A long chapter to chew on before the hiatus comes... by the way, training scores are revealed next chapter.

Fun Fact of the Chapter: Since apparently no one bothered to remember the name of the District Four escort... this chapter's title comes from an Aristotle quote: "No great genius has ever existed without some touch of madness."

…..

Idina Carrin, Gamemaker

Whoever says that Gamemakers aren't supposed to play favorites is either a dirty liar or a naïve simpleton. Most likely the latter, although one never knows.

The Hunger Games is one huge contest of favorites, with us Gamemakers using the best of our wits and creative capabilities to see to it that our favorites have the best chance of winning. The one who supports the winner is the best manipulator on the panel. It may be a twisted game, but it's a fun one, especially for bored Capitol geniuses like me who would otherwise be surrounded by stupidity.

I usually gun for one of the Careers. Not just because they have a leg up on the competition, knowing how to fight and kill, but also because they're the most entertaining to watch. All the lies that they come up with, all that intrigue, those tense moments at their camp when you know that someone's bound to break the alliance—sheer perfection. Since their odds of surviving are larger, there's less of a raw struggle and more of a cunning gamble for power. They're not the ones running for their lives, they're the ones chasing the runners. So much better.

I haven't gotten my heart set on exactly which Career I'm going to support, but by the end of today, that will change.

The first to come in is the boy from One, "Luka Saroque." He's got this huge grin in his face like he owns the world, and I'm about to discredit him as one of those arrogant fools who do stupid things in the arena when I notice the maliciousness in his expression. It's a smirk, not a grin. This I can work with.

Saroque somersaults over to the knife-throwing station, where he grabs a few of the blades and hurls them at the target across the room. They cluster around the center of the target. Impressive. Without missing a beat, the boy sprints over to the fighting knives and calls over one of the instructors to spar with. Within a minute or so, he's got the instructor pinned down with a knife to his throat.

"I'd kill you now, but I think I'll save my bloodlust for the arena," he chuckles. Obviously meant to tell the Gamemakers that he won't hesitate to slaughter his fellow tributes. An overused ploy by the arrogant ones. We can tell which tributes are lying, you know.

Saroque pauses, locking eyes with Amata. "On second thought..." He presses his knife further into the man's throat. I lean forward. What, is he actually going to do it? That'd be a first. "You can easily get a replacement, yes?" Now he's just taunting Amata, who's doing her best to look passive. There is another pause, and then Amata presses her intercom button. "You—are—dismissed, Mr. Saroque." Damn.

The next girl up, Raine, isn't nearly as formidable. She just shoots some arrows into the standard targets. The arrows hit the centers, but she's standing fairly close to the targets. More than that, though, she looks weak. Uncomfortable, not at all confident. How the hell is someone like that supposed to be a competitor? After shooting out all the arrows in her quiver and standing awkwardly in the center of the room for a few minutes, she is dismissed.

The boy from Two is good, but nothing special. I've seen his type before. He slashes at the training dummies with axes, spears, and other heavy weaponry. I admire his stoic, unshakable expression, even he seems a bit preoccupied. Yet I'm not so sure this kid can really think. I keep him in the back of my mind, but I'd rather sponsor Saroque any day.

I can say pretty much the same thing for Honeycomb—what a ridiculous name—who, although fourteen years old, seems like a kid compared to her fellow Careers and acts like it, too. She's pretty good at throwing knives, though, and there's something in her face that tells me she's much more competent than she looks. When I try to convince everyone else of that, they just stare blankly at me and give her a lower score than she deserves.

Hmph. Serves them right.

The Threes never interested me. Their main strength is intellect, not cunning, and they're at a distinct physical disadvantage. The lame boy from Three didn't even cross my mind until he strides into the training room, perfectly adept at moving with his prosthetic limb, and heads straight towards the katanas on the weapons rack.

Somebody tell me why this crippled nobody kid from the electronics district knows how to fight with highly specialized swords, because I honestly can't figure it out on my own.

The kid finishes sparring with the instructor—beating him in under five minutes—and sweeps the edible plants test almost as an afterthought before being dismissed.

The girl who follows him, Trinket, is much more of a standard Three fare. She looks a little dazed, but manages to string up a tribute-catching trap that even I can tell is pretty brilliant. Maybe I shouldn't discount the lower-district tributes after all.

I'm still sticking with my Careers, though.

The Fours are both surprisingly good. They go through all of their strengths without giving the impression of showing off or seeming fake, something that's very hard to do. Maddox, the boy, can tie all sorts of fishing knots and lift heavy objects with relative ease. His partner, Haggerty, is a wonder with tridents and spears and exudes a confident yet poised air. I noticed during training that she was the one directing the whole pack.

So, who to support? I hold a particular fondness for Saroque's ferocity, but I would very much like to prove myself right about Honeycomb's hidden depths. These idiots around me desperately need to be taught a lesson about appearances—and I'm not just talking about having surgically implanted beetle wings or the colors of the milky-way galaxy swirling across your skin.

"Hey, Amata! Can I bet on two tributes?"

Our dear Head Gamemaker sighs, and I can see the tension in her forehead. These Games are stressing her out? Well, let the Game begin. "Sure, Idina. Do—whatever—you want."

…..

Claret Flame, Gamemaker

I think that the interviews do a much better job of revealing a tribute's strengths and weaknesses than the training scores, especially in the lower districts. From years of studying the Games, I know that personality is a much bigger factor in the arena than weapon handling and the like. A tribute may put on a good show in the training room, but once they get into the arena, they go catatonic and get plucked off by some nonentity during the bloodbath. It's happened exactly 78 times in the history of the Hunger Games.

Of course, that isn't to say that I don't believe in training scores. That just means that, unlike Amata or Pericles, I don't dwell too much on assigning the perfect score. If the sponsors are too naïve to make a well-informed, rounded decision, then that's their fault, not ours. Amata says that that attitude is going to get me killed one day. So far, that day hasn't arrived. Obviously. Or else I wouldn't be sitting here.

Veras Valdez gives a little nod of thanks and walks out. The boy just exudes cool intellect and detached calculation. What interests me is that he's playing an angle for the Gamemakers and his fellow tributes, not just the audience. This is probably a front meant to block off his emotions so that he can manipulate everyone around him. He clearly knows how the Games work, at least the social aspect of it, and in my book, that counts for more than his perfect score on the edible plants test.

Teagan Stratus of District Five shows competency in all of the basic survival skills; fire-making, edible plants, and the like. She tries to shoot the bow and arrow, by the arrow misses the target. She picks up a throwing knife, which lodges in the outer ring of the target. In all areas, she seems mediocre—yet I remember at her Reaping, when she launched herself towards the stage with incredible speed. It's an unusual response to a panic, one which is just as likely to prove an asset in the arena as a weakness, and one that is not in any way able to be quantified. See what I mean?

The boy from Six, Eadem, looks like a maniac. His eyes are widened in a strange mix of fear, defiance, and glee as he runs training dummies through with a sword. He also scores nearly perfect on the edible plants test, and genuinely seems to be interested in these herbs and berries. It's an odd juxtaposition, the wild look in his eyes and the tenderness with which he handles the plants, and whatever it does to his psyche will prove most interesting as the Games progress.

I'm growing fonder and fonder of these tributes every minute, just because they're proving how right I am about personality vs. training score. This is why I never bet on Careers unless I have a really good reason.

Eadem's district partner is a sweet little thing. That, combined with her noticeable lack of useful skills, pretty much guarantees that she will die quickly. In the entire history of 191 years worth of Games, there has been exactly one victor with a sweet disposition that hadn't gone insane by the end of her Games, and she had been surrounded and coddled by her more powerful allies. I'm afraid Neetamarie has no such luck.

Che Botill, District Seven's boy, is another tribute who appears mediocre in skills but proves exceptional in personality. I have watched him during training, seen his genuine affability towards his allies. Will this strength of character pull him through the Games? The numbers are sketchy, but I believe that about twelve victors have won that way. That's not a lot, but given the right circumstances, Che certainly has a sporting chance.

His district partner, Briana, is the clearest threat to the Careers that I can see, and not because she's an ace at setting hunting traps and working well with all sorts of knives. She is small but mighty. She has formed a strong alliance and acts with an intense focus and determination that most Capitol people can't even fathom. I wonder what motivates her. It has to be something beyond mere will to survive.

My heart sinks as I scan the face of the boy from Eight. I can't see anything—no emotions, no motivations, no anything. Nothing he's every done in training, at the Reaping, on the chariots—I can't get a glimpse of who he is. It's not even like he's wearing an emotion mask. It's just blank. The whole thought of it is depressing, and it makes me shudder.

Yon Trizzle stands in the middle of the floor and stares with those dull eyes into an imaginary point in the distance. And he just stands. And stands. And stands.

Amata turns on the intercom. "Mr. Trizzle? We are—waiting for you—to begin—your—demonstration."

A pause, and then a whisper. "W...w-w-w..."

"Mr. Trizzle?"

"Wh-what am I supposed to do?"

Amata doesn't respond. Yon takes a step forward, speaking a little louder. "What am I supposed to do?" He grabs something from the fire-making station and throws it against the floor. He doesn't look angry, just distressed. "What am I supposed to do?"

Next, the weapons rack is kicked over. Training dummies are ripped to shreds, and twists of rope are unraveled. Red camouflage paint splatters everywhere, and in the middle of it stand a confused coul, screeching, "WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? THIS? THIS? WHAT DO I DO?" He hurls some large rock towards our booth. It bounces off of the forcefield and barely misses his head.

Amata hesitates for a moment, and then turns on the intercom again. "Mr. Trizzle?" Yon turns, giving her his full attention like a demented dog.

"What you do—Yon—is-kill. As soon as you—get-into that—arena, you kill—as many—people as you—can, and—then-go away—before they—catch you—so that you can kill—more-people-the next day. You kill everyone—until there—is-only you left."

The whole room is silent.

"Leave now, Mr. Trizzle." He obeys. After he shuts the door, everything bursts into chaos.

"You can't do that!" screeches Idina, banging her fist on the table.

"I—just did."

"That is so against the rules!"

"Says who? Who—makes up—the rules, Idina, me—or you? Who's—Head Gamemaker?" she challenges.

"The President will kill you for interfering," notes Pericles.

"I—am on—good terms with—the President," she responds. Her speech impediment no longer seems awkward, but forceful, as if she were just pausing for dramatic effect. "Why—do you think—we've been—able to meddle—this long? Why do—you think—she hasn't replaced us—with the many—imbeciles—of our city—already?" She sighs. "They—don't like—us. No one likes—us. We're too—smart for—our own good."

Even Idina backs down after that.

…..

Fabian Flynncher, Gamemaker

After the incident with the boy from District Eight, the rest of the sessions go by in a blur. Even I barely remember the scores we assign and what the tributes have done to achieve them, and I've been told I have an eexceptionally good memory. Amata's warnings just keep echoing in my mind, and I come to realize that they're exactly true. We are the ones who are too smart for our own good, and so we find our calling in torturing district children and not assimilating with the rest of the Capitol population. Not that either of those are bad things, of course.

The boy from Nine is mediocre, his district partner fairly skilled. The blind boy from Ten has a predictably dismal score, but the girl does surprisingly well. Both tributes from Eleven have relatively high scores, considering the state of their district.

The boy from Twelve I do remember, mostly because the entirety of what he did was this: he stabbed two dummies in the hearts with two arrows, and waited to be dismissed. The others may have forgotten, but I still remember the 189th Games vividly, and I remember the girl from Twelve then, Fawn Rivers. She had a fiance back home.

Fawn Rivers and her twelve-year-old ally died with arrows in their hearts.

Kirby Knightly was her fiance.

This boy has committed an act of rebellion.

He is practically wishing a death sentence upon himself. Rebellion is something up with which I will not put. I will support these Games until the day I die, because they are all that I have. I will not let anyone take the Hunger Games away from me.

Knightly's district partner, Riley, shows off her skills with swords and knives. She, at least, gives us the show that we expect.