"There are few things as threatening to us as individuals as a person who perceives our worst flaws, especially when those flaws are all they see."

District One

"Stop it," Adelaide chided Cohen lightly.

Her hands were folded neatly on her lap, back straight. The Reaping recaps played out on the television, but it was quite evident neither of them were listening. Adelaide was trying, but Cohen's general lack of focus and the fact that he seemed more intent on disturbing her was distracting.

The brunette faltered a little, his smile waning. A conflicted expression flickered over his face. Averting his eyes from her, he turned to the television. Guilt seized Adelaide's heart. A voice at the back of her mind told her to be colder but she found no such will in herself. One glance at the mentors told her they were watching them.

She looked at the screen. The Reapings flashing across it. They had been taught to analyze from mere reaping reactions but Adelaide always found it a waste of time. No one really knew how much of the reactions were a fabrication until they actually met the tributes. Her fingers interlocked with each other. At least she, as a career, already had an alliance set for her.

Her skin prickled with anxiety.

Trying her best to ignore it, not to think about the uncertainties plaguing her, she trained her gaze on Cohen. He was bouncing his left leg up and down, humming. He looked at her and grinned. Ignoring the Reaping replay, he faced the other three.

"Any tips," he asked. "Like how to win the heart of the crowd, or prove our superiority over the other tributes? Not like it hasn't been proven already but…"

His tone was jovial, hazel eyes alight with amusement, lips curled into a most charming grin.

It would have sounded arrogant coming from anyone else.

But not from him.

"Why is this such a joke to you?" Adelaide demanded harshly.

Her voice had risen a notch. But her fingers were still intertwined with each other, the only sign of her irritation being that they had tightened their grip on one another. Her expression did not change though her eyebrow did twitch slightly.

"A joke?" Cohen's left eyebrow creased in confusion.

"Our lives are on the line here. But you're being so carefree about it!"

She had spent years studying the Hunger Games, committing each anomaly, each arena, each topic – everything to memory. Training; every technique and move was practically muscle memory now.

And even then, who knew if she really held the ability to become one of the prized Victors?

"I- I'm sorry," Cohen apologized. "I just-" Adelaide waited in silence as she watched him fumble for words. "I just have my own way of coping?"

He smiled hopefully at Adelaide. A glint of something insincere flashed in his eyes, but before Adelaide could catch it again, Cohen turned away.

Words failed her. The only thing she knew to do was to nod solemnly.

"Let's watch the Reapings recap all over again," Silicus announced. "The two of you weren't paying attention at all."

Adelaide snapped to attention.

"I don't see the point in it. We'll be able to better analyze them during training. The reaping reactions wouldn't tell us anything conclusive."

Cohen nodded behind her though not knowing anything helpful he could add in.

Navaeh chuckled. She clasped her hands together and nodded, the edges of her lips tugged up into a widening smile.

Adelaide got the vague impression she said something right.

"I agree with her, Silicus," Navaeh said smoothly. She stood. "Let's leave Adelaide and Cohen to get to know each other better."

Her tone broached no complains. Silicus did not seem all that begrudging, however, as he rose. Smiling at the duo, they walked past them and into another room.

"I'm Cohen Veridie," the boy smiled warmly at his partner.

"I know that already."

He shrugged.

"I thought it'll be nice to, y'know, introduce ourselves formally or something." He waved his hands around, laughing a little.

Her lips curled into a little smile.

"Adelaide Marchal. It is a pleasure to meet you."

His right eyebrow shot up.

"I would have thought it wouldn't be with your initial reaction." Despite what he said, he seemed quite pleased.

It took a few moments for Adelaide to decide, but she ultimately moved to sit beside Cohen. The seconds ticked by, stretching out into minutes, as did the silence. But it was not an uncomfortable one. They both sat in silence, each trying to find something to say but failing to. Eventually, she decided it was up to her to break the ice.

"You don't really seem like the typical person who would be chosen as volunteer," she said carefully.

'Get to know each other' their mentors had said. It was a good idea to build rapport between each other lest something happened during the actual games, then they would have each other's back. But Adelaide had to remind herself not to get too attached. Cohen was not entirely unlikable. Only one could survive in the end, though.

That question would be a good way to gauge Cohen too, she decided.

"I have my own reasons," he answered playfully. "I didn't expect to be chosen, actually."

"Me, either," she confessed. In hindsight, she had shone and shown the most improvement in all her classes. But she did it only out of interest. Not because she wanted to earn glory or any other bullshit the Academy liked feeding the more delusional trainees.

Cohen still smiled at her but it had changed a little. It seemed to lose its cheerful quality, becoming almost pensive.

"I guess we're similar in that way," he mused.

"I guess we are," she agreed.

Maybe she could get along with him.

She observed him closer and saw the way his eyes shone with childish delight.

"Right!" he exclaimed suddenly. "It's nice to meet you too, Adelaide."

Against her better judgement, she felt herself beam at him.

District Two

Priston winced as Shaila forcefully slammed the door behind her.

He just wanted her to like him. He just wanted them all to like him. Not pity him, smile with distaste laced in their eyes, or pat him on the head like a dog. A smile graced his boyish face, despite being bluntly rejected by his district partner. He was a tribute now. They could call him whatever they wanted, but they couldn't deny him that much.

He had trained, and he was the best. They might have disregarded him before, but they couldn't ignore him any longer.

The doors of the compartment slid open behind him, yet Priston remained entranced in his own daydreams, grinning off into the distance. The trees that zoomed outside the door held his attention captive.

Grant rolled his eyes as he eyed this year's sorry excuse of a tribute. This... Grant grimaced as the memory bubbled back. This idiot was a disgrace to what he stood for. What he had fought for.

What Payton had fought for.

He shook his head. That was the past. Grant wasn't going to spend his life dwelling in what he couldn't change, even if the present gave him migraines.

Priston finally noticed the Victor's presence as Grant collected a bottle of water from the counter. "Oh, hey!" he said with a grin. "Didn't see you there!"

Grant shot him a glare. "And here I was, hoping it'd stay that way."

The insult bounced right off of Priston. After years of enduring far worse at home, Priston had stopped acknowledging petty words. He didn't even notice the malice in Grant's eyes. "Not feeling well? Or were you looking for some alone time with Shaila?" Priston paused. "Or maybe some alone time with Lorayn?" he continued, waggling his eyebrows playfully.

A chill ran up Grant's back at her name. The fluke, the unwanted underdog. Lorayn didn't deserve what she had, and she treated it like it was a punishment. As if being bathed in riches, attention, affection, and opportunity was a death threat hanging above her.

She disgusted him.

"No," he growled coldly. "I wasn't looking for Lorayn."

Priston frowned. "Shaila, then?"

A snarl took over Grant's icy features. He opened his mouth to shoot the idiot down and spit a bit of venom at him, but he realized it was no use. He was just wasting his breath with him. Might as escape while he could. "Yeah, Shaila. We need to talk about… training and stuff."

Priston beamed at the mention of training. "That's great! Maybe I could come with? Careers gotta stick together, right?"

"Actually, Lorayn and I agreed that we would train you two separately," Grant responded curtly. It wasn't even a lie. Lorayn might be an ungrateful little child, but she wasn't stupid. If they trained tributes together, both of them knew it'd end with Grant ripping her head off. Everything about her was pathetic, and it killed him to just be near her. Grant hesitated slightly as he Priston deflated before him. "Kid, you still have Lorayn. But you're her problem, and her problem exclusively."

"Oh," Priston murmured dejectedly. He perked up slightly after a moment. "Hey, do you know where Lorayn is?"

Grant smiled coldly as he made as way for the exit. "Probably crying into a pillow. Have fun with that!"

Priston raised his hand to ask for something a little more specific, but Grant was gone before he had the chance to speak. He quirked his lips as he returned to his spot at the table across the window and the zooming trees. Alone. Rejected twice, now. Thrice if Lorayn's indifference regarding him counted. No one lied him. No one wanted to help him.

Nothing new, right?

Shaila flinched as someone slammed her compartment door open. "Really? Does the Capitol not condone knocking anymore?" she hissed irritably as she hopped off her bed. She met Grant's raised eyebrow and felt herself seize under his intense glare. He can't crush your dreams anymore. Have a backbone.

"Feisty, are we now?" Grant observed with a haughty grin. "Not like you to lose your head. Lemme guess: Priston."

Shaila nodded. She wasn't the kind of person to blow up on people, and she certainly wasn't the kind of person that got annoyed easily. She genuinely liked being social and having a good time, but there had to be a line drawn somewhere. Some things weren't meant to be said aloud. Training taught her that levelheadedness led to success, and she devoutly followed what she'd learned in training.

But Priston made her want to jump off the train.

At first, he wasn't too bad. He was endearing and nervous, twitchy and charming in his own sort of way. He talked of home, and his smile reminded Shaila of her brother. He wasn't much, but he was a piece of home. He was irreplaceable.

And then, he started talking. Non-stop. He spat out random questions about life, about the Games, about snails. She'd played along, smiled whilst praying that this was just a result of the recent Reaping. Nerves might've pushed him to be a little antsy; it was understandable.

Then she noticed Grant and Lorayn popping an aspirin and quickly making his way into their respective compartments with pointed glares directed at the little brat. Any attentive trainee would know that there was bad blood between them and that they were polar opposites. If they agreed on anything at all, it must be common sense.

Fleeing Priston was rather sensible.

"How in the hell did he beat out the rest of the trainees?" Shaila muttered with a frown.

Grant shrugged. "Believe it or not, he has his strong suits."

She raised an eyebrow. "I don't want anything to do with that, talented or not."

"Don't lose your head," Grant instructed with a reprimanding look. "Priston might be a pain, but don't let that ruin your connection with the Careers. They're already be weary of you – Two has taken two wins in a row now – don't let Priston be that last straw."

Shaila scrunched her eyebrows together. "They'll hate him, anyway. It'll only take a day before they throw him out."

"Then let them decide. The last thing Careers want to see in an ally is obstinacy," Grant ordered firmly.

Subconsciously, Shaila found herself nodding readily as Grant departed her. She winced at the petty follower that she was. That she always was. She had been foolish to think that volunteering for the Games would change that.

But more importantly, it could change her life. She could validate her hard work and her integrity as a person through these Games, and believing in that wasn't foolish. It wasn't an unreachable dream or goal that was always out of reach.

It was right in front of her. This was all up to her, nobody else. She had the power to control her own fate, for the first time in a long time. It was all in her hands.

And that scared her more than anything else.

District Three

Theon plopped into his chair with a sullen glare that managed to split itself between Celesto and Letricia. While the former met his gaze with one of his own, Letricia shrunk into herself to avoid him. Pathetic. "And why am I here?"

Celesto scowled at him as he took a seat between his two tributes. "We," he started, patting both of them on the back, "are here to learn about each other."

A smile of pure sarcasm spread across Theon's face. "Suppose we didn't want to learn; what would happen then?"

Celesto's blunt expression made Theon hesitate for a moment, even before he opened his mouth. "If that's the case, you should look for a new mentor. These Games are yours to play, but until you get in that arena, we play by my rules. Understand?"

"Of course," supplied Letricia, who fervently nodded alongside her mentor. Celesto flashed her a small smile before turning to Theon.

"Understand?"

Theon fought off the sneer that begged to be released onto his face. "Yes," he muttered begrudgingly, turning away from the two idiots before he lost control and stormed off. Celesto could have control of every last second before he set foot in the arena, but once that time elapsed, Theon was in control.

He smiled smugly as Celesto's attention moved to Letricia. He could bite his tongue until the arena. He could play by any rules that were thrown at him, Celesto's included. Theon quickly transformed his sarcasm into sincerity as Celesto turned his attention back to him.

A moment of hesitation passed over his mentor's face as he identified the earnest gleam in Theon's eyes. It took him another couple of seconds to find the pretentious coloring in the very same eyes. Celesto suppressed an eye roll; he should've known better. People never changed.

Yet the accusation remained at the tip of his tongue. He cast a glance to Letricia, who had finally started to open up to him. Every snarl he sent towards Theon pushed Letricia farther away. Celesto fought off the temptation to kick Theon off the train as he threw on a toothy smile to both his tributes. "Who wants to go first?"

Letricia leaned forward in her chair, letting herself smile a little as Celesto turned to her with an inviting smile. That smile, that gleam in his eyes… it reminded her of home. Of happiness. Of yesterday. And then she remembered that she had left that behind hours ago, never to be seen again.

And just as before, her smile died.

But the hopeful look in Celesto's eyes nearly killed her. He kept nudging her, wanting to find some fight that she knew didn't exist. She just didn't have the heart to tell him that he was better off with Theon. Not yet, at least. She shrugged to them. "There's not to tell, honestly," she chirped, grinning. The twinkle in Celesto's eyes made it easier to let the words flow out of her.

"My mom's a manager at Yeltz Enterprise, and my dad works at the Justice Building with all the Peacekeepers. Guns, numbers, violence, and the like. Not exactly my scene. My little sister-"

Celesto cut her off with a slight raise of his hand. "That's all great, Letricia, but your family isn't who I'm interested in. I – we – want to hear about you."

"Oh," she responded with a small smile. "Sorry about that." She paused, shocked that she couldn't find the right words to describe herself. Sixteen years of life wasn't interesting enough. No, she realized. Her sixteen years weren't interesting enough." There's a lot less to say than I thought," she murmured nervously.

Celesto leaned in, praying that Letricia would take the bait and actually talk to him. The meek girl he met two hours ago wouldn't last a minute with the Capitol. This was her fighting chance. "Maybe you should start off with who you were," he offered. "Your past makes you."

Letricia shrugged. "I grew up lucky. There was always enough food, friends, fun. I rarely felt sad or down, and when I did, there was always someone there for me." She looked out the window wistfully. "Until now, I guess."

For a second, Celesto was tempted to tell her that he would be there for her. Anything to get her to open up, catch the attention of someone. But lying this early was too much. This was where he drew the line. "There's a first for everything."

The glimmer in her eyes dimmed considerably, and all Celesto could do was sit. He could help them, but he couldn't change them. Distance, he reminded himself. It was so much easier before. Before, when he was sure that he would only be alone for a couple of years. When he thought he wouldn't have to bear this burden alone for too long.

And here he was, twenty years later.

To his surprise, Theon pulled the situation out of the thick silence. "Well, I guess it's my turn," he said cheerfully, cracking his fingers. "My parents run the butcher shop at home. When they go out, I run the shop." A moony smile filled Theon's features, and a growing sense of dread blossomed in Celesto's gut, but he forced it down. He would at least give him a chance.

"The blood of the animals… it makes me feel at home. It's comfortable, what I'm used to," Theon murmured dreamily, grinning with all his teeth bared.

Letricia cleared her throat, disturbance clear in her eyes. "I think I should get a little rest," she said hurriedly, scurrying into her private car and locking the door behind her.

As soon as the door separated her from the others, Letricia threw herself on the bed, burying her head in the pillow. Already, she felt lost. Isolated. Celesto could pretend to understand her, but it was pretty evident that he just wanted her to talk to him. And Theon… what was he? How was she supposed to compete with the competition from the other districts when she couldn't even take the competition from her own home? How could she found herself among the tributes from the far corners of Panem when she couldn't find herself with two boys from her own district?

The answer was simple, of course. She wouldn't.

Celesto sneered as the door slammed shut. "What the hell was that for?" he growled lowly, careful not to raise his voice past the point of audibility to Letricia. "The butcher doesn't have a cat for company, let alone a kid. You have twenty seconds to explain yourself."

"Is someone feeling sad?" Theon chuckled. "Let's not be modest, now. You very well know what that was for. Proof."

For the first time in a long time, Celesto was happy to not know the answer. "Proof for what?"

"Oh," Theon exclaimed, letting his mouth form an 'o' as he took a seat on the sink counter. "You really have gotten soft, huh. Take a look around, Celesto. Letricia couldn't handle a chat of contrived animal blood. How would she handle real, human blood?"

"Where is this headed?"

Theon smirked. "Come, now. Even a big softie can see what's right in front of them. Letricia is a lost cause. Stop wasting your time on something that will never pay you back." The younger boy turned to leave before hesitating and swiveling back to his mentor. "Maybe that's why you're still alone after all these years."

Celesto grimaced as the hard truth of it all settled in on him. He knew Theon was right. That made it all the worse; he knew that he couldn't let his heart choose. He knew what he needed to do. He had to choose Theon.

But old habits died hard. "C'mon, Letricia," he murmured to the empty dining room table. "Let's prove this bastard wrong."

District Four

Marisa smiled at her tributes as she approached their table, effectively a rerun of the Reapings. "Do you know why Careers win?"

Vice and Aelia shared a look with one another, but it was Aelia that spoke up first. "Careers win because they're trained. Now if you don't mind-"

"I do mind, actually," Marisa cut in frankly, taking a seat in between Vice and Aelia. Vice frowned as she did so, and he couldn't help but look for Talise – the mentor that at least appeared to be sane – only to find her chuckling to herself on a nearby couch.

Marisa turned to Vice next. "And you, young man? Why do Careers win?"

He shrugged. "What Aelia said. We win because we're trained. The weapons are just extensions of us, and the tributes from the outer districts can barely hold a sword up."

Marisa smiled, seemingly pleased with both of their answers. "Then why do you suppose that Careers don't always win? Why are there flukes?"

Aelia tried to mask her distaste for her mentor as best as she could. She signed up to train to fight and make something more of herself, not to play twenty questions with a lunatic. But making the woman mad now would just make her favor Vice over her. Vice, who she had quickly learned was painfully similar to Aelia, herself. It was like looking at a mirror and hearing herself speak.

Luckily for Aelia, Marisa's games only bemused Vice. "Every rule has exceptions. Sometimes, the outer districts band together and overpower the Careers. Or the Careers split early and the other tributes take advantage of that."

"Then why don't the outer districts always band together? Why don't the Careers always avoid splitting early to ensure that one of them will win?"

Yet again, Vice and Aelia paused and glanced at each other. Aelia hated how closely Vice's frown matched hers.

Marisa continued on. "You two weren't far off, actually. Careers don't win because they're familiar with the weapons – any lumberjack from Seven could tell you that. We win for two reasons. For one, Careers win because they're familiar with death. Blood. Screams. That kind of torment is what throws off the outer districts. It's what makes them weak. And two, Careers win simply because of their numbers. More heads mean more killers."

Aelia frowned. "But you just asked us why the outer districts don't always band together. Why not?"

"Weakness and strength aren't things that stack. Having five weaklings hardly differs from having one. An alliance of twelve-year olds would struggle to bring down two lethal killers. And six lethal killers? Now how do you think a bunch of ragtag fighters would bring them down?"

"They don't," Vice answered.

Marisa grinned. With all her mind games and logic, it was easy to forget how young his mentor was, Vice noted dully. A mere three years had passed since Marisa brought home her victory. Vice had been at the Center when the Dean of the Academy announced Marisa as they chosen volunteer. Her smile was a reminder of that: something pure, innocent, good.

And yet, here she was, lecturing them about death.

"No, they don't. The table is slated towards us; we're meant to win. But the flukes do happen. There are but two scenarios where Careers don't win. First, your alliance isn't made of six lethal killers. Two true fighters and four wannabes can hardly call themselves the Careers. This isn't play pretend, anymore. No matter how good your fellow 'Careers' think they are, it's your job to set them straight. And secondly, should a pack of outer districts with actual spines manage to get together, I suppose that'd pose a threat."

A moment of silence passed over the three of them as Aelia and Vice drunk it all in. "The first part, I get," Aelia thought aloud. "We can identify our weak links and make sure they don't cause any harm to the ones that matter, but the others… how can we fix that?"

"Threats in the Games hardly know they're threats until their hands are dripping with someone's blood. And knowing that you're dangerous, acknowledging that you control your fate, feeling hope, that's more dangerous that any sword could ever be. Don't let them know what they have. Show them what you are, show them what they'll never be, and crush that little fleck of hope."

Marisa leaned in close to both Vice and Aelia, eyes lit with something that held Aelia captive. It was like she was being hypnotized. "Just believing in the future, as blind as it may be, is more powerful than you could ever imagine. You two have it. Doubtless, some of the others will have it. You can't change that. But the ones that have yet to feel hope need to stay that way. Limit the playing field."

She paused and looked at both Vice and Aelia. "Do you understand what you have to do?"

The tributes from Four shared yet another sideways glance at one another. Aelia supposed that she should just accept that they were two products of the Games, cultivated and sharpened with the same tools. It was only natural that they were practically the same person.

It was only natural that their answer was the same: "Of course."

A/N: And there is the first Train Ride! The rate of the chapters has been less than great, but it'll (hopefully) pick up soon as summer has just started.

We played around with third person omniscient, so hit us up with whether or not you liked it. Reviews are really appreciated as they let us know that you're here and give us insight on what we're doing right and what we're doing wrong. Thanks for being awesome!

See you soon!