Launch. Very little filler content.

ELIANA SCHAEFER, DISTRICT ONE FEMALE

As I tear off my red gown and pull on pajama pants and a sports bra, I release the tension in my shoulders for the first time all day. I take a deep breath, relishing in the ability to fully expand my ribcage and stomach after being confined in the dress for so long.

Formal wear sucks. Formal events suck. Televised interviews fucking suck.

My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I didn't eat before the interviews. I stalk out to the kitchen area, rummaging through the displays of snacks for some form of pastry. All I want is to stuff my face with carbs and sugar.

Jehan and Virgil are talking in hushed tones on the couches, but they don't seem to notice as I sit at the dining table and watch them curiously. Jehan is jabbing his finger and sawing the air with his hand, obviously upset about something; Virgil seems to be trying to reassure him.

What could my mentor be upset about?

I kick a barstool gently, scooting it across the floor just enough for it to squeak loudly. Jehan and Virgil stop conversing and snap their gazes towards me. I take a bite of the cinnamon roll I've found and raise my eyebrows at them.

"Eliana. How are you feeling after the interviews? We didn't have a chance to catch you before you went to your room."

I shrug. "I feel like they went fine. It's an interview, I did it, I followed the strategy we talked about of displaying myself as a strategist and talking about my preparation to do whatever it takes to win the Games. District Two didn't take the same route as me, and Andros talked about his family, so I feel like it was a solid performance."

I know I'm capable of the Games, but I didn't expect it to be so difficult to get through the interview. At the Training Academy, they kind of brush over the interview stuff, saying it doesn't matter so long as you prove your skills. There never seems to be a shortage of sponsors.

"Not bad, yes. District One definitely made a splash."

If that's the truth, why didn't he seem pleased earlier?

There's no time to dance around my questions. It's our last night before the Games, so any issues demand urgency. "So why did you look so upset when I entered the room?"

Jehan and Virgil share a look, and my mentor runs a nervous hand through his brown hair. "Can you go get Andros? We'd like to speak to the two of you together."

"I'm here. What's going on?" Andros turns the corner from his room and joins the rest of us in the common area.

Jehan sits on the chair next to me and clasps his hands in front of him. "There's a bit of an issue with the sponsor money. We aren't supposed to discuss it with the tributes, but… we think you should know."

I glare at my mentor. "What do you mean? What's wrong?"

Virgil steps in, his voice calm. "It's not a huge issue, really. In fact, District One has brought in more early sponsor money this year than ever before."

"So what's the problem?" Andros prods.

"All money is designated for specific tributes. Usually, it's pretty even. But this year… not so much." Virgil looks unwilling to continue, but Jehan snappishly finishes for him.

"Andros has ninety percent of the sponsorship for One."

My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. I knew my district partner was a Capitol favorite, but by that much? Really? Am I only worth a tenth of what he is to them?

Andros doesn't react at all, but Virgil must see my disappointment and anger and he reaches out to me. "Eliana, it's not bad. It doesn't even put you at a disadvantage, really. You two are allies, we'll be able to send you plenty of whatever you need- it just may have to be sent through Andros. We wanted to you to know that ahead of time."

I can feel my muscles tensing up, my jaw clenching, my eyes prickling with hot pinpoints of frustration, but I try to hold it together. "And what if he dies? What happens to the sponsor money then?"

Virgil flounders for a half-second, but I see the hesitation. "Most likely it'll go to you, but no guarantees. And to be frank… that's quite an unlikely scenario. You're both predicted to make it to Top Five—but don't let that give you a sense of false confidence."

I hear what they're not saying, and I hop off my chair and march back to my room. Keep it together, Eliana.

They don't think I can survive, not compared with my brilliant, golden boy, high-scoring district partner. Everyone's betting on him and they've stopped giving me the time of day in their comparisons between us. I'm predicted to make it to Top Five, but Andros is predicted to win. And that means they expect me to die. I'm not the best, which makes me worthless.

Ninety percent of sponsor money. I slam the door behind me and barely push my pillow against my face before I scream. How fucking dare they?

I kick the door and hurl my pillow across the room before screaming again. They don't think I have what it takes? I'm more than capable of winning. I'm more than capable of killing!

I tear one of the decorative paintings from the wall of my bedroom and slam it into the ground, ripping the canvas. Swinging wildly, I knock over a standing lamp, sending it crashing down in a spray of shattered glass.

Fuck the sponsors, I don't fucking need them!

I knock all the clothes out of the wardrobe, throwing the hangers left and right. I throw my water glass at the door, imagining it exploding in shards against Andros's head. Fuck him, too. Fuck Virgil and Jehan.

Fuck them all. How dare they?! How fucking dare they.

I yell again, tossing myself onto the bed and thrashing my arms and legs. Aren't I good enough?

I'll fucking show them. Tomorrow. I'll show them all.

LOREN ASOU, DISTRICT FIVE FEMALE

Romany's voice is soft but distinct. "Loren? Kepler? We have something special for you."

I venture out of my bedroom, where I've been holed up since the interviews. I'm not tired, but I know I need to get as much sleep as possible tonight.

"What's going on?" I ask Romany. She smiles and places a gentle hand on my back, guiding me to the kitchen.

"Oh… wow. What is this?" There's a veritable feast laid out on the table. Fruits and desserts and dishes I've never seen anything like before, covering the kitchen in a colorful and sweet-smelling swath of mouthwatering opportunity. Somewhat embarrassingly, I find myself salivating like my mouth is a moat.

"Something special for your last night," Jacks says, glancing between Kepler and me. "It was Romany's idea."

"I wanted the two of you to be able to have the opportunity to eat well tonight- last year, I couldn't keep anything down the morning of launch, and I don't want the two of you to have the same struggle. I figured if we had this little party tonight, there wouldn't be as much pressure tomorrow."

I beam up at my mentor. "Thank you, Romany. Really. This looks… incredible."

Jacks laughs. "The Capitol's finest! We've ordered some of all the favorites, as well as some more familiar choices." Sure enough, among the elegant desserts and fancy dishes, there's plenty of options that I recognize, even pastries that look just like the ones in the town square bakery.

Kepler murmurs his thanks as well, and for a moment we just stare at all the food.

"Go on, dig in!" Romany urges, pressing a plate into my hands. And like a kid in the candy store, I suddenly rush forward, picking up samples of as many things will fit onto the plate.

The others follow me, and soon enough we're all sitting in the cozy armchairs, eating our fill of delicious foods. I don't think I've ever had chocolate so rich, pastry so flaky, fruit so perfect…

It's easy to forget where I am.

I sit next to Romany with my feet tucked underneath me, answering her questions about the interviews, my alliance, how I'm feeling. I try to ignore Kepler, sitting across from me. He's not my ally anymore. He quit on me. I don't have to reach out to him.

That doesn't stop me from wanting to. Stop, Loren. It's not safe to reach out any more.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Jacks leaps up from his spot and collects something from the other side of the room. "The Capitol returned your tokens—both of them have been approved for the arena." He hands me back my locket, which I link back around my neck immediately, and passes Kepler back his tiny book.

"Thank you," I say, and then turn back to my food. It's harder to eat now, each bite reminding me of what's to come. The weight of the locket around my neck reminds me of the train ride four days ago where I couldn't stop crying.

I'm not the same as I was then. Here I am, gorging myself on fancy desserts, setting hard boundaries between me and other people, preparing for the Hunger Games.

How can I ever prepare myself?

I push a candied strawberry around my plate, unwilling to lift it to my lips.

"I'm going to head to bed," Romany says, "Feel free to wake me up if you need anything, and enjoy the food, but I'll see you in the morning."

I should probably head to bed too, but I still don't feel sleepy. I gnaw on my lip and stare listlessly at my unfinished snacks, barely aware of Jacks eventually leaving the room too.

"I thought we said no hard feelings," Kepler says, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Huh?" We haven't really spoken in days.

"When I left your alliance with Neon and Everlyn. We said no hard feelings, but we've barely made eye contact since then. I need to know before tomorrow- do you hate me now?"

When I meet Kepler's eyes, I can see the fear and uncertainty and I know that the same is mirrored on my face.

I've been treating my district partner like shit, haven't I? I tried to be strong and think of myself and my allies, but it's cost me more than I expected. A wave of guilt hits me right in the stomach.

"Kepler- no- I'm sorry- I just- it's not… ugh. No. No hard feelings, is what I'm trying to say.

"Even though we haven't talked?"

I scrunch up my face. I hate this. The idea that I've hurt his feelings. "Yeah, even then. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry I was rude when I left your alliance."

"No, stop. You weren't rude. I won't lie, Neon and Everlyn were hurt when you didn't join us, and I guess it rubbed off on me. I'm sorry for not talking to you."

"It's all right, we both have our own alliances now. And we're still district partners, right?"

I nod eagerly. "Right. That won't ever change."

"Can I make a suggestion? A truce between us in the arena?"

"Of course." I think of my allies and friends, Neon and Everlyn, and then the pair from Eleven that Kepler has aligned with. I don't think any of us could possibly hurt each other in the arena- and even if the others might, I could never raise a hand against my district partner. That much I know for certain. I extend my hand to Kepler. "A truce it is. Shake on it?"

He smiles and grabs my hand. The tension bubble between us bursts. We may not be allies anymore, but we aren't enemies either.

"Kepler, if you need anything in the arena and I'm in a place to help- I will. I can't promise much, but I'll do my best."

"Same for you, Loren."

I grin back at him. It feels good to know there's at least one more person I can really trust come tomorrow.

REDMOND ALDERIDGE, DISTRICT ELEVEN MALE

The lights in our tribute quarters are all off when I leave my room. I can't sleep, even though I know I should be focusing on getting all the rest I can. The adrenaline in my system has been going strong since the interviews, even though we've been home for hours. I just haven't been able to calm down.

And it seems I'm not the only one.

Silhouetted against the wide glass window in the living room is Calandra, sitting on the seat by the windowsill. She's got her head leaning against the glass, gazing up at the sky. The lights and bustle of the city don't seem to hold her attention.

Maybe we can talk each other into going to sleep.

"Hey."

She doesn't return my greeting.

"Calandra?"

"Hmm?" She slowly turns her head. "Oh. Hi, Redmond."

"What's up?"

"Just wishing I could see the constellations. And I got some mint tea." She holds up a steaming cup of fragrant tea.

"Can't sleep?"

"Not at all. It's just too much."

"You sound exhausted. Want to chat about it?"

She looks at me with weary eyes. I can tell by the way she slightly squints and purses her lips that she's carefully weighing her response. "Not right now, Redmond. I just want to think."

"Okay. Goodnight?"

"Night."

With nothing else to do and nowhere else to go, I retreat to my room. I open the curtains to look out my own window, but I focus my attention downwards instead of towards the dark, blank sky.

The people on the streets below look like ants, but even from all the way up here I can pick out brightly colored outfits. Cars honk, people shout, music plays- it's a party in the Capitol. Celebrations abound before the biggest event of the year.

The Hunger Games. Starting tomorrow. Well- I check the clock- today, actually.

I cannot understand Capitol culture for the life of me. I cannot fathom the celebration of imminent death.

I'm just determined that the death won't be my own.

I wonder what all the other tributes are doing right now? Are they like Calandra- distancing herself, focusing on something else entirely? Like me, unable to sleep for all the wondering about what tomorrow will bring? I bet Kepler is either dead asleep because it's the logical thing to do, or worrying himself into a state of nervous paralysis. Tributes like Syko and Shark are probably dreaming up ways to kill the rest of us.

I've known to avoid ones like that since the moment I saw the recap of the reaping ceremonies.

Districts One and Two are probably sound asleep, utterly confident in their own abilities. It really showed during the interviews how sure of themselves they all are- all four of them fell back on their confidence and skill during their time with Octavius, emphasizing their capability in their own ways. Unlike the rest of us, they don't have to fight to prove their worth. Their trained volunteer status did that for them.

Whatever happens tomorrow, I need to avoid the dangerous tributes. If they're willing to kill, I don't intend to be anywhere near them.

That thought brings me back to one question I've been avoiding all week.

Am I willing to kill? Theoretically I know I have to be, but when it comes down to it, what's the likelihood? I've never hurt anything like that before. I'm an observer, noticing things about others rather than making things known about myself.

If I looked at myself, I doubt I would see a killer.

I see a teenage musician. A little bit of a trickster. A little brother. A friend.

The reality of the situation dictates that I have to let that version of myself die so that I can actually survive. I've grown up watching the Games. A thirteen year old boy doesn't stand a chance… if that is all he is.

Could I picture myself killing? I'll start easy. Could I picture myself killing Syko? Yeah. I imagine a situation of self-defense, where he threatens me and I throw a knife at him to save my own life. That feels possible enough.

What about a total stranger, who's not a threat? Like… Inaya Stratton. I can't quite picture a situation where I'd be fighting against her, but anything is possible. I can't imagine ending her life but maybe I could do it. Maybe.

What about… Calandra?

No. I could never manage that.

Shit.

I know by the end of this, if I can't prepare myself for her death and steel myself against the possibility that it might be at my hands, there's no chance of my survival. I have to be ready for anything by the time morning arrives.

I don't think I can do it. But I'll have to try.

CYRUS AUGUSTIN, DISTRICT TWO MALE

I wake up feeling like a stone has been placed directly on my chest. I can't get up. I can't move. I can barely breathe.

The crushing weight of reality pins me to the feather-soft mattress, and bile rises in my throat.

It's worse than the worst hangover I've ever had, but I haven't had anything to drink since before the day of the Reaping. I feel like I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to die.

No.

I take a deep breath and flex my fingers, reassuring myself that I can, in fact, move. The paralysis keeping me in place… it's fear.

Today is the day of the Games.

In one fluid motion, I roll over and puke off the side of the bed. Nothing comes up but I'm stuck there dry-heaving for several minutes until I can gulp down ragged breaths and release the knot of my stomach.

This has got to be a nightmare. A terrible dream. I went to bed last night feeling fine—confident, even. The interviews went well, the alliance was all joking around before and after. Caelle and I had a good talk with our mentors before bed and then I went to sleep normally. I slept fine. I feel rested.

Why, now, are my nerves acting up.

I'm acting stupid. This is dumb. Nothing's changed except a couple hours have passed, there's no need to be nervous.

Today is the day of the Games.

My teeth are chattering. I clench my jaw to stop it, but then I realize my hands are shaking. I sit up and squeeze the edge of the bed until my knuckles turn white, but then the jitters move to my knees. When I plant my feet firmly on the ground, I can feel it in my gut. It feels like my whole body is shuddering from the inside out, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. Hot tears burn my eyes and roll down my cheeks.

Panic. This must be panic.

I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fucking fine.

Today is the day of the Games. I'm not okay.

It feels a little bit better to stand up, and I totter out to the kitchen and gulp down a glass of water. With the taste of bile washed out of my mouth, I start to feel a little more normal.

Agate and Tiberius are sitting at the dining table. "Breakfast?" Agate asks me. I nod, hoping that food will restore my mood.

Food. Mood. Heh.

"Caelle?" I croak.

"Probably doing her morning stretches in her room," replies Tiberius. I nod. On one hand, I'm kind of glad she isn't out here to see me looking like shit, and on the other hand… she's a stick in the mud, but she's an ally and a familiar face. A friend, if you will. Or what counts as one in these circumstances.

Ally. Not friend. No one's a friend anymore.

I think of Klaus, who by all rights should be in my place right now. I wonder if he and Bella have eloped yet, or if they're still dealing with the fallout of his not-volunteering from the training academy.

It was pretty smart of him to not volunteer, honestly. He made the safe choice, to not worry about the Games.

It was dumb of me to volunteer. The thought crashes into my head like an avalanche.

He asked me to volunteer to take his place.

Why? Why would he do that?

I'm a goddamn idiot who would agree without a second thought based on loyalty. That's why. Maliciously or no, he took advantage of me to change his place. Took advantage of my kindness. My loyalty. Neither of which are conducive to winning a death match between twenty four teenagers.

I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be here. In my mind's eye I replay the memory of my parents and brothers crashing into the room to say goodbye to me, full of shock and grief and anger. I couldn't understand why they were so upset, since I'd be home in a few weeks.

It doesn't feel so certain anymore. Andros and his score of eleven, Caelle and her constant urging to be better, Shark's blunt desire to kill…

Today is the day of the Games.

I understand why my family looked so scared. So sad.

I might not go home. I might die. I might never see them again.

I don't want to be here. I want to be in District Two, shooting the breeze with my buddies and teasing my little brother.

Is this a bad dream?

No.

I'm frozen in place in front of the table in the tribute living quarters, scheduled to enter the Hunger Games in only a few hours. And from then on out, my survival is not guaranteed. It was never guaranteed. There's no going straight back home and there's no getting out of it.

Fuck Klaus, fuck Bella, and fuck me for agreeing to fucking volunteer.

Other tributes will have to die for me to go home. My allies will have to die for me to go home. Shelby will have to die for me to go home.

I'm not sure I can kill any of the tributes, let alone someone like Caelle.

I'm a damn idiot. What did I expect, a cake walk? A little interview, a little workout, and then a jaunty trip back home? No.

I'm gonna have to get used to the reality of murder really quick. Not the idea of killing, the reality of it. The same thing Shark has been going on about for days. The thought makes me sick, but there's no other way. Only the tributes who can kill and kill without hesitation will survive. I'm sure Andros, Eliana, Caelle, Shark, even Syko are already prepared. I'm behind, and that may be enough to be the end of me.

I take a deep breath through my nose, willing my stomach to calm down. Today is the day of the Hunger Games. And the only way out is through.

TIMOLEON CABRERA, DISTRICT NINE MALE

"It's time to go," Leonor announces bluntly. I choke down my last spoonful of oatmeal and slip on my shoes.

This is it, I suppose.

Rhea bursts into tears and tries to run back to her room, but Avia catches her in her arms. Rhea breaks down sobbing and collapses to the ground, almost taking Avia with her. I wince at my district partner's wails, but there's no time for me to try to comfort Rhea or even pay attention to her. The time for helping others is over, and to be completely honest I doubt Rhea is consolable at all.

I squeeze my hands into fists to hide the trembling of my fingers. Leonor opens the door for me and ushers me into the elevator. "To the roof, this time."

Avia herds Rhea into the elevator and the doors slide shut behind us.

It's easy to say good riddance to the tribute quarters, but at the same time I'm desperately wishing that I'll see them again soon enough. If I ever find myself back in this sterile, gaudy environment, it'll mean I'm a Victor. It'll mean I survived.

That's all I want.

My stomach drops as the elevator shoots upward, and all too soon we're at the roof. Blazing sunlight greets us as the elevator doors open, and I blink against the brightness.

A Peacekeeper roughly grabs my arm and hauls me out of the elevator.

"Hey!" I shake her off and regain my balance. I can still walk by myself. I'm not weak.

"Males to the left, females to the right!" orders another Peacekeeper. I balk at the sorting and division of the tributes, but there's nothing I can do. I obediently join the half-formed line of fellow male tributes, falling in line behind Malek Trevelian.

None of us are looking that hot. Neon Tesla has tears in his eyes, and Sharif Nafti is blanched and pale. One of the girls is swaying on the spot, looking faint. Even some of the Careers look sick- Shelby Leone's gaze is fixed somewhere far in the distance.

"Good to see you, Timo," Gareth says as he joins the line beside me. I smile, relieved by the presence of my ally.

"Same to you. Sleep all right?"

"Not really, but I guess that's normal."

"No talking!" yet another Peacekeeper barks at us, and I quickly bite my tongue.

They load us onto the hovercraft in two rows, and I'm pleased to discover that we're allowed to choose our seats. Gareth and I sit next to each other at one end of the row.

"Hold out your arm." I obey wordlessly, and suddenly I'm being stabbed with a massive needle.

"Ow! What the hell!"

"Your tracker. Get used to it, and watch your mouth."

The windows on the hovercraft go dark for the flight, but it's a short travel, only twenty minutes or so. At the first stop, they take away four tributes in a seemingly random grouping. At the second stop, only a few minutes later, they call my name along with Althea, Andros, and Redmond.

This time, I don't have the option to walk myself to the destination. As soon as I step off of the hovercraft into some kind of tunnel, Peacekeepers frog-march me down the dark corridor. The other tributes are taken in different directions.

I'm deposited in a tiny room where my stylist is waiting for me. I've never liked him, and the feeling is mutual.

And yet, just like with the tribute quarters, I desperately want to see him again. A reunion would mean my survival. I'll take any unpleasantries of the Capitol if it means I keep my life.

I know if I win, I'd never have to work a day in my life and neither would anyone in my family, but I can't help thinking that I'd love to spend another shift at the farm being horribly mistreated by the boss, so long as it meant that I was back at home.

And I could see Vaida again… my parents, my friends. All of it. And I could help all of them and our entire community. Rebuild infrastructure…

If I win. And I have to win first.

The only thing that keeps me strong is thinking about my survival as a given. That's the end goal, I just have to make the right choices to get there. I can do it. I have to be able to do it.

"This is your arena uniform. Please change quickly. We have ten minutes until launch."

I slip into the soft, tawny pants and simple cotton tunic without too much of a fuss. The dark brown boots are stiff but well-fitted. There's not much in the way of accessory- a brown leather belt with a pouch on the side that also bears a '9' emblazoned on it.

"What is this outfit?" I ask.

My stylist shrugs. "Certainly not fashionable, I can tell you that much. Simple, practical. The pouch will be useful, and the boots are durable but not heavy-duty. Probably a mild environment, and-" he rolls his eyes "- it looks like it's supposed to evoke some sort of historical fashion. The Head Gamemaker loves that kind of old-timey stuff."

"What kind of historical fashion? Are there any clues?"

He scoffs at me. "No, obviously not. This tunic isn't period accurate for any kind of historical era, it's just supposed to look like it is. They've done a fantastic job at making it hard to guess this year."

It's not my fault that I don't know about ancient fashion. I'm more focused on, I dunno, surviving? "I'm just trying to get some kind of help for the arena."

The man's face softens. "I know. I understand, I do. If I could be more helpful, I would. Now- time for you to get going."

I turn and face the glass tube, suddenly short of breath.

This is it?

I step onto the metal plate, and the tube slides shut, encasing me in glass.

My breath quickens, but I still can't seem to fill my lungs completely. What if there's not enough air in here? I can't get out. There's no way out.

I slam my hand against the glass, and my stylist flinches and frowns. I can see my own panic-stricken reflection in the glass, and the heaving of my chest becomes the only thing I can focus on.

He mouths something to me, and I can't figure out what he's saying. "What?" I cry. "What are you telling me?"

He repeats himself, slower and more pronounced. "It's time. Good luck."

The metal plate shifts beneath me and begins to rise.

Bloodbath: coming to a computer near you in a few days' time!

No soapbox to stand on at the moment, but I might use the A/N in Games chapters to talk about writing things if that's something people would be interested in. The satire ends next chapter, but this is still a how-to-SYOT guide at heart.

There's a poll on my profile for favorite tribute(s)! Go vote! It excludes the fillers, so I apologize if you really wanted to vote for Mary Sue.

Questions:

Any guesses as to the arena?

Who do you think might get a kill in the bloodbath?

Drop a review and let me know!

Also, I'm not particularly up in arms about getting a certain number of reviews (I do make a conscious effort to write for my own passion and not for the validation of an audience), but I have noticed that people are disappearing. Are y'all okay? Is it a busy time of year/are we all just going through some shit right now? I hope it's not my writing but if it is, it'd be nice to know? Hope y'all are doing all right out there in the world!