Penultimate chapter… wanted to upload it on the 31st because today is Lil Uzi Vert's birthday!

Albert Hade, 16, District 3 Male

When I wake up, the morning sun is just beginning to creep over the horizon, as if to remind us that we have to face this horrible day, whether we like it or not. I gently nudge Sophia awake, noticing her sweatpants thrown lazily to the foot of the bed. Her legs had been intertwined with mine all night, which wasn't very comfortable, but whatever helps her sleep better. She rises and yawns, stretching.

"Good morning, Soph," I say as sweetly as I can, to hide the fear in my voice. She looks at me with an almost empty expression.

"On the contrary," she mumbles, repeating what I often say to her, "this morning is anything but good. Terrible, in fact."

"I know," I admit, not wanting to mention what is both on our minds. These moments might be the last we have together, if we aren't lucky enough. I hope I'm the one who dies. Not only do I want Sophia to make it out, I don't want to experience outliving her. I'm sure she feels the same way.

Her bright blue eyes are sparkling with determination, and she runs her fingers through my hair. "Today might be terrible but we'll face it together, like we always have." Sophia's tone is gentle, conciliatory. She is trying to make me feel better, and I should be doing the same, but the unbearable trembling in my body makes it difficult to piece thoughts into coherent words at all.

If I didn't have Sophia here, I'm positive I'd be a sobbing mess. Her, on the other hand… she probably do better if I wasn't here at all. I hope I don't weigh her down too much.

Indy Carmedas, 16, District 6 Male

Breakfast is tense, as we're all trying to ignore Aston and I's imminent doom in less than three hours. Lancia is giving us last-minute advice on how to approach the bloodbath.

"Just run," she says desperately. "I don't care if you see a machine gun in that Cornucopia. Do not go into it, do you understand me?"

"How am I supposed to get weapons and supplies?" I ask as politely as I can. I am curious, because while I know the bloodbath is called that for a reason, I don't want to just perish a few days later from no water. I'd almost rather die a quick death. But that isn't a very good mindset to carry into the Games.

I think of Rick. Rick Nitro always seemed to weasel out of any situation no matter how the odds were stacked against him. He always had the best advice to give me, and considering his financial success (however questionably he achieved it) he always seemed to have the right answer. Considering this is going to be one of the worst days of my life, I'd give anything for his assurance right now. He may even be honest with me and say I'm going to die, but brutal honesty is better than false hope.

Alysanne begins to weep, which doesn't make me feel any better. I try ignoring her and continue to stuff fruits in my face, for some much-needed energy. Best case scenario, I'm running for my life for about three hours straight. I've never been much of a pedestrian. I wish I could run over all the Careers with my car, then drive back home.

Fantasizing about something like that is much better than trying to imagine what death would feel like.

Magnolia Salix, 18, District 7 Female

Ella is nearly silent. Her shaky breaths are the only thing I can register besides the harsh lights of the lift. She looks to be on the verge of tears, and I almost feel bad for her, before I remember that she isn't the one going into the Games, I am.

"I'll be fine," I assure her. At first I'm wondering why I'm comforting her at all, but it's better than a pity party. Feeling sorry for myself is the last thing I should be doing. I can be angry at the world for this happening to me, but the same thing happened to twenty-three other people, most of them against their will. Not to mention the countless dead children from previous Games. I'm still not happy about it, but the fact of the matter is, I got Reaped. I may have been considered a hero in Seven, but not even I was safe. Oh, well. Better me than someone else having to go through this.

Once we reach the ground floor, we're led into a giant, open area where a hovercraft is waiting. A ramp appears, a rather steep one.

"I guess this is it," Ella says quietly, in a subdued voice. "Please try your hardest. Promise?"

"I promise." I squeeze her hand tight before letting go and giving her one last sad smile as I walk away from her, into the ship that will take me to my destiny.

There's five others with me: Coilee, Aslan, Indy, Nerezza, and Sixtine. As we're all strapped in, a man with an oversized syringe approaches me, triggering a weird sense of deja vu. He grabs my arm rather roughly and injects me, and a yellow moon-shaped light appears under my skin. It doesn't seem that deep. Maybe I could dig it out…

Without warning the hovercraft rises in the air and shoots off with surprising speed. I look intently out the window as the colourful city I have been residing in over the past week disappears. I wonder if I'll ever see it again.

I really hope this is a long ride.

Nerezza Elsera, 16, District 9 Female

One of the others have dozed off. The girl from 2 and the boy from 4 are holding hands. The girl from 11 is sitting next to me, shivering slightly. It isn't even that cold here. Humans really can be weak sometimes.

I wasn't really worried about today. I haven't thinked too much about it all week, just existing to the best of my abilities. My effect isn't the same here as it is at home, at the orphanage. No one here knows of my origin, and however much I try to tell people, they think I'm joking.

"You're too beautiful to be evil," Jennetta would always tell me. "No hellian has a face like yours."

I want to scream to her that appearances aren't everything. You should not judge a book by its cover. The gods made me this way for a reason, though. Having a body like mine makes it easier to deceive, as to not let on my true powers. I hope everyone in the Games is at least a little intimidated by me. The last thing I want is for people to think I'm weak.

I wonder if Altaïr will make it past the bloodbath. I wouldn't be sad if he didn't, because that's one less person to worry about.

Suddenly the windows black out. We must be close to the arena. I hope it's not a desert, I'd like to not deal with brutal heat until I go back to the underworld.

I can feel the aircraft landing. Soon we touch down into… wherever we are, and one by one we're led out of the ship into a vast underground area that resembles an enormous parking garage. We're all led in different directions, and I'm soon herded to a door that says 9F. The hallway behind the door is long, with the Peacekeepers egging me on with their cold stares and their rough gripping of my elbows. Do they think I am going to try to escape? Where would I go? It's not like I can teleport.

Before long, I step gingerly into the launch room, which is empty. I sigh heavily upon looking at the timer on the wall.

15:07

15:06

15:05

I sink down onto the bench for just a moment, still wearing the light sweatsuit and undergarments provided in my room this morning before my stylist comes in. She's holding a dark blue outfit, and when I look closer I notice fancy golden embroidery trimming the sleeves. There's a shirt collar on the front, the kind that you'd see on pyjamas. She buttons it all the way to my throat, and I let out a noise of complaint.

"Sorry, they told me to do it. Unbutton it to the bottom later, if you please."

The short pants, if you can call them that, are practically obscured by the cut of the top. I'm probably around a size medium, but in length, this fits like an extra large. Dark leggings go underneath, and I'm handed a pair of white shoes that look sturdy enough. I was almost afraid I'd be given bunny slippers for how cosy-looking this outfit is.

I went to sleep in sleeping clothes, woke up, put regular clothes on, now I'm back in sleeping clothes? Even I think this is weird.

Andrew Rodriguez, 16, District 11 Male

Although Sixtine tried to convince me we'd be fine since the moment we pulled our prank, I'm pretty much convinced that the moment I rise from that tube, I'm mincemeat.

And you know what? I'm alright with it. At first I was resentful over the fact that I practically ended my own life by tricking the Head Gamemaker of all people, but it was really fun to do, considering how un-fun this week has been. I just feel sorry that I dragged Sixtine into it. She'll probably suffer the same fate as me. I silently apologise to her.

I've long changed into the arena outfit, and each time I glance at the ticking clock, my heart sinks even further into my stomach. I'm so stressed about the unknown. Will I even make it to the end of the night? I don't want to think I'm just bloodbath fodder, but it's hard to accept me making it very far without some amazing stroke of luck. Have I done all the things I do in life for the last time? Have I eaten, slept, had a conversation, all of those things, for the last time in my entire life?

That's a pretty horrible mindset to have but I can't help but contemplate it in these final moments.

My stylist is letting out tears of anguish despite keeping a rather composed form for most of the time in the launch room. She sinks to her knees, sobbing loudly.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I just hate this part! I hate it!" She can barely speak because of how much she is crying. Her makeup creates dark tear tracks down her cheeks.

"Me too," I say distantly. I'm not in much mood to baby this crazy woman, but I do understand her grief. It must be hard to develop a relationship with so many children who never come back. Attachments are discouraged among stylists but this girl is a bit more clingy. When she hands me my token, the necklace with a photo of Ethan and Gabe, her tears subside for a moment as she continues to sniffle. Her lips form a slight, sad smile.

"I won't ever forget you, my little prankster," she says, as if I was already dead. The clock starts to beep, signalling only a minute left until the launch.

Aemilia Marsay, 31, Head Gamemaker

I peer into the 24 different launch rooms, shown on a small monitor in one of the corners of the Control Centre. Vinna seems determined as she steps into her tube, as does Armahni. The girl from 2 is shaky and unconfident-looking, on the other hand.

The others get into their tubes dutily and without much resistance save for the girl from 6, who won't stop hugging her mentor, the little waif Alyssa's daughter, Alysanne. I roll my eyes and signal that Aston needs to step into the tube, considering there's only ten seconds left. The twins from 12 are demanding to know if they are next to each other on the pedestals, pressing into their stylists in their seperate rooms. Is this really the first time they've been apart from one another in their entire lives? They're in for quite a rude awakening.

Aemma was inconsolable this morning over the loss of Weaver. She knew he was going into the arena with the tributes to conduct his duties, but she was livid over the fact that she didn't get to go with him.

"Why not, Mama?! I'm Weaver's best friend! We do everything together!" Her little cheeks grew rosy with frustration.

"Sweetheart, there is no way in Panem that I'd ever let you do that. You mean too much to me." A gigantic breakfast of blueberry waffles was enough to placate her, until she sees Dream Weaver in action and gets excited over watching her playmate again, this time interacting directly with the tributes.

Aemma's started jumping up and down, her pink kitten heels clicking on the sleek floors. I notice the tributes are all in their respective tubes, and I give the signal to raise them.

"It's happening, it's happening, it's happening!" Aemma squeals. She's about the only person talking in the room, as everyone else is much more focused on what is to come. As the tributes approach the top, a glittery hologram of the arena lights up.

All twenty-two mentors gathered in the Control Centre are jittery and anxious. Merrilee Hurtado's teeth are chattering quite loudly, but not as loudly as Alysanne Audren's and Becky Allred's synchronized hyperventilations.

"You could cut through the tension in the air with a blade," Kollene Snow from Five mumbles. She's always been a more rebellious-type mentor, and one I've never particularly enjoyed, although she is my first Victor.

"Don't worry," I tell her under my breath, "soon, blades will be cutting more than that."

They'll be cutting lives short.

It might not still be the 31st for most of you, but I'm in PST, haha. Happy 27th birthday Uzi! Or 26th. I don't know, to be honest. He said his mom found his birth certificate and that he's actually a year younger than he thought he was. Weird. Also the tributes are wearing Air Force Ones because why not.