Right, so let's get started on the train rides, shall we?

Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter - 20, Alecxias, EillipticDART and BamItsTyler! And thank you to everyone who happened to review my parting message way back when. Also a big thank you to the-grey-flower for their lovely messages! All of you are giving me hope as to why I should finish this story and it really means a lot :D

More thanks of course, to the authors who sent in their tributes for this chapter; Tom137 (Naydene), Elim9 (Orion), 4 M4D T34 P4RTY (Aline), and Remus98 (Dathan)!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena I have created.

"Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness." ~Desmond Tutu

Naydene Carmello, Sixteen, District Three Female

With a low hiss and an electronic siren wailing in the background, the train beneath my feet starts to move.

It's hard, leaving home, but I'm keeping my head up, for the most part, doing my best to try and keep a positive outlook on an otherwise dreary situation. I've never been a fan of a pessimistic outlook, and while I'm an optimist, I'm not a giddy fool about it.

Think about it logically. I still have a chance, no matter how slim, to get out of the arena I'm being put into. I still have a chance to enjoy what's left of my life, and I still have a chance to make allies. I could win the Hunger Games, and that's a very real possibility. I think I could do it; I certainly have it in me to push forward when everything else seems rough, and I've got the brains to keep myself out of trouble, too.

District Three and the world beyond becomes a blur as the train picks up speed, a low hum vibrating gently underfoot. It's only a matter of time before we arrive at the Capitol, perhaps a couple of days or so. For the time being, I suppose that I might as well enjoy what's in store for me.

I'm still wearing my Mother's pink dress, my outfit for the reaping. It matches my tall frame perfectly, complimenting my auburn hair and striking eyes. I guess even if things do go wrong, I'll get to meet my Mother again. My parents died when I was very young; my Mother from childbirth and my Father from suicide shortly after. My older sister Millicent had to make do on her own, with me in her arms.

At only eight, life was hard, but some people helped us, despite others spitting at us or wrinkling their noses whenever we came by. We were the lowest of the low and the poorest of the poor, peasant scum and children from an unapproved marriage. We lived in the traditional part of District Three, and marriages out of our own social class weren't exactly accepted in the past. Our District is much more liberal now, but the damage was done.

My sister coming out didn't help us much either. I'm not bothered by the fact that my sister likes girls, but other people certainly were. Fortunately, help came to us in another form.

Zaphyria Vincent.

Just when all seemed lost, my sister met Zaphyria. They fell in love with each other and soon married. Even though my sister never got a decent education, and couldn't get a decent job to feed the family, Zaphyria came from a rich family, and she really helped us out. We'll forever be in her debt.

A prickling feeling comes from my palms, and I open them, realising they're clenched. Anyone's haunting past can make them feel tense at times, and I look down to the folded up photo in my hands. Opening it, I smile faintly.

The only photo of my parents smile back at me warmly, my Mother in her pink dress, and my Father as thin as ever, peering out from behind his spectacles.

I chuckle to myself a little.

Of course, they would inspire me to keep on moving and not dwell on the past. I may not have had the most glamorous of backgrounds, but at least I can appreciate life and offer that appreciation and kindness to other people. Of course, I'm not a fool, and I'm not the type to be used or pushed around, but treating people with decency has always been something I was raised to do.

I think to myself about possible allies. I'm going to need to make a team or find an ally to help me...purely for game purposes of course, although making a temporary friend would always be nice, especially if they were the type to be friendly. I know I'll struggle with survival skills, so finding an ally like that might be useful in that sense.

I smile to myself as I stare out of the window.

Of course, just like me to think ahead and make quick decisions, as I often do. It's always good to think on your feet, otherwise, you'll end up worse off than when you began.

If this all goes to plan, I'll find myself a victory.

Get into the arena, get out.

Simple.

Rapid whispering and low murmurs from the other side of the carriage remind me that I'm in the presence of another tribute – my District partner. His name is Parker, and realistically, he's a goner. I've spoken briefly to him and I found him to be pretty talkative (he talked my ear off for fifteen minutes), but he didn't seem anything but unhinged and unprepared. I hate this situation just as much as anyone, but Parker seems to be affected by some kind of nervous tic, raging on about being sacrificed to a martian.

It's a bit strange, but I'm not judging him for it. I should know more than anyone that you can't judge someone by first appearances or impressions. On the other hand, he doesn't seem particularly good at anything, so I know I can't really expect him to be a reliable ally. My eyes flick back to the photo in my hand, the wrinkles in the paper like lightning, forking over the picture and betraying their presence in the light.

Millicent and Zaphyria were heartbroken when they saw me get reaped. We've worked so hard to try and make a family of our own, and now a part of that family could be gone forever. Both of them were sobbing and hugging me, regretting the moment that they'd finally have to let me go. I cried too, but because I knew I would miss them. If I die in the Games, my last memory won't be of their tears, but of their smiles. Those memories will be my anchor, and they'll push me to get back home where I belong.

I'll make sure to try and keep smiling too, just in case I die. Not just for me, but for Millicent and Zaphyria as well.

If I have to go, I'd want them both to know I was happy.

Orion Trent, Eighteen, District Four Male

I feel fire.

It's not a burning fire or anything that's hurting me. It's not the red hot, blinding, mind-numbing pain that comes with a regular burn; I know how that feels. It's within me, flames licking the sides of my heart as it beats on.

Passion.

Is that the right word for this feeling? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

Determination.

That's a bit better. The fire I feel in my chest is more of an emotional feeling than one of pain. It's not spurred on by the need to fight because I want to. It's spurred on by the need to fight because I have to. It's a sense of perseverance; a push that reminds me to put one foot in front of the other, to take another step on this road to somewhere. It's this sense of drive that I've never truly felt before; a sense of purpose that wells up inside of me and begins to spill over. I can feel the jittery excitement bouncing around inside of me too.

Volunteering…it's given me purpose.

I've always struggled to be the person who has a goal. In eighteen years I haven't really made any moves to do anything great or pursue a goal. I just kind of go with the flow. I'm like a cork in the ocean, just bobbing away as the world goes on without me, the waves rising up and crashing down, over and over again. I've always been the type of guy to not attract too much attention, the guy who just blends in and gets the job done. I've trained silently and diligently because it grounds me and I enjoy it, not because I wanted to be this year's volunteer in the Hunger Games.

Somehow, that happened.

I never really considered volunteering before, but there's always been that constant suggestive tone from my trainers, and they kind of egged me on in a way. I caved like I always do. They suggested that I volunteer and eventually I just did. I always liked training for some reason. I saw it as some kind of physical therapy after everything happened. It was my solace almost, my sun breaking through clouds in the rain. I'm not saying I didn't want to volunteer, because I did. I made the decision to do so because of a lot of different things, and I don't really have anything to lose. All I have left is my disorganised Uncle Marcus, who's raised me for the last six years on his own, and he's not exactly your model parent.

I can't blame him though.

Imagine, a twenty-two-year-old fisherman taking in and looking after a twelve-year-old child who'd just lost his parents in a fire. My parents were rebel sympathisers, and the 74th Hunger Games lit the flame that turned everything to ash. The death of the leaders of the rebellion, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, sparked enough outrage in all of the Districts after they fought in the Quarter Quell and died shortly after escaping the arena.

I don't remember much about the rebellion, but I know that my Dad was passionate about it. The Games were always a necessary thing in Panem, but my Dad was well known for opposing them. I heard rumours that he burned down a Capitol sympathiser's house, but those are only stories. Even if it was true, the people that lived there obviously had it coming. You don't burn someone's house down for no reason.

The fire came soon after that. My Mom, my Dad and I smelt the smoke before we felt the heat on our skin. Someone had lit our house ablaze, the orange flames roaring around me as the rafters began to fall, charred and lifeless, so different from the loving home I'd lived in before. At only twelve, I was scared that I'd die.

So I hid.

Frozen to the spot out of fear, I closed my eyes to the burning, crackling animal that seemed to creep closer and closer. I don't remember much after that; just my parents finding me, and the three of us fighting our way out, flames licking our bodies as we coughed and stumbled our way to freedom. I remember the smoke stinging my throat as I gasped for air, the heat against my back as I coughed into the dirt. I don't want to imagine how my skin bubbled as it burned, blistering and scarring my body forever.

Fellow rebel sympathisers found us that day, but only I survived. The rest is history.

That same twelve-year-old child, afraid of the flames, was currently turning over a piece of charred wood in his hands six years later. This piece of wood was brittle and blackened, aged by time and fire, and yet it held the memories of the place it once belonged to.

Now those memories are smoke, and I am here, on this train, going to the Hunger Games to kill twenty-three others in a game of survival, all the while twisting the only piece of home I have between my fingers.

"Interesting token you got there."

My brown eyes dart up to meet the face of my District partner. She's sharp-looking as if she could be a blade or the thorns of a rose. Her face is angular and strong, with chocolate curls and brown eyes, filled with a sense of determination.

"Aisha Cain," she says as if I hadn't heard her shout her name as she volunteered, walking confidently up onto the stage. "I figured we'd talk. Get to know each other, come up with a strategy, get prepared. That kind of stuff."

She seems direct, purposeful, and strangely authoritative. I'm alright with that. I'm never the person who takes charge and she seems to have more of an idea about what to do than I have.

"I'm Orion," I respond, slowly and gently. "And I agree."

"Good," Aisha responds, nodding. "I'm thinking you and I could butter up the careers, join their pack and take over. How about that?"

"That sounds alright to me," I nod, agreeing with her. "There's safety in numbers and in strength."

"Well, let's hope that this year the pack won't break up too early."

My mind rewinds itself back to the 80th Hunger Games. Last year, the career pack split up early into the Games and turned on each other, which gave other tributes the edge to knock the careers down one by one. The final six tributes only had one career in it at the end. Hopefully this year we won't make the same mistake they did.

I wince slightly and look down at my hands, a splinter from the wood in my thumb. I'd been turning over my token so obsessively that I'd somehow managed to dislodge a piece of it. Looking down, I let Aisha begin going over her plans while I pick out the splinter, watching the bead of blood appear as the wood exits my skin.

I wonder if that's the only drop of my blood that will be spilt…and will it be by my own hand?

I guess we'll have to wait and see.

Aline Liu, Twelve, District Nine Female

I'm waiting for my body to calm down.

I'm trying to find balance.

My heart is still hammering in my chest. My brown eyes watch my fingers fiddle with my blue skirt, pulling it into a straight line. Everything about me is pristine and perfect; not a thing out of place, from the dragons swirling up my blouse to the dark hair on my head, held back with my token, my Mother's hairpin. The adrenaline surging through my veins is only just beginning to calm down; anyone would be surprised to find a twelve-year-old who wasn't shaking as the prospect of their imminent death, but I'm very different. On the outside, I'm cool, calm and collected. On the inside, my heart betrays me.

Of course, I'm scared. Of course, I'm nervous. Of course, I'm wondering about what the future will bring. A twelve-year-old, thrust into the Games? I've got a slim chance of surviving, and that's more than real to me right now.

I take a deep breath, sucking in air through my parted lips as I close my eyes and try to ground myself. The teachings of my Dad come to me at a time like this. I saw him before I came on to this train, and his words and lessons resound within me as I focus on slowing my heart rate. My family are descended from a long line of teachers, their lesson originating from the art Shaolin Kung Fu. This tradition has been passed down my family for centuries, but it's reached the point now that we tend to forget the history and philosophies behind it, instead merely passing on the skills and combat lessons from parent to child.

I didn't eliminate the possibility that I would be sent into the Games. My training and knowledge of what I've learnt so far could easily be a way to give me more of an edge. Put me up against someone around my age and I could easily beat them in a fight. I'm no match for a typical career, but I'm trying not to think about that.

Instead, I'll think about wude.

The traditional term "wude" (otherwise known as "martial morality" or "morality of deed") is a way for someone to strengthen their morals through Shaolin Kung Fu and live by teachings that are handed down through many generations. We must train our minds to balance emotion and wisdom, otherwise one of the two will begin to control us. My Dad has always strived to try and instil the virtues of his practice in me; humility, virtue, respect, morality, trust, courage, patience, endurance, perseverance and will. There are a lot of lessons, but I'm the only triplet that chose to take this path seriously and master my impulses and emotions.

It's not been easy. Besides the virtues, there's the training and various other practises that I have to follow. Dad used to carve butterfly swords out of wood and practice with me. They're nothing close to the real thing (which I've never seen), and I'm not sure if they'll even be present in the arena. I just have to remain focused and trust this process. I cannot let down my guard and allow myself to be overcome by my emotions. Fear, despair, anger, worry…it's all there inside my head. I can feel it dragging me down, like weights on my shoulders that root me to the spot. All I have to do is remember what Dad taught me, and I'm sure I'll be okay.

Thinking of home is painful, but I know that it will give me hope. My Mom passed away giving birth to me and my brothers: Jothan and Seth. Jothan's a lot like me; quiet, collected, even-tempered. We get along really well, and he's the closest thing to home. All I have to do is think of his quiet voice and I can already imagine that I'm back on our farm, watching our farmhands Mariet and Dean. Seth is more upbeat like Dad, but he's a terrible joker and I wish he'd be a bit more serious about things sometimes. He never seemed to take Dad's teachings seriously enough.

Shaolin is serious. It's not just about honouring our traditions and our roots, but it reminds us to be mindful of our flaws and errors, finding ways to fix them. I'm not perfect, but I know that I'm better than to give in to my emotions. Sure, I'm young and naïve, but at least I'm not crying and bumbling my way to the bloodbath, like some of the other tributes might be.

My District Partner, Barric, gains my attention with a loud crunch. He's currently munching happily on a breadstick, his plate piled reasonably high, but not so much that it's excessive. I've been observing him ever since we got on to the train, trying to decide if he'd be the type of tribute I could ally with. As much as it pains me to think it, I'll have to use him as a shield if I want to make it through today. But just through the way he acts, there's something in my mind that clicks; he seems practised, prepared, ready for this almost. It's as if he knows what to expect. Even the way he's piled his plate is smart – a varied, healthy diet, and not too much food.

I have to think objectively if I want to win this. I need strong allies, and Barric seems to be a possibility. If I can appeal to him somehow, then I might be able to land myself someone who can help me. I don't want to be alone in this arena, and I really don't want to die in it. It makes me wonder if I have it in me to seek out other allies too. I haven't even spoken to Barric yet, and I can't guarantee that he'll join me if I ask him to be an ally.

I check the time.

Our mentor told us that we'd have about an hour before the reapings were broadcasted to the Capitol. I've got maybe half an hour to mentally prepare myself. Reaching into my hair, my fingers slide along the smooth edge of my hairpin. A part of me feels that I should leave my hair up, but another part of me doesn't see the point. I'm not in the eyes of the Capitol yet, and I want to make sure my Mom's hairpin is in my hand when I see who I'm up against.

Part of me wonders if she could be watching over me right now. I know it's something to ground me in case I feel panicked about who I'll be up against. I have emotions, but I have to remember my training. Finding the balance between mind and body is the most important thing going into this. If I show weakness, the careers will come straight for me.

I have to focus and stay calm.

That's the only way I'll win.

Dathan Corvair, Seventeen, District Ten Male

Life is about taking risks.

Why would anyone ever want to live a life that was boring? That doesn't make any sense to me at all. If you're going to live your life, you have to experience it. You have to witness the highs and the lows, the quick days and the slow, the new and the old.

I mean, having a batshit crazy mentor wasn't on the top of my list of new experiences, but I guess that you can't expect anything when it comes to the Hunger Games. People always say that you should expect the unexpected, but sometimes it's better to just go with the flow. Learn what you can, leave what you can't. Besides romance and jokes, books are my favourite thing in the world, and as they say – knowledge tends to be power.

"You're gonna die. You're gonna live. You're gonna die. You're gonna live."

Right, back to crazy. My mentor, Mallia, is rocking back and forth, whispering words to herself as she's sat in the corner, watching the TV screen and waiting for the reaping recaps to come on. Besides Lenore, the creepy chick who's my District partner, she's the only other person in here. Despite being slightly creeped out, I think she's kinda cool. Mallia has to be more than just her voices; people are more than what they exhibit. It's just clear that Mallia's way of coping is really different from everyone's else's, so why should I be in any position to judge?

She survived the Hunger Games. She has to know something. Therefore, crazy or not, she's useful to us.

"She'll be fine," Lenore sighs, speaking in a somewhat calm and collected tone, having followed my gaze.

"I know," I respond. "I've heard the stories. She lost her mind after the Games and she's been like this ever since. What's the deal with you, anyway? You're the undertaker's daughter, right?"

Lenore's a familiar face to virtually anyone in District Ten who's seen death. I don't know much about Lenore myself, but I've seen her around, and I've heard the stories around her. I haven't got the slightest clue about what it must be like to be the undertaker's daughter, but I guess in a way she must have some kind of advantage. Dead allies or killing people isn't hard when you're seeing people die every day. You just kind of get used to it. That's why she's so interesting; because she's got an edge. I can already see it in her – she has the potential to make it all of the way because she's dealt with things that a lot of other people haven't.

"That's me," Lenore replies. "Let me guess, you want to know if the stories are true. Do I sing the bodies to sleep every night? Do I make magic potions to raise the dead?"

I blink at her, but she cracks a smile. It takes me a second, but I find myself grinning too.

Dark humour, huh? I'm always one for jokes, but I don't think the darker ones are my kind of style. Still, if the girl can crack a joke, then it means she's got heart. Maybe Lenore is turning out to be more of a potential ally than I first thought she'd be.

Suddenly, the TV screen flickers on and the Capitol channel begins to cover the reapings. Mallia's demeanour doesn't change at all; she continues to rock back and forth, muttering away about life and death. Instead of focusing on my mentor, I decide to look at the reapings to get a feel of my fellow tributes.

It's not the most enjoyable thing to watch, and honestly, I kind of ignore most of the tributes' reapings. There are a couple of tributes that seem to stand out to me, besides the brave careers. The boy from Three just laughs out loud when he gets reaped as if he's won some kind of prize. His own laugh brings a smirk to my lips. He seems interesting and different. The boy from Eight follows soon after, and he seems to have some kind of nervous energy when he gets reaped as if he's shocked but also rearing to go. District Ten's reapings soon come, and the camera zooms in on me as my name is called.

The camera is quick to pick out my curly brown hair and stubble, my dark eyes fixated on the escort as she calls my name. I look a little shocked, but I stay strong, not letting a tear fall from my eyes. Then the camera moves once again, the frame opening to reveal Uriah, who shakes my shoulders. I can see his bright green eyes and golden curls as I pull him into a hug and then kiss him quickly and gently. I move out of the seventeen-year-old area and cross the walkway to the women's section, the shot focusing on Reine as I pull her into a hug and give her a kiss as well, her hazelnut hair cascading down her back in waves.

Well, now the entire Capitol knows about my sexuality.

I'm bisexual. Uriah and I have always been really close, and when we were younger we used to experiment with each other. He's always been so understanding and kind, and he's overall a great guy. We found that we liked it, and ever since we've been regular bed partners and lovers. Reine didn't join our trio until a little while after that. She works in a local factory, and she's always been a little more playful. We all went on a night out and ever since then we've been together. We kind of fell into our three-way relationship, but honestly, I don't think there are any two people who understand me and love me as much as they do.

I watch myself walk up to the stage, putting on a brave face, smiling and joking with our escort. I knew that I had to play things right in order to get some of the sponsors on my side, so that's what I did. My fingers absentmindedly play with the homemade rose and the ivory ring that Reine and Uriah gave me before I left. I know that I have the potential to win the Hunger Games, to make it out alive and get back to them. I'm smart, I'm strong, and I know how to win people over. I take risks, too. You can never be a victor unless you take risks.

The next reapings fly by, and the only other tribute of interest is the boy from Twelve. He seems nervous as he gets up onto the stage, but there's something about him that I feel connected to. He seems determined in a way; like he knows he has to keep on fighting even though he's just entered a nightmare.

Now that the reapings are finished, I lean back into the soft cushions behind me, thinking over the tributes in my mind. I'm strong and fit enough to blend in well with the careers. All of the career tributes look pretty strong this year, so I know that I'll have to impress them if I want to join their ranks. I could even make my own alliance if I wanted. The boys from Three, Eight and Twelve all seem to have enough of a potential to be a threat in the Games. Lenore and I could team up together and go after them, but then again I'd have to talk to her about that.

Sighing, I begin to play with the rose and the ring again, thinking about Uriah and Reine. I wish I didn't have to leave them behind. They're everything to me, and I don't know what they would do if I died in the next couple of weeks. In my mind, there's only one solution to make sure I don't cause them any pain.

I've got to stay alive.

And there we have it! Do you think Naydene will be able to pull through, after everything that she's been through? What about Orion? Do you think that he can take charge in the career pack or if he'll end up blending in? As for Aline, how do you think she'll fare in the Games? And Dathan already looks like he's making plans. Do you think he'll bring any of them to fruition?

So, drop me a chart! Which tributes did you love/like/were neutral to/dislike in this chapter? Also, how was my writing this chapter? I hope I'm living up to my old quality of writing ;)

I also would like to shout-out some people! If you're up to checking out people's stories then the-grey-flower and Alecxias are both doing SYOT's, although I don't know what stage they're at with their own upload schedules. Alec has been a friend and loyal reader of mine for quite some time, and Grey is a sweetheart, and they're just as lovely – they won't bite and their writing is wonderful, so I'd definitely give them a read! :3

Over and out!

~Mental