Notes: This is my entry for the 2022 Victor's Exchange hosted by SYOT Verses. The story of the 149th Hunger Games is a stand-alone piece that is intended to be read with no prior knowledge of my other Hunger Games stories. Those who have read my other works may recognize a few names, but the focus is on the District 9 tribute, Gabriel.

Gabriel Carvey was created by Amanda (Professor R. J. Lupin1) and was given to me to write through the Victor Exchange. It was only supposed to be 8,000 - 10,000 words, but I got carried away. Please enjoy.

Content warning: suicidal thoughts / suicidal ideation.

PRE-GAMES

Gabriel Carvey, age 15 - District 9 male tribute for the 149th Hunger Games

His mentor is drunk again, and his district partner won't stop crying.

It's a scene worse than the reaping because at least that was over and done with in a matter of an hour or two. This has been going on for days.

Days.

His district partner's mentor had chosen her after throwing a look of disgust at Gabriel, and though Gabriel couldn't say he was offended (he wouldn't put money on his own victory, honestly), he wonders if her mentor now regrets his choice. Gabriel is used to seeing people cry—lots of kids did at the community home before they figured out that their tears didn't matter—but it's pathetic watching an eighteen-year-old girl wail and sob for days straight.

And the worst part about it? Somehow Scarlett still managed to have allies. There were other tributes who were able to overlook the barely-suppressed tears to decide that they'd risk their lives in order to have her around in the arena.

Gabriel isn't jealous, per se, but it just seems wrong.

Then again, all of this is wrong.

Every time Scarlett lets out a sharp cry, Gabriel's mentor winces and rubs the bridge of his nose. The man initially tried to console the girl when her own mentor wouldn't, but now he doesn't even bother offering her reassuring words. They only fall on deaf ears, and the deluge of tears renews.

"Are you done eating?" his mentor asks, and it takes Gabriel a moment to realize the man is talking to him. Gabriel nods, and his mentor stands up. He sways on his feet for a moment before his dog—a bulky yellow Labrador retriever—joins him and leans against his leg. "Good. I think we should get back to mentoring."

Gabriel has barely touched his food, but he can't stomach another bite. Still, he stares at his plate for several seconds before another desperate wail erupts from his district partner. He can go without food for tonight. So he follows his mentor and the dog towards the corridor.

"She's faking her tears—or at least being more dramatic about it than necessary," his mentor says. He rubs his eyes and yawns as he closes the door of the mentoring room behind them, sealing them off from the rest of the world. The man reeks of alcohol, and Gabriel gets a good whiff of it when he brushes by on his way towards the couches. He pretends he doesn't notice as he takes a seat. His mentor, Bran, hasn't been known for being particularly successful, though last year he managed to bring the first District 9 tribute to victory since his own win 20-some years ago.

The man takes a seat and continues, "She was genuine at first, but I think she's noticed the attention the escort gives her, so she's dragging it out. But anyway, how was training today?"

"It sucked," Gabriel answers.

"What happened?"

"Nothing, actually. It just sucks by default."

Bran nods. "Yes it does," he agrees. "What stations did you go to?"

"Whatever was empty. Edible plants, knots and snares, fishing. . . ."

Bran takes this in before he follows up with, "And did you talk with any of the other tributes?"

Gabriel shifts uneasily in his chair. He stares down at the carpet between them and finally shakes his head. "No."

His mentor says nothing. Maybe he sees what a lost cause Gabriel is, and why shouldn't he? Gabriel has no prospects. No chance of winning. He's a scrawny fifteen-year-old boy who can't remember the last time he got a decent night's sleep or a full meal before he came to the Capitol. No one in their right mind would waste a second thought on him.

"Have you identified anyone you might want to ally with?" Bran asks. Gabriel gives him nothing but silence and the man sighs. "Okay, listen. I can help you get an alliance by talking with the other mentors, but I need to have something to work with. Does anyone appeal to you?"

Gabriel scuffs the bottom of his shoe across the carpet. For a second, he considers saying nothing at all, but finally he asks, "Bran, what are the chances that they'll let District 9 win two years in a row?"

His mentor studies him, and the long silence is enough to answer the question. The chances are zero.

The outlying districts aren't like the upper districts; they don't get a chance to have back-to-back victories. And especially not something as unimpressive as District 9.

"Doesn't mean you can give up," his mentor says. "Shit happens, and sometimes things don't go how the Gamemakers want them to. If you write yourself off now, you might kick yourself once you get in the arena and see that you have a shot."

Gabriel turns the words over his head. He can't see himself as victor. There have been some strange victories over the past couple decades from a thirteen-year-old girl from District 8 to that one guy from District 5 who had been blinded in the area, but lately it's been one powerful contender after another. Brawn, brains, weapon skills—people who knew what they were doing, even if they weren't the expected winners.

He cocks his head at his mentor. For years, the man has watched kids try to make it only to fail, and Gabriel is certain that this year would be no different. How much did it royally suck to be trapped in this living hell with no chance to escape? As much as Gabriel wants to tell the guy to mind his own business and let him take care of himself, he wonders if he shouldn't be so difficult on the man. Bran might actually take it pretty hard when Gabriel dies, and why make things worse for him?

"I want Acer."

"Pardon?" his mentor says, eyes wide.

Gabriel doesn't repeat it because he knows that Bran heard loud and clear. It's just that it was far from the name that he thought his tribute would give. Still, Gabriel doesn't rescind his choice, and at last his mentor is forced to admit that he heard correctly.

"Are you sure?"

Gabriel nods.

"Alright, I'll talk with his mentor tomorrow," he says. "When you go to training in the morning, you'll want to talk with Acer, too. But before we get ahead of ourselves, what do you see in him that you identify as valuable?"

Acer is tiny.

If Gabriel remembers right, he's thirteen years old, but he looks like he might be ten or eleven. His petite frame makes it difficult for him to pick up weapons, but Gabriel's kept an eye on the boy the last couple days, and he has fight.

The small boy from District 3 has absolutely no chance in the arena. Even less than Gabriel does. But together? Gabriel is certain that if it's the two of them, they'll be able to make it really far, maybe to the end. Acer can run fast, and his fingers are nimble when working at various survival stations.

"Hey. Acer, right?" he asks.

The boy looks up at him from where he's trying to start a fire, and he nods.

"My name is Gabriel," he says. "I was wondering if you'd like to be my ally."

Relief passes over the boy's face, his features relaxing as a smile slips across his lips. He once more nods before finding his voice and saying, "I'd like that very much, thank you."

The two of them spend the rest of the day together where they meander from station to station, taking a break only for lunch with the rest of the tributes. Once Acer warms up to him, Gabriel discovers that the boy is quite talkative, and he lets him chatter about life back home. A big brother. A baby sister. Parents. Dog and two cats. Best friends. When Acer asks Gabriel questions about himself, Gabriel just provides a noncommittal answer and lets the words slide off him. Nobody wants to know about life in a community home for orphaned and unwanted children, especially not someone who's been surrounded by loving family and friends his entire life.

What Gabriel didn't tell Bran last night when they were going over alliances was that he sees himself in Acer. It kind of doesn't make sense because they clearly come from different backgrounds, but yesterday in training, he'd seen Acer's attempts to interact with the older tributes. Failed attempts as they'd cast him aside. Gabriel himself isn't about to go converse with other tributes, but he hadn't always been like that. Once, not too long ago, he was just a kid who thought that maybe the world wasn't as cruel as it really was. . . .

"Gabe—is it okay if I call you 'Gabe'?—I think we should go work on the edible plant station after this because it looks like the District 7 girl is finally leaving it," Acer's voice cuts through his thoughts.

"Yeah, sure," Gabriel murmurs.

Acer follows him around like a puppy, but despite having this mere child tagging along in his shadow, it seems that people are finally noticing Gabriel exists. Gabriel isn't offended that it took them until the third day in the Training Center to figure this out; in fact, he'd rather wish that they'd go back to ignoring him so that he and Acer could slip under the radar.

"How about her?" Acer points his finger directly at the District 12 girl, a small thing. The only tribute smaller than Acer.

"Absolutely not," Gabriel grunts.

"Why not? It looks like she doesn't have an alliance yet and—"

"I said no, so drop it."

Acer shrugs. "I thought we'd do better with a third person. Not that there's anything wrong with just us—there's not—but it could help balance all of us out."

"Two is fine," Gabriel states firmly.

No more than two. He doesn't want to get to know any of these people, and if he has more than one person with him, it means that he's going to have to split is attention. If he does that, then he won't be able to keep an eye on Acer and help him. A third person means more chance for backstabbing, too. Besides even if he were going to take on a third, he sure as hell wouldn't tote around a small girl who can barely even lift the five-pound hand weights she's messing around with right now.

"Fine," Acer concedes.

But it appears that others might have thought that the two of them were actively scouting out a larger alliance. The Careers don't look at them more than to laugh out "Bloodbath fodder" once in passing, but the District 10 pair have an eye on them. At first Gabriel thinks it's nothing good, but when the District 10 male approaches them, there's no hint of malice in his eyes.

"I'm Justin, and my district partner Dana and I wanted to know if you'd like to join our alliance," the guy greets.

He's eighteen, and so is Dana. Gabriel remembers that information clearly from the post-reaping stats that appear on television at night. Why the hell two eighteen year olds would want to ally with the likes of Gabriel and Acer, he has no idea. But it can't be good.

"No," Gabriel says, echoing the same sentiment he expressed mere minutes ago.

Justin shrugs. "I can't blame you for being hesitant, but don't write it off entirely," he says. "Come talk with me at lunch. Meet the others."

The morning passes, and when it's time for their midday meal, Gabriel has no intention of meeting up with the District 10 tributes and their allies. There are too many of them for starters: both from District 10, the District 6 female, the District 11 male. How the hell were they going to add on another two people and expect the lot of them to be functional? Gabriel grabs his tray off the counter and slides it down the line. When he reaches the end, Acer tugs his sleeve and nods to the group.

"We should at least check it out," the boy says.

Gabriel wants to say no again. Everything within him says that six is far too many people. But Acer looks up with wide, pleading eyes, and his resolve gives way. Would it hurt to at least get to know people? He doesn't have to ally with them in the end. But should he be killed in the Bloodbath, wouldn't he die easier knowing that Acer has someone to help him out and that his quest wasn't in vain? He sighs and leads his ally towards the table.

"So you're joining us?" says the District 10 male.

"Just scoping things out," he answers carefully.

Carefully, carefully. Always carefully. Can't let people get too close. If there's anything that the community home taught him, it's that people will identify your weaknesses and use them for your own personal gain. But as he watches the District 6 girl and District 11 boy flick peas from their lunch trays at each other and laugh when each little bullet finds its target, he can't help the strange longing in his stomach. Would it be so bad to be friendly with these people? Not friends, sure, but at least relax enough to laugh?

He sets down his tray and Acer takes the seat next to him even though it would make more sense for the boy to go to the other side of the table. The two of them remain silent while they start into their meals.

Gabriel wonders if he's making the wrong move. The others talk about nothing in particular, but they seem comfortable in each others' presence.

For now, he thinks. But they'll change their minds soon enough and will be at each others' throats.

He shoves a chunk of his sandwich into his mouth and chews quickly. He scans across the lunch area at the other tributes. Of course the Careers are the loudest and boldest of them all, but he also notices Scarlett and the pair from District 5 chatting easily with each other. Not a single damned tear glistens from Scarlett's eyes. Figures.

"So you're from a community home?" asks the District 6 girl.

"Hmm?" Gabriel asks, allowing his eyes to drift away from the other tables and back to his present company.

"It's just that in one of the news reports about all of us, they mentioned that you're from a community home."

All of them stare at him now as they wait for him to confess to it. He knows how this goes; he doesn't have a family at home, so no one will miss him once he's dead. Unlike all the others who have loving families who will morn their losses.

And the fact that this girl brought it up makes him hate her for it because they all know what she's implying. Any hopes he had of making a smooth entry into this alliance—should he choose to take that route—are gone.

She smiles at him, and he bristles.

"Yes, and I'm pretty sure they said that you work on one of the assembly lines, right?" he asks.

The girl shakes her head. "No, I'm not. Why?"

"Oh, I just thought your face looks like it got smashed around by the heavy equipment a few too many times."

Uneasy silence falls on the lot of them, and Gabriel knows that he has made it impossible to be welcomed into their group. He swallows hard and turns back to his sandwich, pretending that everything is completely normal. But inside he's wondering—no, demanding—why he didn't keep his mouth shut. This wasn't for him (he's going to die anyhow); this was for Acer, and now he screwed it up.

"It doesn't mean you don't have a chance, Gabe." The District 10 boy's words are pushed out quickly as he tries to smooth over the tension. "What was that guy who won awhile back? You know the one."

"Yes, James! From District 5," the District 10 girl, Dana, says. "I remember studying him in school ages ago."

"Yes, him," Justin picks up. "Anyhow, he was a foster kid, and he won the Hunger Games."

James was a foster kid with skill, not a pathetic worthless creature like Gabriel.

The tension never leaves the table, but the others start talking again of other things. The District 6 girl gives Gabriel a knowing look, holding his gaze. She doesn't want him as part of the alliance, and she will be happy to see him offed in the very beginning.

He was wrong about this. He won't find friends here, and he was dumb to even think that it was possible.

Gabriel pretends like none of this bothers him, but when lunch ends, he and Acer head off to the balance beam to work on the District 3 boy's fear of heights.

As soon as Scarlett hears her training score, she starts bawling worse than ever. Bran's words resurface in Gabriel's head, and a surge of anger rushes through him knowing that not only has this gone on too long, but they could have some damned peace and quiet if she weren't so insistent on making noise just for the sake of making noise.

"Nobody gives a shit about your score, so shut up," he snaps at her as he watches the District 12 pair earn a 3 and 2.

She turns to him, her brown eyes gleaming with anger.

"You're just saying that because you got a 3!" she retorts. "At least I got a 4!"

"I doesn't matter," he says, leaning his head on the backrest of the couch and staring lazily at the television. "Nobody pays attention to the lower districts, and we're all going to die anyhow."

"Oh, now, don't talk like that!" chirps the escort, Bello. He's a small man, thin and wiry, with long, claw-like nails painted bright purple and blue. He smiles from one tribute to another, not faltering as they glare back at him. "You two have just as much chance as anyone else out there. Remember James from District 5? He won with a training score of 3!"

Gabriel and Scarlett exchange a look. The two might not get along much, but in that moment, they both agree that they wish they could send the stylist in their place. Kids don't tend to win with a 4 and certainly not a 3. The only reason the District 5 kid won with a 3 was because he had been faking his score. Gabriel and Scarlett aren't faking; they just aren't good.

But the shared thought dissipates as the screen displays a chart with all twenty-four tributes and their training scores.

He watches Acer's 2. He can't complain about it, of course, because he knew that Acer was going to score low, and his own isn't even much better.

"Gabriel?"

"Hmm?"

"Let's go talk strategy," Bran says.

Gabriel pushes himself off the couch and follows after his mentor to the mentoring room. He's not sure what good it'll do at this point, but what's the harm? It'll at least distract him from the television and the show's hosts blabbering about how exciting it is that the Careers scored their usual 9s and 10s, and that it'll be a fun Bloodbath to watch.

"I'm not going to get out of the Hunger Games alive."

His mentor pauses for the briefest of seconds and then finishes closing the door behind them so that no one else can overhear their conversation. He motions towards the couches, and the two of them take their seats.

"What do you mean?" he says. "As we discussed, you have a chance—"

"I don't want to win, that's what I mean."

The man's quiet for a moment, and Gabriel thinks the conversation is finished. Point made.

Then the mentor says, "I know that going into the arena is overwhelming, but—"

"You're not listening," he interrupts sharply.

"Okay," Bran says, the word more of a breath than anything. He pauses then says, "We can work on a strategy that—"

"Look at me! I mean look at me!" Gabriel snaps, the heat within him rising in a sudden surge. He throws himself to his feet. "I'm not victor material. I'm like a hundred pounds less than the Careers! I'm several inches shorter than many of the other males! I've never picked up a weapon in my life! I'm from a godforsaken community home of all places, and no one in their right mind—not even the most benevolent of gamemakers—will ever let a fucking orphan from District 9 live past the Bloodbath, and certainly not after District 9 just had a victor! So look at me and tell me that I have a chance to win."

The surge of energy that coursed through his words startle the mentor, but they don't seem to surprise him. Gabriel breathes hard, his chest heaving up and down, and he watches for some confirmation that he's right and that there is no hope for someone like him. And for several long seconds, he thinks that he's going to get it.

But his mentor just strokes his dog's head and says, "I've met many victors—myself included—who didn't think they had a shot in hell. But things change when you're in the arena. This survival mode kicks in. Whatever preconceived notions of one's worthlessness disappear because you still hope that you can get out of there."

"No, you don't get it," Gabriel says. He runs a hand through his hair. "I'm not going to make it. I don't want to make it. I really don't want to win. I'd rather just—I dunno. . . ."

Deflated, he flops back down into his chair and hangs his head. He'd rather go out with a fizzle than with a great bang, but it's the Hunger Games and he doesn't get that option.

"This is why you wanted Acer."

Gabriel nods. There's more to it, he supposes, but he's not in the mood to start opening up about his personal life. How he's felt empty for so long. Worthless. Used. What good would it do to rattle off his life story besides bore his mentor to death with the monotony of the community home? Wake up, attend school, work in the fields, return home, shower, go to bed. Day in, day out. Same food, same routine, same people.

"Alright," Bran says. "I get it. And for what it's worth, I support your alliance decision."

He doubts his mentor actually understands it, but he just nods again. It'll only be a matter of time until Gabriel's visage disappears in the recesses of the man's mind, lost to the years of Hunger Games deaths and the bottles of alcohol.

The interviews are over.

Tomorrow morning, Gabriel's life could very well come to a sudden and painful end. Everybody dies eventually, but he wishes that his conclusion didn't have to hurt so badly and that it wasn't broadcast on television. Is it funny that it's not the dying part that bothers him? It hasn't, not for awhile. As the years went on, he wondered if he'd ever make it out of the community home alive. Not that it was a physically brutal place—there were standards, even if not all of them were upheld anywhere other than formal paperwork and documents—but it was a soul-sucking establishment. Gabriel figured he'd just wither away into nothing, vanishing into the atmosphere before he even got a chance to set foot in the real world. But now he's going to die an actual death, not a quiet, simple cessation of existence.

At least he has Acer.

His mentor might not have understood his motivations, and at first Gabriel wasn't sure what they were, either. But he's come to understand the past few days that Acer anchors him to this world. Having a purpose means something—it gives Gabriel a chance to make something better for someone, even if it's too late for himself. Besides, Acer's a good kid. He hadn't planned on getting to know him like this, but over the two days of training they spent with each other, he got to see that Acer has a passion. A future. Something that brings him hope. Gabriel has none of that, and it only strengthened his resolve that he has done the right thing by allying with the boy. Only one of them would make it out of the arena alive, and it wasn't going to be a tribute from District 9.

He tries to convince himself that he should do something productive on his last night, but watching television or taking a bubble bath just doesn't sound appealing. He already had a final session with his mentor—a waste of time, if you ask him, but he also didn't want his last interaction with the man to be a sour one, so he had gone along with it.

When an avox comes by to check on him, Gabriel requests a pencil and paper. He spends the rest of his evening sketching pictures of his Capitol bedroom.