Slavia and Baltacia are angry. Why does Germany have the right to do this to them? They had barely participated in the war, they had done everything right, yet they're viewed to be almost as low as Russia. It's not fair! But with only four children being taken from them, they cannot find much cause for complaint. Sure, people glare at Germans when they walk through the streets and do everything they can to ignore the power that now rules over them, but it ultimately means nothing.

They can't stop the competition. Nothing can.

Luka is now in the bedroom that whoever's looking after himself and Milena has given him, sitting upright in the large bed. It's comfortable, sure, much more comfortable than the bed that he sleeps in with his wife back at home, but it doesn't feel the same here.

He misses Erika with all of his heart.

The train sways as it continues through the night, a full moon shining through the large window. Luka forgot to close the curtains when he first attempted to go to bed, yet now he lets the moonlight enter his room. Why does he need to sleep now? He doesn't feel like it, and it's not like he has work tomorrow. No, he just has to prepare for the fight of his life.

Can he win? He doesn't know, but he knows that he's probably smarter than the rest of the field. And he's strong, too - for a guy people call a beanpole, he knows that his six foot frame can still carry a lot. If he needs to fight someone, especially if they're smaller than him, he'll have the advantage. After all, he's an adult fighting against a playing field of children.

Ugh, the very thought of that sickens him.

Luka gets out of the bed, the silk sheets strewn across the mattress as he heads to the door. He needs someone to talk to, someone to vent to before they get to Berlin and he has to be paraded around for the cameras in front of his family. He's not ready. He just needs someone else, someone who knows him and can put up with him.

Milena looks up when she hears the knock at the door, quietly reading a book in the glow of a small lamp. "Who is it?"

"It's just me, Luka." Milena hears the warm tone of her friend's voice and hurries to open the door, letting the man in. "Thank you, I just needed to speak to someone tonight. It just feels so… surreal to be here, you know?"

"I feel the same way," she says quietly to Luka. "It's strange to be away from our spouses and to know that one of us is going to die - oh, that's strange to say - but at least… at least… at least we have each other, right?"

"Exactly," whispers Luka. They look at one another and smile, then look away. Milena blushes.

She hopes that Luka doesn't see it in the light of the room.

Luka sits down on a large armchair, relaxing as he sinks into the comfortable cushioning. "Well, I suppose tomorrow we'll have to smile for the nation. Do you think that if we just refuse to speak, they'll give up on us?"

"Maybe we can try just cursing at whoever's interviewing us," giggles Milena. She likes thinking of the more humorous parts of her time in Berlin. It lets her forget what's coming all too soon. "If we're lucky, we'll teach several million children some new words to add to their vocabulary."

"And then we'll have a Sham Ball - but not a sham this time, I suppose," returns Luka. "Do you think that we'll be fitted for clothes, or will they just send us there in rags?"

"You can't underestimate what they'll do to humiliate us." Milena turns sober, and stares out of the window. The moon seems brighter than she's ever seen it, as if it's warning her to flee from this train. Run, Milena, get away from here. It isn't safe. Run!

Run!

Petra sits up in her bed, the word ringing through her mind as she peers into the darkness. She had been sleeping, but it wasn't the kind of night where it was easy to.

Surely, anyone who was told that they were supposed to kill others or die trying would have a difficult time sleeping as well.

She turns in her bed, the heat of the pillow too much to continue sleeping comfortably. After turning her pillow over to the cooler side, she settles back down into the bed and tries to go back to bed.

But sleep evades Petra, and she's left alone with her thoughts.

What will happen, she wonders, when they finally reach Berlin? After the presentation, where she and the other twenty-seven would be shown to Europe, and after the ball where they would dance for the entertainment of Germany's elite, what would happen? Would they be given a good night's sleep, or would they just be tossed into the competition straight away?

When would she first have to kill?

She shudders at the thought, turning back to the other side of the bed. What would Anika do? Petra knows already - Anika would refuse to fight, refuse to hurt anyone else. She'd run, yes, but what she'd most likely do is find some little boy or girl to take care of until some bigger, stronger tribute struck her down. Anika would die happy if she could save someone else, Petra knows it. She's always been the type to die a martyr's death.

But Petra isn't.

And she's scared what might happen when she's given the choice.

Johannes is thinking about the same thing on the other side of the wall, the moonlight illuminating his room. He gets out of bed to close the curtains and get some sleep, then pauses.

Maybe he can find something in the train.

He grabs a pair of shoes that he left at the edge of his bed and puts them on quickly, pulling the night robe that he was given by the train's staff around his waist. It's surprisingly cold in the room.

Walking out of the door and into the hallway shows Johannes that there are no soldiers walking around, a fact that pleases him greatly. He hates the men clad in German uniforms that walk the train, just as cowardly and spiteful as the men who lived in his home. If it wasn't for the fact that they wore guns on their sides, he would have likely attacked one of them a while ago.

But there are no soldiers to take his aggression out on in the hallway and he slips into the next train car easily. The tables are still covered with the food that had been laid out there that afternoon, albeit covered to preserve the food, and Johannes takes one of the sandwiches. They're still one of the best sandwiches that he's ever tasted.

He pauses when he hears voices in the next room, creeping back into the shadows as the voices near then open the door to the food car. "Do you know what are happening to the Kinder?" he makes out from one of the voices from his limited understanding of German.

"Oh, they'll have a day of fun then go to in der Arena sterben that the workers are making at the edge of Berlin. It'll be all good fun to watch," the other says with a laugh. The two men chuckle, then walk into the next train car, not noticing the shadow that's taken a sharp breath of air in the corner.

Johannes feels stuck in place, the weight of the situation suddenly collapsing onto him like a pile of bricks. He's going to die soon and he doesn't know what's going to happen but they're going to ridicule him, laugh at his death. No one will care when he dies.

No one.

He stands there for what seems like hours until he musters up the courage to head back to his room.

.oOo.

Iberia and Italy are careful as they head into this new era of existence under Germany. Sure, they've been given priority over other countries as Germany conducts whatever silly activity they've thought up for two-dozen unlucky children, but they're only taking four of their own. That's barely anything compared to the millions who live in their borders, and certainly not enough to fight over. After all, they've even been given the opportunity to train. Right?

A few small newspapers in Lisbon run columns that express outrage about taking one of their fine citizens, but they're quickly closed down - some say they were burnt to the ground, others deny they were ever there to begin with - in a matter of days.

Life goes on. Well, except for the four.

Pablo stares at the aisle floor as the train rockets through Germany, faster and faster as it nears its destination. His companion, some girl named Andrea who seemed to never stop talking about what was on the train and apologized to much, is shifting back and forth in her seat. "Do you think that we'll get there soon, Pablo? I wonder if anyone will be there to meet us. Wouldn't it be interesting if they had a whole crowd to greet everyone who's coming to Berlin?" she asks, long brown hair swaying back and forth as the train rounds another turn.

"Perhaps." Pablo is tired of speaking by this point, tired of trying to please the many people in this train who don't care for him. Of course, there's Andrea, but she's too small to count.

"I wonder when we'll get to meet the others. Of course, they know that they'll have to kill us and we have to kill them, but maybe some of them will be nice! I never had many friends back home who were nice. They were rude, always calling me dumb when I messed up and spreading rumours about… about… about nothing."

"Oh." Pablo decides that he will only reply to Andrea with one word sentences. Maybe she won't notice.

"Oh, maybe there's going to be a party! I heard our mentor speak about that, it's something that we'll do after we get to Berlin. Won't that be fun?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, they also said that we're going to get to be dressed up! I've never had many dresses, and I don't really like them, but sometimes it's nice to get all fancy and ready for a big ball. I have books back at home about fancy balls in the past, and I always wanted to attend one. Everyone would be so beautiful, don't you think so?"

Pablo gives a bark of laughter, perplexed yet amused by the young girl. "Look, Andrea, this isn't some fancy party where we'll all dance around the flowers and make peace. They're sending us off to die, we're like sheep being led off to slaughter or pigs in their pens, unaware that today's the last day of their lives. You have to be careful around these types of people, understand? You need to hide, because I don't think you'll be able to fight bigger people, people like me."

It's the most words that Andrea has ever heard from the older boy through their entire train ride.

She's delighted.

"Oh, of course I'll hide! But can't we enjoy the beautiful things too? If we just give up, there's no point in living any more. We have to look for the things that make us happy, you know?" she asks, hoping the boy will continue to speak. To her dismay, he gives an ambivalent shrug and looks out the window.

Oh well, she can still draw.

The train turns in and out of the countryside, the forests making way for little patches of town, then cities, always moving closer to their destination. But Andrea focuses on her drawing, using her pen to make broad, crisp lines of a stem, then light, curled lines to form her petals. She loves to draw flowers. The way they spring up in cracks in the earth and cling to life have always fascinated her, especially the ones that aren't as beautiful as the others but work harder to survive. She quickly sketches out another, too busy capturing the flower in her mind to pause and truly see what she's drawn.

When she finishes, she pushes the piece of paper beside and starts on another, the whispers of creativity pushing her to make more. She's satisfied with her first drawing, and doesn't pay it attention as she starts some work on a daisy, pictured in black and white. But Pablo looks over at the first drawing, and gives a low whistle of surprise. "You can draw like that?"

Andrea looks over at her drawing, slightly surprised by what she's made. "Oh, I suppose."

They both take a second to look at the rose severed from its stem, petals being torn off by a cruel, strong hand. The rose is falling to the ground, and the stem seems to bleed moisture. Perhaps it's blood.

The train continues to Berlin, paying no attention to Andrea and Pablo.

Neither does the train that carries Ignacio and Maria.

Maria yawns while watching through the window, the train that carries the Italian children a few minutes away from their station. "So, we've almost made it."

"So?" Ignacio is still angered by the fact that he's been chosen, to the point where Maria doesn't take his outrage seriously anymore. Sure, he could try to kill her as soon as they begin whatever competition the German government has set up for them, but she's certain that by this point he's too smitten with her to do so.

After all, Ignacio's just a man. And Maria knows how to handle men.

"It means that we could be sent into this competition right away. Are you even ready to fight? Have you ever thought about killing someone, Ignacio? Are you ready for this?"

"Are you?" Ignacio scoffs at Maria, turning away from the girl. "You're just a pastor's daughter who doesn't know what you're getting yourself into. I bet you can't even hold a knife properly."

"Are they even giving us weapons? We might have to do it with our bare hands. Oh my Lord, there's going to be little kids in this. Little children!" It suddenly hits her how depraved this is, what they're really going to do.

She doesn't want to kill some child.

But she doesn't want to die.

She doesn't know what she wants anymore. All she knows is that something about this is wrong, very, very wrong, and there's no way out of it.

A pit at the bottom of her stomach, which had plagued her ever since she had been chosen and forced onto the train while her father screamed for her to come back, opens up once more.

Ignacio shakes his head in pity, having given up on Maria. Sentimental fool, if she thinks about it that way there's no way she'll survive. He'd like to think of himself as a realist, someone who'll do what it takes to survive. He won't worry about killing another person if it means that he'll be the one left at the end of the day.

Of course, first he needs to make sure he's going to be that person.

"Carmelo, do you know if we're going to have any time to prepare before we begin the competition?" Ignacio asks their mentor, making sure that he's caught the man's attention. Carmelo Borg Pisani has been nothing but flighty throughout the journey, forgetting to answer questions as he spent time sitting in his bedroom or trying to speak with one of the guards.

"Oh, they've said that you were supposed to have a few days to prepare but they've been replaced with a simple few hours where you'll be presented to the nation - don't ask me why, don't ask me how - and then you'll be taken to a ball, where you'll talk with the other children before you're taken to the arena the next day."

"It's going to be an arena?" Ignacio asks, confused. Carmelo nods in amusement.

"Of course! I suppose they haven't told you much; the Fuhrer wants to save as much as possible for the big day. But yes, you'll be in an arena. I can't say anything, but I think you'll appreciate it."

"As our final resting place," Maria retorts. Carmelo turns up his nose, ignoring the girl.

"You'll be seen in front of the whole nation! Isn't that enough for you?"

Ignacio tunes out the haughty man. He's obviously unstable to a degree if he can't understand what they're going into, yet Ignacio sympathizes with him. If he could, he'd like to feel the same way about the competition.

It'd make it easier to kill everyone else.

The train stops at the Berlin station, and their thoughts are replaced with the noise of crowds that have gathered at the train station.

It seems that they're finally here.

One chapter to go until we get into the bloodbath! Excitement!

How did you enjoy the chapter? I'm glad that we're through the train rides now, and we've had one last peek at every tribute before we go into our next interlude. And then we'll get into the competition itself, and it will be fun.

Anyways, I hope you're still around, still invested, and ready to see some crazy (and probably frightening, considering that I'll have no mercy for any of the competitors in the arena) twists! I'm excited to begin, and I can only hope you are as well.

Enjoy. Until next time, TheAmazingJAJ