Hey hey hey, here we are!

So there are all the reuploaded chapters for you, and now we're delving into unknown territory, with writing I haven't put up here before.

I wanted to apologise for what happened a few years ago. I wasn't always the best writer, and I was also an impatient one. I had stuff going in my life that was tearing me apart and that reflected negatively onto my writing. Everyone's got to learn and grow, and I'm glad to say that I have done over the last four years. I've also written several chapters of this story in advance so I can update it at a reasonable pace, thank goodness. I'm not the type to leave things unfinished.

So, I guess it's time for me to give you a little life update since I've been gone! I have a boyfriend, I'm renting my own place, got a better job! I've been in and out of forums, made new friends, made *some* progress on my original fiction, and played Guild Wars 2 a lot more. There you go, enjoy me exposing myself~

Life's not perfect, but it's so much better. Mental's not so mental anymore too, believe it or not. My mental health has gotten a lot better and life is actually really good. I'm so blessed and so grateful for these changes. It's been a long time coming :)

It's so weird to be writing these chapters and engaging with the characters I once accepted all that time ago. I haven't done A LOAD of writing since I've been gone, so it's time to remove the rust.

It's time for the chariots :D

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena I have created.

"The oak fought the wind and was broken, the willow bent when it must and survived." ~Robert Jordan.

Aisha Cain, Eighteen, District Four Female

Why did it have to be that ring?

My token, a hand-carved, smooth ring of stupid wood is the one thing that's holding together my composure as the stylist beside me rips yet another line of wax off my leg. Chemical fumes, burning skin: my determination has lasted longer than this. I expected to be made over, to be corrected in the eyes of others. I'm so used to it by now that the idea of being judged for my flaws or my personality is entirely pointless…because I just don't care.

Beyond the violent scent of alcohols and perfumes however, it's Sal's ring that keeps me grounded throughout this process. When I said goodbye to Nyah, she brought her partner Sal with her. I don't care much for Sal, to be honest, but in a roundabout way, the token he gave me was kind of sweet. It's almost as if, despite it all, there's a sense of recognition and respect there that I hadn't seen before. Even if the ring means nothing to me, it'll mean something to them. I can imagine Nyah telling my parents all about it, and they'll tell her how lovely it was of her and Sal to give it to me.

I wonder if they miss me?

I think they do. I was never the best child, but that doesn't mean that they don't value me. I was going to be their pretty prize, after all, sold to someone for them to build their reputation even higher, like a glass tower that'll never fall down. Something about that idea makes me smile, a curve appearing on my lips as I wince, another line of wax ripping the hairs from my follicles. It was my perseverance that got me here. I fought on and on, I played it smart, and yet I know that this is only the first hurdle.

My brown eyes watch the bubbles in the water, now tinged pink. A part of me wonders if its blood, another part of me doesn't bother to consider it. Beauty is pain, and if anyone knows how to transform someone, it's the Capitol. I don't mind being putty in someone's hands, but only for a minute.

Just one.

The chariot rides are the next big stage in the Games. Making your presence known during the reapings is one thing, but then you have to put on a smile, train well, impress the Gamemakers and come across as charming during the interviews. All of that happens before anyone starts dying. Regardless of all of this, I feel ready. It's in my blood, it's in my bones. Despite the chance that I could die, my heart is racing because this feels right. It feels like it's mine; like it's something that I've been owed after so many years of being second best.

A crown would feel so good on my head.

I'm left shortly after being hauled out of the bath, the burning sensation on my skin subsiding as the cool air hits it. Someone's opened a window, and I'm grateful for it, letting the cool air soothe my body with its gentle embrace. The smell of all the products they were using was getting almost too much for me to bear, but now that the wild scents aren't assaulting my senses, I can detect a tropical, oceanic smell, which makes me smile. I turn slightly in front of the mirror, admiring the handiwork of my stylist as I wait for them to bring me my chariot outfit. I still feel like me, but the image before me is someone flawless, as if someone has sanded down my rough edges and humbled my flaws, quietened my inner worries and made me even more desperate to prove myself.

Soon the stylists return, attaching various pieces of a bubble-like material to a nude corset, pulled tight, but not so much that I can't breathe. I decide it must be some type of silicone or plastic as calm blue bubbles rise from my stomach and cascade upwards behind my shoulders. It feels as if the old me is floating away, rising higher and higher, further away from who was once there. I've been remoulded, remodelled somehow, and the best part is that I feel reborn. My brown curls are still full, but they're purposefully damp and slightly slicked back. There's light makeup applied to my face, giving it an otherworldly blueish tone. It's clear that my stylist's intentions are to convey the feeling of fluidity in my body as if I'm some kind of ethereal goddess, covered in exquisite, elegant seafoam.

"Come, dear," my stylist says. "It's time for you to show the world that District Four didn't come to play."

"We didn't," I respond confidently, my eyes alight with reignited fire. "We came to slay."

My stylist leads the way out into the corridor as they attach the finishing pieces to my garment. My bubble skirt is perfect, and the fine elements of tiny bubbles in my slicked-back hair make for a truly fashionable picture. It's almost as if I've been designed to walk a runway, and a big part of me can't help but love it. Oh, I can't wait for my parents to see me, to look on in awe of the creature I've been transformed into. I feel confident and capable. I'm ready for this!

It doesn't take long for my district partner, Orion, to join me. He's not very talkative, but he made it clear that he wanted in on the Career pack. From what I've seen of the tributes so far, I think I'm likely to make for a good leader. Let's just hope that none of the other careers get arrogant, otherwise, I'll have them cut down to size in seconds. We've got no time for ego-centric foolishness; we're here to play the game and to win.

Orion's wearing a similar outfit to mine, his bubbles forming a more winding structure, yet still as detailed and as impactful. I try to hide a smirk as I notice a small yet random bubble on his eyebrow. My stomach lurches in excitement as the elevator drops downwards, finally arriving in the chariot preparation zone. I can hear the chattering crowd and taste the aura of anticipation on my tongue. It's intoxicating in a good way, corrupt in an addictive way.

I want more of it.

I'm not used to so much attention, and I stand there for a moment, tuning in to the infectious atmosphere, a smile on my face. Orion turns back and watches me blankly.

"Are you coming?"

He doesn't sound displeased or unimpressed. Instead, he's his usual polite self, although I can see a glimmer of excitement in his eyes too. Maybe he's feeling what I'm feeling too as if his life has reached a point where its meaning has been magnified. The moment passes quickly and Orion leads the way over to our chariot.

Letting out a small sigh of content, I prepare myself.

Let's do this.

Adira Linett, Eighteen, District One Female

I'm nervous.

I don't want to admit it, but I am.

People always view me as a strong person, but some things are better left when they're hidden away inside of me, emotions included. I can hear the faint roar of the crowds; the cheering sea of faces that merge into a blanket of writhing, petrifying colour. As I step out of the elevator and towards the chariots, I have to remind myself to breathe. I must remain calm, not only to bolster my impenetrable exterior but also to keep my fragile seams from coming undone.

My fingers trail along the side of my chariot outfit; I'm wearing diamond-studded armour, the gems packed in closely together, huddling their way down every angle and corner of the garment, spiking outwards with flair. The breastplate curls over my right arm, but leaves the left arm bare. The diamonds trickle their way down to my feet, complete with diamond-studded boots. This thing is heavy, but I guess my stylist made it that way because she knew I could handle it. I'm a Career after all. All my training has made me accustomed to armour, even if today it is covered in diamonds. The spotlight bounces off every surface of me, reflecting little dots of multicolour across the floor of the preparation zone.

I am…beautiful.

What would Liana say if she could see me now? If only she was here to hold my hand, to remind me that I am worth everything I wish to be. I want to become the woman she can see, the woman she can be proud of loving. I almost wish that my stylist and her assistants had scrubbed my flaws away, but I can still hear the whispers hiding in the shadows. The sweet words of self-doubt are devastating, but I have to remain focused. I will get on with these Games and remember the days I spent in the field with Liana, caressing the side of her face, staring into her mesmerising eyes.

I move over to the District One chariot to meet with my district partner, Austin. If I wasn't with Liana, I'd argue that he was quite the handsome guy. Mysterious blue eyes and unruly dark hair are enough to make anyone's spine shiver with interest. Even so, Austin merely nods to me as I step on to the chariot. They've crafted a crown out of my hair, and they appear to have done the same with Austin's, small diamonds peppering the thick strands of chocolate. His armour is exactly the same as mine, only that his right arm is bare instead of his left, exposing his muscled shoulders.

"Ready?" he asks me. "Royce mentioned something about holding hands and staring straight ahead to look strong. That good with you?"

I nod in agreement to this.

"It's a sound strategy, so I don't think we'll experience any issues," I comment. "Have you checked out any of the tributes yet?"

At this point, I assume that we're allies. Usually the tributes from One, Two and Four team up and work together, although that didn't quite work out last year. This time around, I'm determined not to have a fourteen-year-old Career stab me in my sleep. Austin turns his head, and I follow his icy gaze towards where the other tributes are standing. All of them are dressed in various unruly attire, where their own stylists have tried their best to ensure that their tributes get the most attention. District Six catch my eyes first. They're somewhat more impressive than I expected them to be, with their outfits made up of sleek metal plates interlocking and overlapping. The District Six chariot, I notice, doesn't even have horses. It's a hovercraft floating on its own. Ah, they must have modified that idea from the last year. Hey, no judgement. If you change the game and then make it better, then you can't blame yourself for getting better results.

District Two are next to us, and I take this opportunity to analyse them from a few metres away. They're in their usual broad plated armour, dark gold in colour, with oil-like colours swirling across the surface of it. It's a beautiful design, and the stylists are smart to only slightly tweak it each year and yet still gain the same amount of sponsors. The boy and girl seem just as quiet as we are, and although I haven't met them properly, I can sense strength there. Who knows? If one of them opens their mouths, we might be sprayed with chatterbox garbage. The girl from Two catches me watching, her dark eyes and hair perfectly styled and shaped by dramatic makeup. She offers me a curt nod, to which I reply with one of my own.

I cast my eyes further down the line to District Four, where their armour is shaped into various sea-foam bubbles. More bubbles themselves are rising off their costumes, their stylist just making the last-minute preparations before the parade begins. The boy looks tall and strong, but also silent like the others. The girl, however, is talking. Her face is angular and the way she speaks seems practised and sharp like she's happy to be there but is being careful about how she's acting in front of everyone else.

"Careers are looking good," I note, looking up to Austin. "What are you reading?"

"I wouldn't worry about Three," Austin comments. "But Five, they're an odd pair by the looks of it."

My blue eyes scan for the tributes he's talking about. I land on the pair from Three; the boy is muttering away to his district partner, while the girl looks somewhat excitable. They're dressed up in light bulbs like they were last year, but instead this year, the light bulbs are small and flash wildly, forming a network of lights on top of a simple black jumpsuit.

I turn my attention to the pair from Five and I narrow my eyes slightly. I can't hear what the girl is saying, but she's talking in an animated fashion. She appears somewhat eccentric in her mannerisms, her brown eyes darting around wildly as she speaks with her district partner. She occasionally twitches, although it could just be my imagination. Speaking of him, the boy from Five looks like he's on something. He's half crouched beside his chariot, but his mentors are coaxing him into interacting with them with a candle. He seems to be mesmerised by the fire, but afraid to stand up. I catch of a glimpse of his eyes as he ducks his head; he's squinting, desperately hiding under the shadow of his arms as if it's his only lifeline.

"I'm not even going to ask," I mutter. "Let's just stay focused."

"You and me both."

Austin appears equally as unnerved as I am regarding the Five tributes, but we don't let that shake us. The Five boy looked flat out crazy, but it's not my place to say anything, nor to worry about him either. If anything, he'll be doing me a favour by dying in the bloodbath. Shaking my head, I take a deep breath.

It's showtime.

Aw here's the first part of the chariots! I wanted to settle back into writing so splitting the chariots into two chapters was the best way for me to write, take a break, and then get stuck back in. It's so good to be writing and it's a great feeling finishing this story, so let's do it!

So, what did you think of this chapter?
Aisha's confidence is running high. Do you think that she'll have the smarts and the brawn to make it to the end?
What about Adira? Even though she's a career, her nervousness is getting in the way. Will she begin to crack under the pressure or not?
What did you think of the chariot outfits for Districts 1-6?

I'd like to shoutout ladyqueerfoot for dragging my butt back to the SYOT community; I wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't for her.
I'd also like to thank symphorophilia, Firedawn'd and twistedservice (among others) for being my cheerleaders and believing in me to get to the point where I could actually upload chapters again. It really means a great deal and I'm beyond grateful for their love and support, so thank you, awesome smol beans!

Have a wonderful week and welcome back! I'm excited, I hope you are too.

Over and out!
~Mental