I awake the next morning and bolt up in bed. "Where am I?" is my very first thought. This place doesn't smell like home, with the signature scent that comes from four men living together without a woman. This place doesn't sound like home, with the soft sound of Randolph's breathing from the bed by the closet. And it most certainly does not look like home or the bedroom that Randolph and I share, with its sparse furnishings. No. This place is not home.

This place is luxurious. It has a bed much bigger than any I've ever seen, not to mention slept in. The walls are decorated with various artworks, and one entire wall is a window. This place smells strange. A heady mixture of different, unidentifiable fragrances wafts into my nostrils. This place even sounds strange; the only thing I can hear being the beat of my own heart and the sound of my own breath. And… three other peoples' breaths?

I look toward the door, and there they stand. Three Capitol people – two men and a woman - have been watching me sleep, and I feel a little creeped out. But I feel angry too, and that emotion wins. "Who are you and what are you doing in my room?" I practically shout at them.

One of the men – the one with dark blue hair and red, swirling tattoos all over his body – steps forward and speaks up in a very effeminate voice, "We're your prep team. Sugar sent us to help get you ready, handsome."

I stare at him in disbelief and confusion. "Sugar?"

"That's your stylist, sweet pea," he replies.

My eyes widen and I bolt out of bed screaming, "No, no, no, no, no, no, no!" I run to the bathroom and lock myself in. I shake my head vehemently and yell through the door, "No. Absolutely not! I don't do… hair products!" Now, I will wash my hair with shampoo when it's dirty. But Dad always buys the cheapest kind – the one without any perfumes in it. Wolf-mutts don't like to smell like flowers or anything else other than a wolf-mutt. The weird scents that are in shampoos and other things like that tamper with our sense of smell, and it isn't appreciated.

I hear a female voice now. "Wolfgang? Please come out of the bathroom." She sounds kind of scared, so I don't bother to listen to her. What can she possibly do?

Then I hear another male voice; this one booms smooth and deep. "Sugar won't be happy if we don't finish the job. You don't want to make her angry. She'll put you in something ugly just to be spiteful, and then you won't get any sponsors."

His logic reminds me of Lupine – the brother that can talk me into almost anything – and I immediately put my defenses up. I let out an animal snarl to warn him off.

The girl shrieks in fear. The deep-voiced male grunts unhappily. And the voice of the first guy sing-songs on the other side of the door, "Ah well, the puppy-dog doesn't want to take a bath right now. We'll have to come back later."

And as much as I try to fight it, my pride as a wolf-mutt won't let him get away with that. As I stare at the mirror that's attached to the back of the door, I briefly notice that I've morphed before flinging the door open and staring death at the blue-haired member of my prep team. I'm unable to contain the feral growl that mixes with my words as I ask, "What did you just call me?"

The other two people stare at me fearfully, but the first one just stares at me with starry eyes. "Oh my gosh, he's beautiful!" I growl at that comment too. "Oh," the prep-man adds, "and feisty too. I like him."

I flatten my canine ears back on my head before turning to look at the other two. The woman is short and thin. Her hair is fuchsia, and her entire face is painted (or possibly tattooed) to look like a giant pink, blue and green butterfly.

The last guy has dyed his skin solid black. I can tell that it's dye because the color is slightly off and reminds me of a tire – a very dark grey. His hair is short and rust-brown. His lips are rust-brown as well. And his eyes are a light blue that contrasts greatly with the rest of his body, and are quite possibly the only thing naturally colored on his body.

"What are your names?" I growl.

"Jared," says the deep-voiced guy.

"P – Penelope," stutters butterfly-face.

"Oliver," answers the blue-haired one with a wink. "Now, let's get you gorgeous."

"I'm doomed," I think to my myself. "I will die before I even reach the Games." That is the moment that my stomach rumbles rather loudly, which is strange. I'm not even hungry, even though I did skip dinner last night. Wolf-mutts can go a lot longer than that without eating. But the noise causes all three members of the prep team to give me sympathetic looks.

"Oh," Oliver says regretfully, "we didn't even let the poor boy eat breakfast."

"Let's let him eat first, please," Penelope squeaks. It's almost as if she thinks I'll eat them if they make me skip breakfast. I smile at her because she at least has the proper respect for the power of my kind. She gasps and hides behind Jared.

After breakfast, they bring me back to my private area of the suite and go to work on my appearance. Jared shows me how to work the shower, with its chaos of various buttons. After I shower, I come out smelling like eucalyptus. I hate the unnatural scent, but they don't have any perfume-free options.

Then they all start in on everything else. Penelope scrubs my hands, knees and elbows vigorously while Oliver stares intently at my eyebrows and sculpts them with a pair of tweezers. The eyebrow thing is kind of weird, but that's nothing compared to what Jared is about to do. I smelled the pot of wax heating up, and I wasn't sure what they were going to do with it. But then Jared comes over with it and appears to have intent to pour.

I bolt straight up on the prep table and begin to protest as Penelope shrieks and drops her pumice stone and Oliver complains about plucking one too many hairs because I moved. "No! No waxing anything. I mean, I'm a guy. I'm supposed to have hairy legs. And besides that, I'm a wolf-mutt! You guys are lucky that I'm not completely covered in fur."

Jared grins evilly as Oliver lectures me, "Now Wolfgang, hairy men haven't been fashionable for nearly a century. I know that it's still accepted in some of the Districts, but you're in the Capitol now."

I then decide to do something that I'm not especially proud of. I look deeply into Oliver's eyes and whimper like a puppy, hoping that he'll relent. But he merely sticks his hands on his hips and says, "Oh no, mister. You'll not get any leniency from me. You messed up my entire plan for your eyebrows, and now I have to sculpt them all over again! Now lay down." He's frowning at me. I sigh in discontent and obey. He's only doing his job, right? But when the hot wax is poured onto my chest and Jared presses a strip of cloth on top of it, I suck on my lip. And when he pulls it off… I yelp.

Two hours later, I'm finally ready for Sugar. They call her in. Her white hair is styled into a snowflake, and her skin is dyed a pale blue. She examines me with her deep brown eyes and tells the prep team to leave. Sugar then circles me for a while, occasionally poking me in various places, and I find myself missing Oliver. Sugar nods and tells me to put my clothes on. Then she leaves without saying anything else. That's weird.

That evening is the Tribute Parade. Sugar comes back with my costume, and I am repulsed by what I see. It is a cardboard box that has been painted to look like a car. She instructs me to strip, and I do. Then she shoves the cardboard car over my head. The only things it covers are my genitals, butt and hips. It's held up by a pair of red suspenders. The cardboard car is red too. "I'm big into recycling," Sugar explains when I look at her like she's crazy.

When I come out of my room mortified, I am reminded that tributes from the same district always wear matching outfits. Octane stands there in the blue version of my costume, and I stare at her in shock. Our stylists must be insane.

She catches me staring and scowls at me, so I quickly look away. That's when Chortle comes with Helena and Ford to escort us down with Sugar and Octane's stylist; the one who introduces himself as Spice. The worst part is that the interviews are tonight too. I have to be interviewed in this thing!

I've seen old tapes of the first seventy-five Hunger Games and their paraphernalia. They always wore different outfits to the interviews, which always occurred on a different night. But at the Third Quarter Quell, the districts showed unity by holding hands when they left the stage. And that action helped promote the Second Rebellion. So now we have to be interviewed separately on the night of the Tribute Parade. And I have a feeling that I will have difficulty focusing while wearing this thing.

When we're loaded into the chariot, I turn to Ford and ask him for advice about interviewing in a tiny cardboard box. He just laughs as answers, "You probably won't have to say anything. Those Capitol girls will all be staring at your abs. You're going to get a truckload of sponsors thanks to Sugar." He gives me thumbs up as the chariot pulls out onto the stretch of road. This answer angers me, and I go out with a bad attitude.

It seems that I'm not the only one. Octane has her arms crossed over her chest, scowling. So I scowl too. And because I'm angry anyways, I growl a little bit. I'm determined to look as dangerous as possible in this skimpy box that I now realize shouldn't even be called an outfit. I look up at the screen and notice that I've morphed again. Good. I puff my chest out in pride. Let these idiots see how lethal I can be.

I watch the interviews. The girl from each district goes before its boy, so Mascara Cash is up first, as they go in numerical order. She is dressed in a gown that is covered in tiny diamonds. She giggles a lot and plays that part of the cute girl with a mischievous side. The audience eats it up.

Next comes Sapphire Jewel. He smiles and acts all friendly, easily bantering with the host of the show. He's wearing a suit encrusted with sapphires. It's not very original, but at least he actually has clothes on.

Dream Arne from District Two is next. She is cold and talks about how much she has prepared for the Games. She is totally nude and is painted to look like a stone sculpture. Well, District Two is the masonry district.

D.C. Knight follows her. He looks really happy to be there and talks about what an honor it was to be chosen. He is painted to look like a statue as well. I suddenly feel very grateful for my cardboard car.

Jenny Gizmo from District Three is up next. She just sits there and grins the entire time, not seeming to notice the host's questions. Her mental impairment is obvious, and I'm disgusted that her district would do this to her. She wears a silver jumpsuit that is covered in dozens of things that look like gears to reflect District Three's technology work.

Marcus Sprocket follows her in a similar outfit. He limps onto the stage and seems subdued throughout the entire interview process. He's probably already given up.

Then it's time for Loyla Wolffe of District Four, and I stifle a whimper. She walks onto the stage in full morph. She's a purebred. She wears a light, linen dress and has fishnet hose on both her legs and arms. She morphs back into her human shape as she sits down and smiles at the shivering host who instantly begins to ask her all about the advantages of being a wolf-mutt in the games. She grins coyly and answers each one of his questions mysteriously.

Neptune Scrod follows her, and he walks onto the stage morphed as well. He's a half-blood, like me. His rust-colored wolf ears twitch as he talks with the host. He doesn't morph back before leaving the stage. He walks off the way he walked on.

Sparks Wire from District Five mounts the stage dressed like a light bulb. I don't pay much attention to her or her district partner, Atom Quark. I'm too nervous about my own approaching interview. I couldn't even talk to people back in District Six. How am I going to talk to an entire crowd here?

Octane is next on the stage. The awkward shape of her costume makes sitting down difficult for her, and she wastes most of her interview time trying to get seated. She only has time for one question before her allotted time is over, and then it's suddenly my turn. But I now know what I'm going to say.

As I get up on the stage, I refuse to take a seat. I'm not going to waste time like Octane did. The host fires his first question. "So Wolfgang, it seems as if you are a wolf-mutt too. Am I correct?"

"Obviously," I retort sourly.

"Oh," the host replies. "You're a tough guy, huh?"

"Yup," I answer. My arms are still crossed over my chest, and I'm still scowling.

"So…" the host stalls as he thinks of his next question. "It seems that everyone so far has known the person that elected them to the Games. Do you mind if I ask you about your relationship with Ereed Tys? That was the name of the boy who was reaped in your district, correct?"

"Yeah," I growl coldly. "He's my archenemy, all because his little girlfriend has a thing for me. He thinks that I'm a threat to him, so he no doubt wants to get rid of me. Well, if I wasn't a threat to him before, I sure as heck am one now. I'm going to win this thing just so I can go back and beat the crap out of him."

"Ah," the host smiles. "So you want revenge?"

"Darn straight," I grunt.

"Well ladies and gentlemen," the host turns to the audience, "we all know how good of a motivator that can be, do we not?" The crowd murmurs their agreement, and then my interview is over.

I return to my chariot and watch the rest of the interviews. Only a few stand out to me. District Eight's Seamus Thread sulks and says that he has to get back to help his mom provide for his seven younger siblings. Millie Rice from District Nine wears an amazing dress made out of shafts of wheat, and she speaks in a gentle voice that is so euphonious. I end up realizing that my tongue has slipped out of my mouth in an adoring pant and quickly shove it back in. And finally, District Twelve's Coal Black stands out to me as much as he did during the Reaping. He talks about the love of his life, Karina Ellis. He only got sent here because Pritchard Hayes wants his girl, and Coal was in the way. Our stories are so similar that I instantly growl in his defense and mark him as a necessary ally. If I don't make it out of here, I know that I want him to win. One of the Ereeds of this world might as well get pummeled. And if I can't punish Ereed Tys, then I want Coal to punish Pritchard Hayes.