AUTHOR'S NOTES: This rewrite is going to add a bit of extra dimension to Elroy and Enobaria along with the other tweaks, although Clove and Cato will remain the main focus. There's already synergy forming between certain tributes though, but there is also some ominous foreshadowing.
Happy Reading!

CHAPTER 2

Each of the twelve trains that were en route to the Capitol carrying tributes to their almost certain doom almost all had characters reacting in different ways. The quirky and quiet District 5 pair was lost in their own thoughts, musing and mentally strategizing about what they would do when they were tossed into the arena. The pair from District 1 were enthusiastically chatting it up with their bright-eyed and bushy-tailed escort who was probably even more excited about it than they were. Both of them ooh'd and ahh'd at watching the reapings from District 2, commenting on the boy and girl that they suspected would be their future allies.

"Cato Torino and Clove Kazera…" Glimmer let the names roll off her tongue, "Cato's a hunk. Clove looks… wild."
"She's gotta be a powerhouse if someone that small can make it to the front," Marvel pointed out, considering that Clove was a good foot or so shorter than her partner. "She'll be a fun ally."

"I hope we get competition then," Glimmer gave a melodramatic sigh, "All these stories from Cashmere and Gloss about how formidable Districts 11 and 12 were in their days make me kinda bummed that we got a couple of 12-year-olds this year."

"Their partners might be trouble yet," Marvel nudged her. "Nothing we can't handle though."

Indeed, the District 12 pair were both particularly somber about the experience given their miserable track record. That, and those who knew Primrose knew she was no fighter. At best she was a healer, which meant she could save herself from dying excruciatingly painful, at best. Peeta Mellark slightly more of a chance considering that he possessed decent raw strength, although his attitude towards the games might cost him—or rather, what he promised to do.

"I know that only one of us can come out of this thing alive" he told Prim, "but I'm going to protect you to my dying breath."

"That's… thank you…" Prim sighed, resting her head against the table and her arms, almost as if she had accepted that she would probably die a messy and horrible death.

Thus, Peeta's remark was not much of a comforting gesture for the small girl who was almost certain that she was going to die, but it was better than the alternative of saying nothing at all. If nothing else, Peeta felt morally obligated to protect this girl. Her sister, after all, had been a woman whom Peeta had had his eyes on for years… except now it was too late to tell her personally. If they managed to defy all odds and bring home a District 12 victor… he would try to make sure it was her. If not… he would try to bring himself home, for similarly obvious reasons. If there was one thing to say about this young man, it was that he was a reliable ally and friend to those he cared for—and his was a heart that was far too big to become a murderer in a sadistic game such as this.

Regardless, Peeta was fiercely determined. It took him a while to finally wake up their mentor Haymitch, a lone, drunken man who had won the games nearly some 25 years ago, but he was fairly straightforward about what he wanted. He wanted to free the man from the long, dreary cycle of mentoring that he had been stuck in for more than two decades. That was what he would get out of the situation. Peeta on the other hand, would come out with his life, or would come out of it ensuring that Prim had survived. Still, as determined as he was to win, every time he rewatched the footage of the reapings in District 2 he couldn't help but accept that the odds were not in his favour.

The pair from District 2 were already strategizing with each other, talking something about synergy, and how they were going to dominate the field.

"Your strength and my speed," Clove twirled a butterknife in her hands as if it was a real throwing knife, "one of us is going home. Any guesses on who?"

"Me of course," Cato laughed, "But you'd be a decent enough 2nd."

"Oh, I definitely hope that you and I are the final two." Clove smirked, "but come now. You and I both know that I'm totally going to win this thing."

"Don't push your luck with me, Kazera," Cato warned, although the attitude and atmosphere of the situation showed that this was, for the most part, in good fun. Elroy and Enobaria, who sat nearby and watched the spectacle as they ate (and drank), found it mildly amusing.

"See," Elroy spoke up as he watched Cato and Clove playfully bicker among themselves on who would kick whose ass at the end of the games, "What a lot of the others don't realize is that this is totally nothing personal. It's just business."

"Good business," Enobaria corrected him, "this is not about personal grudges or any other sort of dickery. This is about winning it for the district. Friends come and go, and District 2 understands that. Killing is fine and dandy and all, but shit, it wasn't like I ripped that kid's throat out with my teeth because I wanted to—I did it because it seemed practical at the time."

"Well look where it got you," Elroy quipped, elbowing her. "The 62nd Victor's throne."

"That's why I've got no regrets. If Cato and Clove end up having to kill each other to secure the 74th Victor's Crown, that's fine by me. It's just good business."

"I'm not sure that they have the same distant, professional relationship with each other that you did with your partner Marius though," Elroy pointed out.

"Shh," Enobaria shook her head, "As much as I hate admitting that I care about their emotional well-being, that's something I try not to think about. Sure they act like they could turn on each other easy-peasy here and now… but if that's what it comes down to, it's going to gut one of them emotionally, and the other one literally."

"Careful," Elroy put an arm around her as they both watched the rather jovial expressions of their tributes, even if they had tuned out their words, "if you're not a killing machine every waking moment of your life someone's going to think you've gone soft and weak on us, En."
"You know how much I hate when you remind me of that," Enobaria growled. "Fine. I'll keep this damn façade up for just a while longer."

Perhaps this was the common misunderstanding of the career tributes. They were passionate and deadly, for sure, but most of them didn't volunteer so they could kill kids; most of them volunteered so that they could bring themselves and their families the fame and glory associated with winning. Even the mighty Cato and the vicious Clove that had won that honor this year, were not so interested in finding new ways to kill people (like some sadistic tributes were some years); they just wanted to carve their way to victory by any means necessary.

And then there was also District 11. When they had said their goodbyes to their families, they had both spoken somberly and minimally. Now that they were on the train, it was as if they had sewed their lips shut given the silence that resounded in the air.

Rue drummed her fingers on the table as she sat across from Thresh, her cheek in her other hand and her elbow on the table. Thresh responded by drumming his fingers. Rue repeated the action, and Thresh did as well a second later. After a few moments she began drumming faster, and Thresh kept up, getting faster and faster until they both emitted a chuckle. It was strangely ironic that the two seemed to be fostering a relationship with each other without even saying a word. Perhaps it was a profound understanding that one or both of them would end up dying, or maybe they did not want to get too close for other reasons, but it did seem like the two of them were going to remain on friendly enough terms with each other. When their mentor had offered to show them the reaping footage, they both simply nodded. He didn't seem to mind their silence, and so he put on the footage for them. They both seemed to be mentally evaluating their odds, sometimes exchanging glances with each other on who they might try to target first or who to avoid.

District 11 was quiet and clever. Years of being surrounded by some of the most brutal and oppressive Peacekeepers in Panem had helped silence them verbally, although they knew other ways to communicate. Despite starvation (an ironic fate given that they were literally surrounded by tons of food that they themselves produced), they knew plenty of clever tricks, and were a notably resilient bunch. Despite what its poverty might have suggested, District 11 usually fared decently in the games.

And yet at the end of the day, whether from District 2 or District 11, these tributes were still living, breathing boys and girls that fought to the death in a sadistic arena that was a breeding ground for horrible psychological trauma and worse. This wasn't lost on Enobaria despite her sinister reputation.

Whatever the case, all dozen of the tribute trains were heading in the same direction: The Capitol. That was where the pre-games ceremonies would take place, and that was where the tributes would make their first impressions. Even as they travelled, the various escorts were planning on how to present the tributes to the stylists that they would each meet, and thus it was a matter of presentation. Besides… there was a short walk from the train station to the Tribute Tower, and so the tributes also needed a way to briefly present themselves at this point.

Marvel and Glimmer from District 1 had already decided on a more visually appealing approach; while their career counterparts over in District 2 were going to show off as powerful warriors. Districts 5 and 6 had both decided to take a more mysterious approach, while over in District 3 the tributes were going to portray themselves as rather clever. Thresh and Rue from District 11 had (unsurprisingly wordlessly) agreed on going for an appropriately silent and collected impression, which was a vibe that they had already mastered, it seemed. Even District 12 had come up with a presentation strategy involving courage (admittedly mostly from Peeta's end) and steadfastness.

Needless to say, the Capitol was practically in a frenzy with excitement as the trains began pulling in. Enthusiastic crowds clamored to see their new tributes for the 74th Annual Hunger Games. Even the District 12 pair got cheers and chants going their way. Before the Capitol could properly know its tributes, most of them expressed excitement at seeing them for the first (and potentially last) time.

Cato and Clove found themselves sharing an elevator with a dark-skinned pair that were similar to them physically—District 11. The boy was a large, muscular fellow, while the girl appeared tiny and agile. For a brief moment there was an awkward silence, and in this moment, Clove's eyes met those of little Rue, who merely waggled her eyebrows and smiled innocently as the elevator moved on up.

They were not together very long before Cato and Clove's 2nd-floor stop came up, where they exited the elevator without incident. Rue and Thresh crossed their arms as the doors closed and the elevator car took off towards the 11th floor, but the two careers thought little of it.

"Think they've got anything on us?" Cato chuckled as he sat down in a comfortable seat as Clove joined him. "Or do you give them 38 seconds in the bloodbath?"

"Oh, they've definitely got nothing on us," Clove smirked in agreement, "District 11 might survive the bloodbath, but then that just means it'll be the thrill of the hunt once we track them down. The others though? Like Districts 12, '9, and '10? Totally fodder. We'll be scoring plenty of kills in the opening minutes."

The bloodbath would be their game. They would seize the cornucopia and control the most useful weapons and resources, and also use it as a base of operations as they hunted down the tributes that survived the bloodbath. That was just the way things went, and the career districts never questioned this status quo. Given how often the odds were in their favour, they ultimately had little reason to do so anyways.