And now to bring in Tirion's fellow tributes! (The ones that are important to the plot, anyway…) The next few chapters will introduce some of them.

Rakhir's POV

"So what do you say, old pal, think this year's the year?" Arno flashes a snakelike grin from where he waits on the cracked, weathered stone street in front of my house, his jade-green eyes glittering with enthusiasm for the coming day's events. "Or are ya too scared?"

I smirk. I've been boasting to my friends that I'll be volunteering for this year's Hunger Games ever since the last one ended. And really, doesn't every aspiring Career? It's my last chance, since I just turned eighteen last month. From the time I was old enough to watch the Games and understand what being a victor meant, I have set my sights on becoming one.

It's not an easy thing, but I am totally confident in my own strength. I've spent years working for this ambition, and I'm not the kind to let anything go. And I'm not the kind to worry much about competition, either. Over years of training and fighting in District 2, the district of the powerful and combative, I've become a great fighter, and have earned a reputation for being strong and proud, but also ruthless and unrelenting. It's a good thing to have, in my opinion. Any competition here knows who Rakhir Vadállat is, and soon every tribute and every viewer of the Games will know too. Competition was meant to be blown away by a fighter of true victor material, and I am that fighter this year. I'm not scared in the slightest.

"What's there to be scared of, Arno?" I say. I step with one foot onto the edge of the roof of my house. "Glitterbugs from One?"

"Fish-faces from Four?" Arno suggests, his grin widening as we use the mocking names our district has for the people of the other districts. "Or maybe tree-huggers from Seven?"

"They haunt your dreams at night, buddy."

"How about harvest mites from Eleven? Do those send chills down your spine?" he continues to taunt mock-maliciously, though, I think, if you didn't know him like I do you'd never be able to tell the difference.

"Not any of those, but…" I leap from the roof - a feat I can manage well because the roof is low and I've been doing it for years, since my 'bedroom' is the roof – and land effortlessly on my feet in front of Arno. I put on a convincingly serious face, and say in a hushed voice, as if I'm telling him my deepest secret, "You know what scares me the most?"

"What?" says Arno, acting astonished.

I lean in to his ear and whisper, fighting a smile, "Coal rats from Twelve!"

He jerks his head back as I step away, and we both burst into uproarious laughter at the ridiculousness of the idea.

"What, you scared they'll come and nip you?" Arno gets out, laughing after every other word. "They ain't nothing, I'll tell you how to get rid of them: Just toss a bit of cheese off a cliff and they'll leap after it!"

"Forget that, I'll just snap their necks!" I say, making a gesture with my fingers that imitates jerking a tribute from Twelve's head sharply to the side and breaking his neck. "They're pathetic anyway," I say, serious now.

"Aren't all the rest?" Arno says, crossing his arms behind his head.

"Yeah, but coal rats are the most pathetic," I amend. "They've never had a single victor and I know they never will."

"No tribute of theirs has ever even made it to the final ten, let alone win," Arno remarks. "I guess they'll be fun to weed out, huh?"

"All of them will," I agree. I start off down the street, motioning for Arno to come along. He uncrosses his arms, jams his fists in his pockets, and follows me. He assumes his usual position of a second-in-command - on the right side of the leader, but just behind – as we prowl together through the predawn shadows.

"So where are we going this fine morning?" he asks.

"First we're going to pick up the rest of the gang," I tell him, not having made any plans for the day besides the reaping. "Then we go to the prize fight rings."

"Fine by me," Arno says. "We'll need the rest of them today. You know how the fighting spirit fires up around reaping time."

I make a low grunt in response. In District 2, we are raised as fighters, and with that mindset comes a want for power and prestige. So virtually all our district's youth forms gangs that have the sole purpose of fighting other gangs for different reasons, such as strength, a reputation, or simply to have a group of companions.

These are all good things to have, especially if one plans to become a tribute. If someone wants to volunteer, it's usually the strongest person that will get his or her wish. Here, the decision of who will volunteer is decided by a fight, and the winner will volunteer without anyone challenging them at the actual reaping. Usually, if a person is planning on volunteering, he or she defeats rivals for the position a couple months or so in advance, to rid themselves of opposition early.

Naturally, as one of the top contenders for the position of this year's male tribute for District 2, I've had to fight off plenty of others who want a chance at glory, sometimes with my gang, but mostly on my own. Now with reaping day here, I just have one more adversary to take care of.

We find the first two members of my gang finishing their work at the blacksmith's.

"Rakhir!" Girvin shouts when he sees me, dropping the poker he had been using to stoke the fire to the floor with a clatter and trotting over. "You're finally here!"

"You came just in time, we're almost finished," says Fabron, the older and decidedly smarter of the two stepbrothers. He doesn't take his eyes off the metal thing he's forging. It doesn't quite have a definite shape yet, but it looks like some kind of tool.

"Good for you," Arno snaps, slightly affronted at being ignored completely.

"So," Girvin says eagerly, ignoring Arno again. "We're going to the prize fighting place, right?" I nod, but he already knows the answer and keeps talking before I'm halfway done with the motion.

"Great! I can't wait to see who's up next! I win a couple more fights and I'll finally have enough money to get that new pair of brass knuckles I liked." He grins savagely, imagining the combat, and I smirk in satisfaction.

Girvin is young, only just about to turn fifteen. But he's already huge and strong, and only an inch shorter than me at six feet five inches. If he can do something with his fists, he'll be glad to do it. His method of fighting involves one basic principle – to beat the living daylights out of his opponent until they can't punch back. Very simple, yet so effective if pulled off right.

Fabron's weapons of choice are a long glaive and his own cleverness. He'll fight like a dancer, almost; stepping forward and back, jumping left and right, and twisting and whipping around and ducking and sidestepping to confuse his opponent to no end. At first, he strikes lightly, with quick slices and cuts. But the longer a fight draws out, the stronger his attacks become, until he is coming at his opponent like a bladed whirlwind. It interests me that Fabron and Girvin look so much alike, with the same burnt-chestnut hair and eyes the color of polished wood, but think and act so differently.

"Hey," Arno says, turning to me. "Where do you think Leib is today?"

"Probably hiding off somewhere where it'll take us all day to find him," Fabron says. "Just like he usually is."

Leib enjoys time to himself very much, and usually does not take the gang's plans into account when he goes off to find a place where he can be alone with his thoughts. If we want him to join in with whatever we're doing, we usually have to hunt him down, and he's very good at concealing himself in places where it's ridiculously difficult to find him.

"Regular pain in the neck," Arno says.

"Now is that really what you think of me?" says a low, smooth voice from behind. We all simultaneously turn around to see Leib Seco walking casually towards us. His voice had a wounded tone to it, but we all knew it was false. Leib knew Arno's words were a term of affection as well as a complaint. I study his face, but find it as unreadable as always.

Leib is the quietest member of the gang. And yet, strangely, he could easily be the most fear-inducing. Tall, leonine, unsmiling. Always looking like he can see right through you with his golden-brown eyes. His gaze makes you feel like he knows things about you, extremely important things. In a fight, his physical weapons are two long, curved blades that bear an uncanny resemblance to claws. But his greatest weapon is his skill of unnerving people. At that, he is the undisputed master. Admittedly, he even makes me nervous. But just on some occasions, which are few and far between.

"Nah, man, I was kidding," Arno says. He raises his closed hand for a fist bump, but it is ignored as Leib steps past him over to me.

"Prize fights?" he asks. I nod.

"Well, if we want to clear up any remaining competition before the reaping, we need to do it quickly," he says. "The sun's already up." He gestures to it and I see his point. The reaping takes place in the late morning.

"Let's get a move on then," I agree. "Come on, let's go look for Renny and Daiza and –"

"No," Leib says. "I already told Renny to meet us at the entrance to the prizefighting site. Saves us the trouble of getting him."

Remulous "Renny" Ossa is possibly the most slippery, immoral teenager on the planet, and the poster child for hoodlumism. Long, greasy dark hair – check. Small, cold, hard black eyes – check. Closet full of nothing but leather jackets, dirty T-shirts, and worn-out blue jeans – check. Perpetual snakelike smile – check. Array of knives hidden in the jacket and chain attached to the belt as weapons – check. Crafty, cunning personality – check. Habit of jumping people at night for a fight that gave him a better thrill – check. Renny's your stereotypical street thug, but he's pretty decent in a fight and loyal to our gang, even if the only one he'll really listen to is Leib.

"Yeah, all right, Leib," I say, standing up straighter. "So we're all here, Renny's meeting us there, and you know how Daiza is, he's probably already there or he's chasing us. Let's go!" Fabron calls into his house to inform his and Girvin's mother that they're leaving, and we set off for the abandoned stone mine outside of town, where the underground prize fights are located.

When we arrive, I step forward and start to pull back the rotted wood that used to be for blocking the mine off but was fashioned into a door by the people that run the prize fights, but I hear a sound from the rocks above me and stop dead, then step back slowly; listening, tracking and pinpointing the source of the sound. I feel the silent tension of the gang behind me and know they're bracing themselves. Not two seconds later, a small form darts out from the rocks, aiming for me. I whip my arms out in front of me and cross them to block the impact, but uncross them once I recognize what's coming at me. A small grin pulls itself onto my face, and move to meet the incoming form. I jump at it, wrap one arm completely around it, easily, and twist my body around in midair so I land on my back, with my right shoulder taking most of the impact, with my assailant trapped in my arms.

"Okay! Okay!" Daiza yelps, trying unsuccessfully to wriggle free. "You caught me, you got me! Now let me up!" When all he gets as an answer is laughter from the rest of the gang and me, because his frequent attempts at taking me by surprise and getting the better of me have failed again, he puts on such an indignant look that it only makes us laugh harder. "Rakhir!" he protests, struggling harder.

"All right, get up," I say, releasing him. He rolls off me and onto his feet, getting his balance back and dusting himself off. I rise to a sitting position and watch him. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" I ask, worried for a second that I might have accidentally harmed the youngest member of the gang.

To my relief, he replies, "No. Only my pride. And my dignity. And my – "

"Aw, cut it out, kid, you never had any of that in the first place," Arno teases, coming up and tousling Daiza's untamable brick-red hair. Daiza bats his hand away like an irritated cat does when you muss its fur, and he laughs.

"Oh, sure, laugh now," Daiza snaps, stepping back. He smiles and raises his fists in a fighter's pose. "But you just wait until I'm bigger! I'll be so strong I could beat all five of you without breaking a sweat!" He pauses and looks to be considering something. He turns to look at me. "Well, probably not Rakhir."

"So you plan on becoming invincible in the next few years?" Fabron snickers. "Get real, kiddo."

"And what's all that about beating us, hm?" Leib says. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'll rub horsemeat on myself and throw myself to the mountain lions before I let a puny kid like this beat me."

Daiza shrugs, unaffected by the teasing he's grown used to from the gang. "Hey, it might happen. Just because it hasn't happened before doesn't mean it'll never happen."

"Well, you're already a tough little guy," I say, getting to my feet. "You could be one of the best someday."

Daiza's face brightens considerably. "Yeah!" he says. "I can hold my own against anyone." He strikes a new fighter's pose, preparing to show off. "Watch this!" He goes into a series of combat moves with renewed energy, while the rest of us both laugh at his enthusiasm for battle, which he means seriously but we find humorous, and admire at how far the kid's come as a fighter.

At first glance, Daiza wouldn't be the best pick for a fighter. He's still small and scrawny at thirteen years old, the age where most District 2 boys have grown big and powerful, or at least started to be. But it's what Daiza shows himself to be, and what he has on the inside, that counts to me. He's scrappy and tough, and still retains the childlike perseverance that makes him physically incapable of giving in to anything. I believe he has more spirit in his fierce heart than all the rest of the gang put together, including me. And of course, the fact that he is unwaveringly loyal to me is a good trait of his.

"Okay," I say when Daiza finishes, lightly pounding my fists together. "We meet Renny inside, and then we find a good fight. Agreed?"

The gang mutters approval, their faces all expressing the same thirst for battle. Daiza pipes up, "Are you gonna fight Stone now, Rakhir?"

I scowl at the mention of the name of one of my least favorite people. Stone Wystan, the arrogant and self-centered favorite student of Head Peacekeeper Quille, has been my greatest rival ever since we were eight years old. He and the future members of his gang had seen me alone on the school playing field and decided to try and beat me up. 'Try' being the important word in that sentence, I think with an internal smirk.

I had surprised all of them when I fought back. Stone had thrown a rock at me, and it struck the side of my head. He didn't know me, and he had expected me to shrink back, cower, whimper, try to run, or something of that nature when I saw I was being ganged up on. It gave him quite a surprise when I did the complete opposite. I had seen Stone acting like a big shot and pushing around younger students just because he could, and I don't like when people have power, and then they flaunt it and abuse it. So when I felt the sharp, unexpected pain of a fairly small but rugged rock sent flying into me, and I turned and saw Stone, I was furious, and a part of me was also elated at the chance to teach him a lesson.

I can still see the utter shock on Stone's face when I spun around and barreled towards him with barely a moment's hesitation. He was too surprised to react even when I swung my fist back and punched him as hard as I could right in the jaw. He went sprawling to the ground, and his friends were all staring with their mouths hanging open, as surprised as Stone was to see their intended prey bite back. Stone was the only one who recovered, and he scrambled up and aimed a kick at me. We ended up scuffling viciously in the dirt for several minutes before a teacher pulled us apart. Fights are common for Stone, as they are for me, but he never got over that first loss, where his pride suffered a serious blow. He's held a grudge against me ever since I defeated him, and his gang and mine have fought ever since.

Stone is as well known among fighters as I am, and while I can be more or less satisfied by that, Stone isn't. It isn't enough for him. He wants to be the greatest. And there can be no greater achievement than to rise to the rank of victor. Stone has been training for the Games for years, just as I have. The culmination of our efforts is today, and very soon, we will fight one last time for the coveted privilege of volunteering. If I win, the code of our district states that I can volunteer, and he cannot; and vice versa. I have better reasons for wanting to win the Games than an overinflated ego and whatever complex I'm convinced Stone has, but all the same it will satisfy me to take his chance at ultimate glory away from him. He doesn't deserve it anyway.

"Yeah," I answer Daiza. "Today's the day we take him and his gang down for good." I turn to the rest of the gang. "Right, boys?" I bark.

I am answered by shouts of exultant assent, war cries, and fist pumps. I smile, ready for any challenge. I turn, pull back the wood, and slip inside, hearing the steps of the gang close behind me.

~0~

Rakhir's theme is Bodies by Drowning Pool. I found it the perfect song for a fierce fighter like him.

Link to the song - .com/watch?v=5JZ9djZa180

Also, I forgot to mention in the last chapter – Tirion's theme is Gale's Theme. It's an original song I found on YouTube by RaeofRandomness. It's a strong, dark piece with a guardian-esque feel to it. I personally think it and the rest of her original Hunger Games music should get picked up by Lionsgate and used in the movie – It's just so perfect!

Link to the song- .com/watch?v=LVPAdGLSDA8&NR=1

~0~