Sumara paced the near-barren floor of her waiting room, footsteps moving from blue linoleum tile to gray as she circled the perimeter. She avoided the few pieces of furniture in the room: a wooden bench with a slatted back, pushed back against the wall, a pair of similarly-designed chairs, one with arm rests, the other without, and a small wooden coffee table with a layer of marble covering its surface. The entire room's worth of furniture could be condensed into a compact cluster, leaving a wide open space available for District 2's hopeful female Tributes to enjoy.

Sumara's gaze drifted up to the walls, where portraits of the District's female Victors hung as a reminder of what lay ahead for a Tribute strong enough to fight their way to a coveted win in the Arena. Seven portraits currently lined the walls: Minerva Brimmer, the winner of the 10th Hunger Games and the first female Victor from District 2, sporting short black hair and an imperceptible smile in contrast to the blue and violet bruising beneath her right eye; Schala Warden, from the 37th Hunger Games, her head shaved completely bald, highlighting the intense scar that bisected her face, from her upper lip, across her left eye, and disappearing over the top of her head; Lyme Marston, from the 40th Hunger Games, her brown, braided ponytail draped over one shoulder, nearly concealing the still raw scar running across the side of her neck; Obsidian Talonary, from the 46th Hunger Games, a dark-skinned girl with a mess of braids dangling in front of her face and obscuring both her sunken eyes and weary smile; Aries Carpenter, from the 56th Hunger Games, proudly extending her tongue to display a gleaming, silver stud matching dozens of similar piercing that littered her nose, ears, lips and eyebrows; Enobaria Slade, from the 62nd Hunger Games, grinning broadly to show off a full set of recently-sharpened teeth that made her look more shark than human; and Ashley Magnusson, the most recent female Victor of the 66th Hunger Games, and the only blonde in the bunch, smiled broadly, her jaw angled to one side while a recently broken nose crooked to the other.

Several empty frames filled blank space on the walls, to entice the new Tributes to fight hard for their chance at glory and immortality on canvas. Sumara rapped one knuckle against the blank painting after Ashley's, nodding to herself for a moment before tracing a fingertip around the beige material, drawing an outline of herself in her mind. She looked over at the bench and chairs, but shook her head, too anxious to sit down and wait for Mallaam to collect her and Marcus for the trip to the Capitol. Instead, she walked over to the door and issued three sharp knocks, the Peacekeeper outside unlocking it and poking his head in.

"Need something?"

"Yeah, uh, what's your name?"

"Mercen. Why?"

"Well I've gotta call you something, don't I? I mean, it'd be weird if I just said 'Peacekeeper' every time I needed to ask you a question."

"Alright. Should I call you Sumara then, or Khan?"

"Call me Khan and I knock your front teeth down your throat."

"Sumara it is then. You never answered me earlier though. You need something?"

"Yeah, I was just wondering…you think they'd let me get a tattoo? The Capitol, I mean. You think they'd let me like, go out and get a tat before the Arena and all that?"

"Uh..."

"I'm just asking because like, I'm looking at those pictures and like, some of 'em look good. Like Schala, Aries, Enobaria…those three look cool, they look like Victors, like they just fuckin' murdered the competition their years. But some of the others…they look so bland and generic and it's like…you just fuckin' won the Hunger Games. Brag. Show off a little bit. I don't want my picture to look like that. I wanna stand out, you know?"

"So you're definitely gonna win this year? I dunno…Marcus seems pretty tough."

"Pfft, let ME worry about Marcus, okay? You got money, Mercen? Take it and let it all ride on me, because this is my year. I already broke one girl's nose and I'm ready to my hands much, much dirtier."

"That so? Well…whatever your plans…I don't think we're supposed bet on the Games. Against the law for Peacekeepers."

"Oh don't be a pussy. C'mon, I'm giving you my guarantee. If you don't win your money back, well, there's really not a whole lot you could fuckin' do about it, so I don't really a shit…just fuckin' bet on me to win it all."

"You do make a convincing argument," he laughed, leaning back against the doorframe, "so you're gonna win the Hunger Games, huh? What's the tattoo gonna be then?"

"I dunno. I just started thinking about it. I mean, I could go for something on my face, but it might look like crap when it's all finished. Maybe something around the neck, like stitches or barbed wire?"

"Seems kinda wimpy to me. I think if you're gonna get a tattoo, either go big or go home, you know?"

"Hmm, what about like right here," Sumara asked, prodding at her chest just below the base of her neck, "I could get something like a wolf or a tiger…definitely a wolf head, like, snaring or maybe howling if it looks right."

"I could see that. They'd have to put you in like, a low cut dress or something if you wanted to show it off though. I don't know about that."

"Why? You don't think I could pull it off?"

"I'm not here to judge. Just to make sure you don't try to run."

"Oh you're an asshole. You think I'm gonna run after I fuckin' volunteered for this? Hell no."

"Just tellin' you what they pay me for. Probably shouldn't even be talking to you, but it's pretty quiet out here. No visitors coming?"

"Nah. I've lived in the community home for about eleven years. Don't expect 'Mom' and 'Dad' to come visit me, wish me good luck, you know? And I don't really get along with most of the other kids at school or wherever…they just piss me off sometimes, so they stay outta my way."

"You don't seem that bad to me."

"Eh," Sumara shrugged, changing the subject, "you know who my mentor's gonna be this year?"

"Nah. They don't tell me that sorta thing. Hell, they don't tell me a lot of things. I only know your name because they bark it like, half a dozen times during the Reaping. 'Sumara Khan and Marcus Black!' and all that noise."

"Damn. Was hoping for a little more info than that. Hell, I'm just hoping for someone like Aries or Enobaria. The others are either too damn old…they're soft, you know?"

"I'd take a soft mentor from District 2 than a tough mentor from…almost anywhere else."

"Amen to that, I guess. Better than a couple of elderly morphlings like District 6, or a drunk like District 5. Or 7. Or 9. Or 11. Or 12. But I guess I'd get drunk too if my district couldn't pump out a Tribute that knew their ass from a hole in the ground. That reminds me. You from District 2, or from the Capitol?"

"District 2. You think I'd be dressed this way if I was from the Capitol?"

"Maybe. All you guys wear the same uniforms. For all I know, you're wearing long underwear covered in rhinestones under that uniform, or whatever fashion they think looks good nowadays."

"I think I've seen that one before. Lime green. With lots and lots of zippers."

"Ugh…I don't get how they think they look good in that crazy bullshit. I mean, even Mallaam is basically, well, basically normal, and he still looks like a freak with all that creepy clown make-up he wears every single year. Thank God he dresses like a human being, or someone would've chucked a rock at him by now in the middle of that boring speech he gives every goddamn year."

"Yeah, I always liked that about him. Not the speech, I mean…the outfits. He never tries to go overboard, you know. Maybe he'll wear a rose in his lapel; or in his hair if he's feeling pretty, but for the most part, it's a suit and tie, maybe a little make-up too. And I can't really fault the guy for that; I mean, he was the escort back when I was up for the Reaping, and that was like ten years ago. Who knows how old he is."

"You volunteer?"

"Huh? For the Reaping?"

"No, for custodial duty. Of course for the fuckin' Reaping."

"Well, yeah. A couple times. You know, when I was older. No sense volunteering when you're young and getting yourself killed."

"I volunteered every year I could."

"Well, I mean," Mercen stammered a little, "you were a different circumstance I guess. You said you lived in the community home. That, I mean, you don't normally hear good things about those places. You, you know what I'm saying?"

"That doesn't mean a goddamn thing. Don't use that tone with me. Don't fucking pity me. It wasn't that hard to live through. I got by just fine on my own."

"I wasn't trying to-"

"I volunteered because I wanted to fight. Because I wanted to win. Because I'm fucking stronger than all those girls out there. I think I kinda proved that today. Smashed that pretty little face into the dirt. And you know what else? Probably could've done the same to Ashley the year she volunteered. When I was twelve."

"I, I'm sure you're-"

"I know I'm right. Her win was a fluke. She got fucking lucky at the end there and would've died if it'd been one-on-one."

"Look," Mercen did his best to interrupt her, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to piss you off or anything like that. I was just saying, um, maybe you felt like you had, um, more to prove than I did. I mean, truth be told, when I volunteered and didn't get picked…I wasn't upset about it or anything. Looking back on all those years in the Reaping, I mean, if I was sent to the Capitol, yeah, I'd fight. Damn right I'd fight. But, at the end of the day, I don't wanna die. I just, I guess I'm scared of dying…seeing what happens in the Arena. It makes me glad I never got picked. I guess…I guess that makes you, um, stronger than me. Yeah, definitely stronger than me."

"Whatever. Only scary thing about dying is if you're the one doing it. And that's not gonna happen. No way in hell will I let that happen."

"Right. Like, like I said. You're stronger than me. More confident. That's, that's a good thing. Keeps you focused in the Arena."

"They broadcast any of the other Reapings yet?" Sumara seethed, wanting to change the subject, "I know we're usually one of the first."

"I haven't really…seen anything yet, I mean, I've been here since you got here."

"Well how about you go find out for me? And then fill me in when you get back. That'd be great."

"…alright. I'll go, um, I'll go see if there's a television around somewhere and see what's going on with the other districts."

Mercen closed the door slowly, clicking it into place and locking it behind him, his footsteps fading as Sumara listened at the door. Groaning, she paced back to the wall, resting her shoulders against it and looking over at the solitary bench with contempt for a few moments, tapping her foot on the tile floor. Finally she caved, crossing the room and slumping down on the varnished wood, her legs spread slightly, elbows resting on her thighs, and her head pressing back into her neck, determined to focus on the door, rather than the floor.

"I'm gonna win," she grumbled to herself, "no one's gonna stop me. No one's even gonna come close. The Arena won't know what fuckin' hit it. Then I'll come home, get a badass tattoo…fuck it, I'll do it like one of those freaks from the Capitol, get it done full-body. They'll never forget me after that shit. You think you look tough, Schala? You think that scar scares me? Try facing down a fuckin' tiger bitch, covered in fuckin' stripes. Then we'll see who's tough."

"Where the fuck is this guy? How long does it take to find a screen? I know they've got them around somewhere. He'd better not've pussied out on me 'cause I hurt his feelings or whatever. But I don't need him feeling sorry for me. The community home wasn't that bad…made me stronger, that's for sure."

"Why the fuck is this taking so long, anyway? I don't need a goddamn hour. I'm ready to go right now. Hurry the fuck up, Marcus…say goodbye to your mom and dad and whatever fuckin' girl you're screwing and let's get the fuck on with it. Seriously, I don't need to say goodbye to anyone…why can't they just let me go on ahead instead of all this waiting? Where the fuck is-"

The door clicked open and Sumara snapped to attention, looking up to see Mallaam peek his head into the room. A scowl was his response as he offered an apologetic smile and closed the door behind him. As he approached her, Sumara sighed and grunted, scooting along the bench until she could prop one elbow up on the armrest and allow ample space for a second person to take a seat beside her. Mallaam accepted the offer and brushed a spot off with one hand, examining the level of dust covering his glove for a moment before briskly slapping both hands together to erase any traces left behind. Satisfied that the bench was as clean as it could be, he eased himself down beside Sumara and addressed her.

"You know, you're not supposed to speak with the Peacekeepers."

"I'm not supposed to do a lot of things. Not my fault this place is so fuckin' boring."

"Language. Please."

"Seriously? I can't say 'fuck' either?"

"You can say whatever you wish, but I would appreciate a bit of civility."

"Civility? I just caved some bimbo's face in. So I can willingly go off to the Capitol and kill kids from the other districts. What about that makes you think I'm civil?"

"Oh, there is no doubt in my mind that you personally lack civility. Marcus as well, although I think he's a bit more restrained than you. This whole district, really. Uncivilized and bloodthirsty. But then again…that's why you win so often, and I can't complain about that."

"Fuck yeah we do."

"Language."

"It's not gonna happen, so you might as well just tune it the fuck out."

"Fair enough."

Mallaam fished around in his inner jacket pocket and produced a lavish, gold light, as well as a pair of cigarettes. He lit the first and brought it to his lips, seemingly sucking on the end for a good half minute before releasing a cloud of smoke. Securing his own cigarette in the corner of his mouth, he flicked open the lighter once more and lit the second, extending it to Sumara.

"I assume you smoke at the community home."

"Yeah," she grumbled, accepting the offer and lightly coughing as she took a drag, "all the time."

"Of course," he puffed once again, "he's not in too much trouble, you know?"

"Who?"

"The guard, whatever his name was. He's not going to be reprimanded too harshly."

"I can't believe his dumb ass got caught."

"Hard not to when you are given one task: watch a door, and yet said door is found unguarded. It doesn't take much to get caught in that situation. Which again, is why you are not supposed to be speaking with the Peacekeeper guards."

"Well what do you expect? I mean, I'm stuck here in an empty room for a fuckin' hour. I don't exactly have a goddamn parade of people marching through here to wish me farewell. Or do you think I should just sit here with my hands folded in my lap like a good little girl and wait patiently for some shit that shouldn't take this long to begin with?"

"Regardless. You could have asked the young man to request my presence, as I'm offering you now. I should point out that he will be reassigned to another district after this year is over, because of this transgression."

"Because I really want to talk to you right now," Sumara scoffed, "of all people, you're number one on my list."

"Oh, you have a list? And here you had me thinking no one cared enough to visit you. Perhaps I should leave then."

"Fuck you."

"Language. And I would very much like not having to repeat that request again. You are…for lack of a better term, Miss Khan…a brat. Now, I can appreciate your fighting spirit. It is part of the reason why District 2 is so beloved by the Capitol audience. But know that you are not special. Yet, at least. You are but a Tribute just like the other twenty-three children who will soon facing you in the Arena. And I, as your and young Mister Black's escort shall be managing you and doing my best to ensure you perform admirably in this year's Games. This, however, is a task that I must admit I find more difficult should I happen to see no reason to aid in the continued survival of an uppity tribute. Do you understand, Miss Khan?"

Mallaam snuffed out his cigarette in the bench's armrest and turned his head slightly, watching Sumara out of the corner of his eye. Teeth gritted, so many words racing through her head to respond to the man, Sumara debated to herself whether it was more demeaning to bow to his wishes and behave, or to lash out and prove the stereotypical foolish image he'd crafted for her in his mind. She tilted her head towards him, meeting his gaze for a moment as she nodded in agreement to his statement.

"Yes," she growled, "I do."

"Good. Very good. It's always preferable to escort an intelligent Tribute than a pigheaded one, especially from such a dominant District, where intelligence can only increase lethality. I see you don't enjoy Capitol tobacco very much. A shame."

"It's not what I'm used to."

"It seems not. Now, from what Mister…Mercen, I think it was, tells me, you were inquiring about the other Reapings, looking to perhaps get some early knowledge of your competition, is that correct?"

"Yes…"

"Well, only about four Reapings have been broadcast thus far, your own included, and I must say, all rather uneventful. I mean, District 1 of course is often like your own with volunteers and fighting, but nothing spectacular or unique. You'll be able to watch the Reapings on the train, of course…decide with your own eyes. Almost time for that at least."

Mallaam pulled up the sleeve of his black suit jacket and examined the first of three timepieces lining his arm, followed by the second. Sumara cocked and eyebrow and tried to get a better look, but he proved too fast for her, rising to his feet and reaching back to brush off the seat of his pants from whatever dust his earlier cleansing efforts had missed. Rolling his sleeve back down, he turned back to her and extended his hand. She gripped his fingers tighter than perhaps she normally would, but Mallaam seemed oblivious once more to her actions, pulling her up from the bench and spinning her to repeat the brushing process on the back of her dress.

"That should do it. Time to go, Miss Khan, although I'm sure you're more than eager enough to move on from this place."

Putting an arm around Sumara's waist, Mallaam guided her out of the waiting room and into the equally monotone space of the hallway. They paused as they traversed its length and Mallaam greeted a Peacekeeper before rapping his knuckles on the nearby door and poking his head into the room within. Marcus emerged moments later, seeming just as eager as Sumara to start the journey, a cocky smirk on his face as he shot her a wink. The hallway too narrow to walk side-by-side, Mallaam lead the pair of Tributes, as well as several Peacekeepers, through District 2's town hall, down a flight of stairs, and to a waiting black car.

Mallaam opened the driver's side passenger door and allowed Sumara first entrance, with Marcus climbing in beside her, but Mallaam himself shut them in and took his place behind the steering wheel, waving off the white-suited escorts that had followed, to see the group off. The vehicle purred to life and although the roads were hardly designed to support automobiles, the voyage was relatively smooth and uneventful. Mallaam, to his credit, held his tongue to avoid any further conversation with his charges, but Marcus had no such desire for silence.

"Hey," he nudged Sumara's side, "you know you took forever back there, right?"

Sumara stared at him, stunned at how anyone could maintain the same smirking facial expression for an hour and a half, but a roll of her eyes elicited a chuckle, and eased her back from the tension she'd felt dealing with Mallaam. She punched his shoulder a little bit harder than if she were playing around, and Marcus only laughed even more, cowering in mock fear against his window. For the rest of their short car ride, the duo traded jabs, with Marcus reaching over to muss her hair and occasionally catch her wrists before her fists could make impact.

The car pulled to a stop at District 2's train depot, and moments after, Mallaam opened the door to allow Sumara escape from her tormenter. She glared at him as he took the time to flatten her hair back down from Marcus' assault before giving her a dark smile and guiding her to the steps leading into the train's passenger cabins. Sumara hoisted herself up onboard without looking back, fully expecting to see her home once again some day soon.