Lunete Vinter, 16, District Ten Female

Lunete Vinter didn't want to be afraid anymore.

But fear was one thing Lunete could never escape. No matter how many distractions she threw in her path; how many days that would pass -she would always have fear. And fear would always have her.

She sat alone in a small, square room. Staring at her feet, she could see her reflection in the shined black floor. A doe, she appeared to be. Dark eyes wide and alert; lips pulled tightly together; a slender but tense shape to her shoulders. Her long, usually unkempt hair had been styled in a tight braid that ran down her back, keeping her face free from stray strands that could distort her view. She was still wearing the sweatshirt and baggy pants she had put on after breakfast, though a new set of attire hung against the wall before her.

Lunete had been given fifteen minutes to change, but she had not moved a muscle in at least ten. Her mentor had been pleasant, but it was clear that he didn't really care. He was simply performing the job that had been forced upon him after walking out of the arena several decades ago. Lunete wasn't really a person to him, she was just another kid he showed the ropes until the ropes then hung her.

Lunete wasn't really a person to anyone, least of all to herself.

There was a gentle knock on the door.

"Are you dressed yet, love?" her mentor asked.

"Just a few more minutes," Lunete managed to reply, though her voice was raspy and void of moisture.

Almost immediately after opening her mouth, Lunete's hand rose to her father's wedding ring, which hung by a thin chain around her neck. In the past week it had become a grounding technique for her; when she rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger she was able to remember that kindness did exist in the world, in a small pocket somewhere in the endless darkness.

With a long, drawn-in breath, Lunete rose from the bench, feeling the tension in her muscles strain as she took a few steps forwards. She reached out, taking the clothes from the wall and laying them out on the bench beside her.

Slowly, she began to change. The outfit was almost like slipping into a shadow; tight but flexible black leggings stretched the length of her lanky legs and a long-sleeved top fitted snugly from her shoulders down to her hips. There was a subtle pattern across the front of the top, almost like the feathers of a raven, and at the edges of the sleeves there were several small holes to slide her fingers between, with additional padding across the elbows and shoulders. Knee-high black leather boots covered her feet, adding further protection for her shins which she undoubtedly would fall to at some point or another. The most peculiar part of the outfit was the hood, which hung from the back of the top. Pulling it over her head, Lunete was surprised at its lightweight and breathable material as she concealed a large portion of her face. She supposed it would be useful for hiding; her only strategy other than to run.

Her mentor entered barely seconds after Lunete had dressed. He offered a weak smile and some final words of advice, though Lunete could barely hear him over the sound of her own beating heart and quickening breaths.

It wasn't until she stepped into the glass tube and the door slid shut that she heard silence.

For a few, but drawn-out, seconds the world froze. In the briefest of moments there was simply a sense of nothingness, but then that nothingness soon became somethingness.

The floor began to move beneath her, forcing Lunete towards the arena. Hands clenched in tight, clammy fists by her side, Lunete squeezed her eyes shut as she felt her body ascending. It was only the feeling of cool air tickling the soft skin of her cheeks that indicated her arrival in the arena.

As the countdown began and Lunete's heart nearly leapt from her chest, she could not bring herself to open her eyes. Opening them would mean that it was all real, and she was so desperate to be trapped in a nightmare. But she knew all too well that reality was always worse.

The seconds counted down, and only when they reached twenty, did Lunete finally summon the courage to peel back her eyelids and accept the reality that engulfed her.

The scene around her was not what she had expected to see. In truth, she had no idea what to expect, but it wasn't the place she found herself pedestaled in.

She appeared to be in an outdoor courtyard, an expanse of intricately placed concrete slabs spread out before her. At the edges, several crumbling walls and archways served as partial barriers, fencing off portions of the courtyard from the rest of the arena that lay beyond. Concrete statues of various indescribable shapes scattered around the area, each holding a dim, flickering flame of blue, red, purple or green.

Beyond the courtyard, in a northerly direction from Lunete's position stood what she could only describe as a temple, with similar coloured flames lighting an ominous tunnelled entrance, and a dizzying height making Lunete's neck ache as she looked upwards. Finally, in the centre of the courtyard stood a tree. Its branches were bare of leaves, the bark looking withered and tired. At its roots lay an array of weapons and supplies, the closer to the trunk bearing more delights, whereas further out and closer to the twenty five pedestals which circled it, a scattering of bags and smaller weapons lay.

Lunete had little time to glance at what lay beyond the borders of the courtyard, but she did notice that it was awfully dark; the sky was a deep indigo, with what strangely looked to be a number of moons of various sizes breaking up the dark expanse above.

As the countdown slipped into single digits, Lunete's eyes began to frantically search for her allies. She spotted Cameron first, only at the next pedestal to her left, but Livvy and Logan were positioned on the other side of the courtyard, which sent a nauseating panic through her body. The distance was too far, even for Lunete's long, slender legs, and she wasn't sure if Logan and Livvy could even see her. Lunete knew that she couldn't face the arena without her allies' protection, but the thought of stepping anywhere that wasn't in a direction far away from the courtyard was impossible.

She had to run, and she had to hope that they would find her.

6…5…4...

Lunete's eyes caught Cameron's. Like hers, his eyes were wide with fear, his right leg twitching with nerves. Quickly, Lunete flicked her eyes behind them, indicating to Cameron that her intention was to run. He nodded, but his head turned towards Livvy, where he looked desperately towards his district partner. Lunete wanted to tell him not to risk it, that Logan would get Livvy out safely, but she had no time left.

3…2…1…

Lunete ran.

She ran as fast as her fragile body would allow, her back facing the rest of the tributes and her eyes focused on an escape route. She spotted a crumbling archway a short distance away, mossy walls beside it offering a temporary haven. As Lunete sprinted towards it, stumbling as her weak ankles wobbled but managing to remain on her feet, she allowed herself to glance behind her shoulder, expecting to see Cameron following behind her.

He was not.

He was stood not far from his pedestal, his head turned away from Lunete, staring into the centre of the courtyard where Lunete could see that several of the Careers had closed their hands around weapons and were scouting for blood. Lunete's sprint slowed to a jog as she noticed the fierce girl from Two, a shortsword in her hand, approaching Cameron from his blind side. Opening her mouth, Lunete tried to scream in warning, but all that came from her throat was a raspy breath.

The scream finally came, moments later, as she watched the blade enter Cameron's body and leave though the centre of his chest. He crumbled to the floor immediately, the sound of the first canon of the Games startling Lunete.

She couldn't warn him; she couldn't save him. Again, she had been helpless to prevent the death of someone close.

Instantly, Lunete's eyes filled, her irises drowning in her ocean of tears. Without commanding them to do so, her feet began to move, driving her back towards her goal. But as she turned her head, she was met with a force that knocked all the air from her lungs.

And Lunete fell.

Kazimir Ilyushin, 18, District Twelve Male

If Kazimir ever had use for a plane, now would have been a better time than any.

To lift into the sky, brush his fingertips across the clouds and soar far beyond the world, far beyond his pitiful excuse for a life –oh what he would do for the sweet taste of freedom.

But alas, his feet were firmly planted on the ground. A prisoner to gravity, Kazimir watched from his partial cover, behind a stone statue, a green flame above casting flickering shadows across his pale, freckled skin. He had considered simply fleeing from the courtyard, but in the webs of his strategic mind he had pre-decided that he could not abandon the cornucopia without a few basic supplies and a weapon. Without such, his premature flight would only serve to extend his life by merely hours, or a day at most. Kazimir intended to live far longer than that; in fact, he intended to live to a ripe old age.

In the immediate scramble as the countdown had reached its end, Kazimir had skirted around the edges, close enough to be within reach of a few supplies, but not too close to tempt his fate. As was typical in the arena, his ally and district partner, Velaris, had entered the arena a fair distance away from him. Before they had stepped from their pedestals, Kazimir had subtly gestured in a direction for them to meet, which was where he currently hung low, still on the preferable side of the line between life and death.

The first canon had fired fairly quickly into the Games, sooner than Kazimir had been expecting. He had been familiar with the sound that signalled death, but he had not just heard the canon, but he almost felt it. His entire body had jolted, as though he had been injected with a liquid dose of fear. He could feel it rushing through his veins, mixing with his blood and seeping into his flesh.

He did not want to die.

It was the small boy from Seven who had been the first to go; a sword pushed cleanly straight through his body by the hands of the girl from Two, likely killing him instantly. It was such a clean kill that it took Kazimir by surprise, even though he knew that the Career would have had years of experience and he had seen her make light work of the targets in the training centre.

Kazimir was used to backstabbing, but only the metaphorical kind, and despite being responsible for a number of probable deaths of those whose names he had traded with Peacekeepers, he had never actually seen anyone die with his own eyes. It almost made him feel guilty for his past actions. Almost.

"Kaz," a sharp hiss broke Kazimir from his gaze.

He looked up. Velaris was there, lowering her body into a low crouch beside him.

"Have you seen Frankie?" she asked, glancing back towards the swarm of bodies flitting about like a disturbed hive. "I saw her at the countdown, but then I lost her."

Kazimir shook his head. He hadn't seen their young ally; the gamble he had taken to secure himself a bargaining tool. He had believed that Frankie could serve a purpose in his grand scheme, and he had greatly hoped that she wouldn't perish so soon.

Yet, there had still only been one canon fired.

"She's probably run off," said Kazimir, handing Velaris a small bag he had swiped earlier. She took it, having nothing on her person herself and slid it over one shoulder.

"We should do a perimeter" suggested Valaris. "If we stick to the edges, alongside the walls, we should be ok. But if we don't see Frankie after one lap, then I'm leaving without her. You're welcome to stay, but I'm not dying for anyone else. Not even you."

Kazimir raised his hands in front of him. "I wouldn't ask you to."

Velaris nodded sharply. "Right, let's go."

Kazimir stood up, glancing anxiously around him. This side of the courtyard seemed fairly bare, the brunt of the interactions seeming to be further away. A flash of red caught his eye as a girl sprinted across in front of them, slipping through an archway and disappearing from view. As the two of them began to jog towards the walls, he spotted two tributes colliding into each other with such force that both of them spiralled towards the concreted ground. A boy with a wild mass of dark curled hair clambered to his feet first, looking apologetically towards the still body of the girl, but choosing not to help her as he took off in the same direction as the red-haired girl, a number five just about visible on his black outfit.

Kazimir looked towards the fallen girl, who must have been pretty badly winded by the crash, but not fatally wounded. She seemed unable to return to her feet, either through injury or shock, Kazimir knew not which. With a dismissive turn of his head, Kazimir left her like a lamb to slaughter.

Velaris led the two of them along a stretch of crumbling wall, picking up a small knife she found lying on the floor. Her eyes moved quickly as she searched the courtyard, but between the two sets of eyes between them, they could not find Frankie.

"She must have run," concluded Velaris, coming to a slow stop. "We'd better vacate too–come on."

Nodding in agreement, though mildly disappointed that his plaything was potentially lost before she had even served a purpose, Kazimir's desire to live pushed him to follow his ally. They skirted around the wall, heading towards the first gap which they could squeeze themselves through. Just a few strides from their exit, Velaris suddenly skidded to a halt, Kazimir crashing into her back bluntly.

Velaris cursed quietly.

Backing up, Kazimir looked in front of her, where he noticed a spear jammed between two stone bricks in the wall, barely inches from Velaris' face.

Following the likely flight path of the spear, Kazimir's eyes landed upon an elegant figure with a ribbon of platinum swishing against the dark shades of the outfit which clung to the careful curves.

Peach Bellini, the Capitol's betting favourite before they had entered the arena, stood in all of her beauty a few metres in front of them.

Kazimir felt his throat dry.

Beside him, Velaris held up her knife, adopting a defensive stance. The Career girl swung the second spear in her other hand, though her face seemed almost saddened as she rose her arm, drawing her shoulder back.

"When she throws, we split," Velaris whispered quickly to Kazimir, her eyes focused on the tip of the spear.

Kazimir nodded, his heart pounding beneath his ribcage. He glanced quickly to his left, remembering that the closest exit was actually to his right, where Velaris was edging towards. If he ran to the left, he may escape the throw, but by the time he reached a way out, Peach would undoubtedly have caught up to him with her superior agility. He could maybe slip away, if she chose to chase after Velaris, but that was a chance Kazimir could not afford to take.

And so, as Peach swung forwards and the spear left her grip, Kazimir found his body lurching forwards, his palms outstretched, slamming into Velaris' back. With all his strength he pushed her out of the way to his escape, slipping between her stumbling body and the wall behind, ducking beneath the first spear and skidding towards the exit.

He heard a sharp gasp behind him, but he chose not to watch as he sprinted for his life. As his boots scraped the concrete floor, his body turning sharply to jump through the slim gap between the collapsing wall, he allowed his eyes one momentary look, which was all he needed to confirm his latest act of betrayal.

When the canon fired he did not even flinch.

Continuing to run, Kazimir tried to put as much distance between himself and the courtyard as possible. His muscles were filling with lactic acid as he gasped for air, his feet slamming firmly against the ground, which was no longer paved. In desperate need of oxygen, Kazimir spotted a leafless bush ahead. Dashing around it, he intended to take a second to catch his breath, but he soon realised that he was not alone.

Two wide brown eyes looked up towards him.

Kazimir breathed a sigh of relief. Frankie.

The young girl looked around the edges of the bush, and then back to Kazimir.

Kazimir opened his mouth, feeling his lips splitting as he spoke.

"I… I tried to save her."

At this point in Kazimir's life, lying was just the same as breathing.

Valak Vatican, 18, District Ten Male

No one will ever want you. You're too close to the devil.

Valak could feel the devil beside him as he stalked the courtyard, fuelling his actions like diesel chugging into a car. The desire to cause pain, physical human pain, was insatiable. The scent of fear, ripe in its most raw of forms seeped into his nostrils, and the metallic taste on his tongue made his mouth water for blood. This was the power he had craved. This was the reason he had spoken the words I volunteer outside of the Justice Building. This was the Valak he was meant to be.

His hands did not belong to God, as his adoptive parents had taught him, nor did they belong to the devil as the matron at the orphanage had sneered at him. His hands belonged to himself, and they did his own bidding. God and the devil were simply there to enjoy the show.

Along his route towards the centre of the courtyard, where a large tree stood bare of leaves, Valak had collected a healthy selection of blades. He was yet to locate a pair of karambits, though a handful of smaller knives would prove useful enough. As expected, the Careers had made their way towards the centre, though the two girls from One and Two had been the first to draw blood. Valak admired their skills, though they almost seemed too clean, too rehearsed. To them this was all a job; to Valak it was a destiny.

Drawing towards the tree, Valak's eyes narrowed on a shiny pair of karambits, which were nestled between the roots which broke through the courtyard pavement. Most of the Careers seemed to have dispersed, other than the late addition from Three, who was silently observing as he picked through the supplies.

With a narrow smirk, Valak approached the boy.

Though his back had been turned, the boy from Three's senses were sharpened and he spun around quickly. There was a peculiar look in the boy's eyes, a similar void in the irises so dark they blended with the pupils. Of course, that did not concern Valak, it only added to the excitement as he twirled the two knives between his fingers.

Never one to hesitate, Valak advanced.

Having quickly retrieved two knives of his own, the boy from Three was immediate in his reaction. Drawing his forearms in front of his face, he blocked Valak's first swipe, though there was a satisfying sound as his blade tore through the light black armour that coated his skin. As Valak drew his knife back, he noticed a trickle of blood dampening the tip. His smile deepened.

Three was next to move. He stepped with a smooth elegance; light on his feet like a Career, but cunningly like an assassin. Valak supposed he may have underestimated his opponent, but he remained confident in his own abilities. He always fought dirty, and the boy who stood before him seemed as clean as a whistle, not even a hair out of place.

With a swift dodge, Valak stepped out of harm's way, swinging his leg out to connect with Three's shin. The kick slightly unbalanced the boy. He was able to recover quickly, though not without leaving a small opening for Valak to slide into. With a low growl, Valak aggressively swiped forwards, striking the boy in quick succession across his chest. Stumbling backwards, Three managed to put his hands up to block his more vulnerable areas, but he could not manage to push back. Knowing he had gained the advantage, adrenalin oozed through Valak's body as his strikes became faster and harder.

Valak could taste the blood of his first kill on his tongue, just moments from his grasp. The thought excited him beyond measure, so much so that he didn't notice the flash of silver beside him until something buried itself in his bicep.

He did not feel the pain, but he felt the weapon's presence as it jutted out from his arm. A curved, rounded blade he could not name showed the reflection of his disgruntled face as he stared down into its surface.

Taking the opportunity, the boy from Three lurched forwards, freeing himself from Valak's cornering and digging his elbow sharply into his ribs. Valak cursed under his breath, yanking the curved weapon from his arm and swinging it towards the boy. But before it met the soft white flesh of the boy's exposed neck, it collided with another identical weapon, knocking it from Valak's grip. Gritting his teeth, Valak glanced over at where Three's eyes were starting at another boy –the other half of the perfect duo from One –who was loading up a bow with an arrow aimed directly at Valak's chest.

Valak's eyes darted quickly between the two boys –he could take one, but he doubted his chances against two. But fleeing the scene would only make him appear weak, and if there was one thing he could not be, it was weak. He refused to his dying breath to return to the boy he once was, who could not stand up against those who oppressed him.

He would fight on.

Spitting on the ground, Valak drew his arms up, readying his knives. Beside him, Three did the same, and through the corner of his eye Valak could the boy from One pulling back his bowstring.

Valak began to let out a breath, before suddenly sucking it back in as something behind the ranged boy caught his attention.

Cathy.

Her innocence was like a beacon to Valak, and he found himself suddenly unable to tear his attention away from her. She had been knocked to the floor, one hand propping her body up as the other raised to cover her face. She was unarmed, unlike the crazed girl from Four who was poised above her, the prongs of her trident eager to pierce her body.

Valak could not think as his body reacted. Shoving all his strength into the boy from Three, he made a getaway, barely even feeling the pain as an arrow pierced the back of his leg.

He ran.

He ran towards Cathy, his eyes seeing nothing but her. Inside the folds of his mind, memories of his childhood came flooding back with a current he could not fight. Valak had not made up his mind whether he desired to kill his sister, or to save her, as he barrelled into the side of the Career, knocking the trident from her grasp just seconds before it would have entered Cathy's chest.

The Career girl gasped, her eyes glossing over as she fumbled for her weapon with disoriented movements. Spitting at her, Valak plunged one of his knives between her ribs, leaving it jutting out of her body as he grabbed Cathy's wrist with his free hand and pulling her to her feet alongside him.

What would come next, Valak did not know. But he handed himself over to destiny anyway.

Moonshine le Gris, 13, District Six Female

The Capitol is a far different battlefield than the streets of District Six.

Oh how Daphne le Fay was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Just like all the other adults in Moonshine's life who believed they knew better than her; who had no faith in her ability to fend for herself. They would be watching her now –well, not her mother as she was long dead –but the others, like her mentor and Peacekeeper Pasternak, and they would be waiting for her to fall and prove them right.

But she wouldn't. Moonshine le Gris would prove them all wrong. She had to.

The courtyard was large, but Moonshine was small. She had learned from her time on the streets that when you were small, you were also invisible. She found little difficulty in leaping from her podium quickly, landing softly on her booted feet without grabbing the instant attention of any of her foes. The other tributes had scattered like a scurry of rats; the Careers and a few larger tributes daring to edge towards the central tree in order to benefit from the bounty that tempted them. Others had turned and run, not willing to take the risk and betting their chances on finding supplies elsewhere, or naively relying on sponsors. Moonshine fell into a category which sandwiched itself between the two; she, like a select few, dipped her toes into danger, entering into a precarious balancing act between risk and reward.

Only Moonshine had an advantage she suspected her competitors did not.

She was used to the concept of a bloodbath. Every day she would risk her life and her freedom venturing out into the harsh claws of District Six; picking her way between those who would rather see her corpse on the side of the street than see her with her hand in their pockets. In black and white terms, this really was no different than her normal life. The only real difference was that there were fewer people, and also the sour fact that the rest of Panem were watching her every move.

But they were not watching her every move. The twenty four other tributes seemed oblivious to Moonshine as she danced her way across the courtyard, her body nimble as she dashed from stone post to stone post, ducking and diving and weaving her way to richness.

Two canons had fired so far –a short boy from what Moonshine thought may have been District Seven had been skewered cleanly by the girl from Two, and then one of the creepy pair from Twelve had been even more accurately termed 'skewered' by a spear thrown by the girl from One. The canons didn't really bother Moonshine too much; it was two bodies closer to her survival and there was everything good about that.

But she also knew that she was on a countdown, and time was slipping away from her. The tributes were scattering, like a shoal of fish separated as sharks came hunting for their dinner. The courtyard was largely encircled by crumbling walls, and each time Moonshine had spotted an exit, something had blocked her way.

She was running out of options.

Glancing out from behind a small stone pillar, Moonshine looked around for an escape. Beside the nearest wall, she spotted a familiar face; the face of an idiot which had been her morning view over breakfast for the past week. Accel was stood beside the wall, his knees bent as he cupped his hands in front of him. His ally, who had turned out to be a Capitol popstar, seemed panicked as she threw her booted foot into his hands, reaching her fingers between the cracks in the walls for something to hold onto. Moonshine found it both highly irritating and also surprisingly unsurprising that dumb drunk of a district partner had somehow managed to gain favour with a Capitol sweetheart who would undoubtedly bring them wealth in sponsorship. Not to be mistaken with jealousy, of course; Moonshine would refuse sponsor gifts even if a pathetic Capitolite felt enough pity towards her to send her something.

Curious, Moonshine watched as Accel pushed with a swift upwards motion, propelling his ally towards the top of the wall where she daintily swung her legs over, disappearing over the ledge. With a small grunt, Moonshine looked back at the rest of the courtyard, where the area was becoming scarcer. Any attempt to dash across would likely see her own cover blown; not even a scrawny thirteen year old girl could hide from that much exposure.

There was only one option left in Moonshine's eyes.

And she ran straight for it.

As she had little weight of her own to carry, Moonshine reached the wall before she even needed to take a second breath. Pulling out the hunting knife she had found in one of the bags she had swiped, she held it out towards her as she approached her district partner.

"Boost me up or I'll kill you," she threatened, her jaw set in stone as her eyes narrowed towards Accel.

His eyebrows raised in surprise.

"You could've just asked nicely," he replied, bending down and cupping his hands.

Moonshine was taken aback by how easily he had obeyed her command. So much so that she couldn't prevent her mouth from forming a small o.

"Hurry up then, we ain't got all day," Accel hurried her along.

Unused to not having to fight for her own way, but aware of the urgency of the situation, Moonshine hopped onto Accel's hands, feeling her body feel entirely weightless as she flew over the wall, landing on her feet, as she always did, on the other side.

There was a gasp as she brushed herself off.

"Where's Accel?" the girl from Eleven demanded, holding a sword with two hands shakily in front of her.

"Dead," Moonshine grinned wickedly, knowing that the girl would hesitate before trying to kill her.

The colour in her honey coloured cheeks drained.

"He's… what?"

There was a soft grunt above them as Accel's body appeared at the top of the wall, followed by a sigh of relief from his ally.

"Catch," called Accel from above, dropping the bag from his shoulder as he navigated his way over the top.

Instantly, Moonshine darted forwards, swiping the bag and making a speedy getaway. Behind her she could hear the girl cursing at her, but Moonshine knew neither of them would be chasing her. Even if they could, they'd never catch her.

No one ever did.

Anri Astellin, 17, District Nine Male

There was a stillness in the air as Anri Astellin waited. Tucked between pieces of the collapsed structure of a small square building, he took slow, shallow breaths. There was not a syllable of sound that emitted from Anri's body as he kept perfectly still, like the foundations of the stone building itself. Only his eyes moved, perceptive and absorbing. From his position, just outside of the courtyard, he could see all, but all could not see him.

As far as Anri cared about attire, which extended just as far as something which was clean and presentable, he was fairly fond of the outfit chosen by the Gamemakers. Its lightweight material made his hunched position more comfortable to maintain, and the black almost featherlike pattern was aesthetically pleasing to the eye. Purple was Anri's favourite colour, but if black had been a colour and not a shade, it would undoubtedly replace purple as his preference.

Anri had entered the arena in a favourable position. There had been a large break in the courtyard's walls directly behind him, where he had made a mental note of the ruined building a short distance away. As the timer had reached zero, he had wasted not a single second as he had turned and run. Away from the violence and the bloodshed, Anri had ensured to adhere to his formulated strategy from the moment the Games had begun. The way one would start, was the way one's journey would likely continue, and Anri was determined to remain with both feet on his path for as long as logic and reality would allow.

From his viewpoint, Anri could see a significant portion of the courtyard, though as light travelled in straight lines only, his sight could not extend beyond the walls, meaning that some things went by without his knowledge. Uncertainty was not his ally, but that being said, there was no doubt that his position held an advantage, and that advantage he had calculated was enough to serve its purpose.

He watched them.

He watched the Careers take lives; he watched children fleeing for their own. He watched acts of selflessness; he watched acts of selfishness. Humanity, in the face of fear, was fragmented, Anri began to discover. In the blood-pounding clutches of danger, the actions people took defined the people they truly were.

Anri wondered what person he was. It was a riddle he was yet to solve, and one he could not use mere logic to uncover.

Different experiences had offered different solutions. To his doting mother, Anri had been the light at the centre of her world. To his father, Anri had been a dark stain he was desperate to remove. He was a joy; he was a mistake. He was wanted; he was unwelcome.

Anri squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the presence of his mother's necklace against the smooth skin of his chest. He missed her dearly and though his life had been nothing but a fragile existence since her death, he could not blame her for leaving him alone to wander the streets and into the reluctant hands of his Peacekeeper father. Sometimes Anri wondered why his father had taken him in, only to lock him away in shame. His father had never told him, and Anri had never asked.

Anri blinked as he looked up at the shadowed sky above him.

Do you see me now, father?

The sound of a collection of footsteps nearby pushed Anri's body closer to the cover of the stone structure around him. Peering between the cracks, he saw a group of three tributes making their way hastily away from the courtyard. Two girls and one boy; Seven, Ten and Eleven. One of the girls was huddled against the back of the boy who boasted a tall and broad frame, her thin arms wrapped around his neck as he carried her lanky weight. The second girl walked beside them, holding a hand flat against the small of her ally's back as though she was worried she may slip and fall to the ground. The walking girl, with a silver Seven to the side of her chest, looked as though she had been crying as her eyes were raw and eyelids puffed. Between the three of them, the boy seemed in the most stable condition, though it was clear that he was the most physically injured of the group, with his strides affected by a slight limp in his left leg. A deep gash across his forehead also leaked blood down his tired face.

They appeared weak, but Anri knew better than to engage and blow his cover. Anri was not a ruthless person and he did not seek blood, though he had already considered the benefits in taking out any weaker or singular tributes he encountered, should the opportunity arise. This, however, was not one of those opportunities, and so he watched the small alliance pass by.

He continued to wait, watching as the courtyard cleared. Once all he could hear was silence, and that silence remained for an immeasurable amount of time, Anri finally rose to his feet and stepped out from the shadows.

The coast appeared clear, and so too did the courtyard.

With cautious steps, Anri kept his profile low as he moved towards the edge of the courtyard, pressing his body against the wall. Peering his head around the side of the wall which had earlier blocked his view of the entire area, Anri held his breath.

There was a quiet rush of voices as his eyes focused on the group of Careers who were standing close together. A body lay on the floor between them, and the girl from Two was hunched over it, her back facing Anri's direction. Standing beside her, the eccentric tribute from Four was visibly flapping, pacing around in circles in a panic. The blonde girl was whispering into the ear of her dark haired friend, whilst the sixth member of the alliance was leant against the wall, picking at his nails.

Pulling back quickly, Anri stepped back from the wall. The rest of the courtyard appeared empty –empty of people that was –it was full of everything else. The Careers must have been distracted by the one who was lying still on the floor (who Anri deduced must have been the girl from Four), and not yet claimed the rest of the supplies for themselves. Anri had seen most of the escaped tributes having fled with some supplies, but nothing more than a small pack or weapon. Therefore, the rest of the supplies were for the taking.

Jogging around the outskirts of the courtyard, keeping on the safer side of the crumbling walls, Anri found a further entrance, which was out of the direct line of sight of the group of Careers. With a few glances, he then began to walk into the courtyard, crouching low and rooting through the supplies that had so far been abandoned.

The sight of two dead bodies nearby were a minor distraction, but Anri felt no emotion towards them as he continued to scavenge, all whilst keeping his eyes constantly looking back towards the Careers. They seemed not to notice him as he filled a bag full of dried food, empty bottles, rope, matches and any other useful items he could find.

Once satisfied with his loot, without feeling too weighed down, Anri was content to leave. Deciding it was always safer not to turn your back on your enemies, he withdrew backwards, slowly, keeping his eyes facing towards the danger in the distance.

He felt the wall behind him as he slipped between its open gap, the breath he had been holding finally releasing itself as he turned around.

"Hi there."

Ragnar Hellstorm, 18, District Two Male

Ragnar could not hear himself think.

The chaos around him was bubbling like lava inside a volcano; the molten liquid brushing the sides, threatening to tip over the edge as steam and ash poured from the surface. There were voices screaming at him; voices both inside and outside his mind. He could feel his own blood as it pulsated through his veins, throbbing at the temples and beneath the fragile layers of inked skin at his wrists.

He knew this feeling all too well. Rage was Ragnar's nemesis, and yet he could never stand up to fight it. He could feel it now, egging him on, whispering between the cries of anguish that echoed around him to release it.

Release me.

Let go, Ragnar. Let go.

"Let go!" Ragnar felt a sharp tug as the bag in his hands was torn from his grip. Reality blurred into the furious face of Riddle, who stared with eyes flaming and her hands gripping the small bag tightly.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Ragnar?" snapped Riddle, tearing open the bag and rooting through it without haste, tossing out anything that wasn't what she was looking for. "Circe is bleeding out right now and you're standing there in the land of the fucking fairies!"

Riddle let out a sharp breath as she retrieved a small roll of bandages from the bag. "It seems I have to do everything around here myself."

Ragnar jolted as Riddle thrust the empty bag into his chest.

"Beau, have you been keeping pressure on the wound?" she asked, heading back to where Circe was lying on her back, her eyelids fluttering open and shut. As Riddle nudged Beau out of the way, Ragnar noticed that his hands were coated in slick, crimson blood that almost entirely hid his pale, milky skin.

"My sweet starfish!" Ragnar rolled his eyes as the ear-piercing cries of Cephus sliced through the eruption in his ears. "My dainty dolphin! Can you hear me, dear sister? It's Cephus, your twin, your other half! Do not leave me alone in the abyss! Circeeeeeeee!"

Peach was doing an admirable job of holding Cephus back whilst Riddle tended to Circe's wound, though the slight crease in her blemish-free forehead showed that she was somewhat struggling. Cephus was far weaker physically than Peach, with their training days far fewer between than Peach's, but there was a wildness in their movements as they tried to reach their sister's side which made restraining them all the more of a challenge.

Beau, having found something to wipe his hands on, walked beside his friend and leant in towards Cephus. From Ragnar's position he could not hear the words that were spoken, but whatever the quiet boy from One had told them, it was enough to subdue the creature as they lowered their arms and took a step back from Peach, a sombre but understanding look on their face.

Beside him, Ragnar heard Matthew clear his throat softly.

Swallowing against his own raw throat, Ragnar looked down at the bag which Riddle had returned forcefully. He could feel his heart pounding beneath his ribs and a pain behind his eyes, the start of what could be a migraine. As he took several breaths, Ragnar felt his chest tightening with each one, his body feeling as though it was being squeezed until his bones would crack beneath the pressure.

He was suffocating.

"I'm going to scout the area," he said breathlessly to Matthew, dropping the empty bag on the floor and retrieving the warhammer he had found by the tree in the centre of the courtyard.

Matthew said nothing as Ragnar left, shrugging to himself as he went to lean against the nearby wall.

As the chaos behind him quietened with each step he took, Ragnar felt his breaths becoming a little easier.

Ragnar always worked better alone. When he had started training in the Academy back in Two, he had never fit in with the other kids. The trainer who had recruited him was the only one who had seen potential within in, though Ragnar was starting to believe that maybe he had just seen a child with so much untamed rage who could be moulded into whatever shape the world desired.

The Institute, the only place where Ragnar felt as though he belonged, had been a project he had built with his own blood, sweat and tears. It was his own hands which had hammered nails into the floorboards; it was his own feet which had carried him around the District delivering pamphlets to recruit kids who too had been failed by the system. Everything that place was only existed because of Ragnar, and Ragnar alone.

Ragnar Hellstorm needed no one. But yet, he feared being alone.

Alone he was strong, but alone he was also weak. The tiniest fracture could splinter into a thousand shattering pieces with the slightest of knocks. The ink on his hands covered only the surface of the scars from the endless panes of glass he had sent them through. The scars ran a lot deeper than that; deeper than Ragnar could ever see.

Sighing, Ragnar kicked the toe of his boot at the stone pavement, sending a small cloud of dust into the dim air. Wandering aimlessly, Ragnar found his feet taking him away from the courtyard and behind the sections of walls that enclosed it. In his left hand he swung the hammer, hearing the gentle push of air particles as it spun around and around.

He supposed it might be useful to gain an idea of what lay beyond the courtyard before the pack decided whether to set up camp there, or whether to shift their supplies elsewhere. Riddle and Peach had each scratched themselves a line on the tally for kills, but the distraction of Circe being struck by the vicious boy from Ten had limited the potential for a higher kill count. Beau seemed to have mostly taken an observatory stance during the initial few minutes; allowing the girls to get their hands dirty; whilst Matthew had adopted a similar approach to Ragnar, though he had been embroiled in a scuffle which had seen him take a few strikes of damage himself. And Cephus; well Cephus had been trying, and failing, to protect Circe.

Ragnar had not wished to kill, not so early into the Games. If he could, he would avoid it entirely, though he doubted his ultimate survival would allow it. Eventually he would have to add to the blood that already stained his hands.

He had walked almost the entire perimeter of the courtyard before Ragnar decided to return to his allies. No canon had fired during the time he had been gone, so Riddle must have been keeping Circe alive. Ragnar didn't know why his district partner was so keen to keep the girl alive; Riddle had made her disapproval of the twins abundantly clear on many occasions, yet she remained a team player. It somewhat surprised Ragnar, to see that Riddle was a woman of her word when she said she believed in teamwork. He had expected her to abandon her empty optimism the moment the countdown had reached zero, but here she was patching up a girl who was likely dead weight to them anyway.

Perhaps Ragnar would be better on his own after all.

As he approached a gap in the wall, Ragnar suddenly froze, the dark figure of a person slowly coming into view.

The tribute had their back to Ragnar, a delicate number Nine glittered in the dim light as they took cautious steps backwards. From the shape of their body, Ragnar knew it was the male tribute, with a large looking backpack swung over one shoulder.

Ragnar simply stood still, his eyes glancing down at the warhammer in his hand. He knew he should kill the boy who was backing towards him, but he did not want to.

Finally, as the boy pushed his body through the small gap in the wall, he turned around, his dark eyes growing wide as he saw Ragnar stood before him.

"Hi there," Ragnar involuntarily found himself saying in neither a friendly, nor a menacing tone.

The boy instantly drew out a weapon –a long, curved knife. It was clear that he wouldn't go down without a fight.

The two boys stood at a stalemate, neither one making a move. Ragnar considered letting the boy go; the others hadn't seen him, and they wouldn't know what they weren't told. But his allies weren't the only ones who were watching him. The Capitol was watching him, his girlfriend Marcella was watching him, and the trainees at the Institute who had praised him for volunteering were watching him. It was their expectations which had driven Ragnar to fall prey to his pride and volunteer; and it was their expectations of his ruthlessness which drove him to swing his hammer towards the boy.

It collided with the boy's side. Ragnar heard several of the boy's ribs cracking as he doubled over, clutching where the hammer had hit him. As Ragnar drew back his arm, ready to strike again, the boy leapt forwards, ducking into the gap between himself and Ragnar and thrusting the knife towards his gut. Ragnar twisted, managing to dodge the strike, but barely. He felt the tip of the blade skimming past his waist.

Turning around, Ragnar reached down, grasping the knife by its blade. He felt an intense heat in the palm of his hand as he pulled the curved blade from the boy's grip, though he felt no pain as blood trickled down his wrists. Tossing the smaller weapon into the air, he caught it by the handle and drove it downwards with all his strength, plunging it into the back of the boy's neck.

The boy gurgled as the tip of the blade exited at the front of his neck, before collapsing, face first onto the ground. A canon fired moments later.

As Ragnar bent down and slowly slid the knife out of the boy's neck, he felt a bitter sense of déjà vu. In just a brief moment he was taken back to his father's house. It was the early hours of the morning, and his father was sleeping. Ragnar, merely thirteen years old, did not flinch as he drew the small knife across his father's throat and watched as the blood soaked the pillowcase.

Ragnar opened his eyes.

The monster had returned. Or had it never left?

A/N

Firstly, I wanted to quickly apologise for the hefty delay in getting this chapter out. The past few months have been crazily intense for me, but I'm hoping to be back on track with MoS going forward! So thank you for your patience and continued interest (if you're still here reading this lmao), it means the world! Of course, a great thank you again to MyMentalMind who has done the honour yet again of live reading this chapter; big love to you! But I shan't go on too long with this a/n as I usually do.

So, the Games have begun and the first blood has been drawn. I'm expecting that many of you will be surprised with the low death count, especially those who are familiar with CoT's bloodbath which had seven deaths. Whether you are disappointed in just three deaths, I just wanted to say that I spent a lot of time considering this, and I had too many plotlines that wouldn't work with more than three deaths. That isn't to say that Cameron, Velaris and Anri had no plotlines to develop; there were certainly many routes I could have taken all three of them down, but ultimately I had to kill at least a few, and unfortunately, decisions were made. What this does mean, is that there are still twenty two more tributes to kill, so expect each arena chapter to keep you on your toes as we have a lot of deaths to get through!

For now, I'd love to hear what your thoughts are on the bloodbath (or blood puddle, perhaps, judging by the small number of deaths), and any future predictions on what may happen next as a result! In the meantime, a few words about our fallen tributes.

Cameron Alcatraz, 16, District Seven Male. Submitted by Pacecca.
Placed 25th.
Killed by a sword through the heart by Riddle Robello.
Aw, Cameron was such a sweet, good guy. I especially loved his relationship with Livvy; from how their intros intertwined despite their submitters not ever collaborating on the matter, to how they grew only closer and closer during their time at the Capitol. Cameron, though he was smaller and weaker than many of the other tributes, was courageous, hesitating in the bloodbath to ensure that his allies were safe. If he had lived, I would have seen him play a vital part of his alliance, growing closer to Livvy (whether that was romantically, or platonically) and helping to work together as a team. Livvy, Logan and Lunete will miss him a lot, and as will I. Thank you Pacecca for submitting Cameron, and I'm sorry to see him go so soon!

Velaris Axar, 18, District Twelve Female. Submitted by RuneWhisperer.
Placed 24th.
Killed by a spear thrown by Peach Bellini.
Wow, so Velaris was my wildcard bloodbath death, I must admit. I initially had plans for her to go quite far, as she was more than capable of handling herself and had a good head on her shoulders. Her backstory was also very interesting, and I would have liked to explore that further. However, it was essential to the plot I had growing in my mind for Kazimir to betray her, and whilst I initially had this betrayal planned for later in the Games, I realised that I needed to kill at least a few tributes, and this timing also worked out. Velaris was a very unique tribute in a way that she was very dark and brooding, yet she had this boistrous energy about her and wouldn't allow anyone to walk over her. Beneath her strong sense of self, there was a good heart there, and I could have seen her taking good care of Frankie as the Games progressed. But sometimes stories are cut short, and this was the case for Vel. May she rest in peace, which I am sure she will, seeing her viewpoint on death is a positive one.

Anri Astellin, 17, District Nine Male. Submitted by infinitelydisappointing.
Placed 23rd.
Killed by a knife to the neck by Ragnar Hellstorm.
Anri was one of those tributes who took me by surprise. I enjoyed his concept from my first read of his form, but it was after his pregames pov that I really began to connect with him on a deeper level. Out of all the tributes, he had such an individual outlook; both critical of himself but also of the world around him. He struggled with his desire for attention, whilst also seeming disappointed when it arrived. Anri possessed a very smart way of thinking, and if Ragnar had not have found him when he did, he could have done very well to out-smart a lot of the competition. Ultimately, his lack of experience and brutality may not have made him a Victor, but his mind would have likely carried him far. If only he hadn't miscounted the Careers when he had chosen to sneak into the courtyard... Thank you for submitting such a well thought-out character, I thoroughly enjoyed delving into the complexities of Anri's mind and will miss doing so in the future!

And here it is, the return of The Chart!

Tributes alive: 22

Kill Count:
Riddle: I
Peach: I
Ragnar: I

Next chapter will continue in the arena, seeing what will happen in the aftermath of the bloodbath. I hope to get this one out next weekend, though my dissertation is due in on the 31st, so depending on how long the final touches take me, it could be the weekend after. But no longer than that, I hope!

Until next time,

Firefly.