Friends, I want to apologize for the lateness of this chapter, but I had a really rough weekend the 18th and 19th September when I was planning to do most of the work for this chapter. Weekends are generally the best time for me to write, as there are no classes and my homework is usually done by Friday. So for those wondering why the chapters come out pretty quick, it's because I sit in front of my computer for hours on Saturday and Sunday to complete a chapter. But, I caught some serious disease on the 18th and proceeded to throw up for the next twelve hours. Then I had residual respiratory sickness for the following week. In short, writing has been difficult for me recently, so please don't be too upset that the chapter's late. I really am sorry this wasn't completed sooner, so as consolation, this chapter is longer than usual, though that was mostly by accident.

Also, I thought I would address this now. I've seen in a few reviews that Rel is being referred to as Rei, and I thought that I would mention his name is spelled REL, just so it's clear to everyone, since he does have a POV in this chapter.

Anyway, continuing on to Training Day 2. This time, there's Capitol plot included with a couple of extra POVs. Should be fun.

Mr. Finch: 52M

Wednesday Evening 9:00PM
Time Until Bloodbath: 4 Days 11hrs

His soft leather dress shoes tapped rhythmically as he walked. Leather shoes were one of life's great pleasures in Finch's opinion. Not everyone had the opportunity to wear perfectly tailored designer clothes like he did. It was simply an unfortunate fact of life that not everyone could be rich as Finch was. And Finch was incredibly wealthy, even by Capitol standards.

That wealth afforded him certain privileges, like wearing excellent clothes.

It also gave him the ability to help out where he deemed necessary, like with the system he provided to the higherups of the Secret Intelligence Service. Yet, he felt deeply conflicted about his actions. Part of Finch's mind spoke up repeatedly, whispering to him that he was only exacerbating the issues he sought to rectify.

But, he knew in his heart that the violent methods of the anarchist terrorists weren't right, and he needed to do something to ease the conflict. Was giving the Capitol unfettered access to every citizen of Panem the correct decision to achieve his goals?

Finch shook himself and returned his attention to his surroundings. A flash of a face caught his eye. He remembered the face belonging to Devo, the SIS agent. The jaw was strong and square, and the hard eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses.

Finch hummed quietly to himself in thought. He took a turn at the next street corner, eyeing the windows of the building across the road. In the reflection of the window, Finch noticed Devo take the turn after him.

Despite the crowd of people around them, walking busily to their own respective destinations, it seemed that Finch and Devo were alone. Devo's eyes were glued to the back of Finch's head, leaving it obvious that Devo was following Finch. For what purpose, Finch didn't know.

He decided to play along with the little charade for the moment, pretending not to notice Devo. Finch had always been the paranoid sort, keeping his eyes on everyone and everything around him, hiding his identity and his true self. He liked to keep to himself, but the government types apparently couldn't pick up on that cue.

Finch took the next turn as well, ensuring that Devo was in fact following him before taking rash action. Devo did turn, once again Finch noticed through use of the street windows. Only, this time Devo smirked and nodded, apparently noticing Finch's awareness of his presence. Yet, he didn't care. His demeanor indicated nothing short of the utmost confidence.

Finch retrieved his phone from his pocket and quickly dialed a number. It rang three times before a voice spoke on the other end.

"Mansoor," it announced in a monotone. "Who is this?"

"This, Mr. Mansoor," Finch replied. "Is Mr. Finch, the man who provided you with a surveillance weapon capable of tracking any citizen of Panem."

"Ah, Mr. Finch! It is good to speak to you. I wanted to share just how pleased I was with the performance of your machine on Tuesday night, but I do have a few questions."

Mansoor's tone revealed nothing but a thin venire of social niceties. There was nothing genuine about the head of the SIS so far as Finch could tell.

"Save your questions Mr. Mansoor. That's not why I called. As a matter of fact, I'm sure you know exactly why we're having this conversation."

"I'm afraid you've lost me Mr. Finch. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Your man," Finch elaborated. "Agent Devo, which I know is not his real name, call him off."

"Mr. Finch I-"

"Cut the bullshit. You know exactly what I'm talking about. We discussed boundaries. When I gave you a means of contacting me it was not so you could send your goons after me."

Mansoor's end of the line was silent for a few moments. Finch could practically feel the irritation radiating through the phone.

"Fine. I'll call Devo off. Have a nice day Mr. Finch."

"Mr. Mansoor?" Finch spoke up, keeping the other man on the line. "In the future, remember, I'll call you, not the other way around."

Finch ended the call with Mansoor and slipped his phone back into his pocket just as Devo lifted his own phone from his pocket. Finch wouldn't put it past Mansoor to keep Devo, or some other agent Finch wouldn't recognize on his tail. He would have to be more careful in the future.

While Devo looked down at his phone, Finch waved for a passing taxi. The sleek black car pulled to an abrupt stop on the curb, and Finch climbed in the backseat. Too bad he wasn't getting a smoother driver, but beggars couldn't be choosers especially in situations like Finch's.

"Get me to 3rd and Lookingglass," Finch requested.

"You got it buddy," the driver replied without so much as a nod of acknowledgement at Finch's presence.

As the cab pulled away, Finch looked back to see a much bewildered Devo helplessly glancing back and forth, wondering where his charge had escaped to.

Peter Vogel District 12: 15M

Thursday Morning 7:00AM
Time Until Bloodbath: 5 Days 1hr

Last night's events replayed again in Peter's head. He continued to wonder just how things could have played out differently, but he knew there was little he could do. If only his arguments were better…

They all left last night, every last one of them except for the little girl from District 8. Mila Arkwright was the only one who gave Peter any hope at all. She promised him that she was completely on board, though she hadn't provided any personal reasons why.

Yet, Mila was the only one who had leant her support to Peter's grand plan, and she was only thirteen. Peter needed some older more physically capable tributes to back him up during the bloodbath. One career was too strong for Peter to handle alone. With Mila's help, Peter could maybe take down one of them, and Kendra had a chance of taking another one by herself. So, best case scenario, they could take two careers. Two out of six…

Peter groaned and rolled over in bed. He didn't want to get up for another day of training, not after his failure last night. All his hopes and dreams of changing this year's Hunger Games were shattered. Peter's wonderful gift of speech and persuasion hadn't earned him anything, all because of some swarthy looking guy from District 3.

A gentle knocking sounded through Peter's door. Peter ignored the noise, choosing to grumble to himself instead.

"Peter," Yew LaBrie's voice spoke. "Get up. You need to eat breakfast before training. I promise training on an empty stomach isn't fun."

Peter did not reply. He didn't want Yew's help.

"Hey," Yew continued. "I know you're upset, but you've got to keep your head in the game, because this is nothing compared to how you'll feel on Monday."

That was assuming he'd even be alive on Monday. Without his plan in place to take out the careers, he could become one of many victims during the bloodbath.

"Come on Peter. Don't give up yet. There's still a lot of work to do."

He knew his mentor was right, but willing himself to his feet seemed almost impossibly difficult.

Peter took in a fortifying breath and closed his eyes. It was time to get up. Mind over matter. He could make up for his mistakes. No one had ever told Peter he was a quitter, and he would be damned if he quit now of all times. He wasn't even in the arena yet.

"Coming," Peter called back. "I just slept in on accident. My bad."

Peter could almost feel Yew's disbelieving narrowed eyed glance through the door while he dressed.

"Breakfast is cooking right now," Yew said. "Don't be too long. It'll get cold."

Peter didn't have to be told twice. He shook himself, and it was only a few minutes later that Peter was sitting at the table along with the others eating breakfast.

"So how do you want to handle things then?" Kendra asked. "We only have one taker so far."

"Well, I'm going to talk to everyone until I manage to convince them to join us," Peter answered, trying to sound optimistic.

"Good for you," Courtney said. "I'm happy you're dealing with this well."

Peter smiled. If only she knew what was really going on inside his head.

"I'd try to talk to the more open-minded people," Kendra added. "Like the pair from five. They'd be good allies."

Peter said nothing, mulling over Kendra's words. It would be helpful to have anyone on board with the plan, but they really needed older stronger tributes.

"You disagree?" Kendra asked.

"No," Peter said. "You're right. We need to bring in anyone who's willing."

Peter took a bite of his eggs, chewing contentedly.

"Also," he continued. "I think you should train with Mila today Kendra."

The blonde glanced back at Peter with a slightly confused expression, obviously wondering why.

"Mila might be willing to work with us, but she's not exactly the posterchild for communication. We need to keep her comfortable and make sure she doesn't walk out on the alliance."

Kendra nodded, slipping a piece of sausage into her mouth.

"Plus, after the bloodbath, it wouldn't hurt to have her help."

"Good thinking Peter," Yew complimented. "But neither one of you can forget about your own training. Your plans and allies can only carry you so far."

"Yew's right," Courtney agreed. "Figure out everything you possibly can now because you don't want to figure those things out while you're in the arena."

Silence passed over their little group for a few moments. Peter chewed on his food staring into space thoughtlessly. He felt contemplative, but didn't know what to contemplate. It seemed that there was little more to think about. All that remained was the need for action, action that wouldn't be easy.

"Peter," Kendra spoke up. "It's time. Training starts in five minutes."

Time to act.

Brooke Fisher District 7: 13F

Thursday Morning 8:15AM
Time Until Bloodbath: 4 Days 23hrs 45mins

"I'm sure many of you are wondering why this is required training," Weidman said, her voice echoing in the indoor pool. "And the answer is I don't want you dying in the most embarrassing way possible. That makes for bad television."

Brooke heard a chuckle from her left. She glanced quickly in the direction but couldn't locate the face that made the sound.

"Uh…ma'am?" A voice to her right spoke hesitantly. "I uh…"

The voice trailed off as every eye in the room turned its attention toward the sound. The tall strong girl from District 10 stood with flaming red cheeks, completely embarrassed by the level of attention given to her exclusively.

"I…can't swim," she said.

A few laughs rang out around the room, most coming from the trainers, but some came from the tributes. Brooke recognized the loudest laugh as belonging to that asshole Scott Winston. She wasn't one to wish violence on others, but Brooke knew she wouldn't be sorry to see him go.

Next to her, Brooke could practically feel the anger radiating off Cassie's skin. The District 2 girl seemed like she was ready to throw down right that instant.

Weidman, who hadn't even visibly reacted to the ten girl's statement, smirked slightly, then spoke.

"You'd better learn fast then," Weidman replied.

"That's hardly fair," Cassie stepped forward and spoke up. "She doesn't even know how to swim and you're going to put her through some rigorous exercises?"

Weidman glared at Cassie. She huffed heavily, like a snorting bull would before charging.

"Need I remind you what happens when you step out of line Miss Dawson?" Weidman asked, only vaguely threateningly.

Cassie sucked in a breath, then exhaled, standing her ground.

"I won't get in unless you promise to teach her to swim," Cassie said.

Weidman's stare only intensified, as if she was attempting to burn Cassie to ash where she stood.

"Get back in line Dawson," Weidman threatened. "You won't enjoy the consequences otherwise."

"What right do you have to force her into compliance?" Another voice spoke up.

To no one's surprise, the ever-rebellious Tesler Valdes stepped forward as well. In contrast with the fiery expression of Cassie, Tesler's eyes displayed a cold arrogance that Brooke felt certain no one else could replicate.

"Not this again Valdes," Weidman groaned. "Step back in line, the both of you, or your punishment will be far more severe than what you are imagining now."

"Unless you teach Suzanne to swim, I'm not moving," Cassie stated strongly.

Brooke shrunk back away from the line of tributes, trying to keep herself as inconspicuous as possible. The last thing she wanted was to get herself in trouble.

"Fine then," Weidman said mildly detached. "Have it your way. Guards! Take them away!"

Cassie's anger seemed only to grow, though she didn't speak, while Tesler appeared just as confident as before.

Four peacekeepers entered the pool room, approaching Tesler and Cassie with steel batons buzzing with electricity. The group of tributes, save the rebels, backed away, leaving as much space between themselves and the peacekeepers as possible.

Two approached each tribute and made to cuff their wrists. Tesler complied with the demands of the peacekeepers, seeming to view the whole situation as an annoying inconvenience. Cassie meanwhile smacked the cuffs aside with a growl, only to be jabbed in the back with an electric baton.

She cried out and collapsed, her body twitching. A few moments later, the twitching stopped and was replaced by heavy breathing. One peacekeeper knelt down and cuffed her hands, then lifted her to her feet roughly.

The two were led from the room to the meek uncomfortable silence of the other tributes.

"Now," Weidman addressed them all at once. "Anyone else interested in taking a stand?"

No one spoke up, though Brooke could tell Suzanne appeared very uncomfortable. Her embarrassment was almost palpable.

"Good. Now get in the damn pool!"

Against her better judgement, Brooke got in right next to Suzanne. The older girl looked slightly terrified, and she wasn't the only one. Kendra clung to the wall for dear life, while Matt breathed quickly and heavily. His wife rubbed his shoulder consolingly while Matt nodded absent-mindedly.

They were ordered to swim laps. For most tributes it was tremendously difficult, as they didn't swim for long periods of time regularly. The tributes from four looked incredibly comfortable, and so did Jason and Santana. Only Kendra and Suzanne really struggled. Matt, despite his shaking, swam quite well.

After a short time, they were given a momentary rest against one wall of the pool. Suzanne took in great gasps of breath alongside Brooke, obviously struggling.

"It helps if you relax," Brooke spoke through her own heaving breaths. "You're learning really fast, but you need to calm down."

"Says the fish girl," Suzanne quipped. "You're barely trying, and here I am trying my hardest not to drown."

"I swim a lot. My parents own a fishing business."

"In District 7?"

Brooke nodded with a smile on her face. Pride surged in her belly at the surprise in Suzanne's voice. Knowing her family's accomplishments just made her all the more determined to return home.

"You're Brooke right?" Suzanne asked.

"That's me."

"Well Brooke, you can call me Butch, everyone else does."

"I can do that Butch."

Brooke smiled brightly as the order came to start swimming again. A few groans echoed around the pool, including from Butch's mouth.

"Say Brooke," Butch said. "Can you swim next to me? I think it would help to give me some encouragement."

"Alright, try to keep up," Brooke replied cheekily.

Butch grumbled and splashed her way across the pool, her clumsy strokes incredibly slow compared to even Brooke's casual pace. But Brooke maintained pace alongside Butch, throwing out tips and encouragement while the older girl struggled along.

Over the course of the training, Brooke noticed a marked improvement in Butch's swimming. In such a short period of time, Butch was already looking capable enough to at least keep herself from drowning if she fell into a lake. She only needed a little more practice, and Butch could be a pretty decent swimmer.

"You're learning really fast," Brooke complimented as they rested on the wall.

"Yeah, it only feels like I'm being waterboarded," Butch complained.

"You're doing great," Brooke said. "Just keeping working, and you could be pretty good by the time the Games come around."

Butch rolled her eyes and snorted in disbelief. Brooke sent her a beaming smile.

"I promise it's true. I'll help you out tomorrow. Hopefully that'll be enough."

Butch's expression brightened slightly.

"You know, I like you kid," Butch said, ruffling Brooke's hair. "You're alright."

"You're pretty cool too," Brooke agreed.

Butch chuckled lightly while the call to resume their swimming came again.

"Want to race?" Brooke asked.

Butch narrowed her eyes playfully at Brooke, then smirked.

"Why not?"

William Young District 9: 18M

Thursday Morning 9:30AM
Time Until Bloodbath: 4 Days 22hrs 30 mins

As William glanced around the room, he didn't see one person who didn't appear exhausted, save the tributes from four and the girl from seven. They looked fresh as daisies after their dive into the pool. Meanwhile, everyone else sat at the lunch tables trying to regain their breath. Scott lay on top of one of the tables, seemingly his perpetual location after the group training sessions.

He set his attention to his breathing. Taking in deep breaths and exhaling repeatedly. Roslyn had encouraged his preparation for the Games, and William felt reasonably ready, but even so, these exercises took a lot out of him.

Thinking of Roslyn brought another concern to his mind, that being that he hadn't seen her since leaving District 9. Roslyn had been at his side since he was fourteen years old, constantly reminding him of the challenges to come, but now that the challenges had finally arrived, Roslyn was nowhere to be found.

She was a nature spirit, so maybe she was simply having trouble reaching him in the urban environment. Honestly, William didn't have a clue why, but it unnerved him, leaving an unsettled feeling in his stomach.

"Hey there," A voice spoke from over his shoulder. "You mind if I sit?"

William started and whirled around, having been totally lost in his own head. The voice belonged to Peter, the kid who invited all of them to the District 12 apartment last night. From what William knew, his plan had fallen flat.

"Go ahead," William gestured nonchalantly to the spot next to him on the bench.

Peter slid onto the bench, displaying a calm but confident aura. William found it odd that a kid his age was so sure of himself when so many others like him were not.

"What do you think happened to Tesler and Cassie?" Peter asked casually.

William found the question rather odd. He doubted very much that Peter sat next to him just to talk about the removal of their compatriots from the training center.

"Who knows?" William answered the question anyway. "But I don't think their drinking Pina Coladas."

Peter smiled slightly and chuckled.

"You're probably right."

William did not engage Peter with a question, once again opting to wait for his younger companion to speak. It didn't take long either.

"So I wanted to talk to you about last night," Peter said. "You left without making a commitment. I wanted to ask you what you thought about joining in?"

William remained silent for a moment, thinking over his response. He wasn't exactly sure what to think about Peter's idea, but he didn't think the answer was as simple as 'yes I'm in'. It seemed to him that there was more to consider, like 'what's the point anyway?'

"You seem hesitant," Peter continued. "Can I try to convince you?"

Peter's face appeared completely genuine. He was a pretty good kid, smart too.

"Sure, why not?"

"You're a pretty big guy, right?"

William actually laughed out loud at Peter's seemingly ridiculous question. The answer was so obviously yes that William found the question hilarious.

"Exactly," Peter beamed. "You're a big strong guy. You could probably hang with one of the careers in a fight. So, think about this: imagine we take out all the careers. You'd be the strongest tribute in the arena. I don't think any of the others could beat you in a fight. That's enticing, am I right?"

William couldn't lie to himself. It was enticing to think of himself as the man to beat. Yet, he still said nothing.

"Okay," Peter continued. "I can see you're not quite convinced. Maybe you're warming a little bit, but you aren't all the way there yet.

"Let's just say you have a lot of potential. But that potential is only truly realized when the Games follow a particular course of events. All I'm saying is there's a lot for you to gain by joining us."

William remained silent for a long moment, considering his response. Eventually, when he did speak he had Peter's full attention. The kid really wanted to show him that he cared. Peter would make a damn good salesman.

"Why do you want me so badly?" William asked. "I haven't seen you talking to anyone else like this."

Now it was Peter's turn to fall into silence while many of the other tributes wandered toward training stations. William was beginning to think it was about time he joined them, but something about Peter's offer kept his ass glued to the bench.

"I'll be honest with you," Peter said, his suave salesman's tone now transformed into one of vulnerability. "We haven't been really successful so far. There's only three of us, and only one of us is eighteen. We really want to make this happen, but without bigger bodies, it might not be possible.

"We need you William, because we don't really have any fighters aside from Kendra," Peter continued. "And, having you on board would be huge. We need more fighters to even up the numbers at the bloodbath. Otherwise, we don't have a chance in hell."

William eyed Peter, and despite his strongest attempts, he was unable to prevent the empathy building inside him. He felt bad for Peter, that this dream he had coming into the training center had fallen apart so completely. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing to support him.

"Ah," Peter waved a hand through the air. "Sorry to bother you with all this. Nobody else has wanted anything to do with this idea. Sorry for wasting your time William."

Peter stood and turned from William, walking off to join his district partner.

"Peter," William spoke up.

The kid turned back in surprise, his eyes displaying a flash of hope through the ocean of sorrow there.

"I'm in," William said. "You need muscle. I can be your muscle."

Peter practically bounced over to William, unable to contain his happiness. His face was split in a joker-like grin as he wrapped William in a bear hug. He could squeeze pretty hard for a skinny kid.

"Thank you so much," Peter gushed. "You have no idea what this means to me."

William smiled back.

"I think I can tell," he said.

Cassie Dawson District 2: 17F

Thursday Morning 11:00AM
Time Until Bloodbath: 4 Days 21 hrs

This was not how she imagined her trip to the Capitol for the Hunger Games at all. Spending time in a cell was not helpful to her in any way.

Cassie felt herself growing angrier and angrier. She was losing out on precious training time all because of the cruelty of the Capitol trainers. Now she couldn't work with her fellow careers on strategy, and she was missing the opportunity to build rapport with her teammates.

She slammed her hands against the bars of the cell. They clanged but sounded sturdy. The bars on the cell definitely weren't going to move anywhere.

"That's not going to do anything," Tesler spoke from behind her.

Cassie sighed and turned to face her cellmate. He lay back on a steel bench, his eyes locked on the ceiling and his legs crossed.

"Why don't you sit down and relax? We're obviously not going anywhere."

Cassie did not want to sit down and relax. She wanted to walk right out of this cell. She turned back to the bars and continued looking for weaknesses in the metal while Tesler snorted at her action.

"If we can get out of here I'm going to do it," Cassie said. "I'm walking right back into the training center and I'm going to beat Weidman's ass."

"And then the twenty peacekeepers in that room will beat your ass," Tesler quipped back. "That's not going to do anything but make it impossible for you to walk out of the Bloodbath alive."

Cassie sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Annoyingly, Tesler was right, but it didn't make her angry for him to explain where her thinking was incorrect.

"Tell you what Cassie," Tesler continued. "If they don't let us out by one, we'll try to escape."

"Retrace our steps on the way in here," Cassie nodded. "I think between us we could figure out the right way to go, even if we were blindfolded on the way in."

"Sure," Tesler agreed noncommittally. "So sit down and relax for a bit."

Cassie did sit down with her back against the wall, and, following Tesler, she closed her eyes trying to relax.

She wondered how the others were doing in their training. Hopefully Santana hadn't caused a ruckus with her team. Cassie was still slightly unsure of their decision to remove Santana. Maybe they should have given him another couple of days to calm down first, or maybe they could have worked out some other way to remove him that would have left less animosity between them. They could've even killed him at the bloodbath, as morbid as it was to think that.

Her mind turned to the other non-career tributes, of which there were more threatening ones than usual. There was the bullfighter Rel, the ranch hand Butch, the big quiet guy William, the fiery boxer Tanya, all of whom were threatening. Just by looking at each of them, Cassie got the impression that they could fight with her one-on-one. They probably couldn't win, but they could put up a fight.

Yet, an odd feeling in her gut told Cassie that the most threatening tribute she would have to face wouldn't even be Santana. She got the feeling that the very man sharing the cell with her would be more problematic than any of them.

It was odd, because she hadn't really seen Tesler do much of anything other than the group exercises, which he did perform well in. Something about his demeanor told her everything she needed to know. Plus, in talking with him, his intelligence became obvious.

Cassie opened her eyes and looked at the boy from three. He seemed totally relaxed, never thrown off balance, and never out of his element.

She grumbled to herself and shook her head. Why was she focusing her thoughts on her cellmate? She was supposed to be relaxing.

But Cassie couldn't relax. That was something that had never come easy to her. Her mind was constantly exploding, creating new ideas and searching for answers to her questions. There was never a time to rest.

"I can see the smoke coming out of your ears," Tesler said, his eyes lazily staring at her.

Cassie groaned again.

"I can't turn my brain off," Cassie replied frustrated. "Relaxing is harder than working."

Tesler smirked and shook his head slightly.

"I know the feeling."

"You're the one who told me I should relax, and now you're telling me you can't?"

"I try," Tesler said resignedly. "It never works. Too much going on up here." He tapped his temple with a knowing expression on his face.

"Then what are we doing sitting around waiting for the fucking beasts from hell to come back?" Cassie questioned, propelling herself to her feet quickly.

"It's not like there's anything we can do in here."

"We could at least try to get out before they come back to torture us with their bullshit. I seriously can't believe they'd do this. Wait, scratch that. I can. They take kids from their homes and throw them into an arena of death."

"I'd try to keep your complaints to a minimum," Tesler advised seriously.

"Why should I?" Cassie shot back hotly, spinning around. "They already locked us in a fucking prison cell."

"Big brother is always watching."

"What?"

Tesler rolled his eyes and chuckled mirthlessly to himself.

"I forgot they don't have books in District 2," Tesler quipped. "But, the point is that they might hear you and send all kinds of mutts your way in the arena."

"Not like they weren't going to do that anyway."

Tesler shrugged, as if saying 'Do whatever you want. I don't care.'.

"Well," he said. "At least your heart's in the right place even if your ideas are a bit lackluster."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means we're on the same side Cassie, and this argument is only hurting us."

Tesler's intense stare caught her eyes, and she found herself unable to keep from staring back. The brown eyes seemed to burn a hole straight into the deepest part of her. Cassie could almost feel their souls touching, and she found them to be more similar than she ever could have imagined. They fit together perfectly, like the final piece completing a puzzle.

The hissing sound of an automatic door opening broke them from their eye lock. Cassie gasped sharply and turned away from Tesler as quickly as she could, though she repeatedly glanced back then looked away just as quickly, as if he was burning her eyes.

"You're being released," A peacekeeper spoke. "Weidman's orders. She says if you try anything like that again, there will be far more serious consequences."

Cassie nodded, still breathless from her moment with Tesler. She had never experienced anything like that before. Cassie shook herself, trying to regain her focus as best she could.

They were led from the cell with blindfolds over their eyes and handcuffs on their wrists. When the peacekeepers removed the blindfold from her face, Cassie found herself standing in the center of the training room.

The other tributes were just leaving the lunch tables while avoxes cleared away the dishes. Cassie rubbed her wrists as the handcuffs fell away.

"And we don't even get to eat lunch," Tesler complained. "Fucking assholes."

Tessa Scotch District 11: 18F

Thursday Afternoon 1:00PM
Time Until Bloodbath: 4 Days 19hrs

"You want me to what?" She questioned incredulously.

"You need to know how to fight," Matt insisted. "The best way to do that is for me to teach you to use a knife."

"But you just said you wanted to teach me how to kill people."

"Well, what other choice do you have? If you're going to make it home, you're going to have to kill someone. It's basic math."

"That's a big deal though, and you're saying it like you were deciding whether to eat a Granny Smith apple or a Honey Crisp apple."

Matt gripped Tessa's shoulder tightly as he took a short but sharp looking knife from a rack on the wall.

"Think about Jonas Tessa. You have to make it back to him," Matt stared into her eyes seriously.

"What about you? Jonas can't grow up without a father."

"He needs his mother more. That's why I'm here."

"We wouldn't even be having this conversation if you hadn't volunteered. Jonas would have his father with him at home right now," Kendra hissed.

"What was I supposed to do? Leave you alone?"

"I don't know! But you don't need to be here."

Matt sighed and closed his eyes, trying to reign in his anger. Tessa recognized that face. It was the one he made when he was trying desperately not to punch a wall.

"We agreed to focus on getting one of us home. No fighting. Someone needs to go home. So can we focus on the knife fighting now?"

Tessa sighed now, nodding to herself. She hated that they were in this position. It was so wrong, so cruel, and Matt had only made it worse by volunteering. Yet, deep down, despite her anger, she was grateful for his presence. He kept her anchored down when she could easily be losing control now.

"You're right," she said. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Matt replied. "This isn't easy for either of us. Sometimes I forget this is harder on you because you didn't choose to be here."

Tessa sent Matt a small smile of thanks and took the knife from his hand.

Matt began guiding her through a few basic strokes, having her perform them in the air first before turning to the dummies. Tessa clenched her jaw and her abs every time the knife pierced the skin of the dummy as the blood spurted outward. She tried to dodge it as best she could, but inevitably ended up dripping the sticky red liquid in multiple places.

"You mind if we use this one?" A chipper female voice asked.

Tessa turned from her own dummy to see Brooke alongside Butch, standing in front of the dummy next to them. Butch held a long knife in her hand while Brooke looked anticapative.

"Sure, go ahead," Matt waved his hand nonchalantly through the air.

"Thanks!" Brooke smiled widely.

Tessa watched as Butch took her swings at the dummy. The ranch hand looked quite capable with a blade. It made Tessa feel just a little insecure about her own performance.

"Don't worry about her," Matt said. "You're making good progress."

"Yeah…" Tessa replied, still watching Butch.

Then, shockingly to Tessa Brooke picked up a smaller knife and began her own practice against another of the dummies. Her movements were jerkier than Butch's, but she was fast and she too seemed to be comfortable with a knife in her hand.

Tessa grumbled and turned back to Matt.

"What did you think about Peter's plan last night?" She asked, wanting to put her focus on anything but knife fighting.

"I don't think it's a good idea for us," Matt answered, his eyes locked on the two still practicing with their knives. "Too risky. We need to make sure we survive, so the best plan for us is to stay as far away from other tributes as possible. Hopefully we'll be left alone long enough to survive."

Tessa nodded to herself. Matt's reasoning made sense. She had no real leaning in either direction regarding Peter's plan. She just wanted to keep her mind off her practice, which she was obviously abysmal at.

"Hey," Matt said. "I told you not to worry about it too much, okay? Seriously, it doesn't matter how good they are."

"It does if I have to fight one of them."

Matt laughed and rolled his eyes. Tessa did not laugh. She couldn't consider this a time where laughter was appropriate by any stretch of the imagination.

"What about other allies then?" Tessa asked, still not really interested in the answer.

"I don't know," Matt said. "Maybe…if they were the right people."

"Who's the right people?"

"We'll find out I guess, now give me the knife, I want to practice a bit."

Tessa handed the knife over to Matt, happy to stand back and watch her husband go to work. His form was excellent, and thanks to all those years of killing animals in the woods, Matt's footwork was unbelievably smooth and light.

"Woah!" Brook cried out in surprise watching Matt. "I think you might be as good as Butch."

Butch glared at Brooke with a slightly offended look on her face. Matt just smiled and wiped his brow as he danced around the dummy.

"It's not like this thing moves," he joked. "It's not hard."

"You should totally join Butch and I's alliance," Brooke said excitedly. "You guys would be great allies."

"Brooke…" Butch said slowly. "I don't think that's a good idea. We don't even know them."

"And I didn't even know you before this morning," Brooke replied.

Butch groaned and facepalmed while Brooke stared expectantly back and forth between Tessa and Matt. Her eyes were huge and round, like an irresistible puppy.

"I uh…" Matt started awkwardly rambling, obviously unsure of where he was going with his words. "Well, I mean, it could…I don't know, but-"

"That sounds like a great idea to me," Tessa jumped in to rescue Matt.

Her husband turned his eyes toward her in shock and slight frustration.

"Tessa, I thought it was just us," he hissed lowly.

"Matt, they're obviously not bad people," Tessa insisted. "Come on, what kind of psychopath would be in an alliance with a little kid and putting up with it this well. And you're insane if you think Brooke here is evil."

Tessa smiled kindly in Brooke's direction. The girl beamed back.

"Yes!" She cheered. "This is going to be great!"

Brooke dashed up to Matt and gave him a tight hug. Matt shrunk back clumsily trying to push Brooke away without hurting her but failing miserably. Tessa laughed at his plight.

"Oh alright," Matt sighed heavily, as he finally managed to work his way free from Brooke's grasp.

"I guess that makes us allies then," Tessa commented lightly to Butch.

"I guess so," the muscular girl responded with a hint of good-natured annoyance to her voice.

Nebraska Wilmington District 6: 16M

Thursday Afternoon 3:00PM
Time Until Bloodbath: 4 Days 17hrs

Nebraska quite comfortably worked at the shelter building station all by himself. There was no one around, no one to bother him or detract from his ability to focus on his task. Nebraska preferred it that way. He was always a bit of a lone wolf. Sure, he had friends, but they had only broken through to him after years of surface level communication.

He wondered how Turbo, Axel, and Wrench were doing now. They were probably still locked up in jail at the mercy of the peacekeepers. Nebraska was no wordsmith and had not the words to describe just how he felt about the situation of his friends. They were forced into a dangerous life, merely by the fact that there was little they could do to advance their own station in life. They were pinned down by the Capitol mandated school system and shitty public housing projects they grew up in. Meanwhile, by means of exploiting the populace they swore to serve, the district politicians and Capitolites lived easy comfortable lives, where they lacked little in comparison to the average citizen of Panem.

It was frustrating and cruel that people weren't granted the opportunity to seek their own fortunes through legal means. The only way anyone had a chance of forming a successful life that didn't sacrifice their individuality was by going beyond the law.

The final piece of Nebraska's shelter fell into place, lining up decently with the rest of the structure. He knew by watching a few other tributes working at this station over the last couple days that he was far from the best shelter builder around. But, his work, while not perfect or beautiful like Tessa's or Edison's, was good enough to sleep in.

Nebraska's shelter was a simple teepee like structure, the walls made of canvas forming a conic shape wrapped around sturdy sticks. Nebraska very much doubted he would find any canvas in the arena, but maybe, if he was lucky enough, he could be sponsored some. Though, once again, Nebraska doubted he would be a favored tribute among sponsors. He had a few very specific skills, none of which were particularly exciting but would hopefully keep him alive. If there was one thing Nebraska knew he would be good at, it was clinging to life against all odds.

"That looks like you turned a rat's ass inside out!"

Nebraska sighed. There was only one person here in the training center who could create that mocking derisive tone in such a capricious manner.

Scott Winston wandered around in front of Nebraska, an amused expression on his face, like he viewed Nebraska as a lesser human incapable of matching up to Scott's own sense of self-worth.

"Seriously man," Scott pinched the canvas making up the wall of Nebraska's teepee. "What the hell do you think this is? You think you're going to get a participation trophy or something."

Nebraska simply met Scott's attacks with an indifferent stare. Retorts built in his mind, but he had no desire to voice them. Usually that only worsened the situation, Nebraska had found. Generally, it was best to avoid all forms of conflict if possible. That kept him safe, and it kept his important relationships intact.

Scott quite obviously didn't find Nebraska's understanding of conflict to be even remotely correct. The District 8 boy thrived on conflict. It was his safe place, the only way he could understand reality.

"That's probably the shittiest fucking teepee I've ever seen," Scott continued trying to egg a reaction out of Nebraska. "How long did you even spend on it? Two minutes?"

Nebraska shrugged his shoulders and met Scott's gaze evenly. There was nothing he needed to say to respond to his attacker. Nothing he said would make any difference.

"You're just going to let me insult your work like that. Get tough man!"

Scott's face was turning visibly red from all the shouting, and he was drawing attention from the other tributes in the training center. His loud voice sure could draw attention from all corners of the Earth.

Nebraska noticed the career group desperately trying to hold back Cassie, who had already faced punishment once today. Murchad from District 4 stood in front of her, blocking her path to Scott while Tyto wrapped an arm around her from behind, whispering something calming to her.

Scott meanwhile continued his tirade, looking like he was going to pass out now.

"So you're just a little bitch?! Come on! Stand up for yourself! Isn't that what they always tell you to do when this happens? Come at me! I ain't a bitch!"

Scott slapped his chest while Nebraska stood across from him substantially confused. He knew Scott wasn't going to fight him. For all his bravado, Nebraska knew he wasn't stupid. Scott knew what would happen if he attacked Nebraska physically.

So that left the obvious question, why was Scott even doing this? Nebraska wasn't one to consider questions all too deeply, and he chalked the answer up to Scott being Scott. He was an antagonistic person, and antagonistic people looked for excuses to fight people. Scott didn't strike Nebraska as the type to get in fistfights. He seemed more like the kind that wanted to psychologically torment others just because he could.

Then, with a vicious whistling through the air, and arrow flew right past Scott's nose and buried itself in the dirt three feet from Nebraska's teepee. Scott jumped up in shock and screeched in fright. The sound was so antithetical to the malicious words coming from his mouth previously that it was humorous.

The room erupted in laughter, some voices howling from the sheer hilarity and others chuckling lightly. Nebraska was one of the chucklers.

Scott's eyes whipped around the room, noticing that even the trainers were laughing, and Weidman herself bore a small, amused smirk on her face. His face turned beet red, then Scott stomped off with his head bowed in shame and embarrassment. The automatic doors into the apartment lobby closed with an anticlimactic hiss behind him.

It was only then that Nebraska noticed who had fired the arrow that had broken up the conflict. His own district partner Liz nodded with a characteristically determined look on her face. Nebraska smiled and sent a nod of his own in return, watching as Liz discretely placed her bow back on the wall and moved to a different training station so as not to be noticed.

Nebraska thought he saw a small smile grace Liz's serious face for the first time since he'd met her. It was good to know that, even though they weren't necessarily allies, they could still have each other's backs somewhat.

Tabby Gold District 1: 18F

Thursday Night 10:00PM
Time Until Bloodbath: 4 Days 10hrs

Tabby liked to think she could hold her liquor. She'd been to her fair share of parties, mostly paid for by her parents and drank plenty at said parties. But, now spending time with her allies, she saw that her understanding of what it meant to hold your liquor was vastly lacking.

Tyto Winter was a machine. He'd taken down at least ten shots in just about fifteen minutes, and he seemed less drunk than Tabby felt. She'd only had four.

The others appeared in various different states due to the alcohol, with Eydis looking the worst. Tabby actually felt bad for the girl. She quite obviously hadn't been much of a drinker back in four. Tyto somehow looked to be the most sober of all of them.

"So I was telling him there was a giant spider on his face, but he didn't believe me," Murchad rambled on with his story. "He just rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, and the spider started trying to crawl inside his ear. I guess he must've felt it because he jumped about five feet in the air screaming like a little kid. Then, he smacked his ear to kill the spider, but it had jumped off his head, so he just smacked himself in the head.

"Then he started running around the room like he was possessed. He woke up every kid in the barracks until my buddy Kai chucked a shoe at him. It hit him right in the face, and I thought he was going to fight Kai on the spot. Then…" Murchad took in deep breaths, trying to keep himself from laughing. "Kai looked at him and said, 'The Spider's on your other ear', and it was. Anyway, after a bit, he managed to get the spider off his head and kill it. He made us all run the obstacle course three times and do an hour of calisthenics before breakfast the next morning. We all made fun of him the whole time, so he just kept adding exercises and we missed breakfast, but it was so damn funny that it didn't even matter."

The others either bore amused expressions or laughed outright at the sheer hilarity of Murchad's story. Tabby had been to academy boot camp before, but only once. Thanks to her parents, she managed to get out of the yearly requirement, and not a day went by when Tabby didn't thank them for that.

"So, that's my boot camp story," Murchad concluded, taking a drink of his whiskey. "Anybody else have one? Cassie and I shared. What about you Jason? You've got to have something funny to talk about. I mean imagine the robot at boot camp. You probably didn't have any issues with any of the drill instructors."

A reminiscent smirk crept across Jason's face. Tabby was frankly shocked. She was with Murchad. There was no possible way Jason, Mr. Prodigy, the golden boy, could have ever had a bad run in with drill instructors. She couldn't imagine him doing anything less than completing every single drill completely perfectly on the first try.

"No way," Eydis spoke up with disbelief. "I couldn't imagine you being the rebel in boot camp."

"Well," Jason said. "Turns out the instructors don't exactly like it when you say you shouldn't be punished for mistakes someone else made."

"You argued with a drill instructor?" Cassie questioned. "I thought I was the only one here who had."

"What happened?" Murchad asked.

"We were doing a team exercise, and one of our teammates wasn't exactly the most motivated," Jason replied. "Basically, he was a lazy ass, and we all paid for it. I tried to argue that we shouldn't be punished for someone else's laziness, but it didn't go too well. I figured out pretty quick that arguing with them didn't do anything but make the situation worse."

"Damn," Murchad exclaimed. "That's pretty unfortunate man. I had one of those too."

"Same," Tabby lied.

She hadn't really been in a situation like that, but she wanted to be able to relate to the others.

"Can't say that's ever happened to me," Tyto said as he threw back another shot of whiskey. "But, the supervisor at the lumber yard where I work does beat the slackers with a baton."

"That seems unnecessarily cruel," Cassie commented. "Especially since they probably didn't sign up for that."

"Ain't like there's much I can do about it," Tyto returned with a shrug as more brown whiskey trickled into his glass.

Tabby wasn't exactly sure how things worked in District 7, but she imagined that the lumber business was probably run by the Capitol. She wondered what the supervisor's reasoning was, surely there was some sort of logic behind it? She wondered if Tyto's words were even true. The Capitol wouldn't punish its citizens who hadn't committed crimes worth punishing.

"How bad were the guys slacking?" Tabby questioned.

"Don't know," Tyto answered. "I mostly focus on my own work."

Tabby hummed to herself, noticing how smoothly Tyto avoided the question. He appeared to provide an answer without saying anything truly meaningful. Tyto really could hold his liquor if he could dodge a question that smoothly.

"I dare you to do another shot Cassie," Murchad spoke up, apparently bored that the brunette hadn't taken a drink for a while.

Cassie rolled her eyes, "What do I get out of this, anything?"

"I'll do one with you," Tyto offered.

"You just want to do another shot," Cassie said. Then she sighed and rolled her eyes again, "Fine."

Cassie downed her whiskey in a single gulp, then burped and hiccupped simultaneously seconds after she put the cup down.

They all laughed, thankful that they had cleared the air from the tension earlier in the day.

Between Cassie's being reprimanded and them spending time together on the District 2 floor to stay away from Santana, Tabby was surprised that things hadn't gone worse for the alliance. But, they managed to talk things out after Cassie returned to the training center in the afternoon.

Now, it seemed things were returning to normal, and maybe getting a little better too, given their easy conversation. Even Tyto didn't seem so bad to work with, though Tabby figured that was probably the alcohol talking. She decided she didn't care if it was. They were finally coming together as a team, and not a moment too soon.

Rel Imperatore District 10: 18M

Friday Early 1:00AM
Time Until Bloodbath: 4 Days 7hrs

Rel lay back staring at the night sky, thinking over the past few days. So much had happened in so short a time. Leonder's corruption and request to make Rel his heir, his stepping in to save Leotor from his father's savagery, the frequent fights with Butch on the train ride, the chariot rides where he finally had a chance to be himself and show off in front of a crowd, his brief connection with Wayne, the time in the training center, and above all his meeting Santana.

That man eluded the power of Rel's rationality to understand. Santana was like lightning in a bottle, caught only for a brief moment, contained and controlled, but wild and uncontrollable the next instant. He was impossible to pin down, shifting and changing before Rel even had a chance to adapt to Santana's current form.

Yet, there was something enticing, almost seductive about Santana. Rel couldn't explain it, after all he was more of a physical showman than a verbal one.

He sighed softly, wishing he could see the stars. Rel loved the sparkling lights in the sky. Every time he looked at them, he gained a sense of the grandeur of the universe. He liked to imagine the sky was an arena and the constellations the combatants. Alas, there were no constellations in sight. There was only the neon light of the Capitol's tall buildings.

For the first time since his arrival, Rel wondered whether he would really see the night sky again. Was the sky in the arena even the real sky, or was it a projection on the top of a dome that contained the arena? But maybe it didn't matter if it wasn't real so long as it gave him the feeling of seeing the constellations?

"I guess you couldn't sleep either."

The words reached Rel's ears, but they were toneless, irrelevant, almost like they were floating to him over a gentle breeze. The voice barely seemed tangible, holding an ethereal quality.

"No," Rel answered the voice simply.

The light polluted sky still absorbed his attention, but as the body which owned the voice moved closer to him, the presence became unmistakable to him. Rel did not need to lay eyes on the body to recognize its signature lazy stride and whimsical aura.

"Is it Butch again?"

"No. Just caught up in my own head I guess."

"That doesn't sound like you Rel."

Rel agreed. It wasn't like him. He was usually rather attached to the world and its goings on. Philosophy wasn't really his jam, and neither was overthinking issues with simple results. That was why he was such a great bullfighter. To fight a bull, one had to understand the way the animal viewed the world, and it wasn't through a deeply contemplative lens. A bull saw you as an aggressor, a man stepping somewhere he did not belong, and Rel saw the bull as an animal would see a bull. He saw it as prey, a target to be eliminated.

"Do you ever wonder what you would look like if you were a constellation, Santana?" Rel asked absent-mindedly, his eyes still facing the sky.

"I can't say I have Rel," Santana's reply came with a light humor to it, not intended to create laughs but intended to create comfort in Rel.

"I'd like to think that I'll be up there one day, when I'm not around anymore. Maybe I'll be riding a bull, locked in eternal combat with my eternal nemesis."

"That's pretty dramatic of you."

Santana's smile could be heard. Rel did not need to look to know the expression Santana bore. It was a smile so casual, so easily held, that one could mistake it for his natural facial expression. Rel knew better though, he recognized that smile as one borne of years of constant practice. Santana was as much an actor in a strange land as he was.

"Not that that's unusual though," Santana added as he lay back on the concrete roof next to Rel. "You're a pretty dramatic guy."

Rel smiled to himself at Santana's words. He supposed he could be a bit dramatic with his extravagant manner of dressing and flamboyant attitude, but tonight he didn't the same visceral need for exuberance.

"Maybe I'd be a dragon," Santana answered Rel's question. "I think that would be pretty cool."

"Much less dramatic than I expected coming from you."

Together they laughed. Their voices seemed to speak as one entity coming from two sets of lips while the spirit of joy entered them both simultaneously.

Eventually, after a few moments, their laughing calmed and was replaced by comfortable silence instead. Rel could capture exactly what Santana was conveying to him without words. They communicated by a higher medium in that moment, the medium of spirit.

"I only wish we could see the stars," Rel pronounced, breaking the short silence. "Too many goddamn neon signs."

"But you can see them," Santana replied with a touch of confusion in his voice, though once again, Rel could detect his acting voice speaking, and not his true voice.

"Where?" Rel questioned sarcastically.

"Everywhere," Santana answered so low it was almost a whisper.

Rel turned to Santana in confusion, then noticed his eyes to be closed.

"Close your eyes Rel, and you'll see the stars."

Rel turned his head back towards the sky, giving the bright neon colors one last look before following Santana's direction.

Behind his eyelids there was only blackness. There were no stars. There was no light.

Rel desperately willed the stars to appear, not wanting to disappoint Santana. He didn't want to lie to the red-haired man. Rel wouldn't do that to Santana. He was more than the other people in his life. Santana meant more, and he was worth more. Rel would not debase his interactions with Santana, treating him as he would treat any other man who walked the street.

Then, like a butterfly landing delicately against a flower, Rel felt a brush against his lips. It was soft, tender, loving in nature. The sensation showed him all that which he could not see.

There they were, the stars, flashing before his eyes. But rather than sit stagnant in the center of his vision, he watched them fly by his eyes as he himself flew through them. Rel was no longer a spectator. He was a part of the theater in the sky.

Rel felt the pressure of warm flesh pushing harder against his lips, and he accepted the touch gratefully. Santana's unmistakable presence pressed against Rel's prone form, and the brightness of the stars only intensified.

Santana finally pulled away from the kiss, leaving Rel gasping for breath.

"I saw them, the stars. I saw them, Santana."

Okay friends! We have finally reached the completion of Training Day 2! I will say, that, once I finally got to a point where I was able to work on this, I felt really good about my writing. The words just seemed to flow out in a way they hadn't before. Not sure what to attribute that too, but I am going to try my hardest to keep that feeling around.

So, some wild stuff happened in this chapter. A new alliance was formed, conflicts with the trainers intensified, and some interesting relationship developments took place. Then, there was the Capitol POV. Got to love the overzealous bureaucrats trying to seize a bit of extra power.

I'd love to hear your thoughts on this one. I really love reading your reviews. It means a lot to know I have readers who are really invested in the plot of this story. And, I assure you, if you think what's happened so far is wild, then you'll be blown away when we get to the arena.

Thanks for reading ya'll.

-Red