Disclaimer:

I do not own the Hunger Games book series. It is the property of Suzanne Collins and the publisher Scholastic Press. The movies are owned by Lionsgate and other associated producers and creators. I am simply a humble fan, writing this for the enjoyment of other fans. Please support the official release.

Train Ride

Romeo Night

District 6 Male Tribute

His grandfather was the first Victor District 6 had ever had in the games. He won over fifty years ago. Romeo had seen pictures of Aero when he had gotten out of the arena. The pictures of a young, hale boy, ripped from his home but refusing to die. Without bringing his ego into it, Romeo could see the resemblance between himself and the young Victor.

The old man sitting across from him had long lost the youthfulness of Panem's nineteenth Victor. His handsomeness had given to age. His coal-black hair was completely grey, falling down past his ears. But the strength that carried his grandfather to victory remains. Romeo could see it in his eyes, as the old man buttered his biscuit.

All four of Sixes' Victors were alive, but only two of them made the short journey to the Capitol. Tamora and Router had been declared unfit to mentor due to their addiction, leaving an old man and bitter woman to guide the tributes of Six.

"You're never this quiet at home," his grandfather said, breaking the silence. Romeo watched as he lathered the biscuit in jelly. "You're always so... Perky. Upbeat. You haven't said a word since you got on the train."

His grandfather would know. He had known Romeo since his birth. He had been the one to buy his father and mother a fancy house in Upper, far away from the crime-ridden world of Lower. Even now he officially employed his son and daughter-in-law as his personal housekeepers, paying them more money than the mayoral salary. As such, he had always been in Romeo's life, even down to convincing him that attending school in Lower would be good for his outlook.

"Are you afraid?" Aero Night asked, putting the top of his biscuit back on. His eyes bored into Romeo's.

"Yes," he admitted, looking down at the table. He was afraid. A deep, paralyzing, primitive fear. All-consuming since the moment he was reaped, one of the few eligible boys that could compete in the quell. What would his grandfather think of his admission? Like Aero himself, Romeo was being carted off to die. He wondered if that was how his grandfather felt when he had been reaped in the second decade of the games.

"Good," his grandfather said, biting into his biscuit. Romeo looked up in shock, watching Aero swallow. "You'd be an idiot to not be afraid. Like that boy Titus a few years back. Hand to mentor him myself, not an inch of fear him in. I couldn't understand it at the time, but after seeing what he had become in the arena… Well... Never mind. An old man's musing. What I mean to say, Romeo, is that fear is good."

"Good?" Romeo asked incredibly. "I'm a coward! Waiting to be killed!"

Ever since the moment that he had been reaped, he hadn't been himself. The fear was eating him alive, burying the happy boy under his shot nerves.

"It means you're not an idiot," Aero snapped, giving Romeo an annoyed look. "It means in the arena you'll live longer. Provided you don't let the fear stop you from surviving, the scared tributes are the ones who live the longest. No Victor has won that wasn't scared to be in the arena. Not even the Careers, as much as they'll tell you otherwise. Fear is a mechanism of survival, and it can be your best friend. I was scared out of my wits in the nineteenth. Back then I didn't even have a mentor from home. The Capitol assigned a war hero from the rebellion to be the first generation of mentors. Commander Scorpio was his name. Born and bred a Two. Fought for the Capitol during the war and was responsible for putting down the rebellion in Six. Charming man to be my mentor. Said I was a criminal who escaped punishment. Said I deserved to die in the arena. Thought he might let me die after that."

Romeo couldn't imagine what that might have been like. A mentor who not only condemned his District but one who was paid to mentor you in the sick games. Someone who wasn't invested in the people from home, who didn't care if you lived or died. Someone who saw you as a criminal. "Did he let you die?"

Aero snorted. "President Summer created the mentor system personally, my boy. She might have been a power hunger bitch, may she root in hell, but she was dedicated to her rules. A mentor was supposed to fight for their tribute, and she made it perfectly clear that letting them die was breaking her rules. Breaking the law. An act of treason. Old Scorpio might have been a rebel hating bastard, but he was loyal to the Capitol. To President Summer. Did his duty and got me home. All things considered, he was a capable mentor. Left me hanging the next year though. Returned to Two with honors," his grandfather said, spitting.

"You're a better mentor," Romeo said, his mouth moving before he could think. "He only got one tribute out. You saved three."

All of District 6's other Victors had been mentored by Aero Night. Both Router and Tamora had been declared unfit to mentor. Only Mercedes was around to help him, and she hadn't pulled anyone out yet.

After hearing his story, and realizing just how successful his grandfather was at this mentor thing (for a Victor who wasn't a Career), Romeo suddenly felt a lot better.

"You know what, gramps? I think I'm hungry after all," Romeo said, a cheek grin slipping across his face.

Aero laughed. "Come on. Let's go see if we can find Mercedes and Kia. We need to decide if you're going in alone or if you two want to ally."

Maisie Rosale

District 9 Female Tribute

Maisie takes her place at the table, sitting next to her mother. The woman who gave birth to her was also her mentor, and if there was one thing about the situation that was true, she knew her mother would do whatever she had to do to get her home. Since she won fourteen years ago, Amelia had only brought home one tribute in her time as a mentor, and he was sitting across from her. Aaron Lockwood won three years ago. Since he and his family moved to Victor's Village, Maisie had gotten to know the young Victor. She liked him. Which made it a little hard to know that he was mentoring Wallace Branwell, her district partner. If he was to come home, she had to die.

Her mother would do everything in her power to make sure that it didn't happen, but at the same time, Aaron would be fighting for Wallace. Wallace Branwell's grandmother had died before he had been reaped. He had no one other than Aaron to fight for him.

Why did they need to fight at all? Why did they have to be put in the arena to fight and kill each other?

Not that she was going to say it. Her mother had told her the tribute train was bugged, and if she started talking like the Gamemakers would fix it so she wouldn't have a chance to win.

Did she even want to live? Did she want to live with the rest of her life with the blood of twenty-three other people on her hands? Every year when she watched the games (she hated mandatory viewing) she couldn't stop herself from crying. Maisie hated watching the deaths, and now that she would be part of the show, she didn't know if she wanted to win.

No. That wasn't true. Force her into the arena and put a knife in her hand, and she knew she would fight. As much as she would hate herself for it, Maisie wouldn't just lay down and die. She didn't want to die.

"You should try the carrot soup," Arron said, pointing to the thick, creamy soup on the table. "It's good. One of my favorite dishes."

Wallace looked at the soup for a minute, before loading his plate up with roasted lamb chops, and mashed potatoes. From his side, Aaron shrugged, dipping one of his chops into the soup.

Maisie grabbed a slice of cheese from the table and started nibbling on it. She watched Wallace ding into the lamb chops. He was a field worker, his relationship to Nine's first Victor not stopping him from the hard labor. Her district partner probably never had food like this. Maisie had grown up in Victor's Village, having access to her mother's wealth for as long as she had been alive. Wallace hadn't had that chance.

"So," Aaron said, his mouth full of food. "I guess we should find out if either of you two want to brave the arena alone, or form an alliance?"

Maisie's mother, sipping her cup of hot chocolate, nodded her head in agreement. If Wallace wanted to, she'd form an alliance with him. He would be the only one in the entire arena from home.

As soon as his mentor spoke, her district partner looked up at her. Their eyes met for a moment. Wallace nodded. "We'll do better working together," the seventeen-year-old boy said.

Aaron breathed a sigh of relief. Silas might have been his mentor and the man who threw himself into hell to pull him out of the arena, but her mother had been invaluable in making sure he came home. Aaron's district partner died in his bloodbath, taken out by the boy from Two if she remembered right. Her mother was in his corner the moment after and done as much as Silas to bring him home.

"Having someone watch your back can mean the difference between life and death," Aaron said with food in his mouth. One glare from her mother and he swallowed.

"Where did you learn your manners?" Amelia asked with a tight smile. Maisie couldn't help the giggle she gave.

"My mentors," he answered with a smug smile. Her mother shook her head.

"The first thing both of you are going to want to do is stuff your face," Aaron said. His smile disappeared, a look of contraindication appearing on his face. For the years she knew him, Maisie had never seen this look on his face. It was the same look her mother wore when she knew she was going to mentor a tribute. "The more food you eat, the more meat you put on. The more meat, the longer you'll be able to live without food in the arena."

Maisie looked down at the food in front of her. She had seen tributes starve in the arena, and it was the last thing she wanted to do. If she had to go, long and drawn out was the way she didn't want to go. Though she'd pick starving over a career putting on a show.

"Wallace, you're in good shape. I can see the muscles," her mother said. If this was another time, Maisie might have felt awkward seeing her mother say that to someone. But she was in a mentor mood. "Maisie I've made sure exercises every day, so the two of you should be fit enough."

That was one way to put it. Every since the quell was announced, her mother had become a Peacekeeper drill sergeant.

"So, any skills to speak of? Either of you?" Aaron asked. Maisie thought about it. She didn't have any weapon skills, but her mother had gone out of her way to make sure she wasn't going into the arena defenseless.

"I've memorized a lot of poisonous plants and insects," she offered. Her mother had quizzed her nonstop every day when she wasn't working out.

Aaron nodded, turning to his tribute. "What about you?"

Wallace shrugged. "I'm big. I help carry the large balls of grain. I know how to use a sickle. I'm always out during harvest season," he said. In terms of fighting, he was already ahead of her.

Aaron and Amelia exchanged looks. "First things first. The day after tomorrow is where the private training sessions began. You two will stick together at all times. From now on District 9 is a team. Wallace, stay away from a sickle. It's a common weapon for Nine, but I'd rather not give the careers any reason to target you. For weapons, both of you should learn how to handle a knife. In the arena, it's the most common weapon, and it can help you. With more than just killing," he added.

"Learn skills that neither of you know," his mother picked up from where Aaron left off. "It might be a good idea for you Wallace to learn some survival skills of your own. Stick to stations your not familiar with. Avoid any other weapons but knives. Nothing that would increase your muscle mass like weight lifting. The more muscles you have, the more energy you'll expend. The less time food will last."

"Tying knots is a good skill to learn. The trap station will also help you in catching food, it the arena is an outdoor arena," Aaron offered.

Maisie exchanged one look with Wallace, and the two spent the rest of the night absorbing as much information from their mentors as they could.

Rye Mellark

District 12 Male Tribute

After dinner, Rye wasn't proud to admit that he hid in his room. But he did. This was his last year being edible to be reaped, and it would be his luck to be picked. Maybe it was some kind of karmic justice for last year. When Peeta had been reaped, his younger brother, he hadn't been able to step forward and volunteer. Unlike Katniss Everdeen, he had left his little brother to be carted off to the Capitol. In a way, he guessed he deserved it. His final year in the reaping and he gets chosen, just because his little brother won last year. Because Rye let him go.

It was stupid. He had already confronted Peeta about it when his brother had come back home, and his brother had forgiven him. Peeta had never been the type to hold a grudge.

Staring at his face in the mirror, a knock on the door brought his attention back to the real world. "Yes?" He called.

"Hey, Rye," Peeta called. "Mind if I come in?"

"Oh. Sure," he answered, stepping out of the bathroom, The door opened and Peeta stepped inside, wearing the same clothes as he had at the reaping. They were the clothes he wore at the reaping, the finest materiel from the Capitol.

Staring at him, Rye felt a little awkward. His little brother was his mentor. All his life, he had been the one to lead between the two of them. Now their rules were completely reversed, and Peeta was the one who knew how things were done here.

"How was dinner?" Peeta asked.

Rye grinned. "The best I've ever had," he admitted freely. After living off stale bread, with the occasional stale desert or meat, the meal was easily the best in his life. To think that's what Peeta has been eating for the last year, while Rye has subsided off stale food. Of course, Peeta offered to buy him food, but what kind of a man would he be if he let his little brother treat him like that?

"Eating too much to quickly will make you sick. Our bodies aren't used to the rich food, so pace yourself," Peeta said, eyeing him from the doorway. For a moment, a light smile wrapped warmly around his face, before it disappeared. "We should start discussing the games. I've asked Portia to stay, and she's agreed to become your stylist. Cinna is going to stay too, so you and her will stand out in the parade. That's good. You want to make an impression as early as possible. That'll get you sponsors."

If there was one thing watching the games taught Rye, it was sponsors could mean the difference between life and death. "Good," was all he could say to that. What else was there to say?

"I know you can't use any weapon. Well, maybe a knife, but I heard you tried to take Gale Hawthorne in a knife fight and you lost," Peeta said.

Not one of his prouder moments. It had been shortly after the rule change was announced. Gale was portrayed as Katniss Everdeen's cousin, and if he broke that illusion then Peeta would have been in danger. Rye had seen how angry Gale had been with the reports, and his fear for his brother's life got the better of him. He had tried to threaten Gale with a knife of all things. In a fair fight, Rye would have won easily, but Hawthorne refused to fight fair. Before he knew it, Rye was on his back, knife kicked out of his hand, Hawthorne's own knife to his throat.

The look on the Seam boy's throat still sent shivers down his spine. In that moment, he appeared to be so unhinged, Rye though Gale might actually cut his throat. Of course, he didn't, but he promised he wouldn't be so generous the next time Rye tried to jump him.

Ry rubs the back of his neck. "How did you even hear about that?" He asked.

Peeta snorted. "Delly," he answered. That little traitor...

"Yeah, well... Don't go telling anyone," he mumbled. Peeta grinned.

"My lips are sealed," he promised. "That said, we'll be arriving in the Capitol sometime tomorrow. The Parade is out of your hands, really. But after that is training. That's something we can work on. I think I have a strategy for you."

Author's Note:

Hello! I hope you have enjoyed the fifth chapter!

The train ride was really fun to write about! I can't wait for the next chapter to come out! Thank you to everyone who has submitted a character so far. At the time of writing this, Wallace Branwell is the only OC who hasn't had a POV yet. Sorry about that, but he will have his POV, don't worry!