Metamorphosis: The 100th Hunger Games
Private Sessions


Pearlana Singh, 36

Head Gamemaker


"What are you giggling on about over there?" I narrow my eyes at Armitage, who with reddened cheeks covers his mouth with one hand and his stomach with another.

"Within the four years of you taking up the job, I've never seen you so at ease." He replies. "You were smiling to yourself. I was simply wondering what prompted the change?"

Glancing out the limousine window, I watch as promotional imagery play across the various holoboards affixed to buildings on the street we drive down. It seems that every square inch is covered with flags or banners celebrating this year's Games. "It's a Quarter Quell, my darling." I reply with a small shrug. "The offer of something different would make anyone giddy."

Every Quell seems to bring on something new – a change. A new presiding president, advances in technology that only amplify the experience of the Games...and the fact that I am spearheading this change – changes that will last for years to come – is something I take great pride in.

Scooting over, he takes my hand in his, planting on it a delicate kiss. "I'm sure you'll knock everyone off their feet, my love."

"Ms. Singh, Mr. DeWynter, we're arriving now." The Chauffeur's voice emits through the overhead speaker.

"I hear it all the time, yet I'm still perturbed." Armitage says, shaking his head. "Singh, Singh, Singh...Then again, I suppose 'Pearlana DeWynter' is quite clunky."

As the muffled rumblings of the crowd grow stronger as the limousine slows to a halt, I reply by planting a kiss on his lips and a gentle pinch of his cheek. The business of the Capitol is status, as they say. What else screams 'status' by marrying into one of the city's if not the nation's most premier family? Especially that of the president's chief of staff and sibling? Although it has prestige, I need a moniker of my own lest I be eclipsed by Armitage and his tribe of proactive movers and shakers.

Armitage's hand linked with mine, we ebb our way out of the limousine and into the pandemonium that was the approach to the Training Center. If the approach today in the early morning was this raucous, how would interview night play out, I wonder? The red carpet was flanked with rabid fans and press alike, my ears flooded with their cheers and questions and my eyes twittering with each flash from their cameras. Armitage was right in that regard, the uneasiness I carry. The social aspect was never my thing. I left that to the junior Gamemakers to deal with. Despite my husband's constant assurances, I can't help but freeze in the face of all this attention. The occasional autograph requests in public were one thing, but this...?

"Ms. Singh, Ms. Singh, could you give us one more hint about the upcoming arena?!" cries one reporter.

"Pearl, could you tell us about the mystery Twelve girl? Some say she is linked to Katniss Everdeen, is this true?!"

"Pearlana, how have the tributes performed to date?" asks a female reporter. "Should we expect high scores all around?"

I quickly glance up toward Armitage, smirking as I return my vision toward the Reporter. Now that's a question I can answer. "Oh yes, I believe that this year's crop of tributes will provide a diverse skill set that will fit swimmingly with what I have planned."

My answer is equivalent to dangling meat over a pack of muttations, as the gaggle of reporters erupt with even more questioning. I offer them none however, as I quickly make my way into the Center Tower under stringent Peacekeeper guard. Transitioning from the voracious street into the quiet, yet expansive circular lobby, I make my way toward Melchior and Yvette, two of my trusted senior Gamemakers. As per usual the two are stuck together like glue, giggling as they huddle over a datapad, probably looking over a gossip rag or something. Yvette is the first to notice us, jabbing Melchior in the stomach as the two quickly pivot my way.

"Ah Ms. Singh, you're here!" Melchior greets, inclining his head courteously. He extends an arm to Armitage as the two shake hands. "Mr. DeWynter, it's nice to see you once again." They do this as we all press forward toward the elevator regardless. There's no time to waste, for we have a schedule to keep.

"Will the president or prime minister be joining us sometime soon?" Melchior inquires. A Peacekeeper gestures into the elevator as we enter and settle in for the ride down.

"No, unfortunately they have other matters to attend to." Armitage informs. "Such as entertaining our foreign visitors. They send their regards, though."

"That's unfortunate." My subordinate replies.

I glance toward his female counterpart. "Is everything prepared, Yvette?"

Her brown eyes alight with glee, the dark-skinned girl smiles, her neon pink updo jostling as she does. "I'll have you know that we are ready to go when you are, Ms. Singh. The VIPs are all accounted for as well."

"Brilliant."

Once we enter the spectators lounge, renovated so that it takes the form of a miniature theatre. all conversation ceases. One sharp look at Vontavius and the other Junior Gamemakers are enough to scare them away from the table of light snacks.

"Good morning everyone," I say aloud, nodding as I receive the same greeting in return. I glance toward the VIPs, Hunger Games junkies young and old lucky enough to get a front row seat to watch the inner workings. "I take it you know what's expected of you?" I ask them as I receive nods and sparse verbal replies. "Good. Gamemakers, I trust you have your datapads ready?"

"Yes Ms. Singh." Many of them reply.

Nodding, I take the first row center seat with Armitage by my side as my colleagues follow suit. Vi and Pax appear before me, offering a bow and a curtsy respectively.

"All functions on our end are ready to be executed," Vi begins.

"And all tributes are ready for examination." Pax finishes.

With a sigh, I recline into my seat. "Let's get this show on the road then."


With confusion obvious in her expression, Sarissa Levesque eyes the spectator box as she strides into the room. Still, with that confusion she carries a straight-backed confidence that only a Two could hold.

"Just roll with it, Miss Levesque." I assure her. Exchanging curt nods, we watch the Two female head towards an obstacle course. Renovations allow this state-of-the-art course to be on its own, prompting the spectators to turn their attention to a widescreen. Exchanging a few words, Sarissa is off once she gets the go-ahead from an observing trainer. Sarissa doesn't break a sweat, vaulting and sliding over and under emplacements as she rushes to the next set. It's when she gets to the monkey bars that things get difficult, as the fans underneath her threaten to blow her off course, but Sarissa soldiers on. With little difficulty she barrels through the elevating platforms, intensified by the 'earthquake' that rattles the set. She quickly adapts as the floor under her turns to ice, finishing off the course with a series of vaults all while treading the glassy surface.

"What a flawless display." Armitage murmurs as the VIPs titter with glee.

I nod. "A flawless show, yes, but not as fast as tributes before her."

Instead of heading towards the weapons Sarissa then opts for more technical showcases, such as kindling, rock climbing and even trapping...all of which are done in that 'Career' standard we're used to but beyond that.

"Here we go, finally onto some action." I hear someone say behind me, as Sarissa selects a bundle of spears and a knife. A team of trainers are on her instantly, placing 'pressure points' on various parts of her body and leave just as quickly as they came.

"What are they doing?" asks Armitage, leaning into my ear.

"Simply giving the tributes a taste of what's to come." I reply with a smirk.

"Beginning simulation." Vi chimes aloud.

Her body hunched at a 'ready' stance, Sarissa carefully eyes the room as a cubed holographic figure appears from a corner, armed with a mace. The figure barely got off to a start before a spear whistles though the air and enters its chest, dissolving it. Next appear two, each armed with swords. Sarissa strides forward to meet the first, casually dodging its swing and jutting her spear into its throat. With a twirl, she blocks the strike of the second dummy with the base of her spear, jutting the sword upward while using one tip of the spear to skate across its chest followed by a deeper impale for the kill.

I can't help but smirk along as the audience 'ooh and 'ah' with excitement.

Those sounds of captivation quickly morph into gasps as three dummies armed with spears appear from different corners. One dummy lobs its spear, connecting with Sarissa's 'pressure patch' located on her wrist, 'disabling' her as she lets out a startled cry. Without hesitation, the Two female retrieves a knife from her waist and lobs it at the charging dummy, catching it in the forehead as it drops to its knees and dissolves. Just as the two remaining dummies appear to skewer Sarissa, she does the splits, prompting one to kill the other while the other one remains 'wounded'. With a holographic spear jutting though its chest, Sarissa recovers from her splits, sweeping the leg of the final dummy and jabbing the knife through its head as it implodes into tiny yellow pixels.

The applause from the VIPs and Gamemakers alike prompts the young woman from Two to crack a grin as she delivers a curtsy and promptly leaves the room.

"If that's not the prime definition of 'Victor', I don't know what is!" chimes a member of the audience.

I just continue to grin, inputting my data onto my tablet.

Straight-lipped and unassuming, Solomon strides in nonchalantly and takes his place in the middle of the gymnasium. "Good Morning. I'm Solomon Kohli, District Two male."

I nod. "Please, begin however you like Mr. Kohli."

And so he does, quickly moving over to the plant identification – something Careers rarely lean toward. He completes it with a solid B, which is something most of his predecessors barely achieve. He moves to the camping section, and while using prefabricated pieces makes a shrub-based tent. This tent then goes through various tests, as the vents around the structure spew out wind, rain and snow. He garners generous applause when he utilizes paint and foliage among other things to create effective camouflage. Using our miniature biome changer, he blends into the snow, derelicts and forests swimmingly. His running of the obstacle course was decent enough.

Selecting a bow and arrow, he opts for a showcase of targeting. Where Levesque was partial to a spear, Solomon was more than at home with archery. One target, two targets, three targets, all in the same circular shape, Kohli quickly dispatches them in a way that likens him to a machine. He even causes the crowd to ooh when he takes out two targets on the opposite side of the same wall with two separate arrows.

"He is definitely well-rounded, someone to lookout for." Armitage says.


"The fact that we have three Peacekeepers this year is something I look forward to very much." Armitage says to me.

I shake my head. "Ms. Novakova and Mr. Marcenas served in the Navy. It's not as strenuous as the Army or the Expeditionary Force."

"But it's the military all the same. It has to count for something."

The tribute in question ignores us entirely as she enters, exhaling deeply as she moves toward the camping section where she perfects her kindling and snaring. If she were to face a dilemma regarding poisonous fauna, she'd be a hit or a miss at best.

She then moves to the agility section, surprising myself and the audience by equipping a rucksack and filling it with an assortment of gear. It makes her display with the gauntlets all the more impressive as she nimbly makes her way through the set on top of the added obstacles. A few trips here and there followed by a quick recovery serve as a minor blemish.

Instead of the holographic targets, Nautia opts for a human partner in the form of a trainer fitted with extra padding that 'bled' with each strike. Choosing a bowie knife that doubles as a utility tool, she squares off against the stun baton-armed trainer. The trainer begins by closing the distance immediately with a downward swing, which Nautia quickly sidesteps while taking her knife and dragging it across his exposed forearm, drawing enough 'blood' that it could be considered serious if it were a real wound. The trainer responds with another swing, connecting with Nautia's temple which prompts the Four female to yelp with pain while reeling backward. The trainer doesn't let up though, closing the distance once again as the two engage in a vigorous dance which earns the trainer various wounds. A stiff backhand causes her to drop and a firm kick to the thigh prompts the trainer to join Nautia on the ground, ending her session with a stalemate. It was obvious in her skill that she has Career training of sorts.

After helping the trainer off the ground, Nautia ends the session with a curtsy, leaving the gym floor to her district partner who struts out with a smile and a wave.

"Hello, hello ladies and gents!" purrs the young man. "I'm Warren Holt, District Four male reporting as ordered."

A stern gaze from yours truly is enough to quell the cacophony of aroused giggles and chatter from both the spectators and Gamemakers alike. "You may go ahead with your demonstration, Mr. Holt." I tell him gently.

"And that I will, ma'am." He replies gingerly while moving to the weapons rack and selecting the usual trident. To our collective surprise – and delight – Mr. Holt relieves himself of his top to reveal a toned torso common for a young man of his district.

"If it's all the same to you Ma'am," he begins, his smirk growing as the fawning over him continues. "I prefer to work out without the extra layering?"

Looking over Armitage's blank expression, an amused smirk and a subtle wave of the hand is all that needs to be done as he gets right into his routine. He starts off with a series of stretches followed by a decent run of the gauntlet course. The rumblings of desire are mum when he moves into the more sedentary survival courses which he performs to a satisfactory degree, most noticeably his knots and the netting that results from them.

He tossed a few knives here and there to reasonable success. However his harpoon and trident throwing were obviously top-notch, with him being able to launch one from one end of the gym to the next and still hit a stationary dummy.

Returning to his trident, he proceeds to perform a few stances and attack patterns for all of us to see. Only his grunts were audible as he jousts his trident rapidly in any given direction following an elaborate twirl. He was coated in a wonderful sheen of sweat that seemed to make his skin glisten ever so subtly and...

Fingers snap in my vision, pulling me out of my gaze. I offer a less-than-amused Armitage a close-lipped smile, and then glance around the room proper.

Everyone else seems to be caught in the same trance as I. Most noticeably Yvette attempting to fan herself while Melchior looks like he's about to burst out of his skin with his legs crossed tightly and his suit jacket splayed over his crotch.

We're saved by the bell that ends Mr. Holt's session.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Holt!" I say, ignoring the gaze of my husband. "Next!"


Adjusting her cat-eye glasses, Zahira shoots us a cautious glance while making her way towards the survival station. She motions for a trainer, who dutifully responds to her call. She then proceeds to dress him up in various bandage styles and splints depending on the wound in question. Another trainer would critique her work, and each time he would give two thumbs up in approval.

While typing up preliminary opinions, I watch as she then makes her way to the weapons. She selects wire of all things and uses it to strangle a synthetic dummy. Although with all that thrashing around, she'd have to fight harder not to be countered and killed herself.

"...Is that a real human?" Armitage whispers into my ear, all while watching a startled Zahira as the trainers drag the dummy away. "There's no eyes, no mouth..."

"Don't you read your memos? Yes, flash cloned human targets." I trill in reply. "Perfect for trialing traps and muttations. We expect to fully introduce them to the training sessions next year."

"I see..."

Zahira then moves on to knives. She's a somewhat poor thrower but her up close skill is marginally better. She makes up for her lack of strength with moxie instead. The bell rings and a rather disheveled Zahira quickly adjusts herself back to the state she entered in, taking her eyeglasses back from a trainer and fixing them onto her face once more before walking away.

"I quite like her librarian look." Armitage says with a casual air about him. His eyes don't dare meet mine. "It accentuates her feistiness."

If I rolled my eyes any harder I would need a doctor. "So spiteful." I bite back.

Theilian offers a nod and a polite wave as he enters the gym, smiling at his partner as she leaves. He heads straight for the harpoon gun. He manages to get some decent groupings no matter what the distance. When it comes to the holographic targets, he could use some work in getting a clean kill. I glance around as my fellow Gamemakers mutter amongst themselves with slight disapproval in their tones. Anyone could shoot a gun. Maybe he could showcase something more tangible.

"If the reaping showcased anything, Caldron isn't a man of overt action." Armitage comments with a hand on his jaw.

I can't say I don't agree, as I watch the Six male spar with a trainer using a spear...to less than satisfactory results. Even in a 'safe' environment such as this, he juts the spear out hesitance and remains on the defence throughout the entirety of the match. When it comes to 'killing' a dummy, Mr. Caldron could barely force himself to pierce its chest. However, His overall fitness is good, as he makes a decent run of the gauntlet with added weight. When it comes to the technical aspects of the Games, making shelter, creating fire and even gardening surprisingly, he performs above the station of a typical Sixer.

"He's going to have to shed himself of that reluctance fast." I say, nodding as the man from Six offers a bow and leaves the room.


The 'fanfare' so to speak picks up as soon as Alana strides toward the center of the gym.

"Hello." She greets over the audible murmurs. "Alana Oskoii, District 8."

I gesture towards the gym in its entirety, to which the renowned author quickly descends upon the excess material at the survival station. She quickly grabs up a net and wire, only to stop at the paints. She quickly slathers on a mixture of greens and browns, bunching up the net and the excess materials as she makes a beeline towards the indoor trees and foliage. For five minutes we watch as the author, utilizing all available materials, constructs a trap between two trees – covered by leaves.

She beckons over two trainers, presenting her work like a game show model does a prize. "Who wants to be my guinea pig?"

Exchanging shrugs, the female trainer bites, offering a running start toward where the trap lays. One foot entering the trap's radius was all it took for the net to launch the trainer into the air, belly up. This earns applause from my fellow spectators, causing the woman from Eight to offer a shy curtsy before aiding the other trainer in setting his partner free.

"Have you read her file?" I ask my husband, watching as the author takes her leave to polite applause.

"Yes I have." He replies with a grin. "Though I still can't help but be surprised."

Alana is replaced by Russett as the two exchange smiles. He offers a glance toward us as I gesture for him to go on with his performance. Swiping up a bandolier of practice knives, when a trainer moves to set up the static dummies, the man from Eight opts for the VR Room instead, prompting rumbles of curiosity as everyone focuses their attention to the holoscreen that takes up the viewing window.

A single nod from Russett is all it takes for the trainer to begin the simulation.

The dummies appear slowly, and Russett throws his knives in kind utilizing slow, precise throws. Gradually, the dummies increase in difficulty rather it in speed or 'attacking' themselves. By the twentieth and final dummy, you could see that the constant bobbing and weaving and throwing have caught up to Russett as it takes three knives to render the dummy to pixilated dust. Nonetheless, applause from the booth prompts the man to smile sheepishly as moves on to the workbenches.

"Not bad." Armitage remarks with a small grin on his lips. "Not Career-tier, but certainly something to regard."

"He's been working with those knives for the majority of his time here." I reply in agreement. "A little dedication can go a long way..."

The balcony murmurs with confusion, watching as Russett fidgets with a chemical workbench while mixing one concoction with another. Once he sticks the cloth in the mouth of the bottle the entire room, me included, rush to the edge while Russet assembles some dummies together in a group. Using a lighter, he lobs the bottled substance into the air and towards the dummies.

It shatters over them with seemingly no effect, only for the cluster of dummies to burst into flames a second after. I can't help but smirk.

"I could make something else if you want?" Russett says aloud to joyous applause. The trainers are on the scene immediately, dousing the fire as quickly as it started.

My eyes focused on my holopad as I input information, I wave dismissively with my free hand. "No thank you, Mr. Gilmour. You're relieved for the day."

"And to think we teach them about chemicals starting in elementary school." Says Armitage.


"Hello," Laelia greets with a polite smile and wave. Once she catches whiff of the burnt rubber her face scrounges into a frown. "I am Laelia Alvarado, District Ten..."

"You may begin, Ms. Alvarado." I reply to the young woman.

After turning toward and speaking to a trainer, the female from District 10 quickly slips on a rucksack and collects a spade from the assortment of weapons.

"A shovel?" Armitage asks with a raised brow.

"Why not?" I reply with a shrug. "It's no ordinary shovel, however."

When Armitage opens his mouth once more, I shush him, nodding over to the obstacle course where Laelia is about to be underway. When the trainer prompts her, she's off. Even with the additional weight, the young woman maneuvers quickly, bobbing and weaving through the various impediments thrown her way. The raised platforms, open 'flames', she was barely perturbed. When she swings on the rope across a pool of water to finish, three gel dummies greet her as she lands. The dummy in the middle earns a swing to the head, rendering it bent, the one of the left earns a strike to the forehead, cracking and peeling it to the side. Laelia activates the buzz saw mode of her 'spade', jamming it into the midsection of the dummy on the right, only to use her boot to pry it off. This all earns her fair applause.

I input my remarks into my holopad. The timing was decent, but anyone of her age could run a gauntlet like that.

To top it all off her survival skills are nominal, plant recognition, food preparation, temporary shelters, which then make for a nominal tribute.

"Thank you, Laelia, you may leave now." I say to her.

Usually, the district partner is crossing paths with the person who was recently dismissed...but Mr. Emmanuel Cade seems to be slow. No matter, I'm sure he'll be on his way out shortly.

However, 'shortly' turned into five minutes of no District 10 male.

"Ma'am," says a trainer as he rushes to the center of the gym. "We can't seem to locate Emmanuel Cade. Ms. Alvarado says he came down with her..."

I shake my head. "That's ludicrous...where else could he possibly be?"

"Maybe he has stage fright?" Armitage muses, earning a round of chuckles. Those chuckles are immediately stifled by a cry of "Look out!" from a fellow Gamemaker. I hear it and see it, an object whistling through the air as it hits the force field protecting the balcony – shattering the projectile into thousands of charred bits before being carried away by the wind. Flabbergasted, we all rush to the edge to see a figure peeking out from the ceiling foliage. They are armed with a bow and waving at us.

"Good morning." Emmanuel greets. His face and hands coated with paint to camouflage himself. "My apologies for the scare, Ms. Starling advised that I should make my session count to the fullest."

"How long have you been up there?" I ask the young man.

"Since everything began." He says casually. He begins to make his way back to the trees and onto the floor again.

"So you've seen everything your opponents have been doing up till now?"

"Of course, as I've been doing for the past four days." He replies casually, strolling towards the archery station. He has everyone eyeing him now, silent with awe. As he practices shooting, never missing a target or shooting the outer ring, he details all the alliance dichotomies, the strengths and weaknesses of each tribute and what that means for him. Even as he moves onto the survival station and perfects the herbs and a few snares, he never stops analyzing.

"And what does all this mean for you, Mr. Cade?" I ask, inputting my remarks as he sets up a tray with rows of plastic cups. I get a closer look when an Avox brings the tray up here for us to inspect. It's tea that smells of berries. They all watch as I take the first sip. It's good. Everyone takes a sip after that, sharing similar feelings.

"It means that I have my work cut out for me. However, I have no inhibitions to hold me back from seeing myself through." He replies finally, pivoting on his feet and making his way toward the exit. "Enjoy the tea."

"Good luck to you, Emmanuel." I say with a raised cup over the applause.

With the tea finished and myself feeling a lot more grounded, I immediately adjust my seating as Veradisia saunters into the gymnasium with a collected poise so unlike females from her district.

Here we are...the woman on everyone's mind.


"Good morning." She says curtly while performing a curtsy. "Vera Smith, District 12."

A raised hand is enough to stifle the murmurs that brew behind my back. My other hand gestures to the gym at-large, prompting the girl to go on and perform. Everyone – myself included, albeit in a 'smarter' fashion – rush to the balcony to watch as the girl goes over the various weapons on the rack.

"Did you ever take HG 100 in uni?" I ask Armitage.

"Pol major, I kinda had to." He replies. "What, are you trying to pinpoint an angle? Let me guess, the 'Everdeen' archtype?"

I nod. "With a hint of 'Dark Horse'."

I turn my attention back to our little problem as she spars with a trainer while utilizing a rapier. While the trainer uses heavier, more intimidating movements, Vera is keen to striking at opportune moments, as seen by the beads trickling out of the trainers shin guards and other places often overlooked in a combat situation.

She's nothing like a Career, but her skill would make someone quirk a brow given her status. We already know she's a rule-breaker. But what does she honestly think she's getting at? Ever since she strode up the steps of her Hall of Justice in that miners uniform, I've been wracking my brain on what type of angle she was playing. She won't get by me, even with her gaggle of washed-up failed rebels by her side.

She's obviously up to something, eyeing us casually as she runs the gauntlet and performs well in the survival stations.

"Thank you, Ms. Smith. You're dismissed." I announce dryly.

"Thank you for the opportunity ma'am." Vera replies with a curtsy. "Hopefully I've performed to your standard."

"And?" says Armitage, watching as the young woman turns to make her leave.

"I'm glad she has passable skill. At least then she has a fighting chance at defending herself if she happens upon a random pack of mutts." I sniff in reply, earning a chortle of laughter from him.

Kaviraya Parathi cuts an odd figure, balling and caressing his hands as he enters the gym proper. He gives us a timid glance before making his way towards the weapons, selecting a bunch of axes. Using silhouetted dummies as targets, he lobs ax after ax towards them. Some hit while some miss the mark entirely. And of those who found their mark, they would be a maim shot rather than a kill shot. And Kaviraya knows this, shooting us a glance with a frown on his lips. With one ax in hand, he stalks toward a gel dummy. With much more fervor, he strikes the dummy multiple times with impressive technique. A quick strike to the neck and then the head followed up with multiple rapid chops to the chest. The dummy was unrecognizable after that display.

Surprised by his actions, seemingly, Kaviraya lets out a sigh while turning towards the survival stations. He starts a fire in rapid time, ties a snare that could dangle an opponent by the ankle and identifies most plants and edible insects to round off his time.

"You're dismissed Mr. Parathi." I say to him, imputing my remarks into my holopad. Where I despised the Everdeen Archetype, I always did appreciate his archetype. When push comes to shove, they often shove...hard. It's as if they're an entirely different person.


"Donna Cordillera?" I ask, glancing down toward the woman standing before us.

"You can call me Ludra." She smiles back in reply.

I offer a non-committal nod. "You may begin your private session."

First of the older tributes, I'm surprised when she starts off with the gauntlet. Her timings are below standard, even with some instances of tripping or getting caught up in the traps. However I can't knock her not giving up.

Her combat skills are also subpar. Although her skills with a crossbow are surprisingly good, with her hitting the inner ring constantly. And her skills with a knife are brow-raising, as we watch her nearly disembowel a gel torso. I'll credit that to potential civil defense training many people on Snow Island conduct. With them being on Panem's territorial fringes, they have to be ready for incursions. Otherwise, her knife strikes sloppy and would hurt rather than outright kill or put someone out of commission.

There is one thing however, that catches my eye. During her final minute, Ludra finds herself at a chemical workbench, putting together a concoction. After writing something down on a piece of paper and pointing towards me, she takes her leave toward the exit.

"A rather disappointing show don't you think?" asks Armitage, nodding his head toward the various Gamemakers and VIPs who seem to have little interest. "Considering previous years, Snow Island usually has lot of zeal, not so much this time around."

The concoction and supporting note make its way up to me. Upon further inspection, it seems that Ludra offered me an ingredient list, the contents of which prompt my lips to twitch into a smile.

I pass the findings on to Armitage as the other Gamemakers gather around. "Not every tribute is an ax-swinging brute, darling." I say, watching as another tribute of interest stomps in. "Some are the dubious coaster..."

Retired Navy Lieutenant Ricardo Marcenas is something else entirely. We eye each other now as he marches to the center of the gym with a chair in tote. He unfolds it, sits down and watches us with his one good eye. Where I smirk at his ignorance, his scowl runs deep. He knows what he is and what he wants to do. We can't say he's a man of weak will.

"He's no fun." A Gamemaker grumbles.

"We should just kill him off now!" shouts another, earning cheers of approval.

"I've read his file." Armitage whispers to me. "With what he and his father did, during the War, I'm surprised they didn't kill them."

"President Snow had one foot in the grave. His substitutes were far more forgiving of error." I say, as Gamemakers and VIPs alike begin to jeer at the man below.

""Error"? More like insubordination." He retorts. "What did Viondra say to you? Montresor?"

"What else but the obvious?" I reply with a shrug. There's no use getting upset. Let him have his tantrum, for it doesn't change anything. That's the thing with these...rebels, they drag everyone near and dear down with them, but they're too blind to see it.

"Miss Singh, lunch is here!" calls Yvette, pointing towards the Avoxes and the carts of food being wheeled in. The jeers immediately turn into cheers as their attention turn toward the smoked turkey and sweet potato among other things.

"Let's get something to eat, dear." I trill lightly, my eyes never leaving Ricardo's as I rise out of my seat. "Something tells me he won't be moving anytime soon."


I'm relieved to see that Ricardo's ugly mug is gone, replaced by the young-faced Wondr'a Okafor of District 11.

I gesture toward the gym at-large. "Hello Ms. Okafor, welcome. Please begin your session."

Wondr'a immediately goes toward the survival stations. Within two minutes she's one of dozens of tributes to perfect the plant, berry and insect identification with no answers wrong. Her snares are impeccable, fire starting – just as quick as Kaviraya's timing but with multiple methods. Using a synthetic dummy, she quickly slices it open along the leg and patches it back up again, not before using a homemade salve to staunch the bleeding. The binds that she used to bandage the wound are still pristine white – no bleed through whatsoever. The murmurs of amazement prompt the woman to blush.

"Do you have any combat experience, Miss Okafor?" I ask over the polite applause. Wondr'a cringes at the word 'combat', but begrudgingly strolls to the survival station, selecting scraps of wood. Within five minutes time, she presents multiple knives, prompting the balcony to rumble with intrigue. Using poisonous berries, she juices them, slathers the mixed liquid onto the knives then moves toward the silhouetted dummies. Snow and precise with her movements, of the ten she throws only six hit and only one of them would kill...but with the poison, that doesn't really matter. She then selects the same chainsaw-blade-shovel that Laelia selected, attacking two gel dummies. Although the attacks were halfhearted, just one swing from that combat spade is enough to ruin one's day. She turns around and shrugs, finished with her session.

"You may leave, Wondr'a." I tell her, inputting my remarks into my holopad. She seems to be a volunteer with no purpose...which is sad because if she had one, she'd definitely perform well with that skill set of hers.

With a polite wave, Wondr'a leaves the scene, replaced by Linden Norton. He immediately goes to work, selecting a sickle and getting a trainer to set the dummies up for him. With enthusiasm he quickly attacks each dummy lined up for him. The sickle is an extension of him, as he performs deep slashes into their chests, necks and heads until a miniature lake of blood pools around his carnage. This prompts rowdy cheers from our audience. Emboldened by this, he challenges a trainer to hand-to-hand combat, giving the trainer a run for their money, but ultimately the display was a stalemate with the edge being given to the trainer. Of the males we've seen he's definitely one of the more physically adept as he offers us a session of weightlifting. He rounds off his session with a fair display of survival skills, on par of that of many tributes from his district prior.

"I believe that's all I have to show." Linden says.

"Thank you Mr. Norton for your surprising display." I reply over polite applause. "You may leave."


The balcony, the women specifically, break out into murmurs as Aurelia Baudelaire enters the gymnasium with a nervous look about her.

"Aurelia Baudelaire, District One." She announces evenly.

"Please, go ahead." I say to her.

She starts with the gauntlet first, and makes good time. Nothing Sarissa Levesque or Laelia Alvarado tier, however. She then hops right into the survival stations, crafting decent slings with a trainer serving as a model for her. She tries everything from hammock making to identification to snares. All are above average with plenty of room to improve.

She moves onto the combat stations, and carries the same 'Jack-of-all-trades' attitude throughout. Throwing knives and axes need improvement. Her skill in using them in the traditional way shows promise. Usually, people stick to one weapon and if they swap mid-Games, their technique is clumsy. Aurelia here will probably not have a problem with that.

"Did you attend Edenthew by any chance?" I knew the answer, judging by how their gubernatorial elections went. If it were up to her, Edenthew Academy would be burnt to the ground.

"No," Aurelia replies simply. "However I was tutored for a month or two, recently at that."

"Ah."

After displaying some static skill, she moves onto the mat with an armor-clad trainer for close-quarters combat, bringing only a spear and a poniard against his staff. Exchanging a mutual nod, the trainer holds nothing back, jutting his staff toward her stomach. She swats it away and thrusts toward his chest, connecting as it tears the armor slightly producing some red beads. Surprised but heartened, Aurelia continues on the attack, thrusting her spear vigorously and driving a defensive trainer all the way back to his edge of the mat.

The advantage swaps, however, as Aurelia's spear is caught by the trainers hand, and a rough tug is all it takes to unhand her of it. The trainer drops his spear. Aurelia immediately withdraws her poniard and thrusts it downward with both hands prompting the trainer to capture the hilt of the dagger in his. Aurelia's small stature is no match for the burly trainer, as a boot to the stomach sends her careening to her end of the mat with a pained cry.

The trainer stalks over to Aurelia's fallen form. He – and we – weren't expecting the One female to spring up and launch her foot straight into his groin, to the exclamation of everyone watching. The armor did no justice as the trainer immediately crumples to the ground.

"A feisty one, isn't she?" Armitage smirks.

"When she wants to be, it seems." I reply, inputting my data once more. As Aurelia stomps out, I motion down to the trainers who rush to aid their friend. "Let him sit that one out...!"

Thames strolls onto the gym floor, frowning as he watches the trainer from prior being aided out by his compatriots.

"Never mind that Mr. Montgolia," I say to the young man with a dismissive wave. "Please, begin your session."

"Of course!" he beams politely, bowing. "As you already know, I am Thames Montgolia of District One."

He begins right there in the center of the gymnasium with some stretches, followed by one hundred repetitions of pushups and goes over to the weight machines for one hundred pull-ups, all done in rapid succession and little signs of fatigue, earning the adoration of the women in the audience.

A slight kick in the shin is Armitage's attempt to keep me in check. He earns a poke in the eye as retaliation.

Thames briskly jogs over to the weapons rack, selecting a katana while setting up a gauntlet with gel dummies, each armed with a rubber bat. On top of contending with the various moving pieces of this gauntlet, Thames expertly dispatches each dummy in-between with a series of slashes and decapitations. All of which were completed in respectable time.

When it came time to the VR room, it seemed he was having a little too much fun, dispatching dozens upon dozens of dummies, most notable of which was using a dummy as a shield by gripping it by the neck...that sure garnered plenty of applause.

Where Aurelia did the Jack-of-all-trades approach, Thames did it better, with almost near perfect skill. Knives, spears, other sword types were all utilized.

Armed with rubber knives, he engages in sparring with an armor-clad trainer while Thames himself is unprotected. The two grown men morph themselves into a tangled ball of flesh in an attempt to one-up the other. Out of the four bouts, Thames clearly had the upper hand by either dragging the knife across the trainers throat, or immobilizing his hands long enough to get the knife into his chest multiple times. They're about to go for another bout when I call for them to stop.

"Thank you for that display, Mr. Montgolia." I say, offering slight applause in addition to those around me.

In typical District 1 fashion, after aiding the trainer off the ground, Thames offers a bow. "Thank you for allowing me to do so, Ma'am."


Maia walks in next, her eyes roaming the expanse of the gauntlet course. "I'm assuming that nothing has changed in regards to the obstacle course?"

"Everything is exactly the same." I reply to her. "Why do you ask?"

"The current parameters are boring." Maia replies. "I wanna up the ante a little bit. Do you have things to hit me with?"

"Unless you want to become a human pincushion, I don't think so." Melchior jokes, earning amused snickers from our fellows.

A trainer jogs to Maia's side, a red ball in the crook of his arm. He gestures to it. "We have medicine balls, Ma'am?"

Glancing around the viewing room and acknowledging the looks of approval, I turn toward Maia and the trainer. "...Go on, Miss Clear."

It only takes a minute for all the trainers to assemble a couple of feet before the course, each armed with a number of medicine balls as Maia takes her place. One of the trainers yells for her to begin and she sure does, darting towards the elevated steps only to backtrack as a flurry of balls whiz before her. When she gets to the ropes one would think that she'd surely get hit at least once, but no, Maia swings back and forth while sometimes backtracking only to swing forward again. She maintains this pace until she reaches the end of the gauntlet – a straight sprint to the finish. Of all the trainers, none of them thought to conserve their 'ammo'.

"Thanks." She says aloud under thunderous applause, although her eyes stay affixed to mine. I'm the only opinion that matters, apparently. With a chalice in hand, I raise it in approval, causing the young woman's smile to grow.

In typical District 3 fashion, Maia makes a beeline toward the survival stations. Although slower than Miss Okafor, she makes the list of the few tributes able to perfect the identification game. Her splints and casts are also good, alongside the basic fire, shelter, food prep, knots and surprisingly camouflage. Like Emmanuel, she can climb trees fairly well.

"How about some weapons demonstrations, Miss Clear?" I ask her, smirking as she freezes in place. Like Wondr'a, she seems to have a reluctance to fight. If anything, my coaxing will do nothing but help her once we begin for real.

"Oh yeah, of course..." she replies, wringing her hands as she makes her way towards the weapons station. Her hand glides across the various knives on display, but doesn't pick one outright. She spends a minute frozen in place before pivoting towards the spears, selecting a javelin of all things. One silhouetted dummy is brought out and lit up red. Heaving the weapon, she offers me one last glance, to which I reply with a curt nod.

She lets the rod fly, whistling through the air as it nails the dummy in the chest.

Maia gets flustered by the applause but quickly continues. Launching javelin after javelin as one dummy appears after the next. Some hit, but don't kill while some do. Others miss their mark entirely. But that doesn't matter. As long as she shows intent, that's what counts.

"That's all I have, thank you." Maia says, turning to face the balcony.

I glance up from my holopad. "Thank you Miss Clear. We look forward to your performance in the Games."

Offering a tight smile, she pivots on her heels and makes her way towards the exits.

"You'd think that normal tributes would join a team or something..." says Armitage. "To gain the skills she has?"

I shrug, watching now as Tobias Ledger casually makes his way into the room, a goofy smile on his lips with his hands casually tucked into his pockets as if he were a teenager rather a grown man.

"You guys are really changing things up this time 'round..." he says, glancing around the gymnasium.

"Mister Ledger," I purr aloud, watching as the gentleman glances up my way. "I'm surprised you didn't dress up as an Avox and eavesdrop on your competition."

He lets out a cackle. "What made you get that idea!?"

I wave my datapad into the air for him to see, causing the man to cackle even harder. With a sigh, he places his hands on his hips.

"What to do, what to do..." he says aloud, pacing. "Being the eldest guy of the bunch, my options are very limited, as you may already know."

Offering no answer, I watch as he shrugs and moves towards the weapons rack, selecting a trident...Interesting. Coming back to the center of the gym, he makes a show of waving the weapon around in various poses and strikes. Where Warren Holt performed them with poise, there was absolutely nothing sophisticated about Mr. Ledger's display. Especially when you add those silly war cries he makes while doing them.

Noticing our discontent, he shrugs with that stupid smile still plastered on his face. "What...?"

"You know what, Mr. Ledger." I drawl incredulously. "Perhaps you could do something a little more substantial?"

"No promises." He replies with a playful trill. He arms himself with his trident in one hand and a flail in the other, taking them over to a set up of gel dummies.

"Ready...here we go!" With that stupid war cry of his he plunges his trident into the gut of the first dummy, whipping his flair onto its head. And then with a twirl, he thrusts the trident into the neck of the second, followed by another twirl which causes the flail to strike the dummy in the head, felling it. For the third, he leaps forward with yet another cry...looking like an absolute fool as he interchanges between thrusting and whacking the dummy on the head with the weapons in question.

"Aaaaaaaaaaah, die, die, dieeeeeeeee!" he yells.

It starts with Armitage stifling a laugh, and then numerous people burst out laughing. A stern scan around the room by yours truly is enough to shut them up. "Mr. Ledger, how about you show me that you aren't totally useless by putting down those weapons and showcasing some survival techniques?"

"Since you asked so nicely..." he snorts, stifling his own laughter as he drops the weapons and casually strolls over to the survival stations. It's there where he actually shows some competence, be it in identifying some plants, playing a memory game or making a basic fire.

"Thank you, Mr. Ledger." I say with a sigh whilst massaging my temples. "You're finished for today."

"Hopefully I served as a highlight of your day." He replies with a bow.


I immediately perk up when Dr. Tuesday Suetos strolls into the room. Adjusting her glasses, she shoots casual glances toward the balcony, as she makes her way towards the weapons and selects a bowie knife. She then retrieves two, full-length gel dummies and wheels them out on a vertical display and places them in the center for us to see. The imposing knife trails gently across the first dummy.

"As you might already know, there are several major arteries in the human body that are vital to our survival. We have the carotid, radial, brachial, femoral and popliteal arteries for example." She says, pointing to and slashing the areas detailed. Blood flows uncontrollably onto the floor, pooling at Tuesday's boots. Ignoring that, on top of the gasps of shock, Tuesday continues.

"I'd imagine that if I were faced with a combat scenario, those would be the targets of interest. It's always about the midsection and in the Games, it doesn't really matter where you strike per se. But, the aforementioned areas are often woefully unguarded."

She pivots to the second dummy, taking a combative stance before quickly swiping at the vital points while bobbing and weaving, creating a second pool of blood and to top it all off, she rakes the knife across the belly, effectively disemboweling it.

"I'd like to believe my profession, as well as the nimbleness of a knife, would allow me to perform these strikes effectively. I have moderate fitness, I can make a fire and I'm smart enough to know what and what not to put in my mouth. It'd be a boring death anyway. With all that said and done, may I take my leave?"

The balcony is silent. All I could do was nod. "Yes, you may. Thank you for the... descriptive presentation."

"You're welcome. I apologize for the mess." Tuesday replies. The doctor then turns and makes her way toward the exit with bloodied footprints in her wake.

The male, Geronimo Busan, enters the gym just as the Avoxes begin their cleanup of Tuesday's display.

"The Doctor is a weird character..." Geronimo muses, his eyes never leaving the trail of bloody footprints.

"Fortunately for her, we enjoy eccentricity here in the Capitol." I say to him. "Ignore the mess, please. You may start when ready."

He nods, making his way over to the survival stations. "Sure thing, Miss. How about we start off with something light..."

He starts off with fire-building. Although instead of just one type of fire for a generic woodland biome, Geronimo, utilizing the various 'plots' of tiles each with their own temperature and 'ground' creates different fires for arid, snow and swamplands.

"Working outside the confines of the district boundaries I think has given me a slight edge over my opponents." He explains, while building a log shelter for himself and the fire itself. "Sure, my venturing consists mostly of photography, but who else could say that they've ventured out into an arena-type environment?"

"A PK friend of mine taught me this one." He boasts while jostling a makeshift spear in his hands – rebar and two knives secured onto one end. He launches the spear into the gut of a gel dummy. "Knives, a pickax, take my word for it, I could make it...If I had the sponsors that is. Because with these other guys running around in that arena, I don't think I'd even touch the cornucopia even if I had a zillion foot pole."

A couple of us chuckle at the joke. After assembling some dummies the way he wants them, he then selects a mean-looking mace, heaving the weapon in order to get a feel for it I suppose.

"Any special story behind your selection, Mr. Busan?" I ask him.

He shakes his head. "Childhood books spurred my interest. And since I'm here I thought, why not indulge?"

He engages and destroys all ten dummies with various techniques. His one-handed attacks were sloppy, but his two-handed attacks were exceptional. By the end, all dummies were coated red from the inside from the damage inflicted. Geronimo bows and then leaves to generous applause.


The double-door exits burst open, startling the Peacekeepers who stand at attention beside them. Verona Kinsley stomps out onto the gym floor, rolling her shoulders while maintaining a nasty glare at us all the while.

"It's about damn time I'm let out..." she grumbles. "You guys should try being cooped up in a room filled with people who are training to kill you."

"The Hunger Games are all about adapting to change Ms. Kinsley." I reply evenly. "You can begin while you're ready."

"Why?"

Slowly, I glance up from my holopad. "...Pardon me?"

"What's the point?!" she replies, her tone louder than before. "I'm going to die anyway. No one is sponsoring an old bat like me."

"Well...do you want the nation at large to look at you like you're some type of incompetent?" I counter, meeting her glare straight on. My features soften as I recline back into my chair, nodding. "...Though I suppose that's right. You're just a useful idiot for Mr. Marcenas and Ms. Smith to use –"

Stomping over to the survival benches, the older woman lets out a growl, flipping over tables and flinging objects alike. I'm surprised when she heaves a log and flings it towards us, the entirety of the balcony flinching as the piece of wood strikes the force field, exploding it into cinders.

"Do you think we should end her tantrum now?" Armitage wonders, flinching as another object strikes the shield. Laying my eyes on a pair of confused Peacekeepers, I motion towards the torrent of anger that was Verona Kinsley.

"Restrain Ms. Kinsley! Before she throws out her back or something..." I command listlessly, waving a dismissive hand towards them. "At least I have something to grade..." I glance at the starburst clock. "And send Mr. Samera in!"

"Oh wow..." Chris Samera exclaims with a low whistle. "Verona did all this?"

I wave off his question. "Never mind the mess, Mr. Samera. Please begin."

"At least let me help you guys sort this out first." He interjects. Before anyone could tell him otherwise, he quickly descends into the mess that was the survival station. It was how he handled the workbenches that surprised me the most, lifting them back upright with ease when they weigh more than he did.

"It ain't neat, but it's done." He announces while making a show of dusting off his hands.

"Could you lift some more things for us?" Yvette asks him.

"Yeah of course," Chris says, running to the barbells, loading it with weight and picking one up. He walks the entirety of the gym with little fatigue. "After ten years of lugging things around, not much surprises me anymore..."

"I imagine that you know your way around an ax?" I ask him, grinning as he examines the weapons rack, selecting the weapon in question.

A knowing smile envelops his face. "Heey...How'd you know that?"

"Instinct." I reply, reflecting his expression. Watching as he methodically renders each dummy lined up into bits and pieces. Doesn't matter the handedness of his strikes, decades of working in District 7 has accustomed him so that each blow hurts.


Hermia Rhodes, the last of the females, is up next. Upon entering the gym proper, she takes one look at the mess and the Avoxes scrambling to clean it and then glances at me with a raised brow.

I simply shrug. "I have no worthy excuse. Please, make your way through and begin your performance."

"Fair enough," Hermia says with a small smile on her lips. Shedding her sweater, she prepares for a run around the track. "I never thought that District 9 would be the last to go today. My head is spinning with all the weird changes you guys are enacting..."

When she receives no reply other than a coy smirk from yours truly, she begins her two laps around the track. Even with her slight limp, she manages to maintain a decent pace. Afterward, she selects a simple knife and a singular dummy.

"I apologize." She says. "But I'm a practical woman first and foremost, so you won't be seeing me lug a scythe."

"That's fine." I reply. "At least you're willing to play your part, unlike your allies."

Her lips remain tight as she begins stabbing at the dummy using stances and tactics taught to her by the trainers. She alternates between the knife and a cleaver and a tomahawk, even managing to strike the dummy by tossing the tomahawk numerous times before calling it quits.

Liveliness seeps back into the room like an 'on' button when Lars Malatic struts in, his hands splayed outwards to support his cocky swagger. The men and women in the room alike twitter with glee. One glance at Yvette and a "Shush!" from her is enough to get the room to quiet.

"Saving the best for last, Miss?" He asks in that gruff parlance of his.

"You could look at it that way," I reply with a smile. "The gym is yours, Mr. Malatic."

The male from District 9 immediately gravitates towards the weight machines, a familiarity from prison perhaps? With each machine, he does twenty repetitions of at least two hundred pounds. He still has enough energy in the take to do a bout of the gauntlet with a respectable timing.

Afterwards, in typical District 9 fashion, Lars selects a machete. His form was good. His strikes were terrifyingly fast and meant business. Again, the machete being a staple in his life he knew what he wanted it to do.

Speaking to two trainers as if they were best friends, the instructors quickly dawn body armor and batons while Mr. Malatic remained without protection, besides a fake spear. Right there, in the center of the gym with no mat, the three begin to spar. With no defined area, it's interesting to see how Lars uses the environment to slow down his opponents. He'd shove a workbench to the ground to stall one trainer, while focusing his attention on the isolated one. They soon move onto knives and fists, yet Lars maintained his offense and defense by forming them into a hybrid, never focusing on one person solely.

"That prison mentality is interesting to watch," An intrigued Armitage comments. "It makes me wonder if he's applied this prior."

I hum in agreement. I've read his file. Rough and tumble is all Mr. Malatic knows. I imagine it'll do him well. Rising out of my seat, I join the audience in applause as Lars moves back to the center of the gymnasium.

"Thank you Lars for your display today." I beam. "You're free to go."

"Glad you enjoyed the entertainment, Miss." He replies with a casual wave while departing.


Like giddy schoolchildren – Snow, some of them are – the VIPs selected for this year's viewing chirp their mouths off about their excitement as the Peacekeepers escort them out of the room.

"Remember, VIPs, keep what you learned here to yourselves please!" I yell after them. The balcony is significantly more empty now, my subordinates congregating amongst themselves in groups or near the refreshments table. Some are in various states of fatigue, rubbing their eyes or yawning as they nurse coffee. I nod. Good. Maybe we should continue keeping the private sessions dry.

I take my seat beside Armitage, who wakes up from his power nap and regards me with a warm grin.

"Is my immaculate artist satisfied with her muses for her magnum opus?" he asks me.

Smirking, I regard my holopad with one manicured hand while caressing his slicked hair with another. My eyes scan the score averages so far. Chances are they'll stay this way. "I believe so, yes."

It's not like we're dealing with teenagers this time around. This time, established adults are our players. Established adults who have far more to lose. If that doesn't make for an exciting Games, then I don't know what would.


A/N: It was long, but I like giving everyone tangible time to shine so killing them isn't all that bad. Scoring is on the blog. I apologize about its state, blogspot for me is a finicky thing.

It'd be nice if more people answered my poll. 8 people... It's a good metric so far, but surely there are some others out there. Unless they aren't good enough for them to be likable. Which is fair, because they are mostly background people. I find it hard to believe that there aren't one or two victors that you thought were more noticeable (likeable).