"The goal of training is to train, not to make friends."

Indiana cast a hard look at Tessa as she said this. The redhead was a good foot taller than the District 11 mentor, but she still shrank a bit at the words of the short, scarred woman. Levi snorted, his gray eyes dark.

He'd grown up with Tessa. They were both eighteen. Levi had a preconceived idea about the girl from what he had seen at school, and his distaste for her was only growing. Tall and slim, she was too delicate for the Games. She appeared guarded around people she didn't know, sure, but Levi had seen her around people she loved, trusted.

Friendly. Sweet. Loving.

She'd be a bloodbath tribute.

The fact that Tessa was taller than him burned his dislike brighter. He hated having to look up at her, hated that she could see his every move from a birds-eye view. She was his opposite, tall and friendly, redheaded with brown eyes and a mother.

I wonder what it's like to be missed.

An instant after this thought crossed into his head, Levi responded. He focused his mind on the day of training ahead of him, his hatred for Tessa, his dislike for the Capitol, anything that could push this one little thought out of his mind.

Pushed to the twaddle in the corner of his mind, he focused on what he was wearing. His stylists—another two people he couldn't stand—had clearly coordinated with Tessa's. They were dressed as opposites. Levi wore dark denim jeans with a simple green t-shirt while Tessa sported skinny green pants and a dark blue shirt. Why they chose to go for this angle, Levi couldn't guess. They were creating a rift between the two.

Well, good. No one's expecting me to be her goddamn ally.

"Now, your performance last night was less than ideal. Tessa, you looked far too untrusting and dark to gain any love from the crowd. Levi, you were the same way. Neither of you managed to smile even once. You need to focus on your training so you can gain some sponsors out of that mess."

As Tanzanite led the two tributes away from Indiana, Levi calculated the most efficient method of killing her out of the things he had access to on their floor of the training center. Brute strength won out in the end against smashing dishes into her head, hurling large blunt objects at her, and smothering.

The elevator carried them down, down, down past the lobby into the vast training area below where the tributes slept. Tanzanite led them over to a table where an avox pinned a square of cloth with the number eleven printed on it to the back of his shirt. A quick head count showed that Levi and Tessa were some of the last to arrive. The District 1 girl was missing, among others.

Levi ambled over to the gaggle of tributes crowded around yet another Capitolian, this one with maroon hair and creamy gold irises. The boy from District 11 cursed silently as he took in his competition. Most of the guys were tall, muscular brutes. Some were shorter and weaker, but they were just kids. Even a few of the girls looks like they could take Levi in a fight. His blood boiled hot with the anticipation to start training.

"Are we all here?" the man with maroon hair asked. A timid-looking boy standing next to him shook his head, though it was difficult to spot the action with the rest of his limbs shaking so hard.

A disturbance by the entryway caught the attention of the group.

"This outfit is hideous. I refuse! What are you doing? Ow! Oh, you're sorry? You just stuck a pin in me, you useless avox."

Conner's skin turned a deep red and he studied his feet as his District partner made her loud entrance. Their escort, a woman with bright red hair and dark green eyes, sighed deeply. "Ciara, you are a tribute. You will do as we tell you. Any resistance now will only kill you faster in the arena."

Her words dropped like bombs.

It's always been obvious that the Gamemakers play favorites. They kill some tributes with intent, and it was always assumed that behavior before the Games played a role in this. But an escort actually acknowledging this?

Ciara narrowed her eyes and strutted over to the rest of the tributes, putting a hand on her hip and sighing. The golden-eyed man cleared his throat and then began prattling off the stations in the training center. He warned the tributes that they were forbidden to spar with each other and that there were assistants available for this purpose. Levi rolled his eyes.

When they were cut loose, Levi strolled over to an array of knives standing opposite a target. He picked up a short dagger and twirled it in his fingers, smirking slightly. Positioning himself, he pulled back his arm, building tension before unleashing the weapon. It slid through the target as if it were butter, landing near the center. The avox standing nearby hurried over and yanked the dagger from the target. Levi chuckled at his struggle.

Another knife found its way into his hands and Levi took aim, sinking it dead center. The avox paled, again retrieving the weapon from the target.

Again and again, Levi took swift aim at the target. Again and again, he punctured the center. He missed by a few inches once or twice, but it didn't bother him. The success was exhilarating. It was empowering. It was—

A stocky boy slammed into him. The knife left his fingers, flying way off course and hitting the floor, skating along before screeching to a stop. Levi jumped up, eyes glinting with anger. The number 12 was pinned to the back of his attacker. Levi couldn't help but smile.

This kid was twelve.

"What the hell, kiddo?"

"Don't call me that!"

Levi snorted. "What do you want?"

"Give someone else a turn, assface."

"Watch your back, kid. There's a monster under the knife table."

The boy turned an amusing shade of garnet. He launched himself at Levi for a second time, but the older boy side-stepped easily. "No fighting now. You might get a time out." Levi winked before walking away.

His smiled faded as he left the scene. A glimmer of what may have been pity twitched inside of him, but he ignored it. Yeah, the twelve-year-old was going to die.

So was he.

Levi picked up a guide to poisonous plants, but he didn't see the words on the pages that he thumbed through. He was going to die. Sure, he could throw knives alright, but ultimately, he was going to die. These kids were big and strong. In the end, that would win out over intelligence.

I wonder what the repercussions would be if I stabbed myself today. I've got no family they can hurt. No friends. I'm all alone and on death row.

He glanced back over at Cedar. He was now striking up a conversation—or maybe an argument—with the girl from District 10.

Realization flickered across his face.

The second day of training wasn't any better than the first.

On the first day Willow had spent her time studying up on survival and plants. She figured she ought to educate herself as much as possible, because knowledge was the only way she was going to get out of this, aside from alliances.

She could never kill someone.

Lunch was the only event yesterday that had brought some light in under the crushing weight of her painfully obvious death sentence. She'd sat with the redheaded boy from District 9. She had been sitting by herself, the "12" on her back feeling like a label, like a ticket number. Get in line, your death is approaching.

Chester sat with her, his yellow shirt looking rather humorous with his red hair. When Willow made a passing comment about his banana costume she was worried he would leave, but he just smiled and laughed. He had a nice laugh. He was intelligent enough. Willow noticed later in the day that he had been spending his day like she had: studying up.

"So why haven't you done any weapon training?" Willow asked as they ate midway through their second day of training.

He ducked his head, his pale skin earning a pink hue. Willow swallowed her smile. "I don't think I'll be able to kill someone. Maybe if I really, really had to, but not for something like this."

Willow nodded slowly, her eyes downcast. The two sat in silence for the remainder of the break. Afterwards, Willow got up to go to the camouflage station. Next to knowledge, it was her best shot. She watched Chester as he began shakily throwing knives. He was alright, at least managing to hit the circular target. If his hands would stop shaking he could develop into a good shot.

She sighed and looked to the instructor, who began to talk about sunlight and shading and natural paints. Willow began to paint swirls and spots with her fingers, attempting to re-create a picture of the base of a thicket of ferns. She couldn't get the shadows right. All of a sudden, a hand reached over her shoulder and swept a clean dark line across the palette, creating the effect she'd been struggling with. She turned her head to see Chester standing there, a little smile on his lips.

"Thanks," Willow said with a smile of her own.

Chester sat down beside her. He was a year younger than her, but Willow was shocked by how much she liked him. She'd never had time for friends or for crushes. Her whole life had been devoted to caring for her sisters, and now her life was nearly over…

Her sisters.

Anastasia, Stephanie, and Mahogany. They had been her whole life. Her father had never had the drive to care for them. Willow was the oldest, so she did her best to raise them. She loved them. How were they holding up? If she died…

"Willow? Willow?"

She shook her head, sitting up straight. "Sorry, I spaced out."

"You sure you're okay?" Chester asked, his green eyes swimming with worry. Ignoring the butterflies in her stomach, Willow nodded.

"I just got…caught up in my thoughts…"

The comforting hand on her back is what sent her over. Willow curled into him, tears rolling down her face. She kept her sobs silent so she wouldn't draw the attention of the other tributes as she wept.

Weak.

No one had ever comforted her like this before. She was always the one mopping up the tears. She was the one who did the hugging and the patting and the soothing. She always had to lock away her feelings and put on a brave face for her sisters. Something about being on the receiving end of the action called forth all the emotions she had suppressed for years.

"It's okay," Chester smiled, patting her again. She sat up, wiping her eyes.

"Sorry," she sniffled. "I'm a mess."

Chester's face broke into a wider grin. "I get it," he promised. "Frankly, I'm shocked that more people don't cry. Well, maybe they do, but not in public. This whole scheme is awful. But I'll be here for you. If you want me," he added.

"Are you asking me to be your ally?"

"If you're okay with it," Chester said quickly.

Willow curved her lips into a weak smile. "I am. Thank you."

AN: Remember that reviews are always appreciated. I see hit numbers dwindle with each chapter, so if you choose to stop reading, drop me a note saying why so I know how I can improve. ^.^