The Hunger Games had always been sickening to Sal, always. Even the Careers, decked out in outfits of satin and gold, eyes blazing with fury and determination, striving for the honor of pleasing the capitol, made him angry and, in many ways, devastated. And now that he was being fitted for a costume made of silver gears and gadgets (glamorized in a way that they would never really be, not in District 3) he could hardly keep himself from throwing up. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, he was still just a child.
And Birdie. She somehow pulled off the robotic sheath dress she was wearing, but she barely looked like herself, with perfectly applied red lipstick, eyebrows plucked into thin arches and her normally fluffy brown hair slicked back into a low bun. She looked like a model from the Capitol- not a District 3 girl, a brilliant engineer, and more than anything a rebel who detested the laws of Panem with her whole heart.
He felt stripped of his individuality in the same way. His hair had been cut almost immediately when he arrived at the Capitol- buzzed on the sides and modeled into the messy faux hawk that was so popular with the people here. His stylists wouldn't let him wear any makeup outside of small dots of concealer, and when he looked in the mirror, he just didn't see Sal.
Today was the last day. Possibly the last day of his life, certainly the last day before entering the arena. He had spent the last couple of weeks beefing up on Capitol food- steaks and potatoes and stews cooked with seasonings he had never tasted before- using the gym for three to five hours every single day, strategizing with Birdie in every free moment, and studying the things he thought would be important- knife throwing, basic defensive skills, poisonous plants. Despite all of this, he was not prepared. He would never be prepared, but at least he knew that now.
Today, he had a skills evaluation and an interview that would be over at 8 o'clock. Then he would say goodnight to Birdie- knowing that there was a possibility that it could also be goodbye- and try to get some sleep. He'd be awoken bright and early at 7, given clothes to change into, and sent into the arena. He knew exactly what he was headed towards. He had seen the arena in his dreams.
"Birdie, I have to tell you-"
"There's no way to know," Birdie said, cutting him off because of course, she didn't know about his dreams. "Let's just change out of these ridiculous costumes and go get our skills evaluations over with. Keep busy, you know?"
"Yeah, well, what if I get, like, a 2?" Sal said. He did not think he could take a low score.
"Katrina Williams, District 7. Won after getting a 1 on her skills evaluation. 20th annual Hunger Games," Birdie recited. "It doesn't matter."
"I guess. But then we won't get any sponsors."
"Speak for yourself!" Birdie teased with a laugh. "I plan on getting a twelve!"
"Oh, yeah?" Sal said, grinning in spite of himself. "What are you gonna show the Gamemakers? Connecting a couple wires? Modeling a circuit?"
"I was hoping to blow up the whole room," she said, smiling mischievously. "Send it up in flames! Go out with a bang!"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Sal said. "I won't last a second in that arena without you."
"Only reason I'm still here," Birdie said quietly.
Sal sighed "I know. But you're the one who's going to come back. Just agree with me at this point."
"Sal Conduct. Never in my life have I ever caved to anyone. I will not start now," Birdie said.
"Birdie Copair. Erm, thousands of times in my life I have caved to everyone. I will not, uh, keep doing that."
"Hm, not quite as convincing."
"Watch me," Sal said with a smile. He had to treat it lightly because it was so heavy.
"Well, then, macho man, let's go downstairs!" Birdie gestured to the pair of Avoxes that had showed up at the door. Sal felt deeply sad for the Avoxes- but then, he did not have the luxury of empathy anymore.
He walked beside Birdie in the hallways, footsteps echoing strangely, bouncing off the walls. He felt dizzy and lightheaded, but he did have some sort of a plan for what he would do when he stepped inside to the Training Center. He was aiming for a seven or eight- something that would not automatically make him a target, but would get him a couple sponsors, especially if he gave a good interview.
"Sal Conduct!" His name was called immediately, being alphabetically a couple letters before Birdie's. His heart pounded in his throat.
He stepped inside the room and immediately grabbed a knife, throwing it at the target on the wall. One, two, three knives hit the bulls eye. Nothing phenomenal, but he was a quick learner. He glanced over at the Gamemakers, who seemed almost bored.
How dare they be bored? Was this boring to them? He was about to die and they could not give him the decency of pretending to be impressed.
He threw away his plans for jumps and backflips and silly gymnastics, and sat down on the floor.
He cleared his throat.
"Hi, um."
A couple of the Gamemakers looked up lazily.
"My name is Sal Conduct. Which you know. I'm from District 3, you also know that, erm. But what you don't know is what I can tell you, about your arena."
Now they were interested. He took a deep breath.
"It's large, one of the larger ones you've made, and the middle of it is a swamp, bordered by forest. It's got quicksand in the middle, which I'm sure you're very proud of. Kill off a couple of people that way for sure. You've got a couple mutts, here and there, but you don't want a repeat of two years ago, when none of the children actually killed each other because of the mutts' aggression, so, you've gone a bit easy on us this time. There are a lot of hiding places, but you've also played with the acoustics to make it much easier to hear when people are nearby… all sources of water are too dirty to drink without being purified. You'll hydrate us by creating rainstorms."
"How do you know all of this?" the Head Gamemaker said, white-faced.
Sal had been banking on their knowledge that cheating on the hunger games, finding plans for the arena, was impossible. But he was still not entirely sure it wouldn't leave him beheaded when he said, "Oh, just a dream I had."
The timer on the Gamemakers' table rang. 15 minutes was up. Sal turned around and walked out.