hair behind her ear, slipping the hair tie on her wrist. The world had never cared for Mercedes Benson, and she had begun to stop caring for it.

But there has to be something else in Axel, she assures herself.

And I can't do this alone.

*TW for suicidal thoughts*

Reynolds Pelliarch (16), District 12 Tribute

As he stands at the edge of the precipice of the roof, Reynolds Pelliarch watches the world below with a hundred thoughts rushing through his brain. The streets are ablaze with light, but upon the top of the roof the world is dark and quiet. There is some kind of celebration going on. The loud, tinny music reaches his ears, but starts to fade away into whispers on the wind the closer it gets.

With Mariela occupied now by their new alliance with Tangaria, he finally has gotten the opportunity to come up here alone. With the lights out, Reynolds can finally breathe for a moment. It's something he hasn't gotten the chance to do since the moment they entered the Capitol, caught up in the pageantry of the parades and the training. They've all been breathing down my neck, he thinks. Reynolds stretches an arm out toward the dark, starless sky and flexes his fingers outward, staring at the shape. Why am I even here? His chest feels compressed as he stares down again, at the drop from the edge. The ground is so many feet below… certainly enough to ensure that the Capitol wouldn't be able to have him as a player in the Games.

Enough to die. He takes a steadying breath, the blood rushing in his head drowning out the tinny music. All I wanted was to get away. Away from the suffering, the whispers. From the stench of coal dust, which makes him queasy. From the overbearing presence of his caretaker in the light of the death of his real family. Mr. Samuels was a nice enough man, but he was blinded to Reynolds. To the slow and bitter demise of a sixteen-year-old boy at the hands of guilt and sorrow. And it all hinged on drawing a straw. Tears begin to leak, unbidden, from his eyes.

Live by chance… die by design.

He scrubs his eyes hard with the pads of his fingers until his vision becomes starry and blurred when he opens his eyes. The dark swims before him, as uncertain as the undulation of waves. The world begins to teeter the closer he inches off the edge, his heels planted firmly on the granite roof. It'll be over. For what they did to me, my family name. It'll be over and I can finally join them.

I deserve it.

In a way, the Capitol does too. To see what they've done to him; a deed they probably don't remember. They've forgotten, but it is these thoughts which keep Reynolds awake in the dark. Awake when the lights go out, so the sorrow can burrow deeper in a heart riddled with holes of sickness.

A hand on his wrist makes him pause, making his scars itch where it grips his skin. Then, wordless, that hand jerks him back away from the captivating light of the street below. Away from the one thing that can finish this. He will die on his own terms, Hunger Games be damned. Reynolds claws for the edge, a yell escaping his lips, but four hands are on his body now, cementing him in place. He opens his eyes in the dim light and sees that he lost a shoe in the brief scuffle. He looks up and sees two faces peering down at him, not masked in Peacekeeper black but familiar.

"What were you doing on the edge of the roof, Reynolds?" Mariela asks, fear filling her voice. This makes him blink in confusion, and he draws his knees to his chest, trying to shake the fuzziness out of his head. Why would they care what I'm doing anyway?

"Nothing, just enjoying the view. They have a parade going on or something, see?"

"You know there's a force field at the bottom of the building, right?" Tangaria asks him, breathing shakily. "It wouldn't have worked, Reynolds."

This makes his face break out into an expression of anguish, and he tries to rein it in a second after, knowing they've already seen how he feels. Lying didn't do anything, he thinks, suddenly feeling angry that these girls won't leave him alone. His cheeks feel hot and his head feels as if it is swimming in a sea of pain and confusion.

One of them stoops down and a pair of arms encircle him, hugging him tight. His breathing slows and fresh tears spring to the corner of his eyes. Her hair is soft against his cheek, his chin rested on her thin shoulder. "Hey," she breathes, her voice soothing. "Hey. Breathe." He does, releasing the tension in his chest with an exhale. A second face with dark curly hair framing it stares blankly back at him, eyes filled with gloom. His hands encircle Tangaria's back, and he breathes with someone else now. Not alone.

Mariela drops to one knee as he fills his lungs and exhales, thoughts suspended in a slow molasses. "Reynolds, you can fight through this. I promise," she says, her voice cracking with sadness. "You can do this, okay?"

"You have something to live for," Tangaria whispers to him, her voice sweet like nectar in his ear. "You may not know it yet. But you can't give up on yourself." She draws back and looks him in the eyes, her own shrouded in an emotion so intense that he almost chokes out a sob meeting her gaze.

Mariela sits next to him on the ground and rests her head against his shoulder, her hand holding his very tightly, as if the younger girl has no intentions of ever letting him go. They sit like that for a good long while, listening to the ambient noises around them, so much different from the quiet moaning breeze of District 12. The pain is still there, rooted deep in his heart. But with these two by his side, and Tangaria's whispers still resonating in his ear, he feels the tiny spark of hope flare in his heart.

Maybe the Games don't have to be his ticket out.

Siren Thalassa (17), District 4 Tribute

The Games are her ticket in. Being a bit of a loner in District 4 given the circumstances of her being born outside of Panem, Siren has few enough friends as it is. He never wanted anything to do with me either, she thinks bitterly. Her father is the only familial relation she knows of, and she can't even remember what he's supposed to look like. He hasn't ever come to visit me in the Community Home. Maybe being brought back in from the sea is why so many people avoided her, as if it were bad luck to be born outside of this totalitarian regime of Panem. Maybe it's why I visit the bars so much. Why I steal from the sailors and crab-catchers with their noses deep in their cups. It may be revenge, but it feels good to heist the money out of their pockets and slip out into the night with her earnings.

I've picked his dad's pockets before, she thinks, glancing at Alton while she stirs herself a vodka-and-tonic. It must be why he looks so familiar, if she's seduced his father before and left him penniless. I wonder if Alton ever knew that his father was robbed. Surely not, as the man had been too drunk to stand.

Castiel is laughing, doubled over at something Moses has said, and the dark-skinned boy is laughing himself, hand braced on the counter as he takes another swig of his drink. Everyone's getting kinda tipsy, she remarks, watching as Asher says something to Hela and they get up to go leave after several shots of rum each. It comes naturally to her then, after she's had enough spirits in her to feel airy on the inside. Siren begins to sing, like she would to the ocean and its many secrets lurking beneath the surface. Her voice is unsure at first, and unnoticed, but grows stronger with vibrato as she sings her own song, lyrics she has belted out at the crashing waves. Lyrics which she has sung quietly when the world looks the other way.

After all of this time

After all of these seasons

After your one decision

To go to the water for reason

Now it's only the ocean and you

Siren finishes the first verse, and has slowly enraptured the rest of the Careers. Crescentia stands up and wobbles a little, righting herself before walking over to Siren. "Give me your hands," she says, a smile on her face. She guides Siren's hands as the pair begins to waltz slowly to the dreary sailor's tune. The other girl's steps are elegant even after a few drinks, and though Siren struggles to keep up from her limited dancing experiences back home, Crescentia makes it seem effortless and easy. I'm impressed, and I'd say everyone else is too, she thinks. It is clearly the blonde girl's forte. Crescentia's footwork makes her look as though she is rising and falling, much like the undulant waves of the very ocean Siren is singing about.

Siren steps to the back and slides to the left as gracefully as she can, all the while singing to match the speed of the waltz, but she begins to realize that Crescentia is conjuring up this choreography as she goes along, moving with the shifting pitches and cadences of Siren's voice.

All of these lines

Will all be erased soon

They go out with the tide

Then come back with the waves

It's only the ocean and you

Moses and Alton stand next to each other with their backs against the counter, and she forces herself not to roll her eyes. Clearly Alton still hasn't taken my advice. She knows she's right too: a history of the subtle arts of seduction have led her to read romantic signals like no one else she knows.

They slow down toward the end, and as Siren finishes singing to a round of applause from the other five Careers, with Asher and Hela having come back from their conversation halfway through. Siren sees her dancing partner beaming across from her. "That was amazing!" the other girl tells her. "But why did you choose that song…? It was beautiful, but so melancholy…" Siren can feel the tips of her ears burning and is glad they're hidden by the onyx cascades of her hair. Normally, she will try and stay out of the limelight. I get plenty of attention down on the waterfront. But somehow it feels good to have shared her ability with this tipsy group of would-be killers.

Siren shrugs. "I sing all the time back home. Anytime I'm not working with the trawlers, I sit on the cliffs and sing," she reveals to Crescentia, choosing to leave out her other pastime of seducing sailors for secrets, or enough golden coins to slip through her fingers. There was nothing more satisfying than conning a man out of his riches and deepest secrets. Though Siren was too proud to offer herself up to warm the sheets next to them, she didn't mind flirting with the drunken men in order to get what she wanted. It's not often they'd see someone like me anyway, she thinks to herself, grinning. "It was a lot of fun. How did you learn to dance like that, anyway? You have some serious skills, Crescentia!"

Crescentia blushes as though the rest of the Careers have gone back to their side conversations, they are still watching the pair of them with mild interest. "I've been dancing since I was nine," she says. "It was hard to juggle my lessons with training at the Academy," she tells Siren as the two move out of the living room, joining the others at the glass table. "I dance on the regular with my partner, Turmalin."

"Partner partner?" Siren queries, waggling her eyebrows.

"No," Crescentia laughs it off, her confidence seeming bludgeoned. "It isn't like that, not at all. We just dance, you know? He's really good at it," she tells Siren, voice taking a hint of bitterness at the end. "He's better than me because I have to balance training too, you know?"

Siren nods, though she doesn't quite understand. The other girl falls silent for a moment, until Asher gives the two of them a look from his seat at the other end of the table. "You guys put on quite the show," he says appreciatively, grinning at them. It's nothing like the baring of canines she has seen him do during a spar with a trainer, but a genuine smile.

"Thank you!" Siren exclaims, a little stunned that he would think so, after seeming so brooding all day. Maybe these people can be my friends, like the ones I could never seem to find back home.

After all, constant independence gets boring after a while, and the fluidity of conversation is what enthralls her. The weight that tomorrow carries has all but evaporated from her mind, like the drying out of an ocean. The weight of the Games has been lifted too, of killing and all the macabre scenarios on the horizon.

For once, Siren Thalassa is comfortable with just being. And that is enough for her.

Author's Note: So another chapter down, and I want to apologize for the massive wait. I had finals week and another week taken up by a vacation. I hope that anyone who celebrates a holiday had a good one! As for the chapter, I don't like how it turned out, but it was nice to check in again with this group, as a lot of them haven't been given a pre-games POV yet. Reynolds' POV was hard for me to write… I think that it's a rather difficult subject either way you take it. For anyone who read that, or is living a life anything similar to Reynolds: you are still here. You are still breathing, and please fight yourself to do so. It might seem insuperable. I know that there are a hundred things I could say to you to try and tell you why it is worth it to keep breathing; that whatever maze you are trapped in is not endless. That you can fix your situation, that you are capable of understanding and loving yourself as you deserve to. You might not be able to see an alternative option, but I promise you that if you keep your head above the waves you will understand that there is enough in this world to live for. I promise that you have the tools at your disposal to do that, and while no one else can fix your problem for you or understand exactly what you are going through, please do not hesitate to reach out to someone. Anyone. You deserve to be taken seriously. You deserve all the love in the world, and most especially you deserve to feel comfortable with yourself, and love yourself. Despite whatever environment you are in, keep your head up. Watch out for the sunrises, because it is a new day. You can start over. You can figure this out, and you can heal yourself and your suffering.

Song credits: Only the Ocean by Jack Johnson

Career Pack: Castiel (D1M), Crescentia (D1F), Moses (D2M), Hela (D2F), Alton (D4M), Siren (D4F), Asher (D11M)

Angsty Teen Romance?: Sorrel (D5M), 'Nyx' (D5F)

Planes, Trains and Automobiles: Axel (D6M), Mercedes (D6F)

Teens & Beans: Winston (D7M), 'Bash' (D7F), 'Padds' (D9M), Arley (D9F)

Damage Control: Tangaria (D11F), Reynolds (D12M), Mariela (D12F)

Loners: Edward (D3M), Brita (D3F), Darnius (D8M), Halley (D8F), Ruben (D10M), 'Evie' (D10F)

One last thing before I end this long-running author's note: the wonderful ShunKazamis-Girl made me a blog for Death is the Rule! The link is on my profile, and I would highly encourage you to go check it out! It has a lot of information pertaining to the tributes, most notably a concrete character description as well as important information about them. It will be updated regularly with my chapters, whenever ShunKazamis-Girl gets the chance to do so. I think she did a wonderful job, and though it is a work in progress, it is definitely worth looking at.

That's all! As this is the last chapter I'll be uploading in 2019 (it's about 2 hrs away from 2020 where I am), I hope you all had a great year and I'm excited to keep this going in 2020 :)

Have a great New Years everyone! :)))