Disclaimer: When I get the rights to the stories that I'm using, I'll just not put a disclaimer :)

I look around the large training room, and the first thing I see is a table full of serious-looking game makers up in the game maker's balcony. All of them are staring at me, and I have no clue what to do. "You may start," one of them calls down to me.

I gulp. I remember everything Louis told me. Now is the time to show them you're a killing machine. You're from District 2, right? Yeah, I replied.

I go over to the room where the swords were. I made the big journey over displays of all kinds of swords all the way to the back of the room, and I grabbed the golden, wickedly sharp sword that I always used: the one that is always somewhere in the back.

I come back, and I see that some of the Game makers aren't looking at me anymore, and some of them are going through the line in the I slowly walk over to a blue foam dummy standing up. I grew a sudden interest in my feet.

Come on, Elijah! You have to do this! I raise the sword, and I look back over to see one of them smiling at me.

I then swing the sword, and I slice the dummy's head clean off. I take a deep breath, then basically start attacking the dummy with slices, stabs, until I break into a sweat. After the dummy looks like dummy guts, I stop and take a deep breath.

"You may be dismissed," says one of the game makers.

• •

Five hours later, Elise, Louis and I are plopped in front of the TV in our quarters, getting ready to see our scores from the game maker's evaluations.

"I did horrible. They'll probably give me a 1!" Elise says, biting her fingernails.

"What did you do? I mutilated a dummy with a sword," I tell her.

"I mutilated a bunch of dummies with a spear. I tried doing some throws, and I missed the targets twice. I was terrible. I just hope A- I mean, dad was watching," she says as she sighs.

Louis looks confused. "Nobody but the tribute and the game makers can see what happened," he says.

Elise turns red. She's almost ratted out. "Uh. . . um. . . I meant, you know. . ." she stammers.

"Look! They're showing the scores," I say and I point to the TV. They show Diamond, who got a nine. Crystal got a ten.

I can see Elise is holding her breath. She's next. She's trembling from head to toe.

They show a picture of Elise, and below, a bright 10 shows beneath her.

There's half a second of excited screaming, and then they show an 8 under a picture of me.

"I told you you were going to be great!" I say to Elise as I hug her.

We watch more scores go by: a six, a four, another six, a two, a seven. . .

What I found interesting was that nobody out of our "Career Pack" got higher than a seven, and we averaged from an eight to a ten. "Did anyone else notice that nobody out of the career pack got anything more than a seven?"

"Good, good," Louis says.

"Just good? I got the best score!" Elise says.

"I mean, you're really going to intimidate the other tributes. They're already under the impression you two are killing machines, might as well go with that angle."

"I'm not a killing machine!" I tell Elise.

"Then how the heck did you get that eight?" she says back.

"Magic," I say sarcastically.

• • •

The next day, I am pampered for slaughter again. But this time, not necessarily slaughter. This time, I get an interview with the magical interviewer Caesar Flickerman. They put me under the beauty process for my interview. Louis has been coaching me on exactly what to say and do, but I find it kind of silly.

After hours of training on exactly what to say and what to do, and being pampered for slaughter and being dressed up in a fun suit that's black with a light green polo shirt, I am shoveled off into line for interviews.

First up is Crystal. You can totally guess her angle: Desirable. Just because she's thirteen doesn't excuse the fact that she's charming the audience with everything she says and does makes her seem attractive. Her girly hot-pink dress only adds to the factor.

Diamond definitely seems to be going with the witty and sarcastic. Everything he says gets a laugh or at least a smile from the audience.

Up next is Elise, because she goes before me during the interviews. She does fine. . . Most of the time. There's one question that catches her off guard.

"Looking back on those replays of the reapings, it doesn't seem like we know what was going through your head when your brother got chosen," Caesar Flickerman says. "What was going through your head?"

Ares, I say in my head. Just please. Help her out. I hope he has time to listen to a mortal like me.

She is caught off guard for a moment, but then continues. " First, I kind of felt shocked that I was picked. But then, um, well, I guess I didn't believe at first that my brother's name was drawn," she says. A moment of silence, then she continues. "It's still hard to believe that we're in the Capitol, and all this stuff is happening to us."

The interviewer then changes the subject and asks what her favorite thing to do in the Capitol is.

A few minutes later, I find myself on camera in front of thousands of people, shaking Caesar Flickman's hand. All this happened way too fast.

Caesar Flickman, he's an odd man. He looks to be about 17 or 18, has absolutely CRAZY hair that makes him look like he's wearing a bump-it, and it looks like he's been surgically altered to be pale.

"Elijah, right?" he asks.

"Yes," I reply. Louis said to take out the funny side of myself and act all serious. It's pretty hard for me, but I accepted the challenge. I made myself look like a killing machine.

"So you think you'd ever be able to go to the Capitol?" Caesar says.

"Actually, no. I haven't even dreamt about it. I knew it was never going to happen!" I say.

"What were you thinking when your name was drawn?" He then asks.

I close my eyes for a second and collect my thoughts. "I guess exactly what Elise said. We need to show honor to District 2. It's actually kind of amazing that we're both here. We're going to show what we can do."

He doesn't mention that one of us is going to have to die. Neither of us can live while the other one course I know that joyful little fact, though.

"What was your favorite thing so far here?" he says.

"Everything," I immediately reply.

By now, my three minutes are up, and I go back to my seat. I am in a faze of shock from being in front of all of those people and the fact that I have just been interviewed, which I never ever guessed was going to happen to me. I kind of zone out the following 20 interviews and before I can even realize what's happening, they're over.

Now that the interviews are over, we are taken back to the training center. Louis is really oblivious and doesn't ask why we're not going to eat dinner. I creep off silently into my room unnoticed.

I take a moment to really appreciate all I have left. I have my sister. I have this nice room, with this nice bed, and this nice shower. I have waiters who will do whatever I want them to do and fetch whatever I want them to fetch. And then tomorrow, I will be thrown into an arena so I can kill other people and probably die. All this will end tomorrow.

A nice shower. I'm thinking again. A smile slowly creeps upon my face. Maybe breaking the Capitol's water bill will be some sort of payback for my death. I head over into my bathroom and strip down, and turn on the water.

"But don't forget, Elijah! Showing honor to District 2 is the most important thing!" I say aloud.

Maybe taking the longest shower ever will annoy the heck out of the Capitol people. Maybe they'll come in and kick me out. But for now, I'm just seeing how long it takes for something to happen.

At home, I always loved long showers. Like, really really long showers, but we could never afford more than five minutes per person every day. Mom or Dad would always yell to me, saying "Hurry up! Five minutes is over!" but now, I am in the shower till almost midnight.

My skin is all wrinkly and I joke to myself that I am old. "I guess I'm not good anymore, because the good always die young. Now I'm old!" I say, looking at a clock that reads 11:54. This means that I have been in the shower for about four hours or so. That'll totally show the Capitol.

I change into PJs that have been left out for me, and I realize that I am really grateful that I sleep more when I'm nervous. Shoot. You should've gotten out earlier. You would've been asleep in a moment! I think to myself as I crawl under the sheets, and fall asleep instantly.

"ELIJAH! GET UP!" Louis calls to me.

"UGHHAAAAHHHH" I yell back.

"UP!" He calls.

"BLEEGHHEHHH" I reply as I sit up. I barely have time to change before Elise and I are dragged onto a helicopter to go to the Arena.

"Any advice?" I ask Louis as we take off for the Arena.

"Stay alive," he says, as if he's required to say that.

"Great. Thanks. Anything else?" Elise asks.

"Throw yourselves into the thick of things. I know that you'll get out of that alive, and nobody will get anything if you and your career friends are there," he replies.

"What the heck do you mean by that?" I ask him.

"You'll see when you get in the Arena," he smiles. Now he leaves us.

A woman in a white labcoat now comes in with a giant scary-looking needle that looks really painful. "Hold out your arm," she says to Elise. She reluctantly holds out her arm. She plunges the needle into her arm, and she jumps.

"Hold out your arm," she now tells me.

"Why?" I ask.

"Hold out your arm!" she says. I sheepishly hold it out, and she plunges another big, scary, painful looking needle into my totally unprepared arm. It hurts. It hurts like crazy.

"Owww!" I say when she takes the needle out. "What was that for?" I ask.

"That was your tracker. Now the game makers know where you are at all times," she says.

"Because you guys obviously wouldn't want to lose a tribute," I tell her. I see a small smile creep up on her face, and then she leaves.

By now, the windows are going black. This probably means that we are almost at the Arena.

Next thing I know, I am in the launch room. My stylist, whose name is Spenser, comes to comfort me.

"You want anything to eat?" he asks.

"Of course, yes! Isn't this the Hunger Games?" I ask. "It's called the Hunger Games for a reason, right?"

"Well, I see your point. Go ahead. Dig in. But, hurry up. Also, don't eat too fast. You might puke." I smile, and then I dig in. I also drink a lot of water, because they might not have that either in the arena.

When Spenser finally calls me over, he helps me get dressed in a plain black T-shirt, tucked in with a belt into black pants with lots of pockets. My shoes are knee-high black combat boots. "I think the game makers like the color black," I say. Spenser smiles.

"Sixty seconds," a voice from no where says. I look over and I see a tube that's probably my launching tube.

"Look," Spenser says. "You'll do fine. I know you will."

"Okay," I say.

"Thirty seconds," says the voice from no where.

"You'd better get going," he says. He gives me a hug, and then I go over to the launch pad.

"Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen," the voice from nowhere starts.

I look back at Spenser one last time, and he gives me two thumbs up.

"Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One."

The launch pad is now moving up. Moving up ever so slowly. Then, it starts getting faster and faster until I see daylight again an am blinded.

I am in the Arena.

Good thing I thought before I died.

REVIEW PEOPLE. I was looking at traffic, and only two people have reviewed this story, which kind of makes me want to puke.

Do I have to beg for reviews? I am asking for at least five reviews before the next chapter is posted. I know, I know, I'm being a review terrorist, but I seriously NEED REVIEWS! Five reviews total. COME ON! My most popular story has 138!

Please?