It's a cold, brisk morning in North America as the four teenagers are chosen for the competition. Each of them slowly makes their way to the stages in their hometowns, trying to make sense of what's just happened to them, to their future, and look out at their respective crowds. Each of them sees a mixture of confusion and fear in the eyes of their friends, their families, in everything they've known.

Elaine gives her crowd a small nod and straightens her shoulders, making sure that the lavender dress that she decided to wear on a whim doesn't get too messed up in the breeze of her small, Georgian town. "I'll make you all proud. I'll fight with honour, and if I die, I'll die with grace. That, I can promise you all."

Her sister bursts into tears at the statement while the crowd applauds, Elaine seeing her friends, her enemies, her peers, all of them clapping for her. She can feel their eyes on her body, applauding her quiet bravery. She gives them a smile before the two soldiers come to take her away, the thin German woman chattering in broken English to her all the while.

It could be the last time she sees her family again.

So she breaks free of their grasp and rushes to Magnolia, giving her a fierce hug with all of her might. "They'll underestimate me, you know. Men always do. The girls might not, but I can beat them. I can make it back."

"I know you can. That's why I'm so scared, Elle."

The sisters fall silent and allow their parents to hug them before one soldier clears his throat and tells them that yes, she has to leave now if they're going to get to Berlin on time. And he means now.

Beckett gives a sigh of resignation as he walks onto his own stage, looking out at his own paltry crowd of farmers. His hometown has never been the biggest, and that still hasn't changed as he counts only a few hundred watching him with tired eyes. He allows himself a small grin as he sees his father, who looks stunned.

Finally, something's changed in this place that's so slow to move on that people pretend their relatives haven't died here.

But then he remembers Keenan and his smile, his brown hair and his embrace, and Beckett feels very cold.

Cold and scared.

He hopes that he can see Keenan again, although he doesn't have a hope of making it past whatever monsters that will be chosen from Europe and Africa. He knows it, the town knows it, his father knows it especially, knows how Beckett wouldn't be able to kill if he tried. As the old gossips who sit in ancient parlour-rooms and discuss their grandchildren would put it, Beckett doesn't have the constitution for murder. He's good as dead now.

But what he wouldn't give for one last kiss!

Keenan thinks the same as his hometown stares at him, shocked that one of their own had been picked from the thousands upon thousands of children in Canada for the competition. Midleton had been gossiping for the past few months about what would happen at this competition where it Fuhrer Schnee would make them act out the bloodbath that had been the past three years, but they had never expected to happen to them.

There's something about the confidence one takes in being a part of many people. They can feel anonymous enough in the fact that they're just one unit in the machine, so small of a part in the entire group that they would never be chosen or hurt. It's why riots don't happen with only one person - when there is an entire crowd behind a person, they feel powerful.

They feel safe.

But he isn't safe.

When the mayor stammers out the lines prepared for him by a clumsy German translator, Keenan is whisked away to a military truck. At least here, he's finally away from the crowd. He's safe from the thousands of faces staring at him.

"Climb in, kid. You've got a long way to go." Keenan nods to the soldier who stares at him, a touch of pity on his face. The boy climbs into the back of the truck and sits down, a few soldiers filing in and taking spots around the truck. "We'll be heading as fast as we can to the airport, where you'll be flying with the girl - she's from Ontario as well, so you both got lucky today - to Berlin."

To Berlin!

Berlin! Abigail isn't sure if she's ever heard of the city. She knows the German cities of Munich and Cologne from old, old books that she hides in her room so that her sisters don't take them, but she's not sure if she remembers this grand city that the soldiers want to take her to.

But here she is, climbing out of a vehicle she thought she would never ride in and into a device that she barely understands. It suddenly occurs to her that her community wouldn't allow her to ride in a plane if she was with them - all forms of technology from around the 19th century and onwards are not approved of in the Amish community of Milverton.

But then again, she isn't baptized yet. She isn't bound by the faith to not go, she just wouldn't do it. After all, there had never been an opportunity in her life to do something of the sort. It wasn't something she ever had to worry about. Everything was at home and with her family, so why would she need to fly?

But at this point, Abigail suspects that the soldiers would simply force her onto the plane if she refused to enter it.

So with one look back at the world around her, at this long, long runway that the plane will take off from and carry her away to her death, Abigail gives a sigh.

Then, she enters the plane.

.oOo.

Northern Europe is healing.

Yes, the fires are still continuing in Russia, the refugees are still swarming the largest cities of the region, and people are starving to death everywhere one could look, but order is returning to the large region. Soldiers are putting out the fires with the help of civilians, towns are being rebuilt by huge workforces from other parts of Europe and the empire, and people are collaborating to make their world a bit brighter.

The four children who are leaving on the train to Berlin wouldn't suspect it, but their hometowns will prosper all the more now that their countries have been defeated.

Antoine hasn't made a move to join the girl on the other side of the train, who is busy watching the Austrian countryside disappear into the distance. The train does not care if they both want to see the countryside, it does not care that it is taking them to the place that Antoine and the girl that he does not know will die. No, the train is incapable of thinking of that. It exists only to move forward, to transport.

And at this moment, Antoine feels like he only exists to die.

He doesn't like the feeling.

"Do you speak French?" the girl in the train finally says. She lifts her head up and Antoine is surprised to see how bright her blue eyes are. From what he had noted of her before, she had looked poised but miserable. The girl with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a frown was certainly not a competitor in this competition.

But now? He may have to reconsider his judgement.

"Yes, I do," Antoine replies with a nod. It's curt but not rude, and the girl smiles in relief. "It's good to see that we can at least speak to one another. My mother always said that I read too many French fairytales and novels, but I suppose it'll come in handy on the way here."

"Might as well get acquainted with each other before we have to fight to the death!" the girl jokes, then pauses. Her face crumples a bit, and the poise that she had fought so hard to maintain is gone.

No matter how much Antoine and the girl joke about it, they're still heading off to Germany so that only one comes back.

Magdalena takes a while to compose herself once more, mentally painting a smile on her face before she turns back to face the boy that she has just met. It wouldn't be very polite to break down in front of this man she barely knows.

Her mother would be disappointed if she did.

She takes one last moment to note five little things around the room that make her smile - it's a common exercise she uses to snap out of bad moods. Magdalena has always been optimistic, and she likes to stay that way. More often than not, seeing just five good things around her is enough to help make her a bit happier. If there is something good around her, she can take solace in it.

She smiles when she finds the five things - a beautifully folded paper napkin in front of her that looks like a bird, the beautiful trees that bow down over the rivers that the train is currently rushing over, the pristine windows that have not even one smudge on them, the girl at the end of the train car who smiles back at Magdalena - her mentor, the soldiers who had escorted her to the train had said.

And the boy right across from her, who is willing to talk to her and help her calm down until they arrive in Berlin.

"Are you alright?" the boy asks after another moment, and Magdalena nods. "You looked sad - did I say anything wrong? I'm really sorry, is there anything-"

"No, no, it's not you," Magdalena returns. "You know, just scared of dying."

"Oh."

"Oh." Juliet feels hollow inside. The train is certainly gorgeous, something that she'd like to explore any other day, but she doesn't know what to do now. What will happen in Berlin? Will they just be taken to the competition, or will they be taken somewhere else to wait for their deaths? It's all very confusing, and Juliet doesn't like to be confused. She likes to have the upper hand in any situation, but it's hard to when she has no idea what will happen from here on out.

But Richard Sorge does.

"How are you doing, my child?" he asks Juliet in German-accented Russian, and Juliet furrows her eyes in confusion. She's heard many languages in her life - moving from England a few years ago sped up the process of learning Russian quickly, and her father has spent hours upon hours teaching Juliet words from all of the languages that he knew to sate her curious mind - but she didn't expect her mentor, her Russian mentor, to be German.

It's fitting that the English girl who moved to Russia and this German who had done the same wound up on what was supposed to be the Russian train. The other person in the train car, some boy named Peter - Pyotr? Likely spelled Pyotr, Juliet muses - was the only Russian here.

"So you're German, or did you just live there for a while?" Juliet asks. The man fiddles with his glasses and nods, his eyes glinting in the light that his eyeglasses catch from the window. "You have an accent."

"And you do as well," the man returns coolly.

Juliet laughs, showing him a little broach with the British flag upon it. "My father is an ambassador. We were planning to leave soon, after the war ended. Well, I suppose I did in a sense, although I didn't expect it to happen like this."

Pyotr listens to the conversation absentmindedly, tearstains still visible on his face. He can't deny it - when he had heard his name while standing among the crowds of St. Petersburg, he had broken down. No wonder the girl and the mentor were ignoring him in here, they had seen how he had cried on the stage and all the way to the train. The girl was also a native of St. Petersburg, so she had witnessed how he had stood up on the stage like a piece of paper dipped in water.

Oh, Pyotr was a mess. He can't deny it.

But maybe, just maybe, he can survive this.

Or not.

The girl continued speaking with the mentor, Richard, now discussing how a lack of funding had caused the pre-events in Berlin had been shortened to merely a presentation in front of the nation and a grand ball before they were tossed into the competition. Her name had started with a J or a G, but Pyotr had been too wrapped up in his own emotions to pay attention when she had been called up to the stage as well.

Maybe he should listen to them now.

"So we'll fight each other in the arena? With swords and weapons?" the girl asks Richard, and the man nods.

"But you have to use everything at your disposal. If you limit yourself to merely swords or knives and the like, you'll fare poorly when you lose your weapon. Anything, from rocks to cloth, can be used to fight your competitors." Richard nods stiffly towards the girl, then turns to Pyotr. "And you? I've seen you in a newspaper before, I'm sure of it. One of the composer fellows from St. Petersburg? You can use that to your advantage, I suppose. Perhaps if you talk about that during the presentation, they'll place you in a spot away from the larger ones."

"X-xорошо," Pyotr stammers. He'd argue that he could merely play a piece to show the audience, but this isn't a talent show.

He's really gotten himself into trouble this time, hasn't he?

.oOo.

Great Britain and France are still in shock when the lottery comes to their countries. How could they have lost? How could Germany take their children, their lifeblood, their pride, so easily? Yes, the two countries are silent when the lottery begins and the two children are taken from each country. Most of the population would be able to sleep peacefully tonight, knowing that it wasn't their relative, their cousin, their child that would be torn away from their home.

All except for the handful of people who had watched Gabriella, knowing that one of their own is being prepared to die.

Gabriella sighs, turning her head to look away from the window. France is beautiful in the springtime, with beds of tulips and stunning trees dotting the landscape the train rockets by, but she won't be stopping here. No, she's heading straight to Berlin, to the place that she had been taught to hate for years.

It's strange to think that so soon after her parents were returned to her, she was taken back by the same government. Fate must be laughing at her right now.

The train stopped a few minutes ago to pick up the boy who was chosen for this competition, a sullen fifteen year old with light brown hair that he obviously hasn't bothered to comb. Gabriella resists the urge to click her tongue in disapproval, slightly annoyed by the fact that he just doesn't seem to care about what's happening. Maybe she should give him the benefit of the doubt - Mother and Father always said that people in times of war could easily go into shock, and being told that he was being taken away from his family to die could have easily done the same to the boy - Mark? Was that his name? No, too English, perhaps Marius. That made more sense for this boy with a frown.

The boy mutters something in his seat, his slight frame outlined in the rich red fabric of the train seat he's sitting in. It looks fancy - whoever designed this obviously meant it to be frequented by wealthy, luxurious people, not a girl like her. Gabriella feels uncomfortable in something so, well, déguisement. It doesn't feel right. "Pardon, what did you say? I didn't hear you very well."

"Do you think they'll do something with us first, or just throw us in right away?" Marius mutters again, a bit louder for the benefit of the girl. The woman who had escorted him onto the train, Peggy-something, hadn't spoken much about who he would be brought with to Berlin. What she had told him when they had a minute of privacy was to try to listen to the Germans he would be cared for by, to try to seem loyal so that they wouldn't view him with apathy, or worse, annoyance. She had said something about their powers in the competition, ways that they could make sure that their winner would be someone worthy of the victory.

Oh well, he'll just not co-operate with anything and run as fast as he can. If he doesn't entertain the barbarians of Germany, that's as good of a rebellion as any.

But the girl doesn't seem to think of it that way, furrowing her eyebrows as she tries to come up with a reply. She's pretty, Marius realizes, with blonde hair past her shoulders and in a modest blue dress. She's also young - younger than him, too young to be here. She shouldn't be here. "I'm sure that they'll have some explanation for what we'll be doing there before we begin. If they tell us nothing, they won't get the outcome they desire, and I'm sure that they wouldn't want that. It's like planning a book, a plot, making sure that everything is exciting."

"You really think that they planned it out so extensively?" Marius is skeptical of his partner's ideas - no, not his partner, she's only a child - but continues to listen to her. After all, their escorts, funny German women who were talking with Peggy, wouldn't dream of trying to converse in French with Marius and the girl. He's certain that their grasp on the French language is atrocious. "I think that they wanted to strike back at us for causing so much damage to their forces, for fighting back so hard. The killing comes first, the planning comes second for this. I do not think that they're thinking very hard about what they're doing, no?"

"No, I don't think that we'll have a very nice trip across the channel." Caoimhe feels sick to her stomach at the thought of having to cross the choppy waters to mainland Europe. She's never been the best swimmer, and the last time she had tried sitting in a boat - her sister, Catronia, had the idea to cross the small duck pond that lay on the edge of their property with a raft that she had made out of spare boards - she had ended up being hit on the head with a board Catronia used as a paddle and half-drowned in the muddy waters of the pond.

No, she wasn't looking forward to the journey. But Norman seemed to be.

"The weather just isn't right for a good journey, but I'm sure that the trains will be running well there," replies her male counterpart. She's trying not to get annoyed by him, but the way he refers to them both as British and his thick accent and his attempts at making friends with her are starting to annoy her.

Caoimhe's father once complained that you needed the patience of a saint to deal with Caoimhe's own patience, and he wasn't wrong. She was touchy when she shouldn't be, sullen when she should be trying to conduct a decent conversation, and just not in the mood for interaction for most of the day.

Then again, she has a great excuse to stay in her bad mood. It's not often that you're told you're about to die.

"Maybe they'll give us something to eat when we finally get to Germany. I'm famished!" Norman continues to talk, and Caoimhe continues to ignore the boy. He's younger than her by about two years - quite mature, admittedly - but still two years younger than her. If he proposed to work together in the competition so that one of them could come home, she'd refuse.

Then again, maybe not. Having an ally would work well, especially if the trusting Norman wouldn't expect her to turn on him.

She'll have to do anything to survive.

He'll have to do almost everything he can if he wants to make it back home, Norman thinks as they climb onto the boat. It's a warship, probably a German model considering the fact that everything that he and Caoimhe have been travelling on has had German lettering.

The officers that they've been travelling with have been acting skittish as well - they refuse to mention any form of politics, and only talk about trivial information. When he had last listened in on them while they were driving in a large van, they had been arguing about the perfect state of weather.

"Well, I'm not going to enjoy it. My Irish stomach will not handle these waters well." Caoimhe is determined to remain miserable, but Norman shrugs it off. He's trying not to think about what happens next. He wants to keep being brave, keep being the boy his Grandfather had wanted him to be.

That boy would know how to survive.

"Norman, you're a smart young man," his Grandfather had once told them after they had went for a walk throughout the lovely, thick forests that he had grown up in all his life. "But what you need to remember is that it's alright to feel afraid. Bravery is when you conquer what you're afraid of, despite being so scared in the first place. If you can do that, no one can say you're a coward."

Grandfather had seemed so right back then, but Norman doesn't know how to defeat this. Maybe it wasn't something he had to tackle head on, but gauge it first and figure out what he had to avoid.

Being brave might be being reckless.

"Well, we'll just have to try to keep a smile on our face and be ready for whatever happens. For King and country, right?"

"You mean my country," Caoimhe mutters. "You British and your need to forever keep us all together… we aren't the same."

"But we are, aren't we?" Norman asks. "I mean, we're both from the same region, both from islands, and both heading off to… you know. We might as well work together - we're the only friends we have for now. Right?"

"... Right." The girl flashes him a small smile, and Norman feels a wave of relief wash over him.

Perhaps being brave won't be as hard as he thought.

And we begin with the train rides! You'll see this format for the next few chapters, but it'll be back to normal in the bloodbath. Enjoy!

Two train rides to go! Anything interesting? Anything you feel like commenting on? Bloodbath predictions? Share your thoughts!

Thank you for reading, as always. Keep voting in that poll, and have a great day! Until next time, TheAmazingJAJ