Gamemaker Sessions


Luther Szeto
District 2 Male, 18


"…just going over the ground rules again, no stabbing the Gamemakers, no threatening the pregnant lady, no… Luther are you even listening, this is for your benefit and your benefit only!"

I look back up from my bowl of crunchy marshmallow-sprinkled cereal.

"Yeah I got that from the first time we went over this," I say slowly, looking over at Athena, then Sujax and Seeva.

Judging from their faces, they don't seem convinced. Not entirely, anyways.

"If you pull any shit…" Athena starts fretting again, and I resist the urge to flick a yellow-colored sugar star right into her eye.

I keep eye contact for a smidge too long, because her wiry wrist flicks in annoyance. I've been privy to the way she flicked knives and daggers at people who annoyed her too much.

"I won't," I cave in, to my great displeasure. Besides, I wouldn't threaten the pregnant lady. I'm not a monster.

Seeva nods in approval, clearly satisfied. Only Athena still looks on edge, but that's just Athena for you. She doesn't understand my strategy, but that's alright, I guess.

Maybe it's just that she still hasn't wrapped her brain around the fact that I'm the volunteer she wanted. Even though she doesn't necessarily want to admit it to herself, it's true.

She'll come around, I'm sure. That's Athena for you.

We sit around for a little bit longer, but it's mostly Seeva and Sujax talking. I tune them out a little bit, staring at Athena's ear as she pointedly ignores me.

When it's time to leave, she grabs my arm as I'm about to make my exit.

"You better not fuck this up," she hisses at me, and I grin at her. I won't. I don't even have to say it for her to know it deep down.

Once we get to the waiting room, we sit down with Cira and Ambrox. I can't really get a read on Seeva's true feelings about the two, but I actually like them quite a bit.

"You guys ready?" Cira asks in a small voice, pushing her hand nervously through her flaxen pale hair.

"Born ready," I chuckle, and Seeva nods. Everyone is tenser than usual, even me. The tension only increases when Orla pushes herself between Cira and me. Seeva and Ambrox keep a stony expression at her arrival.

She launches herself into a detailed description of her late-night activities, something related to her birth parents, but I tune her out. It's not important, regardless.

Cira is the only one to entertain her with half-hearted responses, but Orla remains undeterred until Ambrox steps out, visibly relieved to be anywhere but around her. Soon after, Cira follows. She touches my shoulder lightly as she gets up.

"Good luck Luther, you're going to be great," she whispers, almost sadly, and I kind of grab onto her hand and squeeze.

She's visibly stressed out, with dark bags under her eyes that stand out even under the layer of makeup she put on.

She's a nice girl.

I almost feel bad for her as she walks lightly, followed out by an undignified snort from somewhere behind me. I whip my head around to stare at the girl from Twelve, Sparkle Aire, imitating Cira and whispering something to her ally. The other girl blushes and giggles, but bites her lip and averts her eyes as soon as she catches me watching them.

Sparkle doesn't drop her gaze, staring at me defiantly.

I don't have time to really think about it for too long, because before I know it, I'm next.

"Luther Szeto, District 2," the man with the ghostly complexion lisps into the microphone so much so that the air catches in the most uncomfortable way. Creepy.

I slide past him, Seeva throwing a reassuring thumbs up at me as I go.

I am led into the training hall, that has been transformed for these sessions. Only slightly.

Taking in my surroundings slowly, I tilt my head as I plan the best course of action. We went over what I needed to do with Seeva and our mentors, but I just want to make sure the Gamemakers aren't throwing any curveballs at us this year.

You never know, it happens.

The weapons rack is to my right, while the fighting mats are in the middle. Front and center for maximum spectacle potential. I smile at that.

The Gamemakers sit on an elevated stage of sorts, surrounded by an elegant balustrade. It's all really ornamental, the designs complemented by the twirls in the marble that makes up the railing.

They're not even protected by glass.

I smirk. Well, I wasn't going to threaten the pregnant lady, but this just seems like an invitation. I stop myself before I can fully commit to the idea, picturing Athena decapitating me in real time. I mean, it wouldn't be the worst way to go, but…

"Hi, I'm Luther," I say simply, by way of introduction. I pick up a spear. It has a willow-leaf shaped tip, which is what I've practiced with since I remember. I test it against my finger, drawing a drop of blood. Not serrated in the slightest, that's perfect.

The Gamemakers all stare down at me, a few whispers trailing through their ranks.

"I'll need a dummy," I continue, placing myself on the mat.

While they bring in the dummy, identical to the ones we used for training, I stretch my limbs for the last time before I begin my dance. It's always a dance, a few ethereal moments when I truly feel beautiful. Ethereal. A word that Alice drummed into my brain because she was sick of me trying to describe this amazing feeling.

I twirl the spear, for showmanship as well as for the familiar feel of the weapon in my hand.

And then I begin in earnest. I feign a stab at the dummy's left side, twisting under its arm and slicing through its right shoulder. Not enough to kill or even seriously injure. It's just for fun at this point.

I keep spinning around it, cutting and cutting.

The shallow cuts become deeper as I continue my work of art.

I break the dummy's sternum with the back of my spear. That hit alone would knock all the air out of an opponent. Maybe even incapacitate them fully enough time for me to finish the job. But I don't stop until I am covered in red goop. The cuts expose viscera, striated muscle and tendons now, the dummy a gushing mess.

I pose with my weapon, for the benefit of the Gamemakers. After all, my handywork took under 3 minutes. I still have plenty of time to show off.

The dummy behind me looks like he went through a shredder, and I smile again.

"Now if you could ever be so kind as to provide me with a fighting opponent," I ask politely. My voice sounds small to my ears, almost childlike, but that's how it always is when I get excited about fighting. Never breathless though.

I clear my throat.

A man approaches me, handing me a new spear. This one has a blunter edge. They don't want me killing anyone of their staff, which is fair, I guess.

I appraise my opponent and note immediately that his stance is off. His left knee, is a few inches inward, meaning he will be disadvantaged once I push him off balance.

I smile widely at that. His frown deepens. People are just no fun!

I step forward and strike the first blow, which to his credit, he parries.

And then he starts advancing, hitting and jabbing at me.

The wood sings and vibrates against my hand, bending exactly the way I want it to, to block the attacks of the man in front of me.

I parry, quicker than he could ever hope, sidestepping around him as I go.

Thrust, parry, thrust. Stab twice.

And then, I smash him with the backend of my spear in the nose.

Blood gushes out and the man lets out a stunned huff as the sharp end of the spear comes into contact with his throat. I stop about half an inch from his jugular.

The pregnant lady even claps a little, giggling with excitement.

See Athena, I even made her happy, I think, as I step aside.

Lastly, I feel the need to show them that I can hold my own without a weapon. So, I throw down my weapon and stare at my bloodied opponent. I see the rage in his eyes, simmering beneath.

He doesn't bother discarding his spear, attacking me.

He's a decent fighter, although I can tell from his stance that the spear isn't his preferred weapon. Even if it were, it doesn't make a huge difference for me, because I'm faster and nimbler. That's kind of my whole thing.

The whole fight takes under four minutes, and I drag it out a little, showing off fancy kicks, punches and feints.

And then I get bored, because that tends to happen when things go on for too long. So, I disable the trainer quickly by using his own momentum to slam him violently onto the ground.

The throw is so strong that it rattles my own rib cage, but from the way he spits blood reflexively on my face, I know I've done damage.

I bow a little, and make my exit, not bothering to look back at the stunned crowd of Gamemakers.

Yeah bitches, I am that good.


Jessamine Law
District 11 Female, 16


It's funny how anxiety works.

Objectively, I know these sessions aren't worth the insane rhythm my heart is beating to, right now. This is just meant as an assessment of a tribute's skills before the arena, which, to be fair, has little to no correlation to the aforementioned tribute's survival.

That's what Casmir said. He repeated it to me as I struggled to stay in one place for too long, last night, so it must be true. It's all superficial until you're in the Games.

And yet, I can't help but feel the stress ratcheting up to unbearable levels as we are herded into an isolated room to wait for our name to be called. The metallic walls hurt my eyes with the glare that bounces off of them. I feel like shit, to put it lightly.

It's like… sure I'm in a deathmatch, but the fact that I'm maybe thirty minutes away from having the judgemental eyes of a dozen Gamemakers somehow feels worse.

Somewhere at the back of my brain, this reminds me of the countless sleepless nights I wasted worrying about one test or another. Did it matter, in the end? It certainly won't matter if I die in the upcoming days. How well I wield a weapon in that room won't matter either.

I breathe in deeply and release the air loudly through my nose.

My leg jerks up and down at a quick pace.

I wonder precisely how many Gamemakers will be there, judging us, dissecting our every move and assigning us a number that reduces our worth to nothing. I wonder if there's going to be more of them, hidden behind the walls or hidden glass, somehow observing us unseen. Like ghosts.

That's the most nerve-wracking aspect of it all, because I can't even tell if they like me or not.

I sit there, with my hands on my knees and my head lolling periodically from side to side, just to relax the tension on either side of my neck.

We're all seated together, in this room that feels like it's going to singlehandedly suffocate us all. Even the Careers look more stressed out than usual. Out of the twenty-four of us, there's maybe five people who don't look at the very least uncomfortable.

One of them being my District partner. Little Tyree.

He sat near me, but hasn't uttered a single word.

Honestly, I don't even know how to react to him, so I leave him be. In any other scenario, I would have hugged him, or done anything a normal human would but he just… I can't even explain it.

He scares me.

In the same way a rotting animal with its insides hanging out on the side of the road would.

There's something wrong with him.

Addie sits to my right, rubbing her hands nervously together.

"Don't stress, you got this," I reassure her, and her lips quirk up momentarily.

"Do you know what you're going to do in there?" she asks, after a moment of deliberation.

She's not the talkative type, but we've gotten along quite well over the past three days.

I can't bring myself to feel like I can trust her, just yet. My nerves feel frayed at the edges already and I know it's going to get worse here on out. But there is something with Addie that pushes back the dread a tiny bit, allowing me to focus on the task at hand instead of succumbing to the panic. She's just like me, even a little bit younger. It's one of the grounding things out here, where I'm untethered from anything I've ever known.

It's what they want, for us to form these human connections before ripping them away. I'm not stupid.

But the fact is that it's nice having someone like her around.

And that's the bottom line, right now.

As far as Hunger Games-acquired friends go, she's pretty great, I think, before stopping myself from going down that rabbit hole.

I breathe in and out again, a few times. It doesn't do wonders for my racing heart, but the increased flow of oxygen certainly allows me to clear my brain at least a little bit.

After a few moments to think about what to answer to her question, I shrug my shoulders.

"I think I'll just run around a bit on the parkour track, show them I'm fast, and pick up a sickle and hack at some stuff until they dismiss me," I say vaguely. While in training, we both went around together trying a few different things, but we never really settled on anything specific.

I mean, how good can you get at a certain skill, with three days of practice if it's not something you've picked up previously?

I can't say I love the idea of using weapons to get by, but at this point, I just want to show the Gamemakers that I'm worth something.

While thinking back at the steps and thrusts we practiced in training, I kind of zone out when the first few tributes are called. I jerk back to reality as the girl from Three, the one with the weird name, is called.

Addie peers at me from under her curly hair, as my head snaps back to attention. Seven districts to go before Addie goes in.

Eight before I go.

Salamandra Mitch struts out of the room confidently, a bounce to her step, cracking her neck as she walks. She shoots two thumbs up to Valentino.

Addie's district partner smiles back, waving at her. They didn't sit together, but they've clearly interacted before. Interesting, not something I noticed.

Addie rolls her eyes in response.

"So, what, they're a thing now?" I ask nervously, to diffuse some of the tension. "Alliance-wise?" I clarify, after a second, just to make sure I don't poke at a sore spot with Addie.

I kind of caught onto the fact that she likes Valentino. Likes him. But for some reason, she's decided to stick with me, and I'm not one to complain.

"I don't know, he's insisting they're not, but they've trained together and she's awfully friendly with him," Addie huffs back, and I can feel the disappointment permeating from her in waves. It goes unspoken between us that Salamandra hasn't made the slightest effort to be nice to anyone else.

We stay quiet for a while, and more people trickle out. We see the cocky girl from Four go in, followed soon after by her small district partner.

He clings nervously to the boy from Six for a few moments before leaving unhappily.

The boy from Five is called first, and his District partner leads him to the door. He pretends to trip the moment she lets go of him, and her disapproving glare follows him inside as his chuckle is cut off sharply by the door closing behind him.

Addie and I both stare as the girl plops herself down aggressively on a bench.

Alone, without her partner, she grabs herself around the waist, as though trying to shrink around her misery.

The Sixes follow.

The girl is particularly distraught, looking like an animal about to be slaughtered. Sparkle lays a reassuring hand on her shoulder while tucking a few strands of pale hair behind her ear.

I didn't peg her as a particularly kind person. It is what it is though… this situation brings both the best and the worst out of people.

Four people until I need to go in there.

Three now.

Although there are fewer people in the room, it feels stuffier.

I wish Addie best of luck absentmindedly as she gets up in anticipation of getting called.

She shifts from one foot to the other.

"I'll see you on the other side, then?" she asks hesitantly, and her voice betrays her fear.

"Yes, absolutely. You'll nail it in there," I tell her.

Valentino walks up behind her and sets a hand on her shoulder. She just about jumps out of her skin and blushes. I suppress a giggle.

"You'll be great, don't stress so much," he reassures her.

She nods tersely, but her voice comes out soft. "You too."

"I'm not stressed, but you both look like you're just about ready to power an energy generator," he winks at her, and then looks at me as he finishes his sentence.

I huff in mock indignation.

"It's an entire energy factory, thank you very much!" I respond after him, as he's leaving.

It diffuses the situation, if only a little bit.

Before we know it, Addie is leaving too. I hug her quickly, not knowing what else to do.

"I'll see you on the other side," she repeats, this time with more resolve.

"Sure thing, boss," I reply, and that's the end of that. I'm next, and I have no idea what I'll be doing, and I still feel like I'm about to explode.

But my ally, my friend, is going to wait for me on the other side.

And for now, that's good enough of a motivation to prevent me from throwing up from the stress.


Cassius Fleur
District 3 Male, 15


You know that feeling when you totally bombed something?

Well, if we were going by approximation, that's pretty much what I felt the moment I came out of the session. Like I crossed two wires that I wasn't supposed to, and the whole thing exploded in my face.

It… uh… wasn't great.

First off, who in the actual hell put these assholes up on a podium above us? Like, no pressure guys, we hold your life in the balance, let's hover ominously as you perform menial tasks for our entertainment!?

What the actual fuck.

Needless to say, I was not a fan. And now that it's over, I can't help but agonize over every tiny little detail of the excruciating experience. The way my voice cracked as I tried explaining what the hell I was doing. The way half the Gamemakers literally turned away from boredom.

Dicks.

I'm still shaking a little bit from the nerves that gripped my heart as I struggled to breathe from the sheer stress of it all. And it's not like they make it easier on you… oh no, they literally gave no shits.

On the bright side, I'm getting a little closer to being the first tribute to die of a fucking heart attack before the games even start, so that's something new!

I rub my hands into my eyes, pressing hard to stop myself from spiralling again.

The thing with me is that I have no problem doing things, tinkering with equipment… it's almost stereotypical at this point. But the moment you put a goddamn audience in front of me, I just feel like melting and disappearing into the cracks of the floor.

And it doesn't help that after the Careers, my session must have felt like a goddamn let-down.

It sucks feeling like this.

I just wish Bex could get here faster, so I wouldn't be stuck alone with the tributes from Districts 1 and 2. It's not only terrifying, but it's also so demoralizing, seeing them all together, while I'm huddled alone in a corner.

Even on the train, I didn't have time to feel alone, because Pulse was always there when I needed him. He's been incredibly good to me.

He's different from Ryland, less forceful and loud and all-encompassing. But I would be lying if I didn't feel like I owed him the world for treating me like a proper human being whereas everyone else has only made me feel like shit. Except for Bex, of course.

Pulse warned me the session would go badly. He said he repeatedly made mistakes in his, not even having the time to complete a basic trap design before he was let go.

Still won and that's what counts.

I don't feel like a winner though, least of all now. I feel like a loser who's going to die alone and scared.

"Keep it together Cas," I mutter to myself as the Careers laugh together. I twist my fingers into my hair, kneading it like my cat used to with her favorite rug. Before she died.

Can't think like that. Gotta think positively until Bex gets here.

"I twisted the dagger so that it digs into the dummy's throat, and then jerked it to the left," the boy from District 1 explains while gesticulating with his elegant hands. "The head actually came off, so I think they liked it." The same hands that might be choking the life out of me, in two days' time.

The praises and claps from the others ricochet harshly against the walls of the waiting room, identical to the one we were stuck in before our sessions.

I shudder.

These cursed rooms remind me so much of the war days that are but an ugly echo in my mind. I can't remember, but the sounds bring back a fear so primal it can't be anything else.

I concentrate on breathing, as the door opens and closes with a bang. I lift up my head, prompted by the measured steps resonating throughout the room.

The overwhelming desire to crawl into a ball seizes me once again, but I force myself to look at my district partner who comes in, the epitome of self-accomplishment.

I kind of hate her, in this moment.

She's the only one of us in the room that remains standing, putting herself in the corner and pressing her back against the wall while crossing her arms. She acknowledges me, and we leave it at that.

Part of me almost caves in and drags myself to her, just to have someone to talk to. But I stay put for what feels like ages.

The door opens once more, the shuffling of feet across the floor more uncertain and hesitant than Salamandra's could ever hope to be.

Scout stumbles in, hugging himself across the waist, and sits down on the first available bench.

He looks like he's about to cry, already starting to sniffle a little bit. He's only a few years younger than me, but I feel his distress down to my very core.

Before I can even process what I'm doing, I get up from where I was sitting, and walk towards the little boy who is sitting in a half-crouched position.

I sit down next to him and clear my throat awkwardly.

"Hey, um, are you okay?" I ask, and he jumps back from the sudden intrusion of his personal space.

"Yeah, uh, yeah I'm fine," he whimpers, wiping aggressively at his eyes and nose. There's pure fear permeating from him, and I can't help but feel for him.

God, why are they forcing us to be this scared? It's not enough to kill us…

He looks so helpless and I want to cry with him, but I don't. I take his hand into mine instead, even as he tenses all over when I do that. When I was panicking, I remember the way Pulse pulled me out of a downward spiral of panic and desperation and that's exactly what I need to do with the boy next to me.

I want to distract him, so naturally, I spout the random-est shit I could think of.

"Did you know people can sweat up to 5 liters from their hands?"

Scout gawks, his mouth falling slightly open. "Is that true?"

"Yeah, it's called something like whatever-hyperhidrosis… it's whack," I continue, absolutely certain my fact is bullshit but keeping my face completely serious. "I'm no doctor, but I'm pretty sure we're two hyperhydrosises stuck together."

Scout laughs, a high-pitched little thing. He retracts his hand, blushing slightly.

"Ahahah, that's funny," he answers, rubbing his admittedly very sweaty hands together.

I applaud myself internally at the clear switch I see in his eyes. There's something like gratitude in them. I smile toothily at him.

"It's not funny when you're trying to score a date, and you release a river on them," I joke quietly, motioning around with my hands as though I'm bending water to my will. Awkward jokes are my jam and in any other scenario I'd keep myself quiet, but Scout looks like the kind of kid who'd appreciate.

Scout smiles, his previous worries behind him, and we actually talk.

I tell him to call me Cassie.

Not very loudly, not wanting to attract the attention of the stronger and scarier tributes around us. But I pulled him out of the dark place he was stuck in, and I'm happy with that.

I try to avoid subjects that might remind him remotely of home, or of what just transpired in the Gamemakers' session.

But inevitably, the subject gears towards the stuff we like.

"I've had a rat, Trinity, back home," Scout muses quietly, hugging his waist again.

"I don't know, rats never struck me as a pet animal," I grimace at the thought. We had plenty of rats around in our house before we moved, and the last thing I would think of doing is adopting one for companionship.

"No, you don't understand, she's gentle and sweet, except to the people she doesn't like. Then she's aggressive," he warns me, miming her little teeth snapping together. I shudder at the thought of contracting god-knows-what-mutated disease from a rat, but I keep that to myself.

After his own session, Roizer from District 6 approaches us, eyeing me wearily. Both Scout and I grin at him in synchrony.

"This is Cassie, from Three," Scout introduces me, and I wave at Roizer. "He's really nice!"

Roizer opts to sit next to Scout, without saying anything. He looks deflated.

"How was your session?" I ask dumbly. While Scout jumped on the opportunity to talk with anyone who looked kindly his way, Roizer seems more reserved.

"Bad… it was… pretty c-crap," Roizer mumbles slowly, as though forcing each word out is a pain.

"That's okay, so was mine, and so was Cassie's!" Scout exclaims loudly, momentarily cutting through the louder discussion between the Careers. I venture a glance at them, and see Orla eyeing us with the most condescending look I've ever seen a person wear on their face.

And this is coming from someone from the same district as Salamandra fucking Mitch!

"Wow, your district partner seems like a treat," I whisper, and Scout frowns.

"She's really mean honestly. She keeps calling me Shrimpie, even though I did nothing wrong to her!"

It's Roizer's turn to chime in, and I'm surprised by the acerbic quality of his voice. I didn't think he was capable of it.

"I know … a lot of people like… her. She's- she's the worst k-kind of people. Don't even… pay attention. You're t-t-ten times better than … her anyways."

His hands twitch at his side as he speaks, I note. He's known bullies in his life, very intimately perhaps.

"Yeah, you know what, shrimps are cool and nutritious and you are too," I add, "not nutritious! I promise I'm not a cannibal… I meant the cool part though." I hastily save face as both younger boys stare at me with a weird look in their eyes.

"I know I'm weird," I sigh, putting my face in my hands, but a sound causes me to look up sharply in surprise.

Roizer's chuckle turns into a full-on hearty laugh, and he keeps going until both Scout and I join in.

"You're – you're pretty c-cool too," he manages once he finishes laughing.

And just like that, the initial reticence and animosity is gone.

I learn that Roizer shares my deep-seated doubt towards Scout's questionable pet choices, and that Scout thinks very highly of Roizer's stories.

After Morgana finishes her session and joins the Careers, I start getting antsy.

"My ally is going in after the next person," I tell my newfound friends.

"Who is it?" Scout asks curiously.

"it's Bex, Bexley, from Eight?" I venture, and see recognition in both boys' eyes. "She's nice, you'll probably meet her when she comes here!"

In barely fifteen minutes-time, Bex barges through the doors, her signature angry walk I've learned to recognise in full swing. She pointedly ignores the two boys I'm sitting with and crosses to the corner of the room, beckoning me to come to her.

On second thought, maybe they won't meet her right this instant.

"I'll go now, but we'll definitely talk again," I promise the boys quickly as I get up. I really like them, but the fact is Bex is my ally and my first friend here, so I have to talk it out with her first.

And as much as I want to make this work, I infer that right now may not be the perfect time to bring this up.

I wave at the boys from where we sit.

"It was a shitshow," Bex says before I can even ask. I reassure her it was the same for me.

I mean, the only people who don't look like they just royally screwed up are the crazy ones.

"On the bright side, I've got a plan," I start mysteriously.

Not a plan Bex is going to be on board with at first, but I'm sure she'll come around.

My foot taps impatiently on the ground from the excitement of adding members to our alliance, and when Bex stares at me with a big question mark the size of the Presidential Mansion in her eyes, I just wink at her cheekily. With both eyes, because I still haven't figured out for the life of me how people are supposed to do it one-eyed, but… Bex gets the message.

We've got lots of stuff to talk about.

Not here, because I don't know exactly how I'm going to explain the two young boys I befriended while she left me alone for an hour.

But as I said, I'm sure she'll come around, I'm sure of it.


Andrew Vickens
District 5 Male, 18


They finally let us go, after everyone finishes up showing off their skills, or crying or just wasting the Gamemakers' time. Not gonna lie, I was in the latter category, and it was pretty funny.

The weird thing is that as sad as I felt on the train, I didn't feel much of anything as they called my name to evaluate my skills in front of the Gamemakers panel.

The fact that I talked with Mara, that I trained with her and that we've slowly been mending our friendship in our own weird way convinced me that it's going to be alright, in the end.

I don't need the Gamemakers' validation to feel whole again.

"So, the scores are coming up tonight and then you guys have a full day tomorrow to prepare for your interviews. I know last year they really asked some hard-hitting questions."

Triss launches himself into the retelling of his own interviews, recalling them in great detail.

I settle myself next to Mara, the same way we've done it for the few past days.

"What did you guys do in your sessions? If you don't mind sharing with me, since that might give me a better idea on what to help you with for the interviews," Triss finishes off, leaning slightly forward from the way his voice sounds incrementally closer.

I lean in instinctively as well, while Mara pushes back, pulling her legs up to her chest. It's always so guarded, with her.

"Nothin' much, just kinda threw stuff at targets," Mara mumbles into her shirt.

"That's a lot more than what most tributes do!" Triss exclaims in response and starts scribbling something on the paper he apparently has in front of him. The scratch of the graphite pencil is a comforting sound to my ears, reminding me of the times I'd sit in my father's office as he wrote inventories for his shop.

"Did you feel like you did well?" I ask, genuinely curious. I always knew she had a knack for precision. Even as kids, she was very quick on her feet and deadly accurate.

"I don't know, I guess?" she ventures, uncertain. "I kinda got the targets with the knives, and didn't do so well with the hatchets, but I made it up by fighting one of the trainers."

"Damn so you actually kicked their ass, that's impressive," I whistle.

She whips her head at me with such aggressive resolve that I can picture it in my mind.

"No, actually it was really hard and I felt terrible because I think I shattered their nose while we were grappling on the ground, thanks for asking."

Ah, that's the Mara I know. The one who is capable of simultaneously shattering a trained professional's nose and being riddled with guilt about it, even though these people literally selected us to die.

Triss immediately senses the tension and changes topic.

"How about you Andy?"

I shrug. There was really not much to it.

"I kinda showed up there, told a few jokes, showed them how I'd theoretically start a fire, freaked out about said fire because… PTSD and shit, and then I told them if they didn't let Mara win I'd die but like… not dramatically."

Judging from the silence from both Triss and Mara, I guess I've misjudged how poorly my joke would land.

A few moments later, Triss clears his throat.

"And did they take that well?"

"From the few chuckles I got, I'd say they appreciated my honesty. I'd even say… they were blinded by surprise," I mutter under my breath.

I'm swatted in the arm my Mara as Triss sighs exasperatedly.

"I'm just kidding, guys," I relent, smiling and sitting back. "It was as well as a session meant to show off your skills could go for a guy like me."

"Alright, well either way, we need to get a head's start on interview prep. If you guys aren't too tired, I'd suggest we go over together on a few suggestions I jotted down here," Triss starts up again, suddenly reinvigorated.

I can tell he's getting stressed out.

He's hiding it well, but you can't hide that shit from a blind person, as cliché as it sounds. I can hear it in his voice. I can tell that training us, supervising our every move is taking a toll on him.

It's his first year in the game, after all.

My heart aches for him, a little bit because if Mara doesn't survive, we'll be his first failures.

I imagine that shit stains your conscience for a long time.

A childishly selfish part of me is almost happy about being his first, because I know that someone, apart from my parents, won't be unscathed once I die.

I nod at Triss as he continues on, and I can hear Mara sigh unhappily next to me, but she leans in nonetheless to see what he's going on about.

"My gut feeling is telling me that Mara's going to go for the unapproachable cold female tribute. It's a classic trope, and a lot of really successful tributes go for it."

"I'm not –" Mara starts objecting, just before she's cut off by Triss.

"I know Mara. But I've talked to people who know about this a lot more than I do, and that's the advice they gave me."

Triss softens a little bit, reaching out to touch both our hands. I grasp Mara's free hand, so that we all hold each other, stuck in this weird triangle of misery and confusion.

"I know this really sucks, guys. But you need to understand that this, this is the stuff that sends the sharks into a frenzy," Triss elaborates, his voice taking on a sad tinge.

"We need to do this, to survive," I utter, barely moving my lips.

"Mara, we'll do fine, it doesn't have to be real," I continue, turning to my friend. I squeeze her hand for emphasis.

"Remember those stupid improvisation classes with Mrs. Tonya, before they cut the funding for the school?"

The amused intake of air from Mara's part is all I need to know she remembers all too well.

"That's literally all we need to do. It won't be real, and we won't be real on that stage. Just imagine a bunch of Mrs. Tonya's in the audience, and you're just acting out of your ass to get a passing grade."

"Fine," Mara acquiesces, and I feel her squeeze back.

Triss chimes in. "At least you guys had Mrs. Tonya. I had Mr. Enaquod!"

We both laugh as Triss retracts his hand from mine, imitating the distinct way the old professor used to gesticulate, no doubt.

"The guy is literally the reason I became a compulsive liar in the first place, bless his rotten soul!"

We all dissolve into half-hearted laughter, remembering our old school, our old memories.

It's weird to think how we all used to go to the same vile school, with its awful teachers and cancer-causing asbestos hanging from the ceiling. Its particles rained on us as we unknowingly threw objects at it to dislodge it, like the stupid shits that we were.

We didn't even know we were being poisoned and the authorities never even tried warning us about it, let alone do anything to remove it. And now Triss is here, a Victor of his own Games, having killed and betrayed to get where he is today. And we're on the other side, fully committing to do the same heinous acts or worse, in order to survive.

That's what is wrong with this entire goddamn country. You can try your best, abide by the rules and still end up fucked over because the ones in charge don't give a rat's ass about your life.

In the middle of our conversation, I realize something completely random. At first it makes me kind-of sad, but then I realize it could be useful, if we're talking sponsors.

"Hey guys, guess what?" I ask.

"What?" Triss asks, slightly breathless from his passionate rant that he kept at, with Mara.

"I realized it's my birthday in three days."


Notes: I'm back guys! After an incredibly stressful month of February, I'm diving right back into the story. Say a huge thank you to twistedservice that convinced me to actually FINISH four POVs instead of caving in and publishing only two POVs. I thought you guys deserved some kind of update and I didn't want to keep you all waiting for too much longer, so here's a chapter of potentially-questionable quality.

Hope you enjoyed this! Happy Leap Year February 29th my beauties!

Peace and love.