Author's Note: All right, so here's how these Games chapters are going to work, at least for a little while. There will be a rotating POV. Each chapter will have sections from the POV of a member of each of the alliances, plus one of the four lone players (Tegan, Veras, Eadem, and Yon). Sound good? Okay, then!

Also—by the way—does anybody have any specific actors in mind that they think of when picturing the characters? I'm trying to make some cool banners for the story and would appreciate your input...

Fun Fact of the Chapter: How the Escorts Got Their Names, Part XI. Brubeck Dee, the slightly depressed, overly serious District Eleven escort, is named after Dave Brubeck the jazz artist. He also shares a last name with the District Ten escort—see the previous chapter for more on that.

…..

Emily Raine, District One

"What the hell was that, people?"

Carreen and Gabriel roll their eyes as Emerald and I continue to sort the supplies and Luka goes on his latest rant about how pathetic the bloodbath kill count was.

"Five tributes! Five! And two of them weren't even ours!"

"Give it a rest," says Carreen. Luka just raises his eyebrow and continues. I get the sense that he's mostly doing it to annoy us all.

"And how many were yours, O Fearless Leader? Oh, that's right—none! Is anyone else questioning who should be in charge of this group?"

"No," Gabriel mutters under his breath. A small giggle escapes my lips and soon five very scary armed tributes are staring at me. "Er..."

Even though I'm supposed to be a Career, I'm glad that the bloodbath was small. Just the look on that little Six girl's face when Luka slit her throat, or the girl from Twelve when Emerald told her to run... they send shivers up my spine. I don't know I'm going to manage hunting down tributes in the night with the other Careers...

I want to go home.

But to do that, I'd have to win the Games. And I'm not sure that's possible, even if Uncle Spark and Aunt Fidella did it years ago...

"How much have we got, Emily?" Carreen asks.

"Three large backpacks—each with a cord, two water bottles, iodine, an advanced medicine pack, and three boxes of crackers—plus six sleeping bags, two tents, two sets of hiking gear, and an extra sword," I say, checking over again just in case I missed something.

"Is that all the weapons?" Marius asks.

"Yep. The sword plus the weapons we have in our hands," says Emerald. "The other tributes must have gotten to them first. But we have the survival supplies."

"D'you think one of them'll try to raid our camp for food?" asks Gabriel.

"I'm pretty sure they'll be able to find something in that forest," says Carreen. "But we'll keep a guard here just in case."

There's silence for a moment, then Emerald breaks it. "So when are we going hunting?" There's something girlish and eager in her voice even as she's talking about killing people. I feel sick already.

"We should wait until nightfall. That way the tributes will have settled down. They won't be running around the forest and they won't be on their guard," Carreen says with a nod. Luka actually seems to agree with her for once. Or at least he's not saying anything about it as he cleans his knives.

"I'll be the guard," I offer immediately. "When we go out hunting, I mean."

"Great," says Carreen. I get the feeling that nobody else wants to miss out on the hunt, but I'm relieved to be staying behind. It'll put off the shock of the Games, at least for a little while.

And hopefully I won't have to kill anyone in my probably short lifetime.

…..

Link Anderson, District Three

Five cannons. That means five of my competitors are gone. Which means my odds are increasing. I'd say I'm at roughly 49%—not that bad, as far as odds go.

I'm glad I was able to fend off and even outrun that Career. My prosthetic leg isn't as much of a liability as I had anticipated it being. And now I have katanas, which I'm sure the Gamemakers put in the arena espcially for me. Which means they like me, or at least are interested in me.

51%, I think with a small smile.

"So, what have we got in the bag?" I ask Thalia. She opens up the medium-sized backpack and rummages through it, giving me a list of supplies: a water bottle, some iodine, a first aid kit, two boxes of crackers, and a length of cord. Her eyes light up at this last item, and I know she's thinking about building traps. There are an infinite number of possible ways she can put that cord to use. At least five of them involve strangling me in my sleep. While I don't think that's likely given Thalia's personality, I can't help but get nervous.

49%. Nerves are not an advantage, not in a fight.

We walk through the forest in silence for a couple of hours, me unsheathing and re-sheathing my katanas, Thalia fiddling with the cord and the snapped-off handle of her screwdriver district token, both of us watching out for other tributes. There don't seem to be any, though. They're probably in different parts of the forest, far away from the Cornucopia by now.

"Link!"

I look up to see that Thalia has run ahead of me, stopping at a large and flowing water fountain a couple of yards away. I catch up to her and we both stare into the fountain. I can scarcely believe my eyes—isn't the search for water supposed to be one of the harder parts of the Games? And here is a ready supply, crystal-clear and not showing any signs of running out.

"We'll need to purify it, of course," I say. "Just in case the Gamemakers laced it with something."

Thalia pulls out the water bottle and fills it with fountain water, putting a few drops of iodine in. After waiting a half-hour, we take turns drinking from it. I hadn't realized how thirsty I had been before. But now I feel refreshed, mind clear and ready to fight for my life.

…..

Teagan Stratus, District Five

All I have is a small backpack and one silver arrow that I've been using as a knife. I'm not very big and practically unarmed, so any tribute who wants to could attack and kill me now. I'm probably the easiest target in the Games at this point. But I survived the bloodbath, and that's not an easy thing to do. If I lay low, keep on my guard, and run like my life depends on it when someone's chasing me, I might just live a little longer. Maybe even long enough to be a contender in these Games.

I wonder if I'm on the broadcast now. About half an hour ago I found a water fountain and filled up my bottle—that's significant, finding a major water source. I try to imagine Kari and Uncle Denison watching me on the TV—what's going on in their heads? Kari's probably crying herself into hysterics, with Uncle Denison trying to calm her down. It's nice to know that Kari would have someone to turn to if I didn't make it home.

As I make my way deeper and deeper into the forest, I can't help but notice that the ground is soft, made up of finely-ground wood chips and decomposed tree leaves, and yet it's hard enough that you can't sink into it. When you walk, your footsteps make almost no noise whatsoever. It's the perfect terrain to sneak around on unnoticed. A bit too perfect, actually.

I squint my eyes and glance ahead, seeing the silhouette of a water fountain about fifty yards ahead. Have I been walking around in circles? No, I've been very careful about remembering how far I've traveled. So there are multiple water fountains in this forest?

Yes, this arena is a little too perfect on a little too many levels. The Gamemakers wouldn't do something like that unless they had a drastic twist prepared.

I take a sip from my water bottle and continue on my course, ignoring the second fountain for now. After ten or so minutes, I come across an area of the wood splattered with bloodstains but no body. The hovercraft must have already picked it up.

I notice a flicker of something white in my peripheral vision and whirl around, expecting to have to face another tribute. Instead there's just a piece of paper around where the most bloodstains are. Didn't the angry boy from Nine have a poem as his district token? It must have fallen out of his pocket when the hovercraft took him.

I pick it up and open it. The stanzas are scribbled out in no particular order and it's written in at least three different hands. The words aren't overly poetic, but they do have a musical quality to them. "Someone to need you too much, someone to hurt you too deep, someone to sit in your chair, to ruin your-"

Wait a minute. I know that song. And I know that handwriting, too.

Just as I'm starting to put the pieces together, I hear a low growl coming from in front of me. I look up and, despite myself, let out a gasp. The creature's body is hidden in the shadow of a tree, but I can see its eyes clearly. Its yellow, almost glowing eyes.

There's a muttation following me.

I don't have the time to think about the Nine boy's poem anymore. All I think about is running, getting out of there, making sure whatever monster was lurking in that shadow doesn't catch up with me.

…..

Anderson Birk, District Ten

"You saved my life back there. Thank you." Chantelle doesn't reply.

"I mean, it was only a matter of time before someone realized I was just standing there and decided to take me out," I continue. Still no reply.

"You know, I was starting to doubt whether or not our alliance still held. I know you don't like being stuck with me-"

"Shut up," Chantelle finally says. "I wasn't going to betray you. Not then."

There is another pause as I take in the implications of her words. "So, when would you betray me?"

Again she doesn't answer. If she were planning on betraying me—and let's be honest, most people would—she wouldn't tell me she was going to. No one, including me and especially not Chantelle, is that stupid.

The silence lasts for about another hour, the whole of which I spend waiting to hear if Chantelle would hold her breath and then strike. She doesn't. "Is it getting darker out there?" I ask.

"Yeah," says Chantelle. "Judging from the sun, it's maybe five in the evening. We've been walking for a while. Do you want some water?"

I nod and hear the sound of Chantelle unzipping our small backpack and pulling out the one metal water bottle that we've been sharing. A couple hours ago Chantelle had spotted a fountain and filled up the water bottle to the brim. Since then, she's seen three other fountains and memorized their locations. It was hard to know whether or not she was lying to me, but the fact that there is actually water in the bottle is a reassuring sign.

I take a couple of sips from the bottle and then pass it to Chantelle, who immediately puts it back into the bag. I wonder why she didn't want water. Could she have laced it with some poisonous berry that she neglected to mention?

I wait a few seconds, then continue walking through the forest. I'm not dead yet, nor do I feel sick, which is also reassuring. Maybe Chantelle isn't planning on killing me at all. Maybe she's just waiting for the opportune moment to shove me into the path of the Careers.

I shiver a little. If I have to die, I'd rather have it be through my district partner's hands than the Careers'. Poison, especially one that kills you instantly, is a much kinder way to go than being taunted while you're sliced into bits by six sadists. But I'd definitely prefer not to die at all.

As we walk through the forest, I begin to mutter under my breath, the words that Tara had said to me while trying to describe the colors. "Red is heat and fire, warm and passionate, but also bloody. Orange is a softer, kinder red. Yellow is brightness, and the sun, and happy, cheerful days. Green is the forest air, grass and leaves and the earth. Blue is the sky and the ocean, forever expanding, cool and calm. Purple is the royal color, of kings and high heroes, the color of plums and violet flowers, contemplative and intuitive."

I repeat this over and over again even though I'm sure Chantelle is giving me strange looks. I try to tell myself that as long as I'm saying it, I'll stay alive. It's wishful thinking, I know, but it helps me get my mind off of troubling matters like betrayals and Careers and death. It gives me hope in a hopeless place, and that's really what I need in order to not go insane.

…..

Jace Faith Latone, District Nine

Caprice and I make a small fire at sunset using some snapped-off twigs and branches from the nearby trees. There's not much smoke, so probably the Careers won't take notice. Hopefully.

"I've got five fighting knives," I say. "How do you want to divide them up?"

"You and Caprice can each take two, and then I'll take the leftover one," Bri says. "I've got my bow." We all nod at that suggestion and I hand over the knives. I can't help but wonder if I'm arming tributes who are going to stab me in the back tonight. But the more I think about it, the less likely it seems to be.

In the backpack that Caprice got from the Cornucopia are, among other things, two boxes of crackers with twenty-four of them in each box. Caprice opens up a box and hands each of us two crackers. "Each cracker is pretty big, so two of them should sustain a person for a day," she says.

"That makes, what, eight days worth of crackers for all of us?" asks Bri.

"Yep," Caprice replies. I don't voice my thoughts, which are something along the lines of the alliance will probably be over by day eight, judging by how long allies typically stay together.

"I could also do some hunting," Bri adds. "There's probably game around here, game I'm familiar with. It is a forest, after all."

Yeah. That's right. District Seven, lumber, trees. Bri's probably very comfortable in this arena.

We eat our crackers in near silence. None of us talks to anyone else. Nobody wants to talk to anyone else. Caprice's eyes are darting around nervously, checking to see if there are any other tributes nearby. Since the ground is so soft, footsteps don't really make a sound, so we wouldn't be able to hear someone coming up behind us. I begin scanning the area as well.

Bri just looks preoccupied, staring at the fire in the center of the campsite with her hand gripping her bow so tightly that her knuckles are white. A low growling sound escapes her teeth. Both Caprice and I turn to look at her. I don't say anything, per my usual philosophy, but Caprice does.

"You look angry."

"I am angry," the Seven girl says, not taking her eyes off the fire.

"Why?"

Bri closes her eyes lightly. "Wouldn't expect you to understand."

I would have left the conversation at that, but Caprice just presses harder. "I'm listening. We're your allies—your friends. We can help."

There is a pause, then Bri says. "I'm thinking about the man who murdered my father and how I can get back at him by killing his niece in the arena." Her voice is quick and expressionless, and she only grips the bow tighter, refusing to look at either of us.

Silence reigns for about another minute. Then Caprice says, "You're only twelve years old. You shouldn't have to worry about that kind of thing." Bitter, very much so.

"Twelve-year-olds—or sixteen-year-olds for that matter—shouldn't have to fight for their lives in death tournaments every year," Bri responds right after her, not missing a beat. Finally the girl looks up, and it strikes me just how young she is. Even though she got an eleven and acts very mature, she's not even a teenager. Just a kid. Which is just plain wrong, not that I'd admit it to anyone.

Somewhere to my left there comes the sound of a girl screaming and sobbing. Bri, Caprice, and I all look at one another and quietly start to pick up our supplies and leave the area.

…..

Parker Bates, District Eight

"I—I can't—I just can't do this anymore, Che!"

The boy from Seven puts his hand on my shoulder, a sympathetic gesture with good intentions. "Calm down, Parker, you're fine, you're okay."

"I watched her die!" I scream. My sobs can probably be heard across the arena, but I'm beyond caring at this point. "I just stood there and watched her die right in front of me! It's all my fault! It's all my fault an innocent twelve-year-old is dead!"

"Parker, listen to me," Che says, grabbing both my shoulders and stepping in front of me. "It wasn't your fault. It was the boy from District One. He's the one who killed her, but it's over now. She's gone and there's nothing we can do about it, but at least she's in a place where no one can hurt her."

"I'll kill him!" I scream. "I'll kill that bloody, awful, heartless-"

"Parker-"

"Do you understand? I AM GOING TO KILL HIM!" I collapse onto the forest floor, curled up into a ball with my hands over my ears, as if that could somehow block out the pain and those horrifying memories. But I know they can't, just like I know that there's no way Mary's coming back and there's no way she died happy or anything other than afraid and there's no way out of this arena and there's no bright side to any of this, to anything at all, to life, to—to—

"I HATE THE CAPITOL!" I shout. Everything inside of me is collapsing and they're the ones to blame. For these inhumane mockeries of a tournament, the Hunger Games. For all the pain and fear and hollowness they've caused every tribute, every child and every parent in Panem for the last two hundred years. "I HATE YOU! I HATE WHAT YOU'VE DONE! AND I AM GOING TO KILL EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU WHETHER OR NOT I MAKE IT OUT OF THIS ARENA!"

"Parker!" I don't look at Che, can't bring myself to look at him, and so I don't know what he's trying to do, only that he's trying to stop me from saying what I feel.

"And I'll kill you too, Che." It barely comes out as a whisper, but it is an intense whisper nevertheless. My throat is burning and my head's been throbbing for hours. "I'll kill you, and District One, and all the tributes, and myself too, and they won't have a victor. Just like what Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark tried-"

"Parker, stop it right now."

"No!" I lunge at him with my knife, the knife that did nothing to save Mary. He grabs my arm and takes the weapon out of my hand, looking petrified and yet concerned at the same time. He's a good person, I think. He doesn't deserve to die. None of us do.

I collapse again, sobbing frantically at the unfairness of it all and the fact that there's nothing I can do to change it, no point in doing anything except play the game the way the Capitol wants to see it.