Chapter Twelve.

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Aedan Vidar
District Nine, 18 Years Old

"Attention tributes," the Head Trainer bellowed. "On the third, and final, day of training, tributes are permitted to train in the aquatics station."

Participating in the aquatics station was voluntary for the tributes, and on the first day of training, those interested had to sign up. None of them had any clue why it was such a formal process, or why the station was limited to the final day of training, but Aedan was interested in developing a different type of skill – swimming. The newly renovated addition to the training center was home to the 'aquatics station,' consisting of an eighty-two feet by forty-one feet sized pool that was five feet deep, encased within four metal walls, stretching up to glaring lights on the ceiling.

Really, the Capitol limited the number of tributes allowed in the area at one time to create a more intimate environment. The Gamemakers thought that tributes were getting too comfortable with their allies or their District partners and they wanted to expand the tribute's network in the Capitol; they wanted to familiarize the tributes with who they would be killing – or who they would be killed by.

"Can the following tributes please report to the aquatics station," the Head Trainer said. "District Four female. District Five female. District Six female. District Nine male."

Aedan perked up at the sound of his name – he got used to being called by his District and gender, and it made him feel even more distant from the other tributes if he didn't need to know them on a first-name basis – and made his way towards the trainer standing in front of two large metal doors. Nereida, Kit, and Caris followed, and once they were all there, the doors swung open and two Peacekeepers emerged, and they followed them through the doors, leading into a brightly lit hallway.

"Boys to the left, girls to the right," the trainer said, and Aedan watched the three girls disappear into their locker room.

Aedan stepped into the boy's locker room and read the instructions on the wall, telling him to undress and don the swimsuit. A full-body swimsuit was hanging on a rack, and he stripped down, slipping into it. He tugged at the fabric on his legs, trying to loosen it up where it was a tad snug here and there, and he stretched out his limbs, never having worn such a tight outfit before.

He looked at himself in the mirror, embarrassed, knowing that Avena would be making some inappropriate joke if she were there with him. In a way, he was relieved she wasn't; he appreciated the moment of silence, of being alone. He was alone in the locker with him and his thoughts only. It reminded him of his time spent in District Nine, waking up earlier than his shift to spend time outdoors and spending extra time in the fields after work.

Aedan opened a door, leading to the swimming pool, and stepped through, contemplating if swimming would be a useful skill in the arena, but if being in the Capitol has taught him anything, it was to expect the unexpected. Anything was possible in the arena, and he made sure to spend a sufficient amount of time at each station to ensure he was prepared for anything. Avena, on the other hand, wasn't as flexible as Aedan was during training. Avena had a short attention span, spending most of her spent at the training stations with Aedan talking his ear off. She was chatty, intrusive, and –

He stopped himself. That was his District partner. His ally.

"One at a time," the Capitol trained said, and the four tributes lined up against the wall, footprints on the floor indicating where they should stand, a safe distance from the pool. Aedan noticed the other security measures around the pool, staring into the cameras sporadically positioned on the walls. "Any volunteers to go first?"

"I volunteer," Nereida said, and while the trainer laughed – perhaps it was a joke, as the words did sound similar – Aedan didn't even crack a smile.

Nereida stepped forward, dipping her toes into the water, and nodded to herself. She hung her feet on the railing of the pool, hovering over the water, and rose her arms, clasping her hands together above her head. She leaned forward and leapt into the pool, gliding through the water with ease. As she kicked off of the edge of the pool, she twisted her body, seamlessly transitioning into a backstroke, her arms and legs propelling her backwards. Nereida made it look so easy, while Aedan had only ever dipped his toes into a shallow lake.

"I've never swam before," Kit said. "But, I have read how to swim."

Aedan stood there silently and motionlessly, arms by his side, eyes looking forward. Caris was more jittery, lifting up each of her legs, stretching out her fingers.

"Can either of you swim?" Kit asked. Caris shook her head, while Aedan stared at Nereida in awe, flinching when Kit poked his arm. "Hello?"

"No," he said, and Kit opened her mouth to speak to him again, and Aedan was relieved to see Nereida hoisting herself up out of the pool. He took a large step forward, leaving Kit to mumble to herself.

Aedan stood at the edge of the pool, staring down into the water, looking back at his own reflection. He tugged at the collar of his swimsuit and turned around to face the other tributes. He took a step backwards, dipping his leg into the pool, and he twitched as he submerged the rest of his body in the cold water. He raised his arms above the water, taking a step forwards, pushing the water behind him with his hand.

He stood in the middle of the pool, the water up to his eyes, and he ran his hand through his sopping wet, matted hair, while the negative thoughts about Avena crept back into his head. She should've been there training with him, preparing herself for the possibility of there being water in the arena. Expecting the unexpected, like Aedan was. Was blindly allying with her too unlike him? Was he changing himself too much? Besides, who did he do it for, anyway? For Avena? For her family and friends back in District Nine? For their mentors?

He didn't do it for himself, did he?

Aedan shook his head. There was no time to contemplate his actions thus far in the Capitol. The arena was slowly approaching and Aedan had made an irreversible choice. He wouldn't betray Avena like that. He would be prepared for the Games, and although whether or not Avena would be wasn't his responsibility, it felt like it was. As if he had to take care of her. To protect her.

Regardless, he still intended to do all of those things. Begrudgingly. For as long as he felt was appropriate.

The trainer blew a whistle. "Tribute, you have two minutes remaining."

Aedan closed his eyes and held his breath, plunging down into the water, and the darkness, the silence, reminded him of what was to come. If he could, he would stay in the pool, never wanting to leave, to see Avena again, to attend the meet-and-greet the day after, to fight for his life in the arena. The prospect of being a victor was the tipping point; the stress, the pressure, the obligations that come from it.

Aedan wasn't sure if he could handle it.

Hardy Ellidan
District Six, 18 Years Old

Hardy half-heartedly swung his sword, barely grazing the dummy, and stared past it, focusing on the pack of Careers near the hand-to-hand combat arena, watching as the boy from District Four, Caspian, climbed under the ropes and bantered with the Capitol trainer before throwing a punch. The trainer blocked it, and Caspian jumped to the side, jabbing him in the chest.

The Careers laughed, pointing their fingers, taunting Caspian. He wanted to be there, laughing with them, joking with them, as the other tributes stared at them with fear in their eyes. Since he arrived in the Capitol, he considered joining the allies – if they would have him, that is, but he'd figure out a way to be welcomed with open arms – but after the first day of training, he knew that's exactly what he wanted to do, despite his mentors advising against it.

Hardy, surprisingly, didn't care what his mentors thought. The image of being a Career meant more to him, and it was now or never, as it was the final day of training. Without giving it much more thought than that, his legs moved, one after the other, his body following, heading straight towards the Careers. The words were already coming out of his mouth before he had the chance to really consider them.

"I want in."

They must have not heard him, so he repeated himself.

"I want in. I want to join the Careers."

"What?" Drachma looked over his shoulder, raising his eyebrow at the sight of the District Six male, unbelieving that those words came from him. "Are you high on morphling?"

"No," he replied. He knew Georgia was the de facto leader, so he wanted to address her directly, not her apparent henchmen. "Georgia, I'm strong. I can keep up."

"We're at capacity," Drachma retorted. He tilted his head back-and-forth, considering the validity of his own words. The Careers were technically not 'at capacity' since Renour left – or was kicked out, according to Georgia, but he still wasn't convinced they needed an outlier tribute to replace him.

"Shush," Georgia uttered, swatting him with her hand. "Let's hear him out. Go on."

"Well, I'm strong," he said, stumbling over his words. I already said that. "I'm good."

Good at what? He wasn't sure. He realized he should've thought it out more clearly before jumping right into inserting himself into their alliance. Drachma rolled his eyes, and looked away, hooting-and-hollering at Caspian as he wrestled the trainer. Hardy still had Georgia's attention, though, and he saw that as a good sign. She was clearly somewhat interested in what Hardy had to say – or was trying to say. Hardy wanted to be a part of the Career alliance, it was as simple as that.

"Can you," Georgia began, a dramatic look on her face flaring up as she grabbed Hardy's shirt and pulled him towards her. "Can you kill, Hardy?"

"Yes," he said, gulping. I think. No – I can. I have to. "Yes."

"Prove it," Georgia replied, releasing the grip on his shirt, pushing her pointer finger into his chest. "Then I'll think about it."

"Here?"

Georgia snorted. "If only. I mean in the arena."

Hardy nodded. He could do that. He would do that. Georgia turned back around, and Hardy stood there, not taking the cue to leave. He still had to prove himself to the Careers, to Georgia, to be accepted. He sluggishly walked away, and stopped in his tracks, only a few feet from them, his back to the Careers – his new allies, he hoped – and eavesdropped on their conversation.

"Are you sure that's a smart idea?" Drachma asked.

"We need to replace Renour," Georgia replied, shrugging. "I also respect that he took initiative. Some of you can learn a thing or two from him."

"It seems risky," Caspian countered.

"You're a big boy, Caspian. If things go awry, you can handle him."

"We should think this one through as a team, though. We should discuss it with Cleo and Nereida."

"As a team," Drachma scoffed. Caspian looked at him, confused, and he glanced around, trying to locate Cleo and Nereida. He felt outnumbered.

"Maybe I already have," Georgia said. "This could be my covert plan, and we all have one of those, don't we?"

"What?" Caspian stammered, caught off-guard. It was clear he didn't quite understand what Georgia was referring to.

"Don't play dumb," Georgia sneered, glancing at Drachma and then back at Caspian. "I see when you're huddled over in the corner whispering with the other girls."

Every time Caspian responded to Georgia, every time he appeared more taken back and confused, it made Hardy feel confident in his decision to approach the Careers. There were clear cracks in their alliance and Hardy saw it as the perfect opportunity to slide his way into it, but first, he had to prove himself worthy. That wasn't nothing new for Hardy, though. He was constantly having to prove himself in District Six and so far, the Capitol wasn't any different.

He would be a Career soon enough.

First, he had to… kill.

Hardy spent the rest of the training day stabbing away at a dummy, tearing it to shreds, and he was confident that he would be able to do just that. To kill to prove himself. He would do anything to be in the exact alliance he held to the highest standard. The powerful, formidable Careers. He would be just like them. If he didn't kill, like Georgia demanded, then he would have failed himself, and he was no longer going to be the Hardy that disappointed those around him.

He would be Hardy the Career.

Hardy the killer.

The Hardy that Panem remembered.

Rhea Shetler
District Ten, 17 Years Old

A bell rang.

The piercing sound bounced off of the metal walls, and all of the tributes looked around the training center, and suddenly, the main doors to the training center swung up and a squadron of Peacekeepers entered.

"Tributes!" the Head Trainer exclaimed. "Training is now complete. Please put down your weapons and make your way towards the elevators to return to your District's quarters."

While the other tributes obliged, putting their weapons back on the racks and pushing in their chairs at the different stations, Rhea planted her feet firmly on the ground. She was not ready to leave.

"That's it?!"

"Yes, ma'am. Please return to your quarters immediately."

"I need more time!" She said, throwing her hands up in front of her. "I'm… I'm not done!"

"Ma'am, you need to leave the training center," the Head Trainer replied, two Peacekeepers slowly approaching them. "You will have time to reconvene with your mentors in your quarters before the private training sessions."

Rhea's ally, Amias, ran back as she pleaded with the trainers and the Peacekeepers as they stood in a row. She stepped forward, confronting them, standing a little too closely, and they raised their rifle, angling it towards her.

"Come on, Rhea," Amias whispered, wrapping his hand around her arm, tugging on it for her to follow him. Amias stared at the rifles in the Peacekeepers' hands and tightened his grip around Rhea's arm to suppress his own shaking. "We need to leave."

"No," she said. "I'm not done training."

"Please come with me," Amias replied. "We can still train. Sort of."

"How?" Rhea asked, relaxed by his calm voice. She let him guide her out of the training center and he looked over his shoulders, seeing the trainers and Peacekeepers still standing there.

"You can talk with Donegan and your mentors about your strategy," he offered, her face appearing less flushed with emotion. Amias' attempts to calm her down, to distract her, were working. "For the private sessions. For the arena."

Rhea smiled, her lips trembling, and wiped away the tears on her cheeks. "I like that idea."

Amias was the type of person Rhea needed during the Games; he was nice, gentle, and understanding – more than she could say about her own District partner. Rhea's other allies, Donegan and Cara, were waiting for them at the elevator, leaning against the wall as the other tributes disappeared behind their respective elevator doors.

"Took you long enough," Donegan mumbled, walking past Amias and Rhea, pressing the button to call the elevator. He tapped his foot, impatiently waiting for it to arrive, and Rhea stood behind him, biting her lip. Rhea looked at Amias and Cara as they waited for another elevator to arrive, and when the doors slid open, they both looked at Rhea and Donegan, and Rhea mouthed the words 'thank you.' Cara stepped into the elevator, while Amias smiled at her, giving her a thumbs-up.

"Get in," Donegan snapped. Rhea stepped into the elevator with him, and they stood in front of a Peacekeeper, and he pressed the 10 button. "What was that about?"

"What?"

"Your mental breakdown."

Rhea stared down at her feet, slouching her shoulders. "You're not a nice person, Donegan."

"Do you know where you are, Rhea?" Donegan retorted. "Oh, wait. You don't. That's the problem."

Rhea fell silent.

"This is the Hunger Games," he explained mockingly. "And nice people don't win the Hunger Games. They die."

"You should die," Rhea spit out, quickly covering her hand over her mouth. She had never spoken in such a crude way, she was taught to be more polite, more prim and proper than that, but she couldn't hold it in any longer. She recoiled, turning to face Donegan. "I'm sorry. We shouldn't be speaking to each other like that."

The elevator doors slid open, revealing their mentors, Sable and Naima, standing there with a change of clothes and two cups of water for each of them.

"Donegan," Rhea called out as Donegan walked out of the elevator. He avoided their mentors, heading straight towards his bedroom. "I said I'm sorry!"

The thing was, Rhea wasn't sorry. She meant what she said. She wanted him to die for the way he treated her, for the way he spoke to her. Their mentors looked at her, concerned expressions on their faces, and she grabbed the cup of water out of Naima's hand, gulping it down.

"What was that about?" Naima asked, sitting down at the table, patting the chairs next to her for Rhea and Sable to join. "What did you say to him?"

"That he should die," Rhea said, wincing at the sound of Donegan slamming his door shut. "I... I don't mean it. Or maybe I do. I don't know."

"We all say things we don't mean," Sable replied. "We've seen how he speaks to you, Rhea, but I don't think he means any of it."

"He does, and I agree with him," she whispered, staring down at her lap. "I know I'm unprepared and confused."

"But, you're trying, you're learning," Naima replied, placing her hand on top of Rhea's. "That's all that matters. Don't listen to him."

"He's not wrong," Rhea continued. "About any of it. My parents. My life in District Ten."

"That doesn't matter anymore," Naima said, and Rhea looked up at her. "Your life could be different very soon. If you win, your life will never be the same."

My life will never be the same, Rhea thought to herself, echoing Naima's words. That sentiment alone was enough to ignite a drive to survive in the arena. She wouldn't be the clueless, sheltered girl she once was in District Ten. She would live in the Victor's Village and never have to return to her family's farm, to be stuck in her small house with her parents. She'd never have to see her judgmental, domineering father, and her submissive, pushover mother again.

Rhea was desperate for her life to change. To be different.

She wanted to be different.

Author's Note:

Training is officially OVER. Next up: The tribute meet-and-greet! What's that, you might ask? Stay tuned to find out! Sorry if y'all wanted to see the Gamemaker Sessions; I posted each tribute's training score on the blog, so take a look if you're interested. I was going to have a POV dedicated to that but figured it'd be better to put a tribute in another chapter.

Only two more until ARENA: DAY ONE. I'm excited!

Has your opinion changed on any of these tributes?