AN: Hi everyone. The final training day is covered in this chapter, featuring four more tribute POVs, as well as one more from Miracle, which should help clarify things as far as the "Capitol" plot is concerned. I've also thought about the timeline preceding the Bloodbath and I figured it'd be too rushed to have the private sessions and the score reveal in the same chapter. As such, I'm planning for three more chapters before the Bloodbath (private sessions, interview prep/score reveal, and interviews/night before launch).
Hope everyone has a nice holiday season!
Taimi Hill / 13 / District Eleven Male
Things could be worse for the boy from Eleven. After Gail declined to become allies with him, he had found someone else during the first day of training: Killian Fitzgerald from Seven. He came up to Taimi at the shelter-building station complaining about the boy from Three, who had rudely rejected his alliance offer moments earlier. The two were thus able to solve their mutual problem by agreeing to help each other in the arena.
And as planned, Taimi now awaits Killian at the entrance to the training area.
"Look who finally decided to show up!"
"Sorry, got into another argument with my district partner," Killian replies.
"She seems… aggressive."
"Yeah, no kidding. Nothing's worse than a wanna-be Career."
"But look at it this way," says Taimi, "She saved some other girl from being here. That has to count for something, right?"
Killian shrugs. "Guess so. Although I doubt she cares about saving people. She's here to win the Games, and that means killing."
"We all want to win though."
"Okay, but we're not here by choice. We don't spend years training to murder people. Doesn't that count for something?"
Taimi decides against saying anything else, not wanting to antagonize his newfound ally any further. He's no fan of the Careers to be sure, but volunteers in the outer districts are rare, and no matter their reasoning, do a service to the public by taking someone else's place on the stage.
"Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about something," says Killian.
"What?"
"After you left yesterday, the pair from Eight – Calia and Dawson – came up to me. They wanted me to join their alliance."
"And what did you say?" asks Taimi, a hint of anxiety in his voice.
"I told them I'd ask you, since we're allies already."
Taimi takes a moment to think, relieved that Killian didn't ditch him for a stronger group.
"I think we should do it," he says after some deliberation. "Let's be honest, I'm 13 and you're 14. We could use some stronger allies, don't you think?"
"They do look pretty capable," Killian agrees. "And at the very least, strength in numbers, right?"
"Exactly."
"Good, now let's go tell them about our decision," says the boy from Seven, motioning Taimi towards the double doors.
The two walk through the training floor, apparently with the rest of the tributes already present. Alliances are mostly set in stone by this time, and Taimi can pick out some of the groups just by looking around. The pair from Five are huddled next to each other at the first-aid station, the boy from Nine is teaching his district partner how to throw an ax, and the pair from Twelve are at the archery station again, laughing and chatting without a care in the world. The Careers are mostly dispersed around the training floor, but Taimi knows there are seven in the group now that Carissa has joined them.
They find Calia and Dawson at the throwing knives station, a trainer standing behind them. Killian clears his throat loudly, which draws their attention. The pair from Eight looks at each other briefly, before putting down their knives and stepping away from the station.
"So what'll it be?" Dawson asks him.
"We're in."
"Alright then. Far as I know, this is the biggest alliance outside of the Careers."
As Dawson speaks, Taimi can't help but notice that Calia doesn't look very thrilled about the two of them joining. At the same time, he doesn't know anything about her yet, so perhaps this is simply her normal expression.
The boy from Eight continues, "First order of business: we need a strategy for the Bloodbath. But we'll talk about that somewhere else, far away from these fucking Careers."
Clairita "Claire" Austria / 13 / District Five Female
She and Dillan were just at the first-aid station, listening intently to the trainer talk about a variety of topics. But it wasn't long before all the mentions of shock, hypothermia, and dehydration started to make her nauseous, leading the two of them to leave in a hurry. What was the point anyway? Her fate would likely be sealed if things ever got that drastic in the arena. The best option for both of them, she surmises, is to avoid being in such situations in the first place.
The two haven't discussed it formally, but there seems to be an unspoken agreement that they'll stay together in the arena for as long as they reasonably can. After a brief visit to the knife station, it was clear that neither of them has the stomach for hurting another tribute. Still, she's thankful for Dillan, for anyone else would consider her dead weight in an alliance.
The pair from Five are at the camouflage station now, where Claire can focus on a skill that'll actually be useful to her.
"Keep in mind, the uniforms given to you before launch will not help you blend in," the trainer tells them. "But you can use resources found in the arena to change that. Whether you're simply hiding or waiting in ambush, staying out of sight is always a good idea."
The two go on to learn about how various dyes and pigments can be created in the arena to help camouflage oneself. They're even shown how to make a ghillie suit, though Claire can't help but feel it's too involved to be practical during the Games.
"You know, they approved a new addition to the Training Center this year," says the trainer. "We call it the indoor arboretum."
She leads the pair from Five toward a set of frosted glass doors on the far end of the training floor. As the doors slide open, they're greeted by a canvas of green and a wave of humidity. Shrubs and vines line a small paved path through a small forest, with the tallest trees towering to a bright, backlit ceiling. Claire can even see a small pond off in the distance.
"We wanted to give tributes a more realistic setting to practice certain skills, so here we are."
And without another word, the trainer retreats to the main training area, leaving Claire and Dillan to explore the new space.
As they venture deeper into the indoor forest, it soon becomes clear that they're not alone.
"Over there," whispers Dillan, pointing at a moving figure several yards away from the path.
"Is that the girl from Seven?"
"Yeah."
"Think she knows we're here?"
"Probably. But it's not like we're disturbing her."
The girl seems to be working on something – perhaps a trap? Claire is somewhat surprised since Careers have a reputation for ignoring survival skills, choosing instead to focus their training time on the wanton destruction of foam dummies.
Yes, it's dummies being cut up now. But in a few days, it will be you.
Claire never believed she or Dillan could win the Hunger Games, though she's managed to bury this thought far down in the depths of her mind. But it has crept back now, with the last day of training melting away, and it confronts her openly. You're doomed. Why even bother with all this nonsense?
"Hey Claire, come look at this!" Dillan calls to her. "It's that plant the trainer was talking about."
Claire heads further down the path in his direction, drawn by the excitement in his voice.
Sure, the end may be near for her, but for now, it'll have to wait.
Carissa Carson / 18 / District Seven Female
Thankfully, the pair from Five continues to walk down the path, leaving Carissa alone with her thoughts once again. Half her mind is focused on the snare she's building, the other half picturing Killian Fitzgerald's lifeless eyes as she stands over his corpse in the arena. The two of them had clashed again earlier that morning, right after Kassandra and their mentors had left the suite.
"Listen to me. Don't you realize this is what they want?" he said to her. "To divide us – people from the same district. How are we supposed to beat them when we're busy fighting each other?"
"We? It's only by shitty coincidence that I share a district with you, Killian. Not that it matters, because I'll be living in the Capitol soon."
"You're fucking delusional, Carissa. You know, they say the Careers from Two start training when they're eight years old. Did you? Do you really think you can compete with them?"
She scoffed loudly. "You know nothing about me. I'm more than capable of handling these jokers."
"Okay then, if you say so," said Killian, resigned. "Enjoy being their puppet until the end."
"And what about you, Killian?" she yelled after him. "Who's pulling your strings?"
But the only response she gets is a slam of the door.
Everyone has their allegiances, and Killian's is hardly a mystery. She wondered how much he actually knows about them, the rebels or so-called "freedom fighters." Does he know that they kill innocents? As she sat there alone at the dining table, the scene from a decade ago replayed in her head – a knock at the door, peacekeepers at the front steps, her father telling her to go to her room. The rebels were known for setting off bombs and inciting riots, and they had taken her mother this time. She would've been labeled by these terrorists as collateral damage, or a necessary sacrifice at best. Did Killian think he'd be able to convince her just like that? No, she's dedicated years of her life to this, and for good reason. She will stay the course.
A twig snaps behind her. Carissa spins around and sees Odile ducking below some tree branches as she makes her way towards her.
"What do you want?"
"Is that any way to talk to your ally," Odile says with a smirk.
"We're allies, not friends."
"Fair enough. But nobody's heard from you since you stormed off after that contest with Kian on day one… So I wanted to see how you're doing."
Carissa hesitates before answering, "I'm fine, just prefer to go through training alone. It's easier to concentrate."
"You did well against Kian, you know. He's the Academy's best after all."
"I missed my last shot," Carissa mutters. "In a few days, that can be the difference between life and death."
Odile shrugs. "Nobody's perfect. But if it makes you feel better, Terrance was always planning on letting you in. He set that up to test Kian's performance under pressure. It was just convenient to include you as well."
"Interesting, I guess. Doesn't matter much now though, does it?"
"No, but I thought you'd like to know."
"You're right," replies Carissa, smiling softly. "Thanks for telling me."
If she's going to be fighting alongside these people for at least part of the Games, she might as well start to make some inroads. Carissa isn't planning to become attached to anyone, but it wouldn't hurt to be on friendly terms with a few of them, lest they stab her in the back right away.
Then again, if that's their intent, then there isn't much she can do to prevent it besides abandoning them the moment the Games begin.
Iolanthe Digit / 14 / District Three Female
The girl from Three lets out a heavy sigh as she watches the last day of training draw to a close. Following an announcement over the PA system, the tributes begin to head for the exits, some chatting energetically while others, like Iolanthe, remain dead silent.
The Careers seem to be in good spirits, she thinks to herself. Iolanthe is then reminded of what Tecca had said to her that morning: "During the three days of training, the Careers won't try to improve themselves. They'll want to show off what they can already do and intimidate everyone else. Don't let that distract you."
But it's easier said than done. Iolanthe has been through it all over the past three days, covering over a dozen stations – survival, combat, even physical training. But she doesn't feel that much more prepared for the coming storm, and why would she? Less than a week ago, she was babysitting Atticus and helping her mother cook. And now she's supposed to survive a 24-person fight to the death, with over a quarter of the participants having been trained for this exact purpose? No, this training they provide here is an illusion. And like all illusions, it conceals a reality: that she has utterly no chance, that the odds cannot ever be in her favor.
As she has done countless times at school, Iolanthe waits at the end of the line, content that no one would be able to see her. The tributes file out into the hallway, where multiple elevators carry them back to their respective suites.
She's the last one standing there by the time she reaches the elevators, which works out just fine. Honestly, she'd rather not return to her suite just yet and subject herself to a mix of Camilla's obnoxious exuberance and Chip's unyielding cynicism. Perhaps now would be a good time to visit the rooftop, she recalling that Tecca and Linkus spoke highly of the view up there.
Iolanthe takes the elevator up to the top floor, from which a narrow stairway leads her onto the roof. There's a patio area with some wooden lounge chairs, all surrounded by a small garden. The wind grows louder as she ventures further out, causing her to shiver. As she nears the ledge, Iolanthe takes in the famed view of the Capitol – a vast sea of light before her, stretching as far as the eye can see. The city seemed to speak to her, whispers intertwined with the wind.
A moment later, Iolanthe realizes that it isn't the wind, but someone else on the rooftop with her. She listens carefully, following the direction of the sound. The voices grow louder as she approaches one end of the rooftop. Whoever's speaking must be right around the corner, with an extension of the main building separating them from Iolanthe.
"Why couldn't we just talk in the suite?" asks a girl's voice.
"I don't want our mentors hearing this, in case they object," replies the voice of a boy. "Trust me, it's easier this way."
"Well, what is it then?"
"After the Bloodbath, I suggest we take what we need and ditch them. We can do it while they're sleeping."
"That soon? I don't know, seems a little—"
"Come on, you of all people should understand. We can't keep carrying dead weight. Neither of them will be of any use to us after the Bloodbath."
There's a pause before the girl responds, "Fine then. But this doesn't feel right."
"I know, but it's for the best."
Without delay, Iolanthe hears footsteps coming towards her. She barely manages to scramble into a dark alcove as the two turn the corner and keep walking.
Before they disappear, Iolanthe manages to get a half-decent look at them.
It's the pair from Eight.
Miracle Emerson / Victor the of the 87th Hunger Games
The Starlight Mall – perhaps the epitome of Capitolian materialism, featuring five expansive stories of shops, restaurants, and other assorted businesses. The higher up you go, the less affordable everything becomes. On the top floor, sales staff easily outnumber customers two-to-one, with the entire level requiring a steep credit check just to enter. The ground floor also features a massive food court that extends outdoors, where Miracle had been instructed to wait today. Supposedly, she is to meet the Sparrow, the leader of the group she's been in contact with ever since that stranger on the train left her a folder. Whoever this Sparrow is, it's clear that their organization is highly capable and ruthless, considering what happened at the Demeter Hotel yesterday. Licinia had called Miracle shortly after she got home, demanding that she explain why one of her "patrons" is lying dead on the carpet from a gunshot wound to the head. As advised, she tells Licinia that they were robbed by a masked individual. Miracle isn't sure how long that story will hold up, or if Licinia even believes her in the first place.
She sits on the edge of a marble fountain, sunlight beaming off the countless denarius coins that have been tossed in. It would be enough to hurt her eyes if she wasn't already wearing sunglasses, which she does whenever she's in public at this point. The cameras that were once such an allure for her only bring headaches now.
Before long, Miracle is approached by a young man with thick-framed glasses.
"Did you turn your phone off?"
"Of course."
"Good. Follow me then."
He leads her into the mall, through the food court, and up an escalator. Miracle had been here before, at an autograph signing outside a bookstore. Apparently, the location had given Licinia an idea.
"You know, you should seriously consider writing a book," she'd suggested.
Miracle responded with a derisive laugh, "I don't need to write a book when people are paying seven figures to fuck me."
Licinia never brought it up again.
Miracle follows the man into a small, warmly lit shop on the second floor. A neon sign reading "Greg's Games and More" is perched on top of the storefront.
"You're based out of an antique board game store?" asks Miracle.
"It's a good idea. Nobody's going to suspect this crowd of anything."
They head through a door at the back into what is presumably the storeroom. After going around some metal shelves and large boxes, the two arrive at an area with a few computer monitors. There's another woman there too whom Miracle recognizes instantly.
"It's you again – from the hotel."
"Nice to see you too, Miracle," says the woman.
"I don't suppose you have names."
"We don't," confirms the man. "As far as you're concerned, at least. We're members of the Sparrow's Flock, and that's it."
She rolls her eyes. "And where is this Sparrow of yours?"
"He'll be joining us momentarily," the woman replies.
As if right on cue, the largest monitor lights up. A solid blue line is shown across the middle of the screen.
"Hello, Miss Emerson. Thank you for agreeing to come here," says a man's voice from the computer, the blue line oscillating as he speaks.
"You're… an AI?"
"No," replies the voice with a chuckle. "I'm the Sparrow – a living, breathing person like yourself. For my safety, and therefore the safety of our organization, I cannot reveal my true identity or location to anyone. I'm sure you can understand."
"I guess," says Miracle. "Now if you don't mind explaining what happened at the hotel yesterday…"
"Yes, of course. You see, Miss Emerson, we had to use some… deceptive tactics so that you'd be more likely to help us. The now-deceased man from the hotel was not an executive at PCB as we led you to believe, but rather a high-level government official. He had information on that hard drive that would greatly benefit our cause. Now, we couldn't tell you this right away as you probably wouldn't have agreed to lend us your help, you being a Career from District One after all. But now, seeing as how we're stuck in this together, it's only fair to bring you up to speed."
"And what exactly is your cause?" asks Miracle. "I bet that part of the letter was bullshit as well."
"Our cause, to put it simply, is to correct the sad situation Panem finds itself in today."
"Oh great, another rebel group."
"We are not just another rebel group," the Sparrow responds. "Have you ever heard of such a group to be based in the Capitol? Out there in the districts, rebels will spray paint some slogans and detonate a pipe-bomb every now and then. At best, they might organize a strike that drives up the price of meat for a week or two. But they cannot ever hope to make any meaningful change in the country. On the other hand, we have the resources and knowledge to make a real difference. And this is a critical time we find ourselves in. We must act soon if we are to ever succeed."
"And why is that?" asks the victor.
"Allow me to start from the beginning. Towards the end of the Panem Civil War, District Thirteen and the Capitol ended up in a nuclear stalemate, resulting in the two sides signing the Lake Erie Armistice, in which Thirteen would agree to secede from Panem and move underground in exchange for abandoning the war effort. The Capitol would then destroy Thirteen from the surface and tell everyone that the district had been annihilated. This setup has worked for nearly a century now, with Thirteen remaining quiet in their bunker this whole time. But a few months ago, the Greenleaf administration launched GAMSS, a network of satellites designed to intercept any ballistic missiles from hitting the Capitol or any of its major colonies. You can see it if you look up at night – like a star that's slightly brighter than its neighbors. This breaks the stalemate, as Thirteen's weapons have been rendered useless, essentially, while the Capitol's are still fully capable of hitting them. There's no guarantee that Thirteen's bunker will be able to withstand the new EPWs the Capitol's supposedly been developing. With this in mind, President Greenleaf plans to deliver an ultimatum to Thirteen – full surrender and disarmament, or death. In either scenario, the districts' hope of liberating themselves from the Capitol will be dashed. And that, Miss Emerson, is why we must act now. The fate of millions rests in our hands."
"How do you know all of this?" Miracle inquires. "What you just said isn't exactly common knowledge."
"Let's just say that I wasn't always the Sparrow. But circumstances change and we're called to action, just as you are now. Will you answer?"
"I—I didn't ask for any of this. You told me I'd just be helping you rob some rich asshole, not overthrow the damn government or whatever it is you're planning."
"None of us asked for this, Miss Emerson, yet we find ourselves here. You being a Hunger Games victor makes you highly influential in the Capitol, not to mention you'd have access to people and information that are otherwise difficult to get a hold of. Your help will be invaluable, and I understand you're not exactly a fan of the Capitol or the president anyway."
"And what if I say no?"
The Sparrow sighs. "I'd rather it not come to that. But as you know, your involvement with us so far would be enough to condemn you in Greenleaf's eyes. You can try to talk your way out, but she'll know. Trust me, Miss Emerson. Do you really think that many victors overdose on their own?"