.

I'm forever chasing after time, but everybody dies, dies.
If I could buy forever at a price, I would buy it twice, twice.

Maysa Barric, District Nine

"Maysa?..."

Ignoring Braxton and all but ripping the minty jacket off of me, I fling myself onto the couch, staring down Olivander, who for once isn't trembling under an influence. "Tell me what I need to know."

He chortles breathily, rocking back and forth, colliding with the stoic Roland. "W-W-What d-do you want to know, sugar?"

I cringe slightly at the nickname. "You promised that you would go over a good bloodbath strategy with me." I look at him pointedly. "You promised. I need to know, and now."

"Get out a-alive!" he bursts out, content with himself. He dissolves into giggles. "D-D-Don't get in the way of a weapon… or another tribute… and d-d-don't try to run to the Cornucopia…"

"That's real nice advice," I hiss, feeling revolted. I peer over at Roland, who's stirring his cranberry juice with a melancholy expression. "Do you maybe have some words of wisdom for me, Roland?"

He looks at me, bags prominent from under his eyes. "I'd suggest grabbing a couple things from the outskirts and running for the hills… but do what you want to do."

"I'm going to gather up Cade and Griff first, and then Cade will be the one to run in and grab us a backpack," declares Braxton confidently. He offers me a charming smile. "If you want, Maysa, I can help you figure out a strategy for you and your allies?"

"I'm fine on my own without begging help from a fifteen-year-old," I say bitterly. "Besides, Maya's probably got it all down pat… she's strategic, too, you know."

Braxton smirks. "You three really have no clue on what you're going to do tomorrow, do you?"

"Maybe not," I bite back, "but I know that at least I have a cause worth fighting for. And what do you have?"

"Capitol and district support," he says, eyes glinting under the dim lights. "My grandfather is the mayor. My other grandfather, head of the Malory Grain Factories. I'll get so much respect from Nine alone, and I know how to play the crowd…" he trails off, lips pursed annoyingly. "And, um, I'm sorry, but what do you have? A bad attitude and a scowl that just won't quit."

"My scowl can go away," I protest, but my argument is weak. I sigh heavily. "Fine, little boy, you have one minute to prove to me how your strategy for the bloodbath can work, and how I can use it."

Braxton smiles lightly. "I like you, Maysa," he says softly. "I'd help you even if you didn't threaten me."

I flex my fingers as he continues onto a vast, somewhat boring monologue on the pros and cons of running into the midst of everything at the Cornucopia and rather, focus on his last statement. He likes me, would help me even if I wasn't being nasty? But it can't be… nobody truly likes me. I thought I'd made it impossible.

Ever since Zeta, my one and only friend and sister, left us for good, my life was a whirlwind of anger, fear, loathing, and irresponsibility. I grew a hardened shell. I pushed everybody away for fear I'd get hurt again.

I can't let it happen again. I can't grow attached, I can't, I can't, I can't.

"Y-You know what, Braxton?" I say loudly, pushing myself off of the sofa, much to poor Braxton's surprise. "I could not care less about your stupid bloodbath strategy." Lies. But I have to lie. I can't even let him be nice to me, for fear he'll worm his way into my heart. "Just stop talking to me, and I think we'll be on fine terms."

"But we were just having a nice talk and everything…" He looks crushed.

"We're gonna be slaughtering each other tomorrow, won't we?" I rise, tightly crossing my arms around my chest and glaring down at him. "Who knows, you might be plotting my murder as we speak!"

"I'd never do that!" argues Braxton, coming to his feet and looking more alert than ever. "I like you, Maysa, a lot! You remind me of my sister, Braelin!"

"I don't remind you of anybody," I argue, gritting my teeth and shooting him down.

"Braxton? Maysa? Are you two-"

"Shut up, Roland!" I snap, whipping my head to the side and shooting daggers. "This isn't your beef!"

Braxton's advancing towards me now, eyes filled with genuine concern and worry. His touch on my wrist is gentle. "Maysa, are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," I snap, "I just think it's stupid for us to act all buddy-buddy when tomorrow, I could kill you, there's nothing stopping me!"

And he stands there, cheeks blazing and eyes filled with sudden tears, penetrating my gaze. "I don't know why you're like this," he says simply. "One minute, you're so nice. You can be funny without even knowing it. But not for long. After that, you're just rude and blunt, and you don't care about anything."

I look at him coldly. "It's not my problem how other people see me, now is it?"

I slink down the hall, storming into my bedroom and locking the door behind me. Instead of sitting on the bed, or moving to the window, I merely stand in front of the door, my eyes staring down at the ground, at the ugly green heels that they made me wear.

It's not my problem if people can't handle my personality, it's theirs. It's not my trouble if people think I'm rude, or blatant, or overly crude. I'm just who I am… it's just the way I am…

Or is it who I'm trying to be?

Am I even myself? Or did I lose myself, six years ago?

Cole Tenacity, District Eleven

"So, your interviews were decent."

We're sitting at the table, nibbling on the remnants of dinner. Kiera's attempting to split open a chicken bone – probably to get to the soft marrow inside – and I'm pushing some potatoes around my plate with my spoon. Hudson's long since cleared his plate, while our escort has already gone off to bed.

"I know they were," Kiera drawls, focused on her chicken bone. "I think I did rather well."

"You were the laughingstock of the night." I look at her and frown a little.

"I was not!" She's quick to defend herself, glaring at me with the fury of a pigeon in her eyes. "I answered all of Tess's questions, I mean, and nobody really said anything to me about it afterwards!"

"That's because they were scared." I shrug.

Kiera narrows her eyes and is about to say something – probably a ranting insult – but Hudson cuts her off before a full-blown fight can ignite. "Hush, hush. I happen to think that it could have gone a lot worse, so I'm not complaining, actually."

I roll my eyes. "What's next?"

Hudson cracks his knuckles. "That's for you guys to decide. We can look at recaps of the Reapings or interviews, check over the training scores again, or maybe even look at the Capitol Odds Board."

"Capitol Odds Board? What's that?" Kiera looks up, her chicken bone forgotten.

"I haven't told you yet? Well, it's basically the betting table for the Capitolites to bet on the tribute that they think will make it out alive." Hudson smiles. "Unsurprisingly, the Careers are usually front and center. I happened to be the second-to-first tribute on my Capitol Odds Board, the first one being a bulky, monstrous girl from Five. The Careers that year were very incompetent."

"Wow." I smile for his benefit. That's pretty impressive, actually.

"But I proved them wrong!" crows Hudson, clapping his hands together animatedly. "Would you two like to see it, then?"

"Of course we would," Kiera grins widely, hopping down from her chair and darting to the living room. She plops down on an ottoman near the television, her hands shaking in excitement. I slowly trail after Hudson, who limps a little on his way.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

Hudson grimaces and nods bravely. "I have a prosthetic leg. Not something I like to bring up, usually."

"Which one? And what happened?"

"My right one." Hudson motions for an Avox to come over and he continues. "Just before the finale, there was an accident. I fell off one of the metal spires that our arena was based on. A twenty feet drop. I nearly cracked open my skull, but it was sheer luck that I had received a helmet from a sponsor."

"That's insane."

"Right?" Hudson nods. "Luckily, the other tribute – the boy from Three – was so emaciated and starving and dehydrated from hiding out the entire time that it only took a quick swing of my axe to finish him off, poor soul."

"Do you ever have nightmares?" Kiera joins in the conversation, her eyes filled with interest. They gleam. "About the souls of the ones you've killed, the dead that still roam your mind?"

Hudson blinks. His nose twitches.

"Why would he?" I confront Kiera, defending poor Hudson.

"Because most victors that I've heard of have regrets about their methods of killing," Kiera replies smoothly. "I've talked to Kinton and Haven, and they say that even though Gray seems like a brutal woman on the outside, she cries each and every night."

"That's unfortunate," says my mentor. "Grey's a wonderful woman. She doesn't deserve that."

"So do you?" Kiera prods, moving closer and closer to him. "Do you have nightmares or visions or hallucinations? I'd really like to know, you see, because I think that if would be-"

"Hey, what about the Odds Board, eh?" I chuckle, mainly looking to get Hudson out of this tight spot that he's wedged in. He shoots me a grateful look as the Avox he previously waved over presses a button on the remote, and a huge list colored in blues and greens pops up on the screen.

"Wow," Kiera says, for once at a loss for words.

"Look who's at the top, see," Hudson says, pointing to the screen. "The Careers, mostly. Oh, sure, there's a few Careers that made the lower half of the list, but the majority are right up there."

"Maya Verone's got a pretty good spot, too," Kiera notes.

"She works the crowd well," I comment.

Hudson nods, his face glimmering with appreciation and happiness. "See? You guys are getting it! Those who can really put on a show and get the Capitol to like them, paired with a good performance, get the most sponsors!"

"Look at the poor little boys," Kiera says, blatantly ignoring him and jabbing a finger at the bottom of the list. "Nobody likes them!"

"But look who's dead last," I shoot back.

Kiera Brennan, 24th.

A small whoosh of air is inhaled by the messy redhead, and her eyes well up with tears of anger. She scowls darkly at me. "At least I'm not a person who's afraid to speak more than five words at a time!" she growls.

I hold up my hands in defense. "Silence is golden!"

"Are you mocking me?" Kiera's on her feet now, fists balled up tightly. She's shaking with anger. "I-I can't take this, Hudson! Everybody's ganging up on me!"

"Calm down!" I plead, suddenly wanting the poor girl to take a load off. "Please."

But no, Kiera has the guts to storm off, shrieking in obvious anger.

There's silence.

Before anything else happens, I look at Hudson. "I think I'm gonna hit the sack, too." I cross my arms and stand up, nodding to him.

"Good, go to bed. Ignore Kiera," he says with a small, dismissive wave. "And remember, tomorrow's arena day…"

Aspen Northwood, District Seven

"Aspen, honey? Rise and shine! It's arena day!"

Groaning faintly at the sound of Enna's voice, I swing my legs out of the cozy innards of my nest of blankets and rise, yawning and stretching my sore, tired muscles out.

Enna peeks into my room, blinking her long lashes and offering me a warm smile. "How are you doing this morning, Aspen? Are you scared?"

"Of course I'm scared," I reply, feeling a little testy. I run my fingers through my choppy black hair and move over to her. "I guess I just have to keep a happy outlook on it, though. I have a better chance than some."

"I'd drink to that!" Enna chuckles heartily, ushering me gently into the kitchen. "Come, come, eat something. You'll regret it if you don't."

Brux stares at me with a slight smirk on his face, while Obsidian and Basil are mumbling to each other and swishing their pancakes around pools of syrup. I ignore Brux and take a plate, moving onto it some muffins and a heap of oats. "Good morning, everybody."

"Morning, Asp," burps Obsidian, taking a swig of chocolate milk. "Nervous?"

I frown. "Enna just asked me that."

"What Aspen means to say," Brux starts, furrowing his eyebrows devilishly, "is that she's scared out of her wits… but trying to keep a friendly, amiable front. Isn't that right?"

"Shut up, Brux," I growl.

He lifts his eyebrows mockingly. "Ooh, pussycat has claws!"

"Don't kill each other yet," Basil says gravely. "You'll have plenty of time to do that in the arena… although I'd be pleased as punch if you didn't kill each other. District Seven could do with another victor."

"I promise," I challenge, locking Brux's strangely pale eyes and holding the gaze. "I dunno about my friend over here…"

"We'll be fine," Brux assures Basil with a suave grin. "Anyways, I don't think that she'll make it out of the bloodbath, honestly."

"And we could do with a little less district-partner dissing, too!" moans Basil. "You two are constantly at each others' throats."

"I'm loving it!" roars Obsidian with delight.

I wince as Basil and Obsidian get into yet another one of their brotherly battles, Obsidian targeting the fact that Basil is too prissy and old-fashioned, while Basil shoots back that Obsidian never takes anything seriously. It's enough to unnerve anybody, and the fact that these two are supposed to be the ones to save my guts is even worse.

"Can you two stop fighting for one second to hear me out?" I ask them, exasperated. I stab a spoon into my oats. "I want a little advice for the bloodbath…"

"Stay still and wait for it to be over," Brux advises wisely.

Glaring and thinking some very unkind thoughts, I turn to my mentor. "Please, Basil? I really need help. I don't have any allies, you know, and we never did get to talking about this last night… or anytime, really…"

Basil turns away from a leering Obsidian. "Um, yeah," he says. "I'd think that if you grab a weapon from the outskirts, along with a loaf of bread and some source of water, you'd be fine…"

"But Aspen wants to run into the thick of things," Brux begins, obviously gearing up for yet another tale that ends in my unavoidable death. Ignoring him blatantly, I jam a muffin into my mouth and chew furiously.

"She wants to kill everybody right then and there-"

"Honestly, Obsidian, you're a disgrace to our family name-"

"Kids, have you had little chit-chats with your stylists about arena suits-"

"And then she'd grab a mace, yeah, and obsess over who should go down to the finale with her, because obviously Aspen's the best at murdering people-"

"Shut up!" I screech, finally fed up with everything. Instead of stopping completely, as I had expected, only Enna stops and immediately asks me if I'm feeling feverish.

"I'm sick of you lot," I grumble, shoving my plate further onto the table and storming away, not even caring who follows me. Of course the kindred Enna does, but I don't give her my time of day. I stomp into the humongous bathroom inside my bedroom and draw a sink full of warm water so to wash my face.

Sitting on the cool countertop, listlessly grazing my soft cheeks with my fingertips, I gaze sadly at the ground. What will happen today, in just two hours or so?

Will I be already in a hovercraft, stone cold and foaming at the mouth? Will I be racing about a horrific arena, heart fluttering wildly and breath ragged, ambushed by a number of cackling tributes out for my blood? Will I be standing over the limp corpse of somebody, knife in my hand and eyes staring down at the life I took?

It chills me to the bone to consider any of those possibilities.

I splash my hands into the lukewarm water and bring it up to my face, avoiding my own gaze in the mirror. I wish I was back home, where the only real danger was whether I got good grades or not.

I certainly don't want to be here, where there's a maniac directing this whole thing, two useless mentors constantly at each other's throats, and an overly cocky and annoying person who's supposed to be my ready-made ally. Nothing is promising, nothing is for sure.

My life hangs in the balance of twenty-three others. Boisterous Eidra from Two. Slim, innocent Griff from Three. Panicky Ezra from Five. Snarky Haven from Twelve. Any one of these people could be my potential victim, or more likely, killer. It pains me.

Why can't people just live in peace? Why do we go to war? Why do we have fights and fallouts? Can't everybody just grit their teeth, clench their fists, and stick it out?

Why are we all so cold?

Tethys Acosta, District Eight

The elevator ride speaks volumes.

From the moment I step into the small box, trailed by Cayley and Velvet and Velour, I can see how frail Haven Faye is, how calm Cole Tenacity is, how frantic the mentors are, murmuring last words of advice and kind words of encouragement.

Which reminds me. "Any last words, Velvet?"

Velvet's eyes lock with mine and she shivers inside her thin navy tank top. "Um, I'd really like if you came home," she says in a hushed tone. "You have a fair amount of sponsors, which is stellar for someone of your age. But yet, it's not enough. You need to do something crazy in the arena, Tethys. Something worth sponsoring."

Something worth sponsoring.

That actually makes some sort of sense.

I grin, showing two rows of pearly whites. "Thank you, Velvet. That's helpful."

Her deep brown eyes are still trained on mine. "Do you honestly think that you can do something that big, Tethys?"

I snicker, because it's cute how she doubts me. "Of course I can manage. I'm Tethys Acosta."

"Cockiness will get you nowhere, Tethys," warns Velvet, and there's a resounding ring of truth in her voice. And I know when enough is enough, so I stop talking and watch Kinton Machek as he traces circles onto the palm of his mentor's hand, his lips quivering.

All too soon, the elevator stops with a echoing thunk. The doors slide open, and I'm the first one to pop out, eyes grazing over the Training Center hungrily, as if merely looking at the silvery weapons and books packed chock full of useful plant information will be enough to save my skin.

Velvet's gentle guiding hand on my back leads me to a doorway tucked neatly into a small alcove. It stretches into a corridor, and in a messy line, the tributes and mentors and even a couple concerned-looking escorts flock down the hallway. There are no windows, no doors, just one small opening at the very end.

"Tethys, I'm scared," whimpers Cayley at my side, eyebrows drawn together. Her hand finds my elbow and she squeezes.

"It will be alright," I whisper to her, giving a promising smile. "I'll make sure that nothing happens to you… until we get to the arena, that is."

A glare on Velour's part, protectively lacing Cayley's fingers into her own.

"No?" I say, feeling a little lost. "Is humor not appropriate for right now, or… you know what, I'll just shut up right now."

I look away from Cayley's watery eyes and into a bright light, which I soon realize is the opening we're supposed to walk through. And what I thought was a mere opening, is actually a wide doorway, the door swung out so that we can walk through.

Treading confidently and with verve, I swagger outside the doorway and am faced with the spectacle of a lifetime- two ginormous hovercrafts, engines buzzing and lights flashing.

I'm aware of how my mouth drops open, along with Cayley and a couple tributes behind her. But I truly have no words. Are these truly the things that will escort us to the arena? These vehicles are magnificent!

"Tethys, you can go on the one to the left, and Cayley, you to the right." Velour's talking, eyes watering as she nods briskly. "I-I-I usually don't like to get attached to tributes, but this year, um, I couldn't help myself."

"W-We're gonna miss you too, Velour," sniffles Cayley, quick to tears.

I feel their eyes swivel over to me, and I nearly shrug before I catch myself. "Well," I say, testing the waters for how much they can take, "it definitely was a pleasure and an adventure to work with you three… and I think that if one of us comes back alive, then-"

Cayley lets out a loud sob, her eyes blatantly brimming over like a giant waterfall, and I quickly dam my mouth up to prevent any further waterworks from occurring.

"I just want to tell you guys how proud I am of you," Velvet says, smiling sadly down at Cayley and I. "You two have exceeded my expectations and more… and I agree with Tethys, one of you will come back. And you will bring the glory and honor for District Eight, once again."

"Thank you," my trembling district partner whimpers.

"Thanks," I say suavely.

Velvet guides me away from Cayley as to lead me to the hovercraft, but almost instantly, she ducks behind the groups from Districts Four and Five, both having their own mentors giving dreary pep talks to them, and pulls me down with her. Her eyes are frantic and blazing with hope.

"Tethys, I need you to come back," she urges me, frenzied. "Kill, maim, do whatever you need. Don't sacrifice yourself at any cost."

A little shocked by her sudden change in personality, I shift uneasily and respond, "And what brought this upon you?"'

Velvet silently glowers. "I'm trying to help," she jabbers on, seemingly unaffected by my snark. "Now, I don't care if you have to sell your very soul to the devil or lose yourself and everything that you are in that arena. You have to come back."

"Why?" I demand, perhaps a bit too loudly.

The blond boy with a heavy scowl from Four strides over. Merritt Cordeau. "If you two could keep your talking on the hush, that would be great, thanks," he snaps. "Some of us are trying to get last minute advice that could save us. So, thanks."

Velvet and I watch as he strides away. "Arrogant Career fool," she snarls, her eyes full of fire.

"I agree with him," I say, standing up and locking my spine. "I, too, would like to get onto the hovercraft already. The suspense is eating me alive!"

"It's your funeral," grumbles Velvet before remembering how unneeded a joke is at the moment. Her eyes go wide. "But Tethys, please, please, please remember what I told you."

"Duly noted." I offer a smooth grin.

And with that, I slink away.

Carisa Lenette, District One

"I want you to be bold," Sheen locks eyes with me. "Do what you need to do, but trust your own judgment. Nobody else can make your decisions for you, but you."

I smile effortlessly and nod. "I got it, Sheen, thank you."

"I have faith in you, Carisa." She nods right back at me. "Don't let me down. I drank only water today in prep for this."

"I got it, Sheen," I say.

"And-"

"I got it," I insist through gritted teeth. "You're being very helpful. Thank you."

"Okay." She stands awkwardly off to the side, gazing at Teal and the rat, who are talking frantically and laughing in high-pitched tones. Obviously Teal's spazzing out over this, poor dear, while the jerk next to him is cracking under the pressure.

"Don't kill yourself over this, Teal," Sheen tells her fellow mentor in a blunt tone. "If he dies, he dies, if he lives, we party. Nothing to lose."

"That's pessimistic," says the idiot with a frown. "You'd lose a child, wouldn't you?"

"Some mentors don't think of their tributes as children," I pipe up icily. "They think of them as acquaintances or pupils."

His frown deepens. "I didn't ask your opinion, Cary, I was just telling Sheen that-"

"Stop, and don't call me that." I stick my nose in the air, a surge of anger coming quickly. How dare he call me a nickname – that infuriating nickname from when we were just wide-eyed kids romping around in overalls and ankle socks – when we're enemies!

I surge towards Soren, ready to jab a fist into his ribs or something, but Teal drags him away, all while Soren is quite literally kicking and shouting that he wants to talk to me one more time. It's disgusting.

"Carisa." Sheen is on my case once again, a scowl prominent. "You need to control your anger towards Soren. In the arena, it's not going to help you win, it will help you get a knife in your back!"

I scoff. "He wouldn't have the guts to even pick up the knife to hurt me."

"You don't know what he is capable of, Carisa." Sheen stares at me, whirling thoughts masked behind her eyes. "For all you know, this could be a façade to get your comfortable with thinking that he's not going to harm you. You're being irresponsible, naïve, and just plain dumb."

"I'm not dumb!" I retort, but the insults dig away at my skin. Irresponsible. Naïve. Dumb.

I know that Soren would never lay a finger on me, not even if I got on my knees and begged him to. He's too kind, literally. When we were kids and he was being bullied, the only reason I stood up for him, instead of all the other masses of underfed, brooding children, was because he always had a kind word to say to everybody, and gave his lunches to the less fortunate.

Well, looks like Kind Soren is gone now, replaced by Scum Soren.

I throw my hair and stride away from Sheen, my feet leading me to the pair of odd Wraith and smirking Eidra. I lace my fingers through Eidra's briefly, feeling the warmth of her hand on mine, and then pull away.

"Is Soren acting out again?" Eidra asks quietly.

I roll my eyes. "Let's not focus on him. Let's just try to get in the same hovercraft so that we can talk more."

"Agreed." Eidra nods, eyes surveying over the masses of tributes, mentors, and escorts.

"I think that we should start planning a bloodbath strategy, maybe just the two of us."

"What about Juno?" Eidra's mouth puckers slightly.

"We can leave her out." I roll my eyes once more. "She's probably kissing up to Brux and Merritt and Wraith, anyways."

"Alright, then." Eidra shrugs. "What should we do in the bloodbath?"

I narrow my eyes. "Let's target the biggest threats first, they'll be easier to get out of the way. The weaklings can be saved for afterwards."

She seems satisfied with that answer. "Who do you classify as the bigger threats?"

I stop to think. She wants specifics, obviously. "The older tributes, like Shael Havern or Cole Tenacity. The ones with small alliances, I think, so it breaks down the majority of them."

"Makes sense," Eidra answers. Just after she utters the words, a dark-skinned man with striking silver tattoos creeping up his neck and a simple grey suit on shouts out through a small megaphone, "Tributes, the female tributes for each district go to the hovercraft on the right. The male tributes for each district will go to the hovercraft on the left."

"We're put together," I say happily, to which Eidra smiles slightly and gives a nod.

"Yay," she says.

We file onto the hovercraft, flanked by the petite girl from Six and her shaking ally and the scowling redhead from Three. The inside of the hovercraft itself is rather simple and dark, chairs lining the walls with straps to belt yourself in.

Once Eidra and I find seats – her next to the plump girl from Seven, myself next to the said redhead – I can't help myself from bubbling over in compliments. "Your hair looks fabulous today, gosh. Capitol shampoos make a difference."

"Do you know how stupid you sound?" snorts the blond chick from Twelve, across from me. She mocks me in a high-pitched tone. " 'Oh my God, Eidra, I want your hair. And I'm going to rip up my textbooks and throw them out the window before murdering my own puppy just because I'm not as beautiful as you.'"

"I don't sound like that!" I growl.

Next to me, Eidra smirks lightly, eyes glancing appreciatively over the skeletal girl. "You have to admit, Carisa, she's got some spunk."

"Spunk?" I wrinkle my nose. "That's not spunk, that's idiocy."

I burrow into the seat, scowling at the hateful little girl and wishing with a rotten, terrible hope that she dies first.

Griff Forden, District Three

Wedged tightly and safely in between Cade and Braxton, I sigh.

It's not because I'm sad – quite the contrary, I feel kind of energetic and a little happy that I'll finally get to have some fun – but because I loathe waiting. I hate the feeling of apprehension that comes with it, the fact that you don't quite know what will happen next.

"Are you guys nervous?" I ask, meaning in general.

Braxton chuckles, on edge. "I think that even the Careers are a little tense, Griff. Our future's uncertain."

"I'm sure not nervous," Cade announces loudly, eyes darting about as if to see who's listening. "I have complete faith in myself, and in you guys, too!"

His confidence is needed. I smile. "Faith is a pretty name," I say.

"Yes, it is," Braxton responds, his face fallen. It's like whenever I talk, he looks sad. I don't like that.

"Do you like me, Braxton?"

"What?" He looks stunned. "Of course I do, Griff. Otherwise, why would we be allies?"

I giggle. "I dunno," I say, "You just seem sad whenever I talk."

"Harsh reality," Braxton murmurs, obviously not intending for me to hear. Then he looks at me, eyes piercing and wide. "It's just because I'm nervous, Griff, okay? I don't want our alliance to split up, I want us to stay in one spot forever."

"Look, Braxton, I get that," Cade cuts in. "But sometimes change is good, y'know? It helps you remember what's real. It keeps you sane."

"Wise words from somebody younger than me," I say, smirking.

"I'm more smart, so hush," says Cade.

"Change isn't always good, come on," Braxton replies, ignoring the past comments and laughing nervously. "Do you two seriously believe that a little change in our alliance will be good?"

"Not in this alliance!" Cade gasps. "Heck, no! I was just talkin' about your earlier words, how you said you wanted us to stay in one spot forever."

"Forever's a long time," I say dreamily. "Like infinity."

They both give me weird looks before Cade pipes up again. "What I'm saying is, if we all make it out of the bloodbath, hopefully we do, we'll be seasoned and ready, we'll know how to fight, y'know?"

"I get what you're saying," Braxton says slowly. "We'll be more experienced with weapons because most likely, we're gonna get into some fights and get some scrapes thrown in."

"Will we die?" I ask nonchalantly, but it provokes Cade and Braxton both to gawp at me.

"Let's try not to!" Cade laughs nervously.

"That's a done deal," I say flippantly, not really seeing the big deal. "Everybody dies eventually, right?"

"Eventually," Braxton breathes. "We're trying to live life to the fullest, you know."

"Stop," I say, feeling a little overwhelmed. "I think-"

"Time for your trackers, boys!" A short, stubby woman with choppy black hair pops out in front of me, a sing-song tone the most prominent feature about her. "You, the little one at the side."

I watch in mild interest as Cade winces, a thin, silvery needle injecting itself into his thin, pale skin. His breath hitches and his eyes flutter closed. Next to me, Braxton gasps. "Is he dead?"

"He's not dead, don't be so dramatic," hisses the woman in a slithery voice. "He's merely fainted."

"Fainted!" I say loudly, attracting the unwanted and unnecessary attention of Brux Redragon, who's currently sitting in the seat next to Braxton, crossing his legs and observing everything. He drops the chill façade and he leans forward.

"Fainted, you say?" A thin smirk curls up on his lips. His eyes dart over to little Cade and then back to Braxton and I. "He couldn't handle the pressure, could he?"

"Don't be mean," calls Wraith Elvery of Two from across the hovercraft. "He's just a kid, Brux."

"A kid who couldn't take it." Brux sounds self-satisfied, and he sits back in his chair, crossing his arms. "No, I'm not doing anything, Wraith, I just find it hilarious."

"Hilarious…" I taste the word, rolling it over my tongue and feeling the sound wash across me. "That's a really cool word, Brux Redragon!"

"Griff!" Braxton snarls, suddenly panicking. "Have you forgotten? Cade's unconscious!"

"He's gonna wake up in all due time, Braxton." I frown, shaking my head and huddling further into my seat, much like Brux did a few moments ago. "Just calm down."

As Braxton begins breathing faster and faster in obvious apprehension of his turn, I'm calm. Cool as a cucumber, if I do say so myself. Because I know that, most likely, I'm not going to make it out. Those are the odds, and I'm not stupid. I've seen the Capitol Odds board, and I'm one of the lowest.

I just want to be able to safely say that I have lived my life to the fullest… and in my opinion, I have. I've made friends, broken up with friends, made my parents proud, made people smile. I've cried, I've sobbed, I've wailed and pounded my fists. But you know what it really ironic?

None of it matters now.

All that matters is the preparation that I have had in the past few days. Legitimately nothing else is going to be a factor in the arena other than common sense and sheer luck.

Because that's what victors are, aren't they? They're the lucky, those who have gotten by on sheer, raw instinct and dumb luck. Their drive to win might not have been the most strong in their groupings of tributes, but some have defeated the odds and, eventually, come out victorious.

I want to be like them, even if I know that it most likely will get me killed by one stupid mistake. It's because I know I'm not the brightest. I know I'm not the bulkiest, or stockiest, or most fit, or most sly, or most cunning, or even most charming. I can smile, and that's about it.

And do you know what I want to do, in the end?

I want to die with a smile on my face. To prove that even in death, a lifetime of charity can let you free.

Shael Havern, District Ten

The hovercraft is silent, and silence is deadly.

I fiddle with the sleeve of my dark long-sleeved top, my eyes dashing bashfully between tributes. Maya Verone to my left and Kiera Brennan to my right are both silent, even though in training, Maya was constantly whooping and yelling and cheering and Kiera had a tendency to screech out her opinion at random times.

If even their voices have been quelled, I know it's bad.

I touch my throat absentmindedly, rubbing the soft skin and feeling the bones underneath it. I honestly haven't used my voice too much during this entire trip. I piped up a bit at dinner, spoke politely to Cade, and was uncomfortable around Tethys, which by the way, I'm still a bit confused on why I allied with such a young person.

It all evens out in the end, though, doesn't it?

"Tracker."

I look up, startled. I've been so lost in my thoughts that I haven't noticed anything going on around me. But now, standing and looking rather bored, in front of me, is a pale blond man with a small silver tray balanced on one hand, a slim syringe in the other.

"What?"

"Tracker," he repeats. He waggles the syringe in one hand. "So we can keep track of you in the arena, tribute."

I nod slowly, comprehending this. "What do you do with it?"

The man looks amused. "I jab this-" he nods to the syringe- "into your forearm."

"Do it," Kiera Brennan breathes from next to me, her breath reeking and eyes wide with some emotion that I'm not sure of. Fear? Interest?

I swallow thickly, holding out my right arm. The man plunges the syringe into my arm, allowing a small trickle of blood to spurt out of my skin. I gasp softly, watching my skin glow a sickly shade of blue.

The syringe is pulled out and the man offers me a small pad of gauze. I accept it, watching woozily as Maya Verone takes the needle without a big protest, just a pinched face when it shoots itself into her skin.

"How do you guys do that?" I wonder aloud in a small voice.

Maya turns to me, eyes twinkling merrily, though they're wet. "You just think of something happier," she says simply. "You don't focus on the shot and it makes it a lot easier, you know."

"Thanks," I whisper, watching her turn away to whisper to her bony ally, Maysa.

The hovercraft dips suddenly, and my stomach jumps. My eyes go wide and I clutch the edges of my seat, nerves on edge and mind in a flurry.

"NO!" Kiera screams from next to me, her face contorted in pain.

I suck in my breath, my nerves shattering and dissolving as the hovercraft dips down even lower. I bite my lip, silently screaming inside my mind. Don't let us all die…

But surprisingly, as quickly as it happens, it's over. I peek out from my hands and realize that we're landing, now, the hovercraft buzzing busily and the tributes with me mainly looking frightened.

"We're finally here," Eidra Nevett says to Carisa from One. The two exchange a smile.

Kiera pokes me. "I'm scared," she says. Her eyes are circular like oranges, and just about the same size as well.

"Suck it up," is my reply.

We're escorted by the same dark haired woman who injected us with our trackers. She shoos us out the exit, which is the end of the hovercraft.

We're filed out and downwards into a dark room, the only lights being illuminated by the stairs. I have to squint, and even then, I can barely see the jouncy ponytail of Maya in front of me.

I can barely make out Tethys once I stride down the stairs of the hovercraft, and I have to hug myself to refrain from reaching out to him.

But as quickly as I see him, I'm whisked away so quickly I can barely keep track of where I'm going or who's taking me. Right, right, left, walk, walk, walk, left, right, walk, walk, walk. And by the sounds of anguished cries and shuffling footsteps all around me, the other tributes have been rapidly abducted as well.

"W-Who is this?" I spit out, confused to the maximum.

A door shuts behind me and I can finally regain some sort of vision. Now I can see who it is – my bulky, manly stylist, Rosie. Her dyed jet black and green eyelashes and her pointed nose are protruding from her face in an ugly manner. "Hello, Shael!"

"Hi," I say cautiously, fidgeting. "Why the ruckus? Why abduct us?"

"We're not abducting you, dear," she says flippantly, fiddling with the door of a closet. "We only were told to cover your eyes and soothe you if you panicked while we took you to your capsule rooms."

I look around at the circular room, and the door which no doubt is heavy and cemented down. "Why are we here?"

"This is where you will launch," Rosie says, jabbing a finger at the glass tube arranged in the center of the room. "I have your outfit now. Would you like a shower, dear?"

"Not especially," I reply, lacing my fingers together. "I think my hair is alright… right?"

Rosie glances at me and gives an ugly, dark chuckle before retreating to the side of the room, where there lies a small wardrobe. She retrieves a black bag around the size of myself, from shoulders to feet, and walks over, humming.

"Well? What are you waiting for, child? Get this outfit on!"

Rosie turns away to stare at herself in the mirror while I open the bag and silently gawp at the outfit hidden away inside.

"Are you serious?"

Wraith Elvery, District Two

"Are you serious?"

I stare at the baby blue outfit, cringing slightly. I pull it out and wince even more at the hideous color.

"It's lovely," hums my stylist, Effort. She gently whisks the black bag that was previously containing the outfit away and takes a firm grip of the clothes hanger, comparing it to me, examining both the outfit and my body. "I must admit, I was a bit skeptical, but it's surely going to be great."

"It's blue," I protest. "Baby blue. I'll look like a fool."

"Then that means all of the other males are going to look like fools, too," Effort says, her glossy lips perked upwards in a giggle.

It doesn't make sense. "Wait, why only the males?"

"Blue for males, pink for females, naturally," answers Effort, handing me the clothes hanger and the outfit. "Now go, put it on. I'll look away, promise."

I slowly pull myself into the mesh-like fabric, feeling the cool fabric stretch to accommodate my size. I bring the sleeves up and push my arms through them, and realize that the sleeves only go to about my elbows, if even that. The pant legs thankfully go to my ankles.

I zip up the front and stare blankly into a full-sized mirror. There are two pockets around my hips and a sort of patch just over my left pec with the number 2 etched in white thread.

"It's fabulous, isn't it!" Effort draws me into an excited hug. "Ooh, Wraith, I'll admit that I was skeptical about this type of design, but I can just tell how amazing it'll look with all the proper accessories!"

Now I stare at her. "Proper accessories…?"

"But of course," Effort says, giggling and doing a mysterious little shimmy as she fetches a second bag from the little wardrobe. She peers inside and hands me a thin piece of rope with a sort of talisman attached.

"Is this a rattle?"

"By the looks of it, yes," she answers, still rummaging through the bag. I slip the rope over my head and toy with the rattle. I look like an incompetent idiot. "Here are your socks, and your shoes, too."

I grab the shoes – the least embarrassing part of the outfit, since they're a navy blue color and have thick, gummy soles on the bottom, with a mesh fabric on the outside to allow my feet some air. But first, I slip on the socks, thick baby blue ones that go up to my ankles.

"And the final touch!" Relishing in glee, she hands me a pair of… a pair of white kid gloves with rubbery, thick fingertips.

I moan inwardly as I slip them on, and to my surprise they don't even pass my wrists. They kind of sit at the edge of my hands.

"I have an idea of what the arena is," Effort says, tapping her finger against her puffy lips. "…but I think I'm going to let you figure it out on your own. After all, half the fun is watching the tributes' surprise as the drama unfolds, right?"

"Obviously," I say sarcastically. "Now is there a headdress I have to wear that sends up fireworks or is the outfit complete?"

"I believe it's complete," replies Effort. She gestures to the mirror. "The shoes don't offer much traction. I don't think you'll have to do much running, at least."

"What are these gloves for, then?" I clap my hands together, find out that the rubbery fingertips stick together, and wiggle them to get them to tear apart.

"Climbing, perhaps?" Effort winks. "Or maybe the president thought that it would be amusing to see a bunch of tributes dressed as toddlers to battle it out!"

I scowl. "Very funny."

"Tributes, you have five minutes till launch."

"Ah, five minutes!" Effort claps her hands together, almost vibrating with all the excitement that she's giving off. "Would you like anything to eat or drink, Wraith? We've got a fridge full."

"I'll take something, sure." I shrug. Why not get something to nibble on?

A couple minutes later, I'm sipping a cold, creamy orange soup and nibbling on a smoky-flavored cheese when Effort squeals and rips the bowl out of my hands. "I believe it's time to go, Wraith!"

And suddenly I don't want to go, I want to stay right here, casually eating the cheese and soup and reminiscing about the good old days. But I know that this is what I've waited for my whole life. It's what I trained for. This should be in my blood by now.

So why am I not excited?

I trudge over to the tube and step in, watching blandly as Effort excitedly hops up and down the room, her pale blond curls jouncing with every little skip. When the tube begins to move up, and I press a hand against the cold glass, she offers a small wave and immediately flocks to the little television set that's placed near the wardrobe.

All I see is pink.

No, scratch that. I see a rose-colored mist swirling around my feet, and the silhouettes of tributes on either side of me. I hear the distinct screech of Kiera Brennan breaking down in hysterical shrieking.

My head whips around, trying to get a good glimpse of something, anything, but it's all so difficult. I see the vague outlines of a thin pole with a round object on top. Not just one, nor two, but an entire forest of the strange outlined figurines.

I open my mouth briefly to take a gulp of clear, sweet oxygen, when a sickly sweet taste floods into my mouth. It's like overly sweet candy, and it makes me gag.

But that's not all. There's a sound, too.

My ears perk up.

"Daddy, Daddy, D-D-D-D-Daddy."

"Mummy, Mummy, M-M-M-M-Mummy."

A/N: Immortals by Marina and the Diamonds.

And HERE WE ARE, IN THE ARENA, OH GEEZ THIS IS INTENSE ERGIOKDFN

Seriously, though, it's been a journey. Exactly six months ago, I published the chapter with all of your tributes in it, so you've had six months to form an opinion, grow attached, and pick your favorites. Dang, I have good timing, don't I? ;)

But, yes. I'm personally ecstatic for the things to come. There will be heartbreak, build-ups, drama, killing, life, death, betrayals, sacrifice, and more, coming to you soon in the next chapters of Contrary!

I just want to say before blood starts spilling and people start dyin' that I love each of these tributes individually in their own way. They each have a unique spark that I adore, and writing every single one of them is an honor, you must know that. Killing them off? It's just realistic, and I'm sorry if yours doesn't claim the spot of victor, but I want to ask you to please consider the odds and remember that reality takes precedence over all.

And hey, everybody, the poll results are in for favorite tribute. You can check it out on my profile, but I'll also put the results down hereeeee!

9 votes- Juno Verdet

6 votes- Maya Verone

5 votes- Carisa Lenette, Merritt Cordeau, Tethys Acosta, Maysa Barric

4 votes- Brux Redragon, Shael Havern

3 votes- Wraith Elvery, Eidra Nevett, Ezra Jefferson, Aria Verselis, Cade Bennett, Cole Tenacity

2 votes- Soren Valen, Aspen Northwood, Cayley Torelli, Kiera Brennan, Kinton Machek, Haven Faye

1 vote- Ellika "Ell" Mayes, Halcyon Chae, Braxton Malory

0 votes- Griff Forden

Everybody is adored, doe. :O

And for those of you waiting on Teen Idle, you shall not wait much longer! After the next chapter of A Shot in the Dark is published, the story will be up and open for submissions! If you want to get a notification on when it's instantly published, I suggest you follow me? ;)

All righty, everybody. Questions, which I should hope you'll answer :)!

1. Thoughts on each POV?

2. Who do you THINK will be bloodbaths?

3. What tributes do you WANT to be bloodbaths?

4. General thoughts and maybe a chart?

5. What do you think the arena is?