And we are finally here, at the Private Sessions! Again, I'm sorry for the wait, my hammie (hammy?) forced me to make up multiple tests from school that I missed. And a slight lack of motivation. I'm not dead though, in case you were wondering.

This time around, however, I broke my leg Saturday. So I'm working to finish this today, worst case scenario Monday or Tuesday.

Maybe, once I finish the interviews, I can fall away from the repetitiveness and actually dive right in to launch.

Reviews!

Mystical Pine Forest: I agree, three Victors in a row is a little excessive, and I'm surprised I haven't already had it happen. But this year, a Victory from most any District will have some historical significance, because I don't want anybody thinking I rigged the Games.

dreams and desperation: I think that it is a relatively safe guesstimate, but you never know, I suppose. I don't like him very much.

Wolfie McCoy: It was great to hear from you again, friend! I've missed you!

TranscendentElvenRanger: I think everyone hopes they're wrong XD Except, of course, my brother, who created Mason. He's already trying to convince me how he could come out on top in his final battle between himself and the other Careers… He's a silly little bird.

roses burning: Life is the Hunger Games, obviously. Why'd you ask? ;)

Clis2339: I know, it's strange, huh? Twenty-five sent home in a cardboard box, their submitters grieving and wondering where it went wrong. And one lucky person, with the one tribute who was strong enough, smart enough, more skillful than the others, a true Victor. I will never forget any of these tributes, though, trust me.

In Forest of Death: The 54th Hunger Games, my only remaining tribute, Atalanta, has made the Top 11, having been confirmed to survive Day 11 (at least to the death recap). If you haven't yet checked it out, make sure you do that. It's a great story, and super realistic. I have multiple links in my bio if you need help finding it.

Also, the author of Forest of Death, TranscendentElvenRanger, has opened up submissions for Toxic Play: The 55th Hunger Games. You can find more info on her profile.


Mars Viking, Age 20, Capitol

Head Gamemaker


This has always been my least favorite part of my job, the one that takes freaking six and a half hours of just sitting there and doing nothing. The beginning is usually interesting, with the Career Districts and the showing off of their skills, but then we reach the inevitable point of which nobody can do anything interesting anymore. And, of course, there's the fact that the tributes who catch the eyes of the Gamemakers usually make it furthest.

I look around at my assembled Gamemakers, most of them chatting with others in their departments about what they'll be doing tonight, or where they'll be once they aren't needed until next year. Most are ordering around the avoxes, if only to laugh at their hurriedness.

I look up at the clock, groaning as I realize that the tributes still have a few minutes for lunch before we can call in the boy from One. Most of them are probably already in the waiting room, racking their brains and trying to figure out how they might impress us, but protocol says we have to wait until twelve-thirty.

I take a deep breath, leaning my head back against my chair. It's quite comfortable, though I'm not sure exactly what all it's made out of. The wood is dark, the fabric of the cushion and backrest a deep purple. My inferiors sit in chairs uncomfortably similar, green instead of purple. Quorra from aesthetics is constantly complaining about how it clashes with her scaly fingers. Personally, I think they should all sit on wooden benches.

The bell rings, signaling the end of the tributes' lunch break. I look over to Kunai, my assistant, and he nods quickly. As he speaks into his microphone, the idiots around me quiet down, staring intently at the door next to the cafeteria, where the tributes undoubtedly are. "Marcus Caelum, District One." Can be heard through the speakers. The door raises, and the boy walks out.

Marcus looks up at us, taking a deep breath as he does so. Kunai's voice reverberates around the room, informing the tribute that he only has fifteen minutes before hos session is over. He nods and walks over to the maces station, where he spent most of his training days. Got rather boring, actually.

He looks over the assortment of weapons, as if unable to find what he's looking for. I had been expecting this, of course, hoping he wouldn't make us watch him swing around that stupid hammer he likes so much. Hoping, however, is for children.

He looks up at us, inclining his head in order to look slightly intimidating. "My weapon is the Warhammer." He informs us, holding his arms out as if we were small children. "I'm going to need one now." My mouth twitches slightly, even as I nod to an avox. She bows before disappearing, only to reappear below us moments later, handing the weapon to the boy from One.

Without looking back up to us, he walks over to the hand-to-hand combat simulator, typing on the keypad. He steps in, and the force field wall between us and the training center becomes a screen, showcasing the simulator.

Twenty-three robotic tributes appear, most of them on a fairly low level, their health about one-third of the way full. After they take the required amount of hits, they will fall. And they do. He takes out thirteen himself, while the other ten accidently take each other out in an attempt to stab him.

His District partner, Malaya, comes out next, barely sparing us a glance before heading straight to the archery range, as most girls from her District have done in the past. As expected, she fires arrow after arrow into each of the dummies down range, hitting the bullseye anywhere from twenty to forty meters, and only hitting the shoulder at worst anywhere past that.

After a few short minutes, she racks the bow, and collects a few javelins from the neighboring station. She sets them side-by-side along the table, lifting one up and feeling for its weight. She then plants her feet, proceeding to throw it at the dummy she had shot at first earlier, the projectile burying its head in the material right next to the arrow. She continues this, splitting the arrows on two of the twenty meter targets, and one on a thirty-five. She barely misses the bullseye on her final cast.

She looks up at the clock, seeing she still has a few minutes left. Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds, to be exact. I lean forward as she grabs a broadsword from the swords station, charging the dummies. All that's left are slabs of target foam.

Mason is invited in after she leaves, and he makes a beeline for the sword station, barely glancing at the archery range, where trainers are cleaning up Malaya's mess and replacing the dummies. After selecting the same sword that Malaya had just replaced, he enters the simulator Marcus also took.

Many of the other Gamemakers groan, and I have to agree. He used a sword all of training, and we had hoped he would try something new, take us by surprise. Too many from his District do this. It's really annoying.

He sets the difficulty of the mutts to their highest, the ones we usually send into the Arena to kill a specific tribute. The Gamemakers' box goes dark, and we watch, half-heartedly, as he gets into a fighting stance.

The mutts, giant scorpions, surround the Career, but he doesn't seem worried. He lowers his sword, using his left hand to pop his neck. Then the first mutt strikes.

A pincer lashes out, dripping in venom. Mason dances nimbly out of the way, and I hear a slight gasp. Another's stinger flies in, and Mason ducks into a roll, slicing it off as it appears above him, where he stood moments earlier. I mark 10 and 11 on my clipboard.

"Cassia Maurise."

The girl from Two flaunts into the training room, flashing me a winning smile as she heads to the knives station, and I can't help but groan again. The Twos this year really aren't all that original, are they?

As expected, the tribute selects multiple throwing knives, sending them into the middle of the smallest circles on each of the dummies down range. I'm surprised, however, when she stops at twelve. She steps back, walking over to the tomahawk racks. I sit forward, my interest caught. She makes multiple casts, each one landing itself parallel with a knife, the ring of metal-on-metal often being heard.

Then she surprises us again, heading over to the trap station, where she begins to make some expert-level snares. She never did anything like that during the training days, and I suspect none of her allies know about it. She'll be one to watch.

"Cordin Bolt."

The door opens, but the person who steps through it is not the boy from Three. Instead, I recognize Gaia, one of the trainers. She raises her hands, shrugging.

"Cordin Bolt, District Three. Please report for individual assessment." Gaia shakes her head even as Kunai begins speaking, and vanishes back behind the door.

"And just what are we going to do about this?" Quorra's high-pitched voice rings through the Gamemakers' box. "We've already lost a tribute!"

The others laugh, but I remain stone-faced. A tribute unaccounted for could be anywhere, but there's no way he left the building. He could have seen the other tributes' Sessions, however, which really wouldn't be good.

"Kunai, call up Matrix, I'm pretty sure he's the boy's mentor." He nods, pressing a few buttons next to the speaker. He plugs his headset in and throws it on, blocking out the sounds of disbelief coming from the other Gamemakers.

He's sitting there, ticking his head back and forth, when he suddenly stops. He brings the microphone piece to his lips, speaking.

"Yes, is Matrix Volt there?"

"Oh, yes, hello, Mr. Volt."

"Yes, the Sessions are going great."

"Yes, about that. Is Mr. Bolt up there? He hasn't reported for his Session."

"Yes, he was here during training this morning."

"Okay, thank you. Yes, we'll find him, I'm sure."

He presses a button on the speaker, ending the call. He removes the headset, shrugging as he turns to me. I sit back in my chair, releasing a deep breath loudly. This is… troublesome.

"What are we going to do, then? A zero, yes?" A voice asks eagerly from off to my right. I close my eyes, pinching my nose in frustration. When I open them again, there's an avox standing before me, my clipboard in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. I nod slightly, taking both from him.

"Yes, a zero is warranted here." I say, marking it next to Cordin Bolt. "Such a shame too." I take a sip from the glass. "I was hoping he'd be of some interest." I hand the avox the half-full glass of wine, and he drinks it, smiling at me.

"Thank you, that was delicious." And I recognize the boy from Three, mischievous grin and all.

A gasp rings through the box, and I can't help but agree. How did he get in? When? How much did he see?

"I came in today, figuring that I wouldn't see anything too interesting from the Careers, or, at least, nothing I haven't already seen. But does it really matter? I can't talk about my Private Session anyway, and I have no allies to blab to." He grins, thinking that this is genius.

I scowl. In a stern voice, I bid him leave. I smirk at the frown on his face. I may be impressed, but I won't show it to him. Or anybody, really.

"Infiniti Reagan."

The door opens, and the girl from Three steps through. She looks up at us, giving a stiff bow before walking over to the edible plants station, where I know she's spent the last few days. As expected, she flies through the course, matching everything up properly and allowing me to sit back and close my eyes. Memory seems to be the only thing Threes are ever good at.

Except for her District Partner, of course.

A beep makes me open my eyes, and I see the girl walking away from the edible plants station to the snares tables. I groan inwardly. This girl and her ally spent even more of their time here, with Seven honestly being clearly better than the older girl.

At the tables, Infiniti grabs a few coils of wire, some weights, and various other objects and places them in a pile. Then she moves.

Her hands fly as she moves her objects around her workspace, placing items in different areas while leaving others in her pile. Suddenly, she sprints across the room, grabbing a few knives from the hand-to-hand station, and bringing them back. She retrieves various lengths of wood from the shelters station, different berries from the camouflage station, and starts weaving it all together at the fire-starting area.

She looks up at the clock, but she needn't have worried, unless it would take more than five minutes to finish her contraption.

Finally, she places a dummy in the opposite side of a fire pit as her device, and sits down with her back to it, the fire directly in front of her. She quickly reaches down, grabbing a small stake that I hadn't seen her place before. Then, she pulls.

The stake seems to vanish into a tree, and the sound of metal on metal can once again be heard. Something creaks, and a knife flies right past the girl's head, into the thigh of the dummy. Another soars above her, into its throat. The blades keep flying, a few missing the dummy but most landing kill shots.

Finally the machine audibly stops, and the girl stands. She turns to look at us, raising her hands slightly. She's smiling in relief, but then the trap starts again one last time and a knife flies out, burying itself into her left thigh.

I hear a soft gasp and a crash, and I imagine Quorra collapsing to the ground in terror. It's always amazed me how much Capitol citizens can't handle the sight of blood.

Trainers rush out to help the now fallen girl, who has tears rolling down her face as she internally debates whether or not she should pull the knife out. They place her onto a stretcher, carefully, and carry her to the infirmary. All goes quiet as the door closes behind them.

Kunai is looking at me in shock, but I just nod to him. He nods shakily, and pushes the button on the speaker.

"Jasper Blue."

The boy from Four enters, and I remember him being the one that hasn't hung with the Careers much at all during training. I also can't help but recall what had happened earlier today, when Mason from Two had thrown himself to the ground as Jasper tried to just get past them. It's always bored me when I got a perfect set of six Careers. That's why I usually take one or two out early.

He bows deeply, and I wonder again what in Panem he's doing here. Surely, he thought it'd be better to Volunteer in two years… Should make things interesting, I suppose.

He first heads over to the spear range, where the trainers worked to quickly clean up during Cordin's Session. The others had kinda hacked them to bits.

As expected, he picks the spears off the rack and begins to throw. All of them hit the target, save one, but other than that, they're really all over the place. One minute, they hit the throat and the heart, the next he's hitting the leg or the stomach. Not exactly Career-typical, but at least he appears to be trained.

After a boring few minutes, he stops, and I see him massaging his shoulder slightly. He grans his last spear, however, and heads over to the hand-to-hand. He doesn't seem to notice the missing knives.

The trainer himself wields a sword, allowing him quicker thrusts but less range than the boy from Four. Without speaking, they get into fighting stances, eying each other up. The trainer moves first.

As the slash comes across toward his torso, Four drops into a roll, under the sword and the trainer's left arm, his sword arm. The trainer jumps back, narrowly avoiding the thrust Four made for his shoulder as he regained his footing.

I'm not sure exactly when the shift of power changed, but it was rather obvious after about the seven minute mark, when Four swatted the sword aside, knocking it out of the trainer's hand. He stumbles, and Jasper uses the shaft of his spear to sweep his legs from underneath him. As his time runs out, Jasper is straddling the trainer, holding the spear's head to his throat.

"That is enough, Mr. Blue, you are dismissed." Kunai speaks firmly, and Four looks at us, fire in his eyes. He slowly stands, leaving the trainer where he is. Racking the spear, he walks out.

"Esmeralda Dawn."

The girl from Four saunters in, an arrogant look on her face. She looks up at us, catching my eye. Her grin broadens slightly as she winks, and she dips into a slight bow. I remain stoic, and her smile falters. It's back quickly however, and she turns, swinging her hips as she strides over to the knives.

As can be expected, she picks up several, throwing them at the dummies on the other side of the range. Bull's-eyes, of course, as she had done in the training days. It has appeared to me as though she has no specific weapon that she specializes in, which she demonstrates by leaving the knives range, and entering the sword fighting arena.

She fights the trainer for ten minutes, their blades clashing through the silence of the concrete training center. Constantly, she's pressing her body against the trainer, whether as their weapons lock or as she rolls by his leg.

She's one of those tributes, I think. Sure enough, many of the other Gamemakers are leaned forward, their interest piqued. I roll my eyes. There's always one.

Come to think of it, that's usually an angle the Ones attempt to play into. The Twos and Fours don't try it nearly as often.

At last, probably aware that she's nearly out of time, she presses with a renewed vigor, bashing our trainer until he's on the floor, bleeding from several cuts, the point of Four's sword pressing into his chest.

"You are out of time, Ms. Dawn." Kunai's voice breaks through the sudden silence, and Four looks up at us. She bares her teeth, before turning her back on us. As she walks through the doors, I sigh.

"Get me some Peacekeepers. She's not supposed to carry a sword around until she's in the Arena." The barbarity of the Districts, I swear.

"Darius Line."

The boy from Five barely glances at us as he steps through the open doorway, and even then I'm pretty sure it was nothing more than a fiery glare. I've read the boy's file. I'll have to keep an eye on him, make him appear unpopular. But, of course, it can't be as obvious as a fix.

He stomps over to the hand-to-hand station, retrieving the same pole of ivory that he's been learning to use the past few days. From what I've seen, his anger has made him a natural in using it. Each blow the trainers have taken have been dealt with the strength of his fury.

Today, however, he ignores the sparring trainer in favor of the spear station target dummies. He stalks down the range, the staff in his right hand trailing slightly behind him. His eyes are closed, his steps even. Then, all at once, he lunges.

He gives a shout as he flies toward his target, and I'm thankful then we had to replace them with the dummies that sense injury. The ivory staff is moving fast, a grey-brown blur singing silently as the sounds from impact mingle with the boy's grunts and cries.

As I watch, the once pure white dummy gets pinker and pinker. The left side of the body, the head in particular, quickly turns an ugly red. Well, he could kill a tribute with all this brute force. But he wields it in anger more than skill.

The muffled THWACK continues to echo through the Training Center for more then ten minutes. Five is clearly tiring, his form growing sloppier and his speed is failing rapidly. At last, feeling the end, he takes the staff in both hands, rearing back. He swings it like a club, right at the dummy's forehead.

A loud CRACK resounds, as the ivory splinters, shards flying everywhere. What was a five-foot rod of pain, wielded by a child of desperation, is now an eighteen-inch sliver, sharp yet useless. Darius throws it at another dummy, and it clatters quietly on the stone floor. In a final cry of rage, he punches the dummy, having already sustained fatal injury, right in the nose. Several cracks confirm the breaking of several fingers. He leaves without another word, sobbing silently.

"Devon Rose."

The girl from Five slumps into the room, her shoulders drooped. She stops when she gets directly below us, her hands clasped behind her back, her eyes downcast.

"You may begin, Ms. Rose." She nods once, refusing to look up at us before turning away. She walks to the throwing knives, where she's been practicing the past couple days.

She grabs a few knives, of varying styles and lengths. Without hesitation, she begins to throw, the knives spiraling lazily through the air. The first one, a single sheet of metal with a ten inch blade, flips once through the air before hitting the dummy in the throat. The second, a six inch blade with a ruby handle, spins in a blur, sticking to the dummy's knee.

She throws and throws, the longer knives hitting the target every time. Nearly all would kill, or at least, seriously injure, a tribute. The shorter ones, however, are thrown with a lot less accurately. With luck, they'll inflict a small cut on an arm or leg, at best sticking. However, most fly right by, skipping across the floor with a series of clatters.

Her throws seem mechanical, without emotion or showmanship. Oft times, the audience in the Capitol prefers a tribute who can dazzle them with their skills, even as they slaughter malnourished children. If she plays like this in the Arena, her Sponsor pool will be limited to those who know about her child, and sympathize for her. If she refuses to play the Game, there's no way she can win.

At last, she tires, as her time runs out. Kunai dismisses her, and she slumps back out, seemingly accepting her defeat. She needs to care a little bit more if she wants to make it out alive.

"Aran Quade."

The boy from Six, who I must admit intrigued me when he was Reaped, marches through the door. He looks at us with a fury, one that matched the Five boy's. As far as I could tell, they didn't talk much, if at all, during training. Between them, the boy from Eleven and the girl from Thirteen, these Games are already filled with near-treasonous anger.

The boy stalks over to the swords station, selecting a short sword, double edged. He holds it in front of him as he steps into the fighting ring, leveled at the trainer the girl from Four beat up earlier. His cuts are no more than thin pink lines, however, his skin without bruises. Thankfully, we're dropping all the current trainers to hopefully hire some better ones.

Without pretense, Six lunges. The trainer, with a look of determination, steps forward, crossing his sword with the boy's. Six stumbles, but holds his ground. They stand there for several moments, swords locked, before Six moves.

He tucks out of the lock and into a roll, but it's clumsy, slow. As he stands, he's kicked to the floor, and a moan escapes as he collapses. The trainer's sword darts out, and Six rolls over, somehow avoiding the tip of the sword. He spins from his position, sweeping the feet from under his opponent. Relieved, he staggers to his feet.

But he lowered his guard. As he retrieves his sword, he cries out in pain, and collapses. The trainer stands, his sword abandoned in Six's leg. I sigh. He's served here for almost thirty years. His father longer. Now I have to fire another trainer who got overeager with a tribute.

Avoxes scamper to clean up the blood trailing the boy from Six, as he limps heavily. He cries out as he steps through the doorway.

"Jetta Carter."

The thin slip of a girl from Six walks through the door, blissfully unaware of her District Partner's wound. It may even be better before she reaches her floor, so I'm not worried. Railer and Kiara are perfectly aware of the required secrecy in regards to the Sessions.

She gives a shy curtsy, looking at us expectantly. I wave her off, and she nods. She looks around for a moment, as though unsure of what to do. It really bugs me when tributes come in unprepared.

She walks in the direction of the edible plants station, and I raise an eyebrow. Six really isn't a place of plant life, and she barely touched plants during the training days.

She grabs a bamboo shoot, breaking it in half before carefully removing the remaining shards on one of the halves. She discards the other half, and takes it over to the knives station. After a moment, she selects a long, serrated dagger, proceeding to hollow out the tube. She takes her discarded half and cuts it, molding it into an open-ended cone. She inserts it in her bamboo, finishing her blowgun.

She collects some prefabricated darts, probably aware that she's on a time limit. She inserts one into her weapon, puts her mouth on her mouthpiece, and blows.

Clearly, she didn't clear out the whole tube, because the pressure from her lungs launches the dart, singing through the air until it THUDs into one of the knife dummies.

She uses only twelve darts, each of them hitting the target, but only about half would have been any more than a nuisance.

After looking at the clock, she puts down her gun and goes to the fire station, collecting wood as she walks through. She takes her collection and sets it up under the dummy she had pricked a dozen times. She pulls a set of matches from her pocket, which I hadn't realized she had grabbed before. She lights her wood, coaxing it into a bright flame.

She watches it for a minute before walking back to us, waiting patiently for dismissal. Kunai obliges.

"Logan Woodson."

The boy from Seven, a massive, sandy-haired lumberjack like most of his predecessors, walks through the door in confidence, though his smile falters. He stands below us, looking up. "Logan Woodson." He says, "District Seven."

"You may proceed, Mr. Woodson." Seven nods once, walking straight for the axes. Would it kill them to try something else? I've gotten so bored with those the past few years…

As can be expected, he throws hatchets around for a while, and though he throws with an intense strength, only about half stick in the target, and even less land what would most likely be a killing blow.

After a couple dozen casts, and a hundred flinches from the Gamemakers at the sound of metal scraping the stone floors, Seven decides that he's done, but he doesn't put down his final hatchet. Instead, he heads over to the hand-to-hand, where the trainer just rolls his eyes.

Seven brandishes his weapon, holding it in his fist as one would a knife, about to slit someone's throat. The same way a well-placed punch can do serious damage. The trainer selects a spear this time, determined to not look bad in the face of another tribute. But Seven does not know this.

This time, the trainer moves first. His spear reaches out, and Seven dances out of his reach. The spear is retracted, and Seven moves in for the blow, but he's blocked, the tip of the spear resting on his shoulder. They look at each other.

The tribute bares his teeth for a moment before dropping the hatchet and ducking. Kneeling down, he holds his hand out to catch his fallen weapon, even as the spear arcs above him. Recovering, the trainer strikes down, biting into Seven's right shoulder. With a roar of rage, he swings the hatchet, the back side of the blade ramming into the trainer's knee.

There's a loud crack, and the trainer falls in a howl of pain.

"You are dismissed, Mr. Woodson."

"Kenzi Williams."

Before she walks in, I already expect the girl from Seven to do the same things her ally did during her Session: edible plants and snares. That was really their only focus during training, and that's why I'm surprised to see her make her way to the camouflage station, where she begins to collect many jars and pans of stuff, her back to us.

We can't see exactly what she's doing, but she clearly isn't camouflaging herself. All we can see is her grabbing handfuls of dirt, pouring some water, plucking pinches of moss. After only five minutes, she turns around.

In her muddy hands, splattering over the floor and her training uniform, are half a dozen… mud pies.

Carefully, she walks over, being careful not to spill them. I know what she's doing, but I'm not about to stop her. That's what the force field was put up for all those years ago anyway.

With a mad glint in her eye, she takes the top pan, a messy concoction of an ugly brown sprinkled in a powdery red, and rears back. She doesn't hesitate, and throws it directly at Quorra, who is by far the most colorful and fake out of the rest of us. She screams, flinching back, but before it could impact, she launches another directly at me.

I must admit, she has a good throwing arm.

I barely blink as I watch it come toward my face, and by the time it bounces off the force field and back to the lumber girl, she's sprawled on the ground, having been struck down by the first pie she threw. The one intended for me sails harmlessly past her, and avoxes begin scurrying around to clean it up. They look like a nest of red hornets, moving in carefully crafted patterns and cleaning everything in their path. That's why they're dressed in red, here in the Capitol.

Peacekeepers enter through the exit doors, lifting the mud-splattered girl up and carrying her out, trying very hard not to get their gear dirty.

"Henry Reynoso."

The boy from Eight gives a curt nod as he heads to the survival stations. He doesn't stop, gathering materials as he goes from station to station: edible plants, poisons, camouflage. He grabs berries and nectar and bowls and even rocks, until he finally appears satisfied. He walks back over to us, his arms stuffed with supplies. I am surprised to find that many of these materials can actually be found in the Arena this year.

Probably coincidence.

He sets up two separate piles, one with nightlock, acid from a volcanic lake monster, legs from a desert centipede, et cetera, and another pile containing aloe vera stalks, dragon cacti, jungle leaves, and others.

He begins with the less threatening stuff. Carefully, he peels skin off of different plants, ripping them into little pieces and adding them to a bowl. I write down on a notepad everything he adds to his little brew, how he adds it, how much he added. Finally, he takes one of his rocks and mashes it all together, coming up with a thick, pink liquid. Looking down at my list, he should have created a substance that…

"This liquid here, is a medicine." He announces, "It will hold back infection when applied to a wound, and, if consumed, likely kill any infected cells within the body." I recognize it now. A tribute from Three invented this in the Arena a while back, perhaps a decade. Improved in Capitol labs, it became a cure for skin cancer.

I nod in approval, and he continues on to his next pile, grinding together roots, scales, the centipede legs. I take note of everything he turns into a powder, until he adds the acid from the lake monster and berries. Carefully pouring the chunky contents of his bowl into a jungle leaf, he folds it up like a present and presses it together between his hands. After a moment, he unrolls the leaf, and a white, speckled, totally solid block tumbles to the ground.

"Once even partially dissolved, this substance will kill upon contact with the inside of the body. Cut up into little tablets, even a dosage that small can be snuck into someone's food and consumed."

"Have him send it up." I tell Kunai. He speaks into the comm, and a Peacekeeper, approaches the boy, who carefully hands him the poison. He then bows to us and departs.

"Tulle Salane."

The girl from Eight, the tall one with long, strawberry-blonde hair, steps through the door. Her head is bowed, and I can tell she's nervous. I'm not entirely sure, why, but she's predicted to make it far this year. Let's see if she can prove why.

Eight walks to the camouflage station, where her Partner collected many of his materials for that miracle medicine and death pill. I'm still having the labs examine the poison.

She sets to work, taking materials and bowls, ignoring some while collecting several others. She grinds them all into pastes, her back to us. The scene is incredibly familiar, and I recall the girl from Seven making her pies like that. I smile at the memory created a half hour earlier.

Eight's arms, however, are clearly painting her face in a series of greens and browns. Finally, she steps back, keeping her back to us.

"We are going to play a little game." She calls, though she's still quiet. "You are all going to close your eyes, and I'm going to hide somewhere in the training center. When I say, you are going to open your eyes and try to spot me. The game doesn't end until you've all found me or I run out of time. Ready?"

The others look at me, unsure of what to do. I shrug at them, closing my eyes and bowing my head. I hear the ruffle of feathers and the scrapes of jewels and know they're following suit. There's silence in the room for several moments.

"Okay!" She calls, "I'm ready!"

As I raise my head, I see that the gym is, by all appearances, empty. There is no trace that the textile girl was ever there, her station neat, clean. I search, my eyes looking for anything out of place. I find nothing for several minutes.

Naturally, Quorra is the first to gasp, "I found her! Sir, I've found her!" I follow her gaze to the tree-climbing station, where the outline of a girl is pressed against the tallest tree, about halfway up. I can really only see her arms holding her in place, but after I blink they look like branches.

I pull up a screen, giving me the same view I have from my seat. Using two fingers, I zoom in on the girl, and I find that her camo is nearly flawless, save for the shaking of her limbs.

The timer goes off, and she opens her eyes. She melts from the tree, climbing from limb to limb until she hits the ground. She bows once more before departing.

"Thanatos Rize."

The boy from Nine glides into the room, calm and confident. He nods to us in acknowledgement before striding over to the edible plants station. Like many of the tributes before him, he grabs bowls and powders and berries and acids.

After a few moments, he stands back, surveying his work. Apparently satisfied, he walks over to the spears station, selecting a scythe from one of the racks. I lean forward slightly. He avoided that station in training.

After getting a feel for it, running his hand over the four-foot handle, the eighteen-inch blade, he makes his way back to his concoction. Carefully coating the blade in this substance, he makes sure to not touch the blade or the liquid.

He surveys his work, before walking silently to the hand-to-hand simulator. He inputs his settings, and steps in.

Once again, the Gamemakers' box goes dark, the force field becoming a projection of the simulator. Nine stands on the platform, scythe at the ready. His skin glows pale as the lights in the simulator go dark, and mist fills the room.

The first mutt leaps at him from the mist: A winged rattlesnake, a favorite from the One-Hundred Twelfth Games. It hisses as it soars toward the tribute boy, and he swings up at it, his blade barely cutting into the wing on the mutt. It spirals into the darkness, howling.

The next monster to emerge is a snarling silver wolf, from somewhere in the forties. They circle each other, gauging the other. Finally, it leaps. Nine ducks, and, a short flurry of flashing silver later, the wolf is on the ground, guts spilling off the platform.

The snake returns soon after, but it's moving sluggishly. Nine ignores it in favor of another wolf, and the reptile dies in silence. The mantra continues for a few minutes, until he's cut down a total of five wolves and five snakes. They lie on the ground around him, as the lights come on and the mist fades.

He hands the blade to an avox on his way out, and she makes sure to handle it very carefully.

"Harvest Miller."

The door opens, and we watch for the girl from the grain District. The trainer that opens the door for the Tributes steps out instead, shaking her head, arms raised.

"She isn't in here." She calls up.

I growl slightly in frustration. "Thanks Gaia." She nods respectively, stepping back. The door drops as she disappears.

"An absence does warrant a zero, right?" A voice asks from down the line. I stand, glaring over at the speaker, who turns out to be Quorra. She hasn't been here long enough to give such scores, nor have I. It's certainly been awhile. I wave to the avoxes, who scurry out.

"Normally, yes." I say, to my coworkers' confusion. "But this year is different. This girl, Harvest Miller, was a "fix" in the Reaping bowls this year. The President himself gathered intelligence of Wheat Miller's attempts to spy for his little rebellion. We have instructions to make sure she dies in that Arena, but make it seem as though she has a chance. We must place a target on her back with a score of ten or higher."

"But we can't even score her if she's not here. The other tributes will know that she wasn't here." Kunai pitches in.

"I suspect that was her plan." I acknowledge. "But she wasn't expecting our young man from Three to not show up either, yet still get a score. We can just pretend she pulled off the same trick, only better."

They nod in approval, though I didn't need it. I'll have to do something to reward that boy. He might have saved my skin.

"Denny Rico."

The boy from Ten steps in, standing awkwardly before us. Kunai speaks to him, because his mentor clearly didn't tell him what to do.

"You have fifteen minutes to prove your ability to us. With your performance you will later today receive a score between zero and twelve. You may begin." He nods once, shakily, before making his way to the fire-making station. From there, he collects a series of thin sticks, then heads over to the hand-to-hand simulator. He throws together his settings, and steps inside.

Our box goes dark, and the familiar projection appears again. However, Ten is standing in the center of a field, the sun bright and large. A small coyote, regular by all appearances, is stalking through the grass toward Ten.

Looking at my info panel, it is, in fact, a normal, run-of-the mill coyote.

Ten sits down, crossing his legs. He acts as though he doesn't see the animal, which is of course impossible among the stubby plants. His eyes are closed, his hands palm-up, resting on his knees. He waits for a moment, until the coyote strikes.

He ducks, grabbing a thicker stick from his pile on the ground. As it flies over him, he bends the stick back, allowing it to smack the dog in the side. It howls, rounding as it lands, teeth bared.

Ten is standing now, wielding a long piece of wood in each hand. The coyote doesn't hesitate, launching itself toward the boy. He sidesteps, allowing the sticks to drag a long cut into the canine's side. It howls again, limping to a corner, defeated, broken.

"You are dismissed, Mr. Rico." He gets up, sobbing quietly. He quickly exits the simulator, and leaves.

"Cheyenne Bruno."

The girl from Ten enters the room, shoulders sagged, head down. She looks up at us as she passes, nodding once before she makes it to the shelters station.

She pauses a moment, examining the materials before her. Then she moves, her hands flying around the table, gathering twine and leaves and tarps. She moves her things to the building area, and gets to work.

She quickly scales a tree, tarp and twine clutched tightly. With the speed that caught the Capitol's attention, she rigs up the tarp like a hammock, about twenty feet above the ground. She weaves around the trunk like an ant, never tiring or stopping. In minutes, she's finished her hammock, covering it with jungle leaves to hide it as much as possible. She looks up at the clock, and I yawn. Why does this have to take so long every year?

She looks at me mid-yawn, and gives a small glare. I stare at her, cocking an eyebrow. If she wants my attention, she should do something worthy of it. Earn it, girl.

As though understanding my thoughts, she stalks over to the knives station, picking a long, serrated dagger from the piles. She tests the edge, and I yawn again. Why do the outer Districts try to play Career? She really isn't all that terrifying. She's only thirteen!

She motions to the trainer, who reluctantly steps forward. Before he's even taken a stance, she's on him, knife flashing in the brightly lit room. The trainer blocks, again and again, as she dances around him. Neither combatant can seem to tip the scales, regardless of how fast or skilled they are. After a couple minutes, however, small cuts begin to form as Ten's adrenaline wears off. I must say, she can hold her own, albeit a few minutes.

She leaves, clearly exhausted and in pain, as she is dismissed.

"Thorn Ashburry."

The boy from Eleven makes a beeline for the knives station, ignoring us completely. He motions to a Peacekeeper by the door, one with his helmet on, as is standard in the Capitol. The Peacekeeper nods only once, before removing the gun from his holster, dropping it on the ground. He draws his baton, and advances slowly.

Eleven continues to look through the knives, until he finds a kukri. The curved handle is short, rubber. The blade widens as the tip nears, then stops in a sharp point. The boy brandishes it at the Peacekeeper, anger glowing in his eyes.

They walk toward each other, their weapons brandished. The Peacekeeper removes his helmet, dumping it unceremoniously to the floor. His dark face is baring his teeth, and I recognize him as one from Two. He meets the much smaller boy in the middle of the room, glaring. Then he steps again.

Eleven leaps, a roar of anger ripping through his lungs. His knife cuts across the Peacekeeper's forearm, revealing the armor underneath. He swings back as he turns, earning him a cut across his right cheek. The man, clearly angry, throws the baton away, and cracks his knuckles.

"Come here, you slippery little-" He reaches out, egging Eleven on. The thirteen-year-old boy still has that fury in his gaze, and he charges.

He ducks the first blow, cutting across his opponent's palm. He rolls between the Peacekeeper's legs, avoiding a second, then takes the third in the shoulder as he begins to stand. He's lying there on the floor as another fist comes flying at his face. He swings, leaving the blade embedded in the Peacekeeper's fist.

Eleven is laughing. Laughing at the older man's pain. Laughing at the look on his face. He laughs and laughs even as the Peacekeeper strikes him in the ribcage, arm, temple. The last one shuts him up.

It's the Peacekeeper's turn to laugh as he picks the boy up, throwing his broken form over his shoulder and walking out. Hopefully to the infirmary.

"Willow Orchids."

The girl from Eleven enters, after her District Partner is removed. She looks up at us as she passes, never breaking her stride as she bows. She walks over to the camouflage station, where she mashes substances together and paints her face and arms. From there, she walks over to the forested area of the shelters station.

With a quick glance back at us, she dives into the trees and disappears.

We watch for a moment, though I'm not sure what for. Maybe to let her hide, perhaps to see if she pulls any tricks. But nothing happens.

I pull up my screen, and the others do the same. We look through the trees, through the hidden cameras dotting them. But there is no sign of the little girl from the agriculture District. I decide at last to look down from my screen, knowing that searching the trees would be fruitless.

I can't help but start when I catch sight of a small, slight figure crawling across the rungs in the ceiling, making her way to the rock climbing wall. She lands atop it nimbly, stretching her hands slightly before beginning to climb down. The other Gamemakers lower their screens one by one in interest, and she bows again when she reaches the bottom.

She looks at the clock, and, deciding she still has time, heads over to the edible plants station, and starts up the plants test.

For the final few minutes of her Session, the girl from Eleven goes through the test, finishing just as her time runs out. Her score of 97% is projected plainly for us to see, and she winks at me before departing.

"Soot Maloy."

The young boy from the mining District enters the room, though he seems nervous. Understandable, considering how he's predicted to go down in the first few minutes, his odds placed at 74-1. Then again, the general populace isn't aware of how accepting my Careers have been toward him. That would likely boost his odds.

He looks up at us, twenty-six Gamemakers capable of dealing swift death in an Arena he hasn't seen yet. He has a right to be shaking, I should think.

He gives a shy wave before leaving for the edible plants station, one I've found to be a favorite among the Twelves. Even with the boy's mentor, seven years ago.

He sorts through the different plants, I assume to refresh his memory. It takes a couple minutes, seemingly longer than he was hoping. Which is probably why he soared through the test, yet only earning an 81%. Not too bad, but worse than he needed.

He leaves in frustration, more than likely aware of how much his survival depends on his score, especially in the Career Pack. He wanders over to the shelters station, where he takes various lengths of rope, canvas and leaves. Laying them on the floor, he proceeds to the fire making station, collecting a long, thin yet strong length of near-straight wood.

Back at his chosen supplies, he props up the stick, laying the canvas over it. The ropes lash around the canvas, wrapped around the stick in the middle. At around three and a half feet high, the formidable teepee stands proud, the boy from Twelve surveying his handiwork.

"You are out of time, Mr. Maloy."

"Keola Foeba."

The girl from Twelve stumbles into the room, giving a pathetic little cough as she does so. There are tears in her eyes, and I hear her whisper something. She sees us, and cowers slightly. I incline my head, staring down at her. She flinches at this, and I wonder how she managed to enter the alliance with the Tens.

She shuffles to the snares station, looking around for the materials she had planned for. She grabs lengths of rope, of various lengths and thicknesses. Her fingers fumble as she ties her things, but eventually she steps back to show us her work. Multiple different knots, lashes, even a heavy noose lie on the table, weapons of survival and death.

She looks up at us, before a hacking cough rips through her body. I don't blink, sure it will pass, but it doesn't. She collapses to the floor as her lungs dispel all her air, and she begins to gasp for breath. She's lying on the floor, curled up in a ball, as nurses from the infirmary storm in, swarming the miner girl.

After a moment, they apply cream to her temples and throat, and she stops hyperventilating. Shakily, she gets to her feet, and the medical crew step back. She nods to them, and they leave. Almost as though it was a dream.

The girl takes a moment to breathe, but that fiasco hasn't earned her any time. I'm not staying here any longer than I absolutely have to.

Twelve, apparently deciding she's steady, walks off toward the edible plants station, firing up the testing system. Another Twelve at the plants test. Really.

She seems to be a lot more patient than her Partner, and so she doesn't manage to finish the test before she runs out of time. Of what she did finish, however, she manages a 92%. It really is a shame she had to have that fit right in the middle of things.

"Sparky Montgomery."

The boy from Thirteen walks in, looking around in awe, as though he hasn't been here the past few days. He doesn't scream, nothing. Just stares around. Maybe this kid isn't insane after all.

That is what I thought before he dug himself a hole at the fire making station, and promptly falls asleep. A Peacekeeper on duty carefully removes the boy's glasses before kicking him, over and over until he wakes up screaming. He leaves, yelling obscenities at us, the Capitol, the Games. I shake my head. District savages.

"Rebelle Rine."

The girl from Thirteen comes in skipping. Like, literally skipping. She bows to us joyfully, before continuing over to the swords station. It's amazing how many children of Victors we have this year. The Capitol is loving the drama over it.

She picks an elegant rapier from the station, the handle studded with rubies. She takes a moment to get a feel for it, allowing me time to think.

No matter what she deserves, you can't give her more than a six. The President's voice echoes through my mind. If she's gunned down at the Cornucopia because the Careers perceived her to be a threat, there will be riots in Eleven as well as the Capitol. You have to remove as many targets from her back as possible, Mars. I'm trusting you with this.

That's my least favorite part of the job, but I'll manage.

The girl finds her way to some target dummies, and flashes the sword, amputating their arms before befalling the head. The next dummy is taken similarly, its head rolling across the concrete.

On the third, she dances around it, inflicting small wounds all over the body. Her feet weave in and out of her satanic circle, her sword singing through the air. Her footwork is rather impressive, which could be showcased better against a real opponent. No matter. It appears as though she's trained for this, which explains her Volunteering.

As she continues her pointless showcase of swordsmanship, my mind wanders. What lies did this girl's adoptive parents tell her convince her to go into the Games? If it was to get her back to her mother, they could have taken her to a Peacekeeper and asked for a DNA test. If they encouraged her for the riches, they could have accepted the reward for her return. The Capitol would have loved that reunion.

But is it really my job to speculate? No, I suppose not. Her fiery determination and arrogance will likely get her killed in the Games, and by then it won't matter. Thirteen will not have another Quell Victor this year, I have next to no doubt.

As the young girl departs, leaving behind a room of pink fluff and plastic, I allow my thoughts to drift off to Crysta, the Victor of the Games thirteen years ago.

I'll have to ask her over for tea before her daughter falls. She might refuse if I wait until after.


I hate to do this, but I have deleted those who haven't chosen a tribute yet. For some of you, I am certain that you've been reading, certain that you would have loved to do this, but you didn't. I hate myself for it, but I can't let the Sessions produce bias for a tribute. Some of the scores, as you saw, were total flukes, a trick of the Gamemakers. You might change your mind with what you have learned, and I just can't have that.

I'm so sorry about how long this took, it was really hard to make these Sessions as unique as possible.

dreams and desperation: 153 (Cassia Lyra Maurise, District Two Female)

The Fangirl in Pink Jeans: 79 (Infiniti Reagan, District Three Female)

caitiebug007: 85 (Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female)

roses burning: 88 (Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female)

ElvenRangerRysel: 167 (Aran Quade, District Six Male)

JaymanRepublic: 95 (Logan Woodson, District Seven Male)

Clis2339: 105 (Henry Reynoso, District Eight Male)

Wolfie McCoy: 59 (Thanatos Rize, District Nine Male)

Mystical Pine Forest: 160 (Cheyenne Bruno, District Ten Female)

Jaybird8101: 130 (Rebelle Sunflower Rine, District Thirteen Female)

Alliances!:

Queens and a Pawn (152 points): Marcus (1), Malaya (1), Mason (2), Cassia (2) (152, dreams and desperation), Esmeralda (4), and Soot (12).

Reluctance (72 points): Infiniti (3) (72, The Fangirl in Pink Jeans), and Kenzi (7).

Brains and Brawn (105 points): Blue (4), and Henry (8) (105, Clis2339).

Sacrificial Lambs (160 points): Denny (10), Cheyenne (10) (160, Mystical Pine Forest), and Keola (12).

Children of Amber: Thorn (11), and Willow (11).

Loners!

Cordin (3)

Devon (5) (173) (85, catiebug007) (88, roses burning)

Darius (5)

Jetta (6)

Aran (6) (167) (167, ElvenRangerRysel)

Logan (7) (95) (95, JaymanRepublic)

Tulle (8)

Harvest (9)

Thanatos (9) (59) (59, Wolfie McCoy)

Rebelle (13) (130) (130, Jaybird8101)

Sparky (13)

Questions!:

Which mentors are mentoring which tributes?

Seeing any clear Bloodbaths yet? (Don't mention your own tributes, if yours were submitted Blodbaths, please)

Which of these Careers do you think will leave first, if you know what I mean?

How many do you think will fall in the Bloodbath? Who? (I've already planned this, against my better judgement. So don't worry about manipulating me, or whatever y'alls problem is.)

Do some of the training scores make sense now?

Which ones should have truly been higher? Lower?

Who do you think we'll be seeing in the interviews?

Peace!