Chapter Three

"Well, what do you think of the Capitol so far?" Janus asked as the party from District 5 ate breakfast at the Remake Centre. An enormous spread had been laid out, consisting of sausages, bacon, mushrooms, baskets of bread rolls, waffles with jugs of syrup, pots of jam and marmalade, eggs cooked in various ways. And, to wash it all down, a selection of fruit juices, pots of tea and coffee, jugs of milk. More food than most people in the poorer districts would see in a year and it was meant to feed just six people. A typical example of Capitol excess, underlined by the fact that Janus had said any food which wasn't eaten would be disposed of. Not given to starving families in the districts, disposed of. Even in the wealthier districts like 5, no-one would have been given more food than they could possibly eat and told the leftovers would be thrown away. And, in the poorer districts, excess food was virtually unheard of.

"It's . . . colourful," Astra said through a mouthful of devilled egg.

"Very colourful," agreed Dyson. Though he and Astra had seen the Capitol on television for many times, nothing had prepared them for the reality as they were driven from the train station to the Remake Centre. The brightly lit buildings standing several storeys high. The people on the streets, many of whom were so dyed, tattooed and pierced that they barely looked human, dressed in whatever eccentric fashions took their fancy. Privately, Dyson thought most of them were hideous and freakish and the fact that he knew they saw watching kids die as "entertainment" did nothing to improve his opinion. If he'd had the option to get straight back on the train and go home, he would have taken it. But he didn't have that option and neither did any of the other twenty-three tributes.

"Is that all you've got to say?!" Janus sounded scandalised that the two kids in his charge were not showing more enthusiasm at their surroundings. "The pair last year talked non-stop - I could hardly get a word in edgeways." He took a sip of coffee, then changed the subject. "Your prep teams will be here soon. They should have you looking presentable in a few hours."

"What's wrong with how we look now?" asked Astra, polishing off the last of the food on her plate.

"Nothing, if you live in the districts. But we do things differently in the Capitol and that means you'll both be getting a makeover." He looked closely at the two tributes. "Can't have you appearing on live TV looking like a couple of savages."

Dyson was tempted to point out that tributes often ended up looking like savages anyway if they were in the arena for any length of time, but held his tongue. He knew there was no telling how long he and Astra would last once the Games began, but he also knew they would need to attract sponsors if they were to have any chance of making it to the latter stages. And that meant they would have to be made appealing to the inhabitants of the Capitol since they, with the exception of those directly involved in the Games, were the ones who sponsored the tributes.


Astra and Dyson stood in the vast stable that made up the bottom level of the Remake Centre. Both tributes had spent several hours being scrubbed, manicured and dehaired in preparation for the parade which would shortly take place. For Astra, this had meant removing all trace of hair on all parts of her body apart from her head; though her body hair was still somewhat sparse, even this was too much for the Capitol's inhabitants, who liked female bodies to be smooth and hairless. So every girl who arrived in the Capitol as a tribute was given a thorough waxing, any stray hairs being plucked out with tweezers, before hair growth retardant was applied to make sure there would be no regrowth for several weeks, not that it would matter for most of them. Boys, on the other hand, were allowed to keep some of their body hair, though they still had any excess hair removed. They also had the hair growth retardant applied to their chins and upper lips to prevent them from growing beards or moustaches.

Dyson looked round at his fellow tributes, seeing them in the flesh for the first time, taking note of the costumes their stylists had come up with. Costumes which reflected the main industry of each district, such as the ones worn by Salacia and Fathom who stood directly in front of him and Astra. Since District 4 was the fishing district, its tributes were invariably dressed in ocean-themed costumes and Salacia and Fathom were no exception. Salacia wore an aquamarine bikini-like outfit with pearls hanging off the top, which had been designed to look like scallop shells, Fathom a matching pair of swim trunks, his torso left bare. Both tributes wore pearl necklaces and bracelets, with crowns the same shade of aquamarine as their costumes on their heads.

Being from the district which generated Panem's electricity, Astra and Dyson had had lengths of wire entwined in their hair, the ends extended outwards and shaped to look like lightning bolts. The rest of their costumes consisted of a metallic grey dress for Astra and a matching jumpsuit for Dyson, over which they wore long black coats with no sleeves and flared collars. Black boots were on their feet and black-and-grey striped arm wraps completed the outfits. This was what the whole of Panem would see them wearing, on television if not live in the Capitol, when they and the other tributes were paraded through the streets on chariots drawn by teams of horses that were so well-trained they didn't even need reins to guide them.

"What do you think?" Astra asked as she and Dyson waited for their stylists to load them into their chariot.

"About what?" Dyson asked in reply, realising this was the first time they had spoken to each other directly. From what he'd seen of her during the journey to the Capitol, she seemed like someone he might have considered making friends with had they met under different circumstances. As tributes, however, they could never be anything more than allies and even that couldn't last; at least one of them would die in the arena. Still, he thought to himself, it was probably best to have someone he didn't know very well with him right now, rather than someone like Tia or Paula. His sister. One of his two best friends. Had either of them been reaped alongside him . . .

"This lot." Astra gestured towards the other tributes, though she and Dyson couldn't see the ones from the higher numbered districts from where they stood. "Think we stand a chance against them?"

Dyson knew the honest answer was probably no, especially against the tributes from Districts 1, 2 and 4. Dazzle and Garnet, Bellona and Lupus, Salacia and Fathom. They were better fed and better trained than the kids from the other nine districts and, during the training period, they were sure to form an alliance which, once the Games began, would become a pack which would ruthlessly hunt down the other tributes. But he decided it would be better to avoid mentioning this out loud. "We can only do our best," he told her, frowning as he recalled how he had said the same words to Tia back in District 5 and wondered if he would ever see his sister again.

"I've never killed anyone before," Astra said, glancing over her shoulder at Monica and Axle from District 6, who were dressed as pilots to depict their district's transportation industry.

"Neither have I, but . . ." Before Dyson could complete his sentence, his stylist and Astra's came to tell the two tributes it was time to get on the chariot. The tribute parade for the Sixty-eighth Hunger Games was about to begin.


Dyson's stylist, a man named Adonis who wore his blue hair in a Mohican and had three piercings in each ear, stepped back and admired the costumes he and his partner, Candida, had designed. Perfect. The best they'd come up with in the nearly twenty years they'd been the stylists for District 5. The lightning bolts projecting out from Astra and Dyson's heads were a nice touch; no-one who saw them could doubt that these two kids represented the power district. Adonis flashed Candida a gold-toothed grin. "Are we geniuses or what?"

Candida patted her lavender bubble perm, her lips pursed into a pout. "I think we should have made sparks come out of the headdresses - it would look electrifying!" Dyson winced at her high-pitched squeal, wondering for the umpteenth time why the Capitol's inhabitants had to talk in such an affected way. He knew Candida had to be at least in her early fifties - it was hardly to tell since many people in the Capitol had had surgery to make them appear younger than they were - but the way she spoke made her sound like an overexcited schoolgirl. Fortunately, before she had time to start expounding on her idea, the music which accompanied the tribute parade began and the massive stable doors slowly opened as the twelve chariots began to roll out onto the streets of the Capitol.

The chariot bearing Dazzle and Garnet from District 1 was the first to emerge, accompanied by a loud cheer and several whistles of appreciation from the crowd lining the parade route. As always, the tributes from the luxury district wore the most spectacular costumes. Dazzle looked . . . well, dazzling in a floor-length golden gown with sleeves which swept from her wrists and nearly touched the floor of the chariot, while Garnet's costume consisted of a suit of golden armour with a matching cape draped over his shoulders. Both tributes wore gold crowns on their heads, perhaps in anticipation of one of them becoming District 1's twelfth victor. And their faces and hands had been painted to match, making them look like a pair of gold statues.

Next came Bellona and Lupus, wearing tunics and capes made from a material which had been cleverly woven to resemble stone, their headdresses suggesting the tops of classical columns. They stood looking directly ahead as the District 2 chariot left the Remake Centre, their faces set into the same expression they had borne when they volunteered. An expression as hard as the stone which was quarried in their district. An expression which let everyone watching know they meant business. And, in just a few days' time, that business would be killing their fellow tributes.

Dyson watched as Synthia and Digit rolled out. The District 3 tributes were wearing a kind of black and silver grey armour, with working light bulbs on their belts and sprockets on their hats to represent technology. They were followed by Salacia and Fathom in their ocean-themed outfits, then it was the turn of the tributes from District 5. Astra and Dyson held their heads up high as the chariot emerged from the Remake Centre and began its journey through the streets of the Capitol.


Dyson waved to the crowds lining the parade route, not giving any thought to the fact that the same people who were cheering for him and Astra now would soon be baying for their blood. He knew only too well that he and the other tributes had not come to the Capitol just to be dressed up in costumes and driven through the streets on the backs of chariots, but that was the last thing on his mind right now. The only things he was aware of were the pounding music that was being pumped out over the loudspeakers set up all over the Capitol, the shouts of the excited throng of gaudily dressed people as they jostled to get a better look at the kids who were the tributes in the Sixty-eighth Hunger Games.

After around twenty minutes, the chariots entered the City Circle and drew up outside the president's mansion. The music ended with a final flourish as President Coriolanus Snow stepped out onto the balcony, as he had done on this night every year for more than twenty years. Dressed in his usual smart suit with a white rose pinned to his lapel, he began to address the twenty-four young people assembled before him. "Welcome, young citizens of Panem, to the Sixty-eighth Hunger Games . . ." That was as much as Dyson heard of the traditional greeting to the tributes before his mind automatically tuned the president out. Like the speech given by the mayors of each district on reaping day and the Treaty of Treason, the words never changed from one year to the next and Dyson could have recited the whole thing from memory if he'd wanted to. Which he didn't.

Instead, he focused his attention on the giant screen which showed what those watching the parade on their televisions at home could see: the twelve chariots assembled before the president's mansion. As President Snow continued his speech, the camera began to pan round the tributes, giving the viewers a close up of each pair. Dazzle and Garnet, dressed as golden statues. Bellona and Lupus in their stone inspired outfits. Synthia and Digit, the bulbs on their belts glowing in the gathering dark. Salacia and Fathom in their aquamarine bathing suits and pearls. Astra and Dyson with lightning bolts shooting out from their heads. Monica and Axle, whose pilot costumes included goggles on their heads and enormously long scarfs around their necks.

Lara and Xylon from District 7, the lumber district, were dressed up to represent a forest in autumn, their heads wreathed with leaves in various shades of orange, matching capes draped over their shoulders. Next to them, Pleat and Linus depicted the textiles produced in District 8 with costumes which included oversized bows, lace ruffles and headpieces in the form of giant pin cushions. Valerie and Glean wore pale yellow outfits with circlets of wheat on their heads, representing the grain which was grown in the fields of District 9. On the next chariot along, Tallulah and Randall were dressed as cows to depict the livestock raised in District 10; their costumes included enormous horns which looked all right on Randall, but dwarfed Tallulah completely. Meanwhile, Mallow and Husk's stylists had chosen to symbolise District 11's agriculture industry by dressing the two tributes in yellow and green outfits with sashes decorated with sunflowers around their waists. And then there was Stoke and Cormac from District 12.

As usual, the kids from the coal mining district wore the least spectacular costumes in the parade: plain black clothes with miner's lamps on their heads. Indeed, Dyson had never seen tributes from 12 dressed as anything other than miners, apart from last year when their stylists had sent them out completely naked except for a coating of black dust. If this was meant to be an improvement on the costumes normally worn by District 12 tributes, it hadn't worked. Neither tribute had attracted any sponsors and both had been dead by the end of the fourth day. So District 12's stylists had reverted to the coal mining theme, not that this was likely to make much difference to Stoke and Cormac's chances. Stoke would probably be eliminated early and, while Cormac looked like he might be a contender, he would eventually come up against the likes of Lupus. If he lasted long enough to reach the latter stages and no tribute from his district had done so for nearly two decades.

"And may the odds be ever in your favour." Those words marked the end of President Snow's welcoming speech and he withdrew from the balcony as the national anthem played and the camera panned round the tributes once more. The chariots did one finally circuit before disappearing into the Training Centre, the twelve storey building which, for the next few days, would serve as both a home and a prison for the tributes.


Even though he came from one of the wealthier districts, Dyson had never experienced luxury on the level of the Capitol. The room which would be his until the start of the Games was much larger than his room in the apartment he shared with his parents and Tia back in District 5 and it was filled with gadgets no-one in the districts could dream of owning, though the citizens of District 3 had almost certainly had a hand in their construction. A wardrobe which could be programmed to provided you with any outfit you wanted out of a vast selection of clothing. A window which could be made to zoom into and out of the view of the city below with a single spoken command. A mouthpiece through which you could order food and have it delivered within seconds. And then there was the bathroom with a shower that could be programmed with any combination of water temperature, soaps and perfumes, not to mention the jets of hot air which dried you when you stepped onto the mat by the shower.

This was the world Dyson and his fellow tributes had entered, a world where they would want for nothing. But he knew all too well that this arrangement was only temporary, that they would soon be thrust into a vast wilderness and left there to fight it out until a lone survivor remained. And, Dyson knew as he lay in bed on his first night in the Capitol, the odds were not in favour of him being that survivor. Seven of the last ten victors had been from the Career districts, whereas he came from a district that had not produced a victor since the Forty-second Games. If only his luck had held and Janus had not drawn his name from the reaping ball. If only . . .

If only there was a way out of here. But security at the Training Centre was so tight that no-one could enter or leave without permission and, even if a tribute did escape somehow, it was unlikely they would get very far before they were caught, brought back . . . and then what? Would they be sent into the arena as if nothing had happened? Or would the Capitol execute them then and there as a warning to others who might be tempted to try the same thing? Or would they be kept alive but turned into an Avox, forced into a life of servitude, their tongue cut so they would never be able to speak again?

Dyson had no way of knowing and he wasn't about to risk finding out. The Capitol liked making examples of those who defied them, often by taking it out on any close family they had. So, if he tried anything, he wouldn't only be putting himself in danger; he would be risking the lives of his parents and sister as well. Which meant he had no choice but to play the Capitol's sadistic Games, even if he ended up losing.

But he wasn't going to go down without a fight. He'd promised Tia he would do his best and that meant he would have to prepare for what was to come. Starting tomorrow when he and the other tributes would have their first training session.