AN: Here's day one of training, plus a continuation of the Capitol plotline (last featured in chapter 11). I'm planning for four more chapters between this one and the Bloodbath.

Niels Hyla / 18 / District Ten Male

Niels tugs nervously at his training outfit, it being noticeably too tight around the neck and chest. He's been told that the clothes were meant for easy movement during training, but he'd honestly rather train in his denim work uniform, covered in dirt from Garcia's farm with its colors faded from the sun. But he knows the real purpose of the outfit given to him: they want to strip away as much individuality as they can, starting with your attire. Wearing the same clothes as the others is just one step in making him less Niels Hyla and more District Ten Male. He suspects this is how the Capitol convinces themselves that the Games are right. He is merely a tribute, able to symbolize whatever it is they want him to.

Niels had run the obstacle course a few times and been to several survival stations already. The last one had taught him how to prepare game for consumption, a topic that reminded him of life back home. Walking around the training area now, he stumbles upon one of the combat stations, this one focusing on heavier weapons. The boy from Two is there, demolishing dummies left and right with a war hammer, foam body parts strewn all over the floor with copious amounts of white fake blood. He hits with such aggression, such ferocity, as if his life depends on the death of the dummies standing before him. Niels begins to feel uneasy as he's reminded of what the Games are really about: not edible plants, tying knots, or cleaning a squirrel, but killing and getting killed. He knows he's in good shape physically – needing to lift and carry things all day for work has certainly helped – but his problem lies in the mental aspect. Hitting a nail with a hammer is a world away from striking another human being with one, especially someone whose path he'd never cross if the Hunger Games didn't exist.

"So we have white blood now," says a voice from behind him. "The older victors said it was blue."

Niels turns around to see that it's the girl from Eight.

"They're obsessed with white these days, even more than the last president was," he replies. "Maybe it makes them feel like they're the good guys."

"You know, I used to want to be a good person too."

"Used to?"

"Yeah. I learned that it doesn't get you anywhere, and this isn't the time or place for it anyway. Good people don't leave the Games alive."

"Guess you're right about that," admits Niels. It's something he should've realized on his own by now – that he'll have to change himself if he wants to seriously compete. After all, the boy shredding dummies in front of him will not be alone, and he doubts any of them will have qualms with killing.

"I'm Calia by the way, from District Eight in case you didn't know."

"Niels," he says, extending a hand to her.

"We've been observing you," she says, shaking his hand. "And we're wondering if you'd like to join our alliance. Right now, it's just me and my district partner Dawson, but we're looking to add maybe two more people."

"I'm sorry, but I—I'm just not the type of person you want in your group. I said this to Rena as well: you're better off with someone else. Trust me."

And with that, Niels hurries away from her. Calia seems to mutter something under her breath: "Good luck with the Careers."

Truthfully, he's better off on his own, for Niels knows that he'd go the extra step in protecting his allies, which would eventually cost him. That's just who he is – the person Hirca has made him into.

This soon-to-be father needs to think of himself and only himself for now.

Dawson Gregor / 16 / District Eight Male

"Just like that?" asks an incredulous Dawson.

"Yep. And then he walked off," Calia replies. "Maybe you should've gone to talk to him. I'm not exactly the most endearing person."

"It wouldn't have mattered. He's clearly made up his mind."

"You'd think he's got a lot to lose with a pregnant girl back home."

"Oh well," says Dawson. "If he's fine with being on his own, then so be it."

Dawson is used to things not going his way. When you grow up poor in District Eight, resiliency is perhaps the most important trait one could have. Dawson has lost big-money fights, gotten laid off from work, and even been arrested and flogged by peacekeepers for taking potatoes that fell out of a truck. Each defeat, however, has taught him something more about himself and the world around him.

But decisions always have consequences. Niels better not expect any mercy from them should they meet in the arena.

"What are our other options then?" he asks Calia. There are plenty to choose from, one would think.

"I'm not sure… I really thought he'd accept."

"What about her?" Dawson suggests, pointing across the room at a pair of tributes throwing axes.

"The pair from Six?"

"No, just her. Rich boy can fuck off for all I care."

"But she's… skinny."

"We're from the districts, Calia. Everyone's skinny. Besides, she has the right look about her. She's a fighter."

"Shouldn't we go off something more than just mediocre ax-throwing?"

"Fine, let's go talk to her then. Together this time."

And without delay, the pair from Eight make their way over to the ax station.

"Wait behind the line please," says a trainer as the two approach the throwing lanes.

"We're not here to throw," Calia replies dismissively, which grabs the attention of the Six pair. "Just want to have a word."

"You guys are from Eight, right?" says the boy, putting his ax down on a bench, his district partner holding onto hers.

"Yes. I'm Calia, and this is Dawson."

"Connor and Thorin. So, what is this about?"

"We have a… proposition," says Calia.

"Only for you though," Dawson specifies, looking directly at Thorin. "We'd like you to join our alliance. And believe me, this is the best chance at taking down the Careers."

Connor takes a step forward. "That's not going to work. The two of us are allies."

"I wasn't talking to you," says Dawson, his fist tightening. He'd be damned if he were to trust someone like him in the Games. Thorin should follow suit if she has any sense.

"Tell you what," begins the girl from Six. "I'll think about it and give you an answer tomorrow, alright? Now if you don't mind, we were in the middle of something here."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, Connor."

Thorin returns to the throwing lane, her district partner following close behind. Dawson and Calia walk in the opposite direction, away from the ax station.

"You think she'll say yes?" asks Calia.

"Don't know. Guess we'll have to wait and find out."

"You think it was worth it to only ask her? Maybe they would've agreed right away if—"

"Doesn't matter," responds Dawson. "His type don't get to where they are by looking out for others. Simple as that."

His mind takes him back roughly two years, to a desolate stretch of road by the fence in Eight. He was walking back from his night-shift job when a truck passed him, loaded to the top with burlap sacks. Its cargo was stacked too high, which is why one small bag fell out just down the road from him. Dawson raced over to see that it contained about a dozen potatoes, a negligible amount compared to what's in the truck, but a world of difference for him and his siblings. He looked up and noticed that the vehicle had stopped down the road, with two uniformed men getting out from the cab.

"You there! Drop the bag!" one of them yelled.

Naturally, with the potatoes over his shoulder, Dawson began to run in the opposite direction, as he had countless times in similar situations before. But there's an incredibly loud pop behind him and he drops to the ground, spilling the contents of the bag.

"Didn't your parents tell you not to take what isn't yours," one of the men scolded him, assault rifle in hand.

"The peacekeepers will have some fun with you," adds the other as he binds the boy's hands together with a zip tie. The two then lead him back towards the truck, the potatoes sitting in the dirt beside the road.

Dawson recalls the distinctive logo on their arms – a golden, flat hat with two wings on its sides. Embroidered around it were the words "Petasos Logistics, Inc."

He's only seen that logo once again in his life – while watching the District Six Reapings on the train, it was displayed on a lapel pin belonging to an impeccably dressed man in the crowd. The cameras were focused on him, for his son had just been picked to enter the Hunger Games.

Kian Avery / 18 / District One Male

For the most part, day one of training had gone by unremarkably. As usual, the Careers assemble in the morning to briefly introduce themselves to each other. Most of the day was then spent showing off each other's specialties, rather than learning new skills. It seems that there's a predominance of ranged weapons this year, except for Sett and his war hammers.

Terrance Koda has taken charge of the group, to which nobody has objected yet. He seems to enjoy the job well enough, and nothing suggests to Kian that he'd be incompetent in leading them.

From what he's seen so far, the competition will be fierce. And unlike last year, he can see any of his fellow Careers winning, a thought that puts him somewhat on edge.

After Miracle Emerson returned from the Games, Kian had met her at a celebratory dinner hosted by the Academy. He remembers asking her one question in particular: "Right before the Games began, did you think you could win it all?"

Miracle laughed. "Not even for a second."

She wasn't the strongest, fastest, or most skilled tribute last year, and Kian is beginning to feel the same way now, even just after one half-day of training. But Miracle still triumphed in the end while others more capable than her fell because winning the Games is about more than just physical preparation. That's something he needs to keep in mind.

"Hello? Kian?" he hears Odile's voice calling him. "Spacing out a little aren't we."

"Sorry. What's going on?"

"Someone seems to be looking for us," she says, gesturing across the room to where Terrance is waving at them furiously.

The pair quickly make their way over, with Ryba and the duo from Two already waiting with Terrance. Another girl stands among the group – District Seven perhaps?

"What is it?" Kian asks Terrance.

"This is Carissa from Six. She's interested in joining us."

"Didn't realize we were recruiting," mutters Sett.

"There's plenty of room for another well-prepared tribute," Terrance responds. "Ryba and I have been observing her in training this morning and we feel that her skills are up to par. However, the Games will be different – there will be pressure and high stakes. So, I suggest a friendly competition of sorts, a final test to see if Carissa should join us or not."

"Some target practice," explains Ryba. "See who can hit the most out of ten."

"Kian, since bows are also your specialty, care to step up?" asks Terrance.

"Sure."

Not like I actually have a choice.

The group makes its way over to the archery station. The pair from Twelve are there now, both firing arrows downrange, but they scurry away as the Careers approach.

There's an assortment of bows laid out on a long table nearby. Kian steps forward to browse the selection, looking for one that's closest to what he uses back in One. He eventually settles on a carbon black compound bow, a beautifully crafted weapon that is perhaps too fancy to be found in the arena. But this isn't the arena, and he needs to show his teeth here. Years of instruction in a special academy dedicated to training for the Hunger Games… surely some random girl from Seven couldn't outdo him?

As Kian steps up to the range, he realizes just how difficult of a situation Terrance has put him in. He won't get much out of beating Carissa. After all, he's the Career from One who had to go through a rigorous selection process to be here. And if he loses, everything will be in jeopardy – the other Careers' trust in him, his sponsorship money, and even his training score now that the rules have been changed. He knows there are cameras in the walls and ceiling watching them right now.

Around 25 yards away, there are two flat, humanoid targets slowly moving back and forth horizontally.

"To keep things simple, any hit counts," announces Terrance.

Next to Kian, Carissa gets into position with her wooden longbow. At Terrance's mark, the two begin to loose arrows at the targets.

Kian tries his best to focus on only one of them, though the two do overlap briefly in the middle. He fires his first five arrows into the chest area before taking a moment to see that Carissa has done the same. Halfway there now.

As he's preparing to fire again, something – whether from the group watching them, elsewhere on the training floor, or perhaps inside Kian's head – breaks his concentration. The arrow misses by inches and hits the padded ground far behind the targets. He tries his best not to overreact, knowing that it would just send him into a downward spiral and hurt his remaining shots.

He doesn't give himself time to dwell on the miss, instead drawing his next arrow and sending it downrange. The rest of them manage to find their mark, and it isn't until afterward that he realizes Carissa's sixth arrow had hit, as did her seventh, eighth, and ninth. And then, with a sign from above or a stroke of luck – Kian isn't sure – her final arrow barely misses one of the targets, prompting Carissa to curse loudly.

"Well done," says an applauding Terrance. "Looks like it's a tie. Guess that means you're in, Carissa."

She barely acknowledges him as she puts her bow down and storms off. Kian closes his eyes momentarily as she draws the rest of the Careers' attention, thankful that they won't be able to see his hands shaking.

Chip Havlicek / 16 / District Three Male

He's been wandering around the training floor for longer than he should, that much is clear. Chip had spent a few brief minutes at several stations, but he didn't feel motivated to stay at any of them. One had been the edible plants and fungi station. But what if there isn't any vegetation in the arena? Last year, everything was practically all underground after the first few days. He then tried the sword station with a trainer there to teach him some fundamentals. Yet, after a little while, it was evident that he has neither the strength nor time to pick this up effectively, especially if he has to face any of the Careers.

He's now staring at the archery station, where the entire Career group is gathered for some reason, along with the girl from Seven. Without warning, she marches away from the rest, visibly bothered by something. Chip recalls her being a volunteer, meaning the Careers have most likely just denied her entry into the alliance. Good.

The rest of them soon depart the archery station as well, leaving it free for him to use. But then he thinks – what are the odds that he'd be able to get a bow and arrows in the arena? The higher quality weapons are usually closer to the center of the Cornucopia, and he certainly isn't planning on rushing in there. And he doubts he'll get enough sponsorship money for such a thing at any point during the Games.

After walking around for a little longer, something finally grabs Chip's attention: the knife station. It's an ideal weapon in theory – common enough and easily handled by a scrawny boy like himself. He chides himself for not thinking of this earlier, though he admittedly hasn't thought much about the weapons he'd like to use, preferring to keep tabs on the other tributes instead. Information is a powerful weapon, especially when wielded by the right person.

A trainer steps forward to greet him. "Pick a knife from the table over there. And take your time. For now, it's important to use something that feels just right in your hands."

Chip browses the display, which features dozens of knives arranged in two rows. There are a variety of sizes available, with straight and curved blades, serrated and non-serrated. He carefully picks up a few to weigh in his hand and test the grips.

"Hey, are you Chip?" asks someone from behind him.

He turns around to see that it's the boy from Seven.

"Yeah, what is it?"

"I'm Killian, from Seven. I was just wondering if you wanted to—"

"No, I don't," Chip interrupts him.

"But you didn't even—"

"Believe me, I'm not interested. Now if you could go bother someone else…"

He turns his back to him and continues to look through the knife selection. And fortunately enough, Killian decides to leave him alone.

Chip knows why he's here of course – his district partner was trying to join the Careers. And whether or not she succeeds, he doubts that she'll be allied with Killian at the end of the day. The boy seems harmless enough, but if there was ever a time for Chip to start trusting others, it sure wasn't going to be in the Hunger Games.

After finally deciding on a knife, Chip walks over to the trainer.

"I'm ready."

Miracle Emerson / Victor of the 87th Hunger Games

This is all too much. On top of being passed around by the Capitol elite, she now has to deal with the fallout from the murder she witnessed. Moreover, it's clear that this was no ordinary robbery. The woman from the hotel room had mentioned as much.

"His death changes the timetable. Everything needs to be pushed forward."

What timetable? And who was this person anyway? What else is this unnamed organization planning?

Miracle recalls the letter she received from them, left by a stranger on a late-night subway train. They'd described themselves as "humanitarians" who wanted to send money to the districts. It sounds more like a cover story in retrospect, as she strongly doubts the incident at the Demeter was about money only.

Her building now comes into view, sitting on the northern end of Atherton Park with its white façade reflecting the light of the setting sun. Despite Miracle's proximity to her home, she decides to take a seat on one of the park benches, feeling utterly drained from what had transpired at the hotel.

The area is relatively quiet now as the sky continues to darken. Miracle buries her head in her hands for a brief moment, just so she can collect herself. When she looks up again, there's a woman in a green and purple dress heading towards her, walking a dog that could easily fit in her handbag. Great, another one of them.

"Act normal," she says. "I'm just a regular Capitolite who's thrilled to meet you."

"Wish I could say the same," Miracle mutters under her breath.

"Look, I'm sorry about what happened, but we had no choice."

"I deserve an explanation. This is more than I signed up for."

"You'll get one soon," the woman replies. "But we think it's better that you hear it from our leader himself. Be at the Starlight Mall tomorrow at noon, by the fountain outside the food court. Someone will meet you there."

"Fine then. And this leader of yours – does he have a name?"

"I'm sure he does, but none of us know it," answers the woman. "We all refer to him as the Sparrow."