Author's Note

I do not own the Hunger Games.

CHAPTER WARNING: Swearing.


"Have you thought about what you want to show the Gamemakers during your Private Sessions tomorrow?" asked Meadow in the morning.

Neither of them had.

"We'll think of something."

"You need to be aiming for around a seven or an eight. Too low and the audience won't take you seriously; too high and the Careers will take you too seriously. Hyperion, I recommend you show off that strength of yours. Axes, maybe, or a broadsword. Luciente… maybe survival skills."

Luciente never even looked at her.

"Then there's the interviews. Now, you've really already written your angles..."


There was a very uneasy feeling to these so called allies of theirs in the morning. He didn't need to be her to feel it.

"Is it true?" Nathaniel asked a little bluntly.

"What?"

Shelley rolled her eyes. "You have heard what they're saying about you dog-boy?"

"We were wolves. Why should we care what they're saying?"

Nathaniel turned a strange shade of red. "They're- uh- they're saying- Hyperion-"

"Spit it out already."

Nathaniel took a step closer and tugged him aside to the wall. "They're saying you- um- fuck Luciente."

"The fuck did you hear that?"

"Solana," Nathaniel replied unhelpfully.

"Who the fuck is Solana?"

And where was she so he could kill her?

"My mentor. But it's going round the entire Centre. I think most people have heard it. Not sure where it started."

Luciente slipped her hand into his. He squeezed it tight. She gazed gazing across the training centre at where the Careers had gathered around one of the weapons stations. The girl from Two was draped across the boy from One today, and looked up to smile at them as he nudged her.

"Rumours can't hurt us," Luciente said softly.

No.

They'd heard worse than that.

Demon children.

Evil spirits.

Monsters.

But this world made monsters out of them all.


Shelley insisted on them doing a round in the simulator, which she had discovered the evening before, as an alliance. It formed itself into a jungle around them, and delivered a spear, two knives, and two canteens of water.

They pushed their way through the surprisingly real feeling trees, which shimmered and flickered around them, violent shudders of blue and white and orange that only worsened the longer they remained in the simulator.

"It feels scary real," said Azrayk.

"In two days it will be real," replied Shelley.

A figure in black combat training appeared from the trees in front of them, holding a loaded bow. Luciente scowled and hissed through her teeth. The figure fired, streaks of orange flying through their figure as they fired the arrow. Shelley dove aside, while Azrayk rushed forwards with his knife. The room flickered brighter around them, once, twice, three times, and then it was white again.

Shelley laid on the floor, apparently dazed. "What the fuck just happened?"

"I guess we lost," said Nathaniel as the door hissed open and the blue haired trainer frowned at the room.

"Damn it, another one?"

They filtered from the room. Shelley was saying something about trying again, and Luciente growled through her teeth.

In the true Games, only one of them would be coming out as Victor.

If Luciente was right – and she usually was, Hyperion thought – it wouldn't be any of them.


They separated again for the morning. He took to the climbing wall – harder now that he was so much bigger than he used to be – while Luciente sat down to help Nathaniel and Shelley at the traps station.

Although he was bigger, less agile, and more used to trees than cliffs and walls, his body still held the instincts and there was a sense of knowing where the ridges were without needing to look. He clambered up, dimming out the din of the training centre around him, and swung himself onto the platform at the top.

The boy from Two was there, his arms rested across his knees, gazing down at those below. "You shouldn't have left her."

He didn't need to ask who 'her' was meant to be. "I'll know if she needs me."

"And if you don't know soon enough?"

Then she would care for herself, as she had while they had been torn apart. She had claws and fangs of her own. He'd rather be there at her side- but if needs be…

"Then she can care for herself."

"You should hold onto her better. These things don't last forever."

A storm builds.

"Nothing lasts forever."

The wall had been crumbling. If they'd got there sooner, they could have torn down the bars holding them and fled into the darkness. They could have been free, instead of facing a caged death match.

You used to have more trust in me.

And what did this boy, this stranger, know of them? Holding onto Luciente was like trying to cling to water in your hands, feeling it trickle away through your fingers. He knew she would always come back to him, but she would never be chained.

"Then if you love her, you'll make it quick."

He remembered the anger so hot he couldn't breathe, blood on his hands.

"She's pretty. I bet she'd scream."

He'd known her all his life, all hers, and he wasn't sure if he'd ever heard her scream. They had grown angry, but never scared, vicious, but never fearful.

"Shut your mouth."

"Would be fun to cut her open. What colour does she bleed?"

Hyperion yanked on the ridiculous harness the fucking trainer had insisted on buckling them into and wrenched the boy forwards. He gave a yell and brought his hands up, scrabbling against the ledge they were on and making some attempt to push back against Hyperion. The two of them grappled for a moment while trainers and Peacekeepers yelled from below. The boy from Two scrabbled for his neck, trying to wrap his fingers around it. Hyperion yanked again on his harness, wrenching him sideways, and shoved him hard off the edge of the wall.

A moment later there was sharp, dazing pain in his head as one of the Peacekeepers whacked him with their baton and he was looking down the barrel of a stun gun while the boy from Two dangled by his harness, clutching for the wall. One of the trainers hurried to pull him up, while two of the Peacekeepers pulled Hyperion to his feet.

"You've been nothing but trouble Ten."

Oh, and what were they going to do to him? Shoot him here and now before the Games began? The Capitol audience would hardly be pleased. Luciente was at the foot of the wall, he noticed, gazing up at them.

The Commander jabbed his gun into his chest. "Tread carefully."

Hyperion curled his lip as he was marched down the metal stairs behind the climbing wall. Two of the Peacekeepers seized his arms and slammed him hard against the wall. The Commander pressed his gun into his stomach. "Listen here Ten. I don't care what you do in that arena. I don't care who you do it to. But here in this Training Centre, you're going to follow the rules." He flicked the safety on his gun back. "Am I clear?"

"Very."

The Peacekeepers released his arms. The Commander cast him one last look. "Save it for the arena Ten. Then you can commit whatever murder you want."