Bloodbath:


I don't wanna wait for our lives to be over,
If it happened now, would you take it how you left it?


Yo, don't skip to the bottom. I swear to God, fam, I'm not playing with you ._.


Natalie Needle, District Seven


To the right of me is Cassian, which is already a huge no-no. This is so weird, though, for me, at least. On television, the pedestals don't seem to be that far away from each other, or extremely large, but both of the tributes next to me are at least thirty feet in the distance.

Loud panting echoes from my left, and right there is Cherokee – Millet's district partner. Shaking my head, I come to my senses and force myself to understand that I can't feel any sort of pity for her at all. Millet and I are the only important matters right now, other than surviving.

Out of nowhere, a holographic timer appears. The countdown is exactly a minute, starting from sixty and slowly counting down to zero. As I continue to scope out the rest of the tributes, I come to realize that the Careers are all wearing something different – something better – than the rest of us tributes.

All of the outer district females, including me, are wearing heavy striped, long-sleeved plaid shirts that are tucked into our lengthy, hefty skirts that stop directly at our ankles. There are no shoes for us to wear, and flowery ankle bracelets reside on our tali. Not to mention that we have bandanas on, holding our hair in buns and such.

But Aurora and Camille are both wearing more lightweight, more appealing clothes for the audience to adore. Both of them have their hair let down elegantly in curls, and they wear silky mini dresses that stop right at their thighs, with gold locks on their wrists and necks. A bundle of flowers and roses center around their waists, and they keep their feet in what look like comfortable leather sandals. Barrettes are positioned all over their heads, too. I don't know where Odessa is, but I figure that she's wearing the same thing.

The males wear brown overalls with black straps over a white t-shirt and worn-out work boots. On top of their heads are bucket hats, and compared to the Career males... well, they look poor.

I take in a deep breath and look back up at the clock. Forty seconds... Cherokee keeps whimpering to herself, whispering, ''I'm not evil... If I can make it out of here alive, they'll believe me... right?''

Mustering up all of the courage inside me, I turn to her and say, ''Hey, stop being so superstitious. Everything will turn out fine, all right?''

It sounds selfish, I know, but if I can convince her that she'll be okay, then nothing will come back to bite me.

''Keep telling her that.'' Only one person would intervene and say that just because he could, and I don't even have to turn back to know that it's Cassian.

He can say whatever he wants, but when something bad happens to him, then he'll have no reason to ask 'Why me?'

Thirty-five seconds...

The timer continues to click like a bomb. I know that I can't stop it, can't reverse it, or slow it down. Each second that goes by drags me forward, helpless and nervous to the allotted time. I can't avoid it. The dread's like an invisible demon sitting heavily on my shoulders, and only I can hear the sharpening of its knives. I sweat, becoming pale, and then the tremor in my hands begins.

Snap out of it!

Staring forward, I come to the facts that I haven't even paid any sort of attention to the cornucopia whatsoever. But... it doesn't even look like a cornucopia. At least a hundred yards ahead – if not more – ivy and ferns stick through the crevices of an old winding stone path that leads to a colossal mansion. It looms proudly behind iron gates, flanked by rows of skeletal trees crowned in crimson.

All around the mansion are numerous fences, each one obviously new. The pale cedar planks have yet to see any type of harsh weather in this blistering sun. They're at least ten feet tall each, from what I can tell, which will make it impossible to climb over and escape if need be.

...Do they expect us to run this length just to reach a house? There are no weapons or bags scattered around anywhere, which makes me assume that if we want some equipment, we're gonna have to enter through the doors of that manor.

Where's Millet?!

Twenty seconds... The grass below me is straight and silent, the leaves dangled more as if they've been painted here. It leads to a segment of trees that are in front of the home, their canopies above in the distance, kind of like clouds of green.

Suddenly, something begins to shake. At first, no-one moves, our brains unable to make sense of the inputs that we hear. Our pedestals rattle like a freight train is passing by, but that's impossible. I look all around the place, trying to figure out what the hell is going on, but then I see it. In the far range, leaping over the fences, are men on horses – and if not at least fifty of them are charging at us, then more.

''Look at all those horses!'' I hear a childish voice call out. ''That's a Mustang, and that's a Shire, and, ooh, they even have an Exmoor pony!''

Everyone is looking around, trying to find some sort of escape. I'm contemplating jumping off of my pedestal, but the timer is only at thirteen seconds.

''Fuck it!'' Out of nowhere, in the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Cassian lunging off of his own. To my surprise, he doesn't blow up, no bombs go off, and no guts or body parts go flying. Have they been disabled this entire time and we were just being toyed with?

Unlike most people, instead of running away, he charges at the horses. The men come closer, and strapped around their chests are rifles. Gunshots blast through the air, creating smoke that soon invades the atmosphere. One-by-one, everyone else jumps off of their pedestals, some running away, some following after Cassian, and some failing altogether.

Quickly and quietly, I make myself as unnoticeable as possible. Hiding behind my own enormous plinth, I listen as screams fill the air, and gunshots continue to ring out, but there are no sounds of weapons.

Slightly cocking my head to the right, I watch, horrified, as Ten is abducted. One moment she's there, standing upright, pointing out at the animals that she loves, and then she's gone. Her muffled screams sound as she's hefted up over the shoulders of a dirty-looking, cocky man, but no-one is alarmed.

Why are the gamemakers doing this? They're kidnapping us, but for what purpose?! More importantly... Where's Millet?


Cherokee Franklin, District Nine


I can feel the sweat drench my skin, the throbbing of my own eyes, the ringing screams vibrating in my ears, and the thumping of my heart against my chest. I'm unable to hear my rapid breathing, but I can feel the oxygen flooding in and out of my lungs.

''Come here!'' Slowly climbing up to my knees, I take a quick glimpse over my pedestal and watch the District Six girl fight with the District Eleven girl for no apparent reason. ''You are my shield, don't you get that?''

Her voice is shaky and she's scared, but instead of running away, she's using the other girl as her personal defensive weapon. Somehow, she manages to lock the girl's arms behind her back and clutch her throat, slowly reeling backwards. One of the hunters – I think that's what they are – takes out a whip from his belt and lashes it at both girls.

Falling on her butt, Six kicks at Eleven's head and shuffles away, taking off into the trees. ''Help!'' Eleven shouts out, throwing her arms forward. Her and I make eye-contact for a brief moment, and then she screams out once more. ''Help!''

Hesitantly, I look away from the soon-to-be corpse of a girl, the person I failed to save. Fear tortures my guts, churning my stomach in tense cramps. It engulfs my conscience, knocking all other thoughts aside – it overwhelms my body, making it drastically exhausted, and I can't even feel my fingers as they dig into the soil beneath the grass.

However, most of all, it makes me calm – and that's what scares me the most.

I wanna help the tributes that are being taken, but I can't. My body won't budge, and even if it could move, I'd only make things worse. Both me and the other tribute would get grabbed, beaten, and probably killed.

In the end, there's no possible way for me to lend a helping hand. Every single day, my parents would tell me how unlucky I was, how much of a curse I was. Why should I get up and risk the safety of others? Hell, it's not like I could make things any worse than they already are.

They're probably blaming you right now for the men coming out and hunting all of the tributes. They're probably blaming you for not saving Eleven. They're probably blaming you for the inevitable deaths of others.

Just as I feel like screaming, feel like letting my cover get blown, I hear a male grunt. ''Get off of me!''

The boy from Eleven – Malik – is being smacked repeatedly by the end of a rifle. Not just one, but three. The horrendous men are trying to tire him, hitting him with all their force. Malik fights back for what seems like an eternity, before finally being hit by the hoof of a horse. Immediately, as the attack smacks into his temple, he falls unconscious, and they trail off, dragging him by the arm at high speeds.

That's your fault, too.

I remain hidden, praying that I won't be found amongt those that are running and fighting for their lives. The birds that fly overhead are so clear to see in this beautiful sunlight, and so is the smoke that comes from a gun, signaling that another bullet has been shot.

Despite all this, only one sound is to be heard: the beating of my pulse throbbing in my ear.

Suddenly, the silence is surrounded by the haunting scream of footsteps approaching me. I think it's all over, but instead, I catch sight of Aether running with the Three male, pushing him forward until they reach the evergreen group of trees. Another shot blasts, this time actually landing, and I can see Aether stagger a little bit, clutching onto his right wrist. Three squats down, muttering something, but Aether tells him to leave.

For some reason, they don't shoot at him again. Instead, he points at me. From behind comes a shadow, a large, deformed one. I know it's one of the men, but I try to keep my fear on hold. ...I can't, though. I am freaking out!

I'm hyperventilating, trying to avoid anything and everything. Each second plays on forever as I sit perfectly still, listening to the footsteps of my likely murderer. This arena isn't safe, and I realize now that I should have never given up hope.

''Com' eer, girly,'' he says softly, his breath reeking of some sort of alcoholic beverage. He sways in his movement, and I can tell that I hold an advantage of some sort. By the time that I look back towards the direction of the boys, they're both gone. Grabbing me forcefully, the man shakes my shoulders and plants a slap across my cheeks. ''What I say to ye', gal?!''

Harassed, again?!

I know that in moments like this, I should try to calmly fix the situation, but sometimes it's not that easy. Getting all up in the man's face, I harden my eyes, getting a puzzled look from him. Before I can help it, my holler reverberates like a clap of thunder – a pure roar of anger.

''Get the hell off of me!'' I scream, returning the hit right back. ''The name's Cherokee, not 'gal' or stupid 'girly', you hear?!''

Grabbing a hold of his arm, I sink my teeth into his skin as deeply as I can, forcing my jaw to close as much as possible. I can feel his skin ripping, the leakage of blood rushing out and taking comfort outside. The man tries his hardest to get me off of him, but I won't let go.

When I do decide to finally ease his pain, I spit out a huge chunk of skin, watching as his fluids pour to the grass, completely unaffected. I should feel something – feel remorse, feel scared, feel sorry.

But I don't.

''Shoot 'er, fellas!'' he screams. ''At least one more before we must take our leave! The gal isn't a propa' one!''

Bullets whiz over my head as I run away, ignoring everything around me. The adrenaline courses in my system as a flight or fight instinct. Nothing matters now, I just have to get away. Maybe I can never outrun them, but I can surely hide and escape that way.

Am I really unlucky, Mother and Father? Was I truly born under Saturn? No, I'm not; and no, I wasn't.

What I am, though, is tired of being suppressed and neglected...


Malik Sherman, District Eleven


The etching sound of footsteps lightly dancing across the grass is enough to send my back straight up. Soon enough, a cold bead of sweat washes over my face and chest, my heart trying to escape through my throat with the first chance it gets.

A cool breeze touches my skin, and as I stare down, I almost gasp at the purple welts that scatter across my abdomen like a disease. It hurts to breathe, and I can't help but wonder if some of my ribs might be broken.

Slowly, I try to get up, but I quickly realize how futile my attempts are when I have to bite my lips to keep from crying out. Including that, my hands are bound together by a tight rope that cuts off my blood circulation. And it hurts..!

''Dammit!'' I moan, doing my best to keep my voice low.

''Shut up!'' someone harshly demands, startling me. I'm not alone? I turn my head, ready to get smacked after recalling what just happened earlier, only to be blessed with the appearance of Aaliyah. ''They told us not to speak...''

''Who? Who told you not to speak?''

''The people who kidnapped us, duh,'' she answers impatiently, obviously upset. ''Who else would I be talking about, Malik?''

Sharp pain lances through my head, and colorful spots flash in front of my eyes, making it feel like my whole body has been beaten up, and every slight movement causes my muscles to ache. Wincing in agony, I shut my eyes and rest my head against the back of... whatever it is that I'm against.

Regardless of what's going on, I gotta get out of here.

''Are there any weapons around here?'' I whisper, examining the area while waiting for an answer.

Aaliyah shakes her head, and the girl from Seven – who's seated next to me – replies with, ''No. When they took us behind the fences, a few soldiers, or whoever those people are, were holding machetes and rifles, but other than that—''

'''Tis a fine day to sell some slaves, would you not agree, my good fellow?''

''Indeed, it is.''

''Pray, Sir, have you our gold and shells? It is of necessary importance that my soldiers and I take our leave, but you had promised us a great reward. Have you forgotten?''

Bang!

Following that one are many more, and with the sound of loud thuds, I can tell that bodies have just dropped. My ears strain from the sound, giving me a clue as to where the shots blasted from. Currently, there's no threat here – yet – but there soon will be.

All around me, everyone's trying to remain as quiet as possible. The girls from Three, Five, and Ten, excluding Aaliyah and Natalie, are also here. There are a couple more people, but I have no clue who they are – and they're certainly not tributes, because they're all unfamiliar.

Where are Lachlan and Aspen? How was I the only guy to get caught?

Speak of the devil! As soon as their names cross my mind, I catch sight of Aspen holding his head over the fence. ''Pssst! Malik!'' I almost can't believe my eyes. How the hell did he manage to get over here? Honestly, I thought him and Lachlan would be far gone.

With the help of someone, he's thrown over the fence, and in his hands is a small axe that's not too difficult to carry. ''How did you know—?''

''Shush! I'll tell you everything while I get you out of here,'' he says quietly, beginning to work on my ropes. ''Lachlan and I weren't sure where you went, but I saw you get taken, and I figured that since those people jumped from the fences, they would be leading you back here. Turns out that the mansion is actually the cornucopia. We were a bit skeptical, but I'm glad you're safe.''

''Thank you so much!''

''No problem.'' Once he removes my ropes, he hands me the axe. ''Lachlan told me that you were pretty good with this, so here. All yours, my man.''

Picking myself up, I stretch out my body, trying to get my blood running again. I feel stiff, but as long as I'm not dead, everything is all right. Why didn't they tie up our legs, too? I shake my head. That doesn't matter, because I'm free.

Everyone's eyes are on me, and right here, right now, I could save a couple of girls' lives. But why would you want to? You're in a death match, and only you and your allies matter.

Imogen's chewing at her ropes, and they're almost untangled. Helping her wouldn't be the smartest decision. Facing Natalie, I instruct, ''Hold your hands up.''

Her eyes widen for a quick second, but then she smiles at me, as if she knew something good would happen to her. My axe's blade cuts the rope in half, making it easier for her to slip her hands through the widened hole. ''Thank you!''

''Malik, hurry up!''

Jogging forward silently, I throw Aspen over my back and step onto the lowest horizontal cross-beam of the wooden fence. Holding a firm grip on the top, I lift my left leg over it and tell Aspen to jump off. Below us is Lachlan, sighing with relief. ''Glad to see you're okay, man.''

''Same here,'' I breathe. Before I drop down, though, I turn back and hold my hand out for Natalie. She grabs onto my wrist, and with a forceful pull, I throw her over the fence.

''M-Malik! What about me?! Ma— Malik!'' Aaliyah grunts. ''Help me, Malik! Please!''

''I'm sorry. There's just not enough time, Aaliyah. Good luck... I hope the best for you.''


Gracie Sullivan, District Ten


I don't know why the girl is yelling, but I can't look at the horses anymore because of her. Due to her making noise, the mean men come back. But why do they want us? Why do they want me?

''The hell?!'' A large man with hair all over his arms surveys our small space, taking a cigar out of his mouth and spitting on the floor near me. ''Where that big 'ol boy go?''

''Foget'im, William. Dontcha worry 'bout that boy. The buyers will much prefer these beautiful gals. They young ones...''

As I listen to their words, my lips curl and my nostrils flare. My mind feels as if lead is coursing through it instead of blood. This once sunny day now feels tarred, disfigured into something grotesque. I keep my gaze off of the two men; I can't bear to look their way, because if they come into my vision, I think I might vomit. Disgusting. They're nothing but disgusting.

''Bro... Honestly, can we just go? What type of bloodbath is this?'' Imogen mutters.

''I told ya to shut ya trap!'' Fixing up his collar, the man walks up to one of the nice girls and grabs her by the cheek. ''They gonna love ya...''

Sometimes I don't understand a lot of things, but Gabby told me that when people are mad, it's best to be quiet. I know that something's wrong with me, but it's not impossible to follow simple instructions...

The man snaps his fingers, and out of nowhere, people come in and start grabbing everyone randomly. Some people get taken by their hair, others are pulled by the clothes on their backs, but no-one says anything. When a man touches me, though, I break loose.

I gasp and try to jerk free of his grasp. ''No, you nasty man! I don't want you to touch me! This isn't how it's supposed to go!''

He laughs, not taking me seriously, and drags me along with the rest. When we pass through the section that the men came in from, there's an audience standing outside. Cheers come, fists are thrown into the air, and eyes fling wide open. The men hold some type of paper in their hands while the women stand next to their husbands, fanning themselves with their gloves.

As I look up, my stomach twists when I see pillories in the center. I remember reading a book about knights who killed witches, and their heads were cut off with swords while they were restrained.

...Is my head going to be cut off?

Instead of placing us in them, William, I think his name was, forcefully removes the clothes from everyone else's back except for me and the girls that I recognize. Stay quiet before something bad happens to you! ''...This is gross.''

''Huh?!'' William whips around and speed walks over to me. ''Repeat what ya said again! Do it before I hit ya!''

''...I said that this is gross.''

''This be the one I was talkin' 'bout, fellas!'' he exclaims. ''She was yellin' all 'bout horses and such. She knew each one that we had... Any bids?''

This man makes no appeal to my feelings at all; he rests no hope on kindness, but only strives to show how well worth I am to be bought! He's entreating them for my bone and blood...

''Show 'em ya teeth.'' He advances with his arms crossed, looking benevolent in the audience's eyes. Strenuously, he grabs my mouth and throws his arms up in opposite directions, forcing me to smile.

''Stop it!'' With a fury of kicks, I try to fight the man off, but he grabs me by my waist and chuckles, his fake demeanor making the people in the crowd happy to see more.

''The little gal's on'y a chile, ain't she, William? She'll make a prime gal once I'm done with 'er. Fifty dollas!''

''Fifty dollas from Mas'r Vernn!''

''One hunnid dollas!'' Raising his hand in the air, a man, huge in every way – wide and tall, legs as big as an adult's waist – steps forward, already out of breath.

''Two hunnid!''

''Vernn, just lemme have the gal! There be plenty for ya to buy, but she special!''

''Impossible. The gal is too intelligent to pass on. Besides, my little one needa friend...''

''But I need me a woman! She need a gen'lm'n to be spry for her, and I'd be more than happy to oblige.''

''Two hunnid from Mas'r Vernn going once, going twice—!''

''Three hunnid!''

''Five hunnid dollas!''

''Vernn!''

''Five hunnid going once... twice... three times!'' William declares. ''The gal is sold to Mas'r Vernn! I'm sure she'll do a heap of work for ya with dem assets, yeh?''

'''Course she will.''

No... This wasn't how things were supposed to go! I was supposed to keep one of the horses and ride them off to safety, not be sold!

I back into a wall, red in the face with my hands tied. It's likely that anyone in the proximity can hear me screaming. ''Stop this!''

But they won't... My freedom's being denied, and I can't live with that.


Cassian Castellan, District Two


From the outside, it would be impossible to tell that this house was old. The grim and gloomy building is the worst excuse for a home that I've ever seen. It's honestly more like a long-abandoned insane asylum rather than a once glamorous mansion. The doors and windows are covered with a thick layer of dust that looks like it's been untouched for years.

The glass frames look back at me like the eyes of an empty soul, along with the grand entryway that gives me a bad impression.

Weapons hang against the scratched walls clearly, but there are very minimal of them. Odessa already has a spear equipped, and Camille's got a lengthy, wooden axe in her hands.

''Yo, where are the bags? Where is my machete?'' I ask, looking around for important supplies.

''I don't know, but I haven't found my weapon yet, either,'' Sota sighs. ''The residence is big, but a bit too big for my liking.''

''Let's go check upstairs, then,'' Aurora requests, coming up with an idea. She's right. There's so much more to this house than just the bottom portion.

I hope I'm making you guys proud.

Jumping up on the first step, I shiver a little bit when I notice that the stairs are slapped against a chipboard wallpaper. They feel too close... too uncommonly narrow. The rail is simply a plank of wood supported by three spindles, and it looks like it could come crashing down with the weight of a child.

''Go!'' With a helpful shove, Sota asks, ''What are you waiting for, man? You scared of the second floor or something?''

''No. This just doesn't look safe to me, that's all.''

''The Games aren't safe.'' Rolling her eyes, Camille adds, ''You shouldn't have volunteered if you wanted to be safe.''

''YoU sHoUlDn'T hAvE vOlUnTeReD iF yOu WaNteD tO bE sAfE,'' I imitate, sticking out my tongue and racing up to the top. ''Shut the fuck up.''

Aurora and Sota giggle silently. Somehow, I even manage to get a smile from Odessa, but she quickly snaps out of it and returns back to serious matters. ''Does anyone know where Aether is?''

''And Krissy? What about her?'' Aurora inquires.

''Krissy told me that she was going to stick with Pavel and his allies for a while,'' Sota answers. ''Aether, though, I have no idea.''

''Why would she stay with them?'' Odessa questions. ''That makes no sense.''

''She told me that she was gonna kill them and then regroup with us.''

''She doesn't have the balls to kill two little boys, and I doubt that she'd overpower Pavel,'' Camille intervenes. ''You got played. She never wanted to ally with us, and you just let her escape.''

As they continue speaking about Krissy, I decide to go explore. In the top hallway, there are numerous amounts of rooms, but there's no way that I'm gonna check each one of them individually. There's too much to go over, and not enough time. Sooner or later, we're gonna have to go hunting before the rest of the tributes get too far away. If I'm being honest, taking a life and watching someone gasp their last breath doesn't sound very fun...

To the right, though, a ladder catches my attention. Before I know it, I'm acting on impulse and climbing up to some sort of attic. ''Bingo! Hey, come up here, guys! This attic's full of equipment!''

Immediately, I run to the first wall that holds a machete and grab it. I finger the solid broad blade, finding comfort in the upward curvature. There are backpacks all around, empty water bottle canisters, bags of fruit, and even pairs of extra clothing just lying around.

''Dude, no way!'' Sota shouts, rushing towards his crossbow. Taking it into his inventory, he scopes out the large room, looking for a quiver full of arrows, I suppose. Standing up, I step forward, listening as the floorboard creaks, something smashing against the ground. Aurora has some sort of chain in her hands, and there's a sharp knife-like blade at the end of it. ''Did you know that they have pistols here, too?''

''What are you talking about?'' I ask. Suddenly, everyone's attention is shifted to Sota. Where he found a couple of arrows, he also found guns – ten of them. He takes one and begins to inspect it. The stocks are covered with ivory inlay that the wood shows only in tiny interstices, the metal work lavishly engraved. ''Whoa! Shoot it!''

''You don't have to tell me twice.'' Pointing it at me, he pulls the trigger. Fortunately, his aim is terrible – with this weapon, at least – and a hole is punctured in the wall behind me. Sota, what the hell!

''Can you two stop?!'' Camille demands. ''Seriously. For once, will you actually take things for what they are? You could've killed him, idiot!''

''Yeah, guys... Come on, chill,'' Aurora steps in. ''Let's talk about what just happened. There was no bloodbath, and kids were captured. We weren't, though. Gunshots blasted, and from what everyone saw, Cassian didn't get trampled or hurt when he dove into the action. Why?''

''Because we're the Careers,'' Odessa answers, leaning against the wall with her spear. ''I'm assuming that the game is hunt or be hunted, capture or be captured. We're not supposed to be at risk – they are.''

''But what about—''

''Are you guys in here?'' Shockingly enough, Aether's voice rings out, and before we know it, there he is, standing in front of us. ''I thought I lost you all for a second...''

''Where were you? More importantly, what happened to your hand?!'' I ponder. ''...Did you get the first kill of the Games? You totally did, didn't you?''

''No, I was shot...''

''Come here!'' Aurora orders. ''Let me wrap that wound up before you bleed out. There's not a lot that we can do about this currently, but it's better than getting an infection and risking your chances.''

Everyone walks forward, approaching Aether and Aurora to discuss what's going on, and to figure out this entire mess. A few cobwebs continue to slap against my face, and I'm beginning to believe that spiders are the oldest residents of this manor.

''I-I... I was running forward, but then I accidentally bumped into one of the other tributes. Turns out that the mutts, I guess, were shooting at him, and I took a bullet to the hand. It hurts, but I can ma— Does anyone else smell that?''

I turn away from the conversation as my stomach heaves, my nostrils filling with the smell of rotting meat. ''...Come here!'' Suddenly, I feel someone's rough hand grab my shoulder, and I scream – much louder than I should have – as I elbow whatever's behind me until I can feel my skin sinking into their flesh.

Turning around, I force the thing's hand off of me and slice horizontally, beheading the... the corpse? It's almost entirely devoid of skin and pits with burrowing insects. Without eyelids, its milky eyes stare into the frozen ceiling while its lip-less mouth hangs open.

''If... a law is... unjust, a man... is not only right to disobey it, but he is obligated to do so...''

I can't even believe me eyes. I don't want to anyway. I've never seen something like this before, not even in my worst nightmares. But now... I've witnessed something my eyes won't be able to erase. The absolute horror completely paralyzes me, and the more I think about running out of this room, or simply moving a bit, I feel discouraged and utterly terrified.

...What is this Game?


No Deaths


A/N: Ayeee! If you skipped to the bottom, joke's on you. Okay, there's a lot to say about this chapter. I know that some of you have questions. Why were there no deaths? This chapter was honestly just to establish everyone's position. I don't know if I told you guys yet, but these are going to be a lengthy Games. The entire point of them is to torture these tributes for an act of terrorism, so, in the Capitol's (my!) eyes, ending their lives in the bloodbath would be too easy. It'd be like letting them off the hook, and I don't think the Capitol forgives very just like that... or at all. This story is honestly just a plot setting, and everyone's actions in the bloodbath and where they go can alter what happens to other tributes, and really, things will be very subtle, whether you notice them or not. What is the arena? For those of you who guessed something along the lines of slavery, you're close. Honestly, think mid-to-late 1800s and early-to-mid 1900s. Discrimination plays a huge role in this story, and timelines are all mixed up. At first, it was supposed to be a slave plantation, but I expanded on that and figured that so much more could be done. And first thing's first - no, I'm not racist. No, I don't support the inequality of anyone. No matter what your age, gender, sexuality, skin color, ethnicity, etc is, I think everyone should be treated equally, but I thought that this would be an awesome arena idea. The Capitol shows no mercy, so why would they care if a couple of tributes are whipped or beat or fucked around with?

And no, not only the darker skinned tributes will be oppressed. I'm honestly not about that, and masters and such won't only be white people. I wanna have a diverse cast, and I'm not trying to make this personal for anyone. If you do think that I'm racist, then I don't know what to tell you. Smd and eat shit, I guess, idk, 'cuz it's not really worth arguing over after typing that ^. Writing some of this gave me a headache, especially Gracie's POV. It lowkey got me hot, but the concept, imo, works really well. In the end, each tribute is held in shackles, whether it's mentally or physically. Starting next chapter, people will start dying, yeah. And I think I might have to change the rating of this story to M. No, I'm not writing porn, that's not my thing, but the ideas that I have for what these kids are gonna go through and how they're gonna die will probably be needing a change. The whole auction thing was just the beginning, and it's sort of a hunt or be hunted type thing. I honestly think that everyone in this story will be broken one way or another. I kinda got lazy towards the end of this chapter, but I hope it's not too noticeable or bad.

And while I'm here, I'ma just take the time to say that if your tribute dies early, then that's it. Idk, it's never happened to me, but I've seen authors get yelled/cursed at because someone thought that their tribute deserved to go far? Like, okay, I get that, yeah, we all wanna break the top 10, but you all know what you got yourselves into when you submitted. I didn't ask for bloodbaths, and I didn't ask where you wanted your tribute to place or where you think that they should be placed. I sound like a dick right now, but I'm just being real here. Someone has to place 26th, k? Glad that we're all on the same page and understanding :)


Anyway, I don't have any questions for you guys. Share your opinions if you'd like, and the start might be slow, but everything will pick up, I promise. If you're curious about the alliances, here they are.


Young and Dangerous: Aurora, Aether, Camille, Cassian, Odessa, Sota
Poindexters: Chayona and Imogen
Sibling Bond: Eloise and Darren
Bros Before... Puzzles?: Lachlan, Malik, Aspen
Kinda Sketchy: Condor and Helen
Emotional Vengeance: Natalie and Millet
Wendy Darling and Peter Pan: Sebastian, Mackenzie, Krissy, Pavel
Loners: Gideon, Lucretia, Cherokee, Gracie, Aaliyah


Anyway, yeah, that's all. Have a wonderful morning/day/night/whatever time it is for you guys wherever the hell y'all are at. See ya next chapter! ^-^