Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Note: Thank you to everyone who's submitted a tribute. (Or, in some cases, several.) It sounds corny to say this story couldn't happen without you, but the sheer number of SYOT stories that fizzle out due to lack of tributes are proof that it's true, nonetheless.

Those of you who have submitted tributes, keep an eye out for potential allies for your tribute(s) as we go through the reapings, and PM me if you think you see a good fit. (I ask you to PM me with this instead of reviewing just in case the reason you want the alliance is because you think your tribute can manipulate/betray the other party.) Not that every alliance you want will happen – I've already got some ideas of my own – but I'll definitely take your suggestions into consideration, especially if both parties send me a request for the same alliance.

A particular thank you to QuietConspiracy and Starry-eyed dreamer86 for providing Angus and Abstract, respectively.

District One Reaping
Show Them No Mercy

Jade
Mentor, District One

Jade smiled at the crowd as he took his seat beside the mayor. Was District One's next victor out there? Would they take the stage today? He knew several who were training, but most would need a few more years. Not everyone was confident enough to volunteer at sixteen, as he had. And surely none of the twelve or thirteen year olds would be cocky enough to volunteer yet. Despite its name, the Hunger Games wasn't a game. It was life and death.

The mayor gave a speech. Read Jade's name – the only victor. So far. Soon, that list would grow, Jade was sure. Maybe even this year. Maybe…

Blache Rosemaroon – their escort – stepped forward, flashing Jade a smile as she passed. Two years ago, she had been overjoyed when he had volunteered, absolutely thrilled because he looked like he stood a chance of winning. Now, he knew, she was hoping for a repeat performance.

So was he. Last year had been dreadful. The girl had been killed in the bloodbath. The boy had made it to the final six, only to be drowned in a river, of all things, lured to his death by the girl from Four. Hopefully, this year's tributes would be more promising.

"Ladies first!" Blanche announced, and drew a piece of paper from the bowl. She seemed to take forever to unfold it. "Garnette Morand."

Murmurs from the fourteen-year-old section were silenced by a swift, "I volunteer!" A girl stepped out of the eighteen-year-old section. Jade recognized her, though he didn't know her name. He'd seen her training, passed her occasionally as she ran. She was tall, lean, agile. Confident as she took the stage, facing the crowd with deep brown eyes, her long, black curls bouncing as she walked. Her dress was a deep red. Blood-red. Jade smiled, glad he hadn't waited until he was eighteen to volunteer. He wouldn't have wanted her as an opponent.

"And what's your name?" Blanche grinned, and Jade knew she was thinking the same thing: Was this District One's second victor?

"Abstract Calls," the girl answered confidently.

"Excellent!" Blanche gushed. "And now for the boys!" She drew a second slip of paper. "Angus Spencer!"

The back of the thirteen-year-old section parted to allow a small boy through. He was pale, with blonde hair and blue eyes. Jade had seen him occasionally, training with other boys his age, but he certainly didn't appear ready. Wouldn't have volunteered on his own – not for a few more years, at least. Not that he had any choice now.

Barely over five feet tall, the boy didn't look any older than eleven. His pinstripe pants, suit vest, and fedora had probably been meant to look impressive, but, on someone so young, they were almost comical. He certainly didn't appear a threat.

But then Angus smiled. Jade raised an eyebrow as the boy drew closer. There was an odd excitement in his eyes. Angus took his place next to Abstract without any hesitation. Jade's smile returned. The boy was young, but at least he wasn't afraid. Wasn't screaming or crying or trying to escape, like so many other reapings he had watched.

"Shake hands!" Blanche grinned. Abstract held out her hand, and Angus took it, grinning. But then another expression came over the boy's face. Realization. The boy froze, staring at his hand, which was gripping Abstract's tightly.

It was several minutes before they could convince him to let go.

Abstract Calls
District One Female

Abstract slid Mosaic's ring onto her finger. She'd found it in his room six years ago. He'd meant to give it to Sparkle, of course, but Abstract had kept it, instead. It was a reminder – a reminder of the years Mosaic could have had. The happiness he could have had, if not for the Games.

Her mother came in, trying hard not to look upset. Abstract knew she hadn't wanted her to volunteer. But there had been no point in arguing about it, and it was no use now. It was done. She couldn't take it back now even if she wanted to.

But she didn't want to. This was all she had wanted since her brother's death. She would enter the Games. And win. For him. She would beat the Capitol at their own game. They had taken Mosaic. They had taken her father. But they would not take her.

Her mother sat down beside her. They didn't say much. At last, her mother spoke, quietly, nearly a whisper. "Just … promise I'll see you again."

Abstract didn't hesitate. "I promise." She had no doubt she could win. Mosaic had almost won, after all, and he hadn't had her training. He'd come close. So close. But he'd made a fatal mistake – he'd spared a younger girl from District Seven, hadn't been able to bring himself to kill her. And he'd paid the price for his pity.

Abstract took her mother's hand. "I promise," she repeated. She wouldn't make the same mistake. No pity. All of them had to die in order for her to win, so it might as well be by her hand. Even the little boy who had refused to let go of her hand earlier. As soon as he crossed her path in the arena, he was dead.

Angus Spencer
District One Male

Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Angus smiled as he set the soap aside and dried his hands.

Better. Much better.

The Peacekeepers stood watching, confused. That was all right. People were always confused by greatness. Of course they wouldn't understand. He had to keep himself clean. Especially after something like the reaping. So, before his family could come to say goodbye, Angus had insisted that they let him wash his hands.

They escorted him to a room, where he was quickly joined by his parents. "You know there won't necessarily be a place for you to wash your hands in the arena," his mother observed coldly.

Angus nodded. Of course he knew. That was the worst part. Everything else, he could handle, eagerly. He'd been training. He was good with a dagger, and was starting to learn how to handle a sword. He would have preferred to wait a few years before entering the Games, but he was still confident.

Of course he was confident. He was the best. Better than anyone else he had trained against. Probably better than the girl who had volunteered.

Yes, definitely better than her. Of course he was better. He could kill her easily. And he would. He would kill them all, with a smile on his face, savoring their screams. Yes. He was definitely the best.

If only he could find a way to keep his hands clean.

"Show them no mercy, for you shall receive none."