A/N: Okay, because I felt like such a douche for not showing what happened at the Cornucopia, I decided I would give you all another katCAM! This one is her viewing the first day of the Games. (Some of you may have noticed that we're getting more katCAMs, and you're right. Mostly, it's because the two have been separated, I think. So now I want you to know both sides of the coin. You're still going to get more Peeta than Katniss, but it'll start evening out a bit. Now. On with the show!) And again, thanks to SubtleSpark! For noticing that there is no District 15! XD

INTERMISSION: TEN THOUSAND DEAD

It was Day One of the Games—the 75th Annual Hunger Games and the Quarter Quell—and the tributes had been summoned up from under the ground, standing upon shiny silver pedestals, each one looking like ancient statues from a place I had never seen and no one was from anymore.

They were all dressed in black with a jacket only a shade lighter than that and suddenly, I could see why. Although the arena appeared clearly to me, it was tinted in strange bright colors that made it look grainer than it actually was. The same way the video feed often looked when the tributes slept.

They had just entered into the arena, but it was already night.

I bit my lip; this could either be very good or very bad for Peeta. I had the sinking suspicion it was going to be very bad...

I was sitting with Haymitch and Effie on the satiny red couch on the twelfth floor of the enormous building that housed the tributes during training. We were watching the Games with rapt attention on the large flat screen provided for us.

Effie was cooing about the outfits and the overall prettiness of Twelves tributes compared to the rest, and I had to agree, although it was hardly my concern, that Peeta and Madge were gorgeous next to so many bland, half-starved tributes. Even those from One—the wealthiest of the districts—didn't have the same obvious beauty that ours did.

Part of that was Portia and Cinna's magic; part was simply the fact that two fair merchant kids had been chosen instead of those from the Seam.

Neither Cinna nor Portia were present, but that wasn't strange. They had other concerns to attend—some of them involving us Mentors, because later we would surely be presented once more to the Capitol audience—and were probably watching from the comfort of their own homes as they worked on new fashion designs.

I couldn't help wringing my hands together in my lap as I leaned over, resting my elbows on my knees. We all stared unblinking at the screen counting down to the first cannon that would sound the official start to everything.

Just stay alive, Peeta. I wondered if he would listen to me or just throw in the towel then and there at the Cornucopia.

I wondered if he would die on the first day for her, for Madge. My friend.

The cannon blast was loud to my ears and I could feel the ringing in my left, the memory of the blast that stole my hearing as clear as day. The tributes took off at a run, about half heading straight into the fight, the others turning tail to disappear off into the dark forest.

Thankfully, Peeta was one of the latter.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. He would at least survive the bloodbath.

And it was a bloodbath.

Pharon from One was a large boy, obviously a Career, with a buzz cut and square jaw. Just before the cannon, he had given a dark look to his fellow female tribute that stood on his left. She was only fourteen and had looked incredibly nervous; now I understood why. The look must have said, you're following me, because when Pharon jumped into the clearing making a beeline to the golden Cornucopia, the girl hesitated a mere second before following him into the fray.

It was Three that killed her. Crosserin, if memory served. A tall, somewhat gangly girl with shoulder-length black hair and a mole on the side of her face. She had reached the Cornucopia before the others—she was fast if nothing else—and had pulled a long knife with a serrated edge. When Pharon hit the platform next, he dove for a large sword and spun on his heels to fight the approaching tributes. He didn't pay any attention to the little girl following him, even as Crosserin lunged at her. The older girl stuck her blade into One's neck and blood gurgled from the wound.

My consolation was that it was a quick kill. The girl from One wouldn't suffer.

Both tributes from Two arrived shortly after Pharon and paid him no mind as they picked out two identical spears. Obviously, a truce had already been formed with Pharon.

I couldn't tell yet if Crosserin was a part of that truce. Had Three merely been weeding out the weak when she killed the girl from One? Had Pharon let her do it?

Off to the side I saw the flittering little girl from Six sneak in and grab a backpack and a water bottle, but no weapons. Smart girl, I thought, since she was too small to use most of the available weapons and for the first few days her best bet was to duck and cover. She would need supplies for that.

It looked like she was going to make it out of there—I was silently hoping she would; she was only thirteen with twin braids of black hair and equally dark eyes—but just as she reached the edge of the clearing, a throwing knife pierced her leg and she went down with a cry.

I kept silent, but let out a sigh. I knew better than to be rooting for anyone other than Peeta.

The knife had been thrown by the boy from Five, one of the shorter boys, but he had a good arm. Within seconds he was beside the little girl as she tried to crawl away. He pulled out the knife and I made myself watch as he cut her throat. He grabbed the backpack and made to leave, but he wouldn't keep his prize either.

It was an arrow shot first threw through his shoulder—I had a feeling whoever was doing the shooting had missed their mark—that made him drop the bag, then a second one in his side made him hit the ground. A third in the back finally made him lie still.

I tried not to think that I could have killed him in one shot instead of three. I didn't want to prove that, once again, I was the better killer.

It was the scrawny boy from Three that finally made off with the cursed backback. He dipped into the forest and disappeared.

The boy from Six went also, the girls from Eight and Nine. The girl from Eleven.

And finally, I thought the massacre was over—only seven fatalities—but I was wrong. Tsirea from Four, Finnick's girl, was left kneeling in front of Pharon clutching at her bleeding, brutalized shoulder. Her bright eyes were staring up at him, mocking almost.

"Coward," I heard her say. "You're not gonna make it out, either, you know."

Anger burned on his face and he thrust the sword through her chest. She let out a soft cry, but choked on it. I saw her eyes dart to the right and just barely caught it. Dryn, her male counterpart, had manged to snatch something from the Cornucopia and was disappearing into the night.

Tsirea had been a distraction.

I wondered when tributes had started playing like this. When they had started killing off their own weak links or making deals to save one or the other. I thought these were games only Mentors played, but here I was watching them do the same damn thing.

Everyone was making choices and I couldn't figure out anymore which ones were the right ones.

I let my head fall into my hands and silently said a prayer for Finnick's girl. He was going to take this hard; he always did.