Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine.

Note: I have a blog now! (This is part of what took me a bit longer with this chapter.) The link is on my profile. A huge thank you to bobothebear for inadvertently introducing me to Weebly, which, as website builders go, is very easy to use. (Let's just say that if people were to be sorted by technological aptitude, I wouldn't exactly end up in District Three.)

Those of you who submitted tributes, I went ahead and found pictures for them. If they didn't turn out the way you imagined, feel free to send me someone you think would be a better fit – either a name or a link to a picture. Within reason, of course. (Your teenage tribute is not going to look like Ian McKellen, regardless of how awesome that would be.) But I'll do my best to accommodate you; these are your tributes, after all.

There is also a Victors' Hall page on the blog. Thank you again to dreamgazer86 and torystory93 for Hazel and Lander, respectively, and to Suzanne Collins for Mags.

I also decided to list poll results on the blog, simply for the sake of convenience. Speaking of polls, the newest one is up on my profile. Now that alliances have been pretty much solidified, my next poll question is, "Which alliance is your favorite?" Again, interpret this however you wish.

Last but not least, I'd like to put in a plug for Reality Shift, a 26-author collaboration fic for the Hunger Games with the Capitol children. They could use some more submissions, and I know many of you reading this are writers, as well. (And some of you have already submitted.) There's a link to that on my profile, as well, since I can't put it here.

Training Day Three
Let Folly Be Our Cloak

Cahra Sheed, 14
District Seven Female

"But I don't trust her."

Cahra sat at the breakfast table, arms crossed, glaring at her mentor. Hazel kept insisting that she should have allies in the arena. Cahra had spent the last two days searching and had come up with a few possibilities, including the girls from Four and Twelve. Cahra was okay with Heloise, the twelve-year-old from Twelve. But she still didn't trust Ella.

Hazel shook her head. "It's the Hunger Games. I don't expect you to trust anybody. But let's face it – you're fourteen, and the only ally you want is twelve. You've practically got targets painted on your backs."

Cahra shook her head. "That's the last thing I expected to hear from someone who won her Games when she was twelve."

"Only because I had help!" Hazel insisted. "I stuck with my district partner until he died trying to save me. The boy from District One let me go because he didn't have the heart to kill a little girl. And when it came down to just the two of us, the only reason I survived is because the Gamemakers let the mutts loose. Yes, I won, but I didn't do it alone. I had help. There's nothing wrong with that."

"But I don't need help!"

Hazel threw down her napkin and stormed out of the room again, leaving Cahra with Sterling, who had been eating quietly. "It's not because of your age, you know," Sterling said gently. "And it's not because she thinks you're weak, either."

Cahra glared. "How do you know?" That was exactly what it was. Hazel thought she couldn't make it through the Games on her own. Thought she needed other people to protect her. Well, she would show her!

Sterling smiled. "Cahra, if she thought you were weak, she wouldn't bother; no one would want to be your ally, anyway. If she wants you to work with older, stronger tributes, it's because she knows they would want you as an ally. The girl from Four – Ella? She started following you around. She saw something in you that she thought would be useful in the arena. And if she sees it, others will, too."

Cahra blinked. She hadn't thought about it like that. She wasn't someone who had sought out an alliance because she needed protection. She was the leader of the alliance. The one who was protecting the others.

That sounded a lot better.

"And what about you?" she asked.

"What about me?"

"Am I the sort of person you would want as an ally?"

Sterling thought for a moment. "I don't think that would work."

"And why not?" Cahra demanded.

Sterling held up his hands defensively. "It's not that I wouldn't want you, Cahra. Honest. But you and Heloise – Hazel had a point about your ages, but I think she's got it backwards. She thinks it makes you targets, but, honestly, it might be just the opposite – people might ignore you, underestimate you. If you were to join up with me and the others … well, they wouldn't."

Cahra nodded. That made sense. "I won't kill you, though," Sterling said quietly. "I don't think I could. I don't think I could go back home to my daughter knowing that…" he trailed off.

"Are you going to kill anyone?" Try as she might, she couldn't picture it.

"I don't know," Sterling admitted. "I might have to. But every time I try imagining it … it makes me sick." He turned away. "You?"

Cahra shrugged. "I think I could – if I had to. I wouldn't enjoy it, but, well, it's them or you, right?"

"Right," Sterling agreed, but she could see in his eyes that he didn't really understand that. Not yet.

But she did. She could picture it. Blood on her knife. Blood on her hands. Because that was the only way you left the arena alive – covered in blood.

She just hoped the blood wouldn't be his.

Mars Servitt, 18
District Four Male

The knock on the door came as the three of them – Mars, Ella, and Mags – were eating breakfast. Ella nearly jumped. She was getting jumpier every day, Mars noticed. Not that it mattered. Of course she was afraid.

One of the Avoxes opened the door, revealing a small young woman with bright red hair. Mags stood up, surprised, but smiling. "Tania! Are you supposed to be—"

"No," Tania admitted. "But my tributes already left for training, and I … Can I talk to Mars alone for a moment?"

Mags glanced over at Mars. He hesitated, but then nodded. Of course he recognized Tania. She had been the victor four years ago, the year his sister had been killed in the Games. But what did she want?

Mags ushered Ella out of the room. Tania approached the table nervously, her gaze darting around, avoiding him. Avoiding his face, his scar. She sat down a few chairs away. "I … I recognized your name when I watched the tape of the reaping," she said quietly. "Heaven mentioned you a lot."

"You knew her?" Maybe it shouldn't have surprised him, but Tania had been a loner during the Games, hiding out in the caves and ambushing other tributes. Heaven had died in the bloodbath. He had never really given any thought to which of the tributes she might have met during training, which ones she might have allied with, had she lived longer.

Tania nodded. "We met on the first day of training. She was so kind. So sweet. And we were both so scared. But when we were together, it didn't seem quite so bad. The night before the Games, we agreed to help each other in the arena. But…"

"But you couldn't help her," Mars said bitterly. It wasn't her fault, of course. Not really. Not her fault the District One girl had gone after Heaven instead of her.

"I couldn't," Tania agreed. "It all happened so fast. By the time I realized what was happening, she was already down. Already bleeding. Almost dead. I just ran. I couldn't save her. I'm sorry."

"Is that what you wanted to say to me? That you're sorry?"

Tania shook her head, looking up at him at last. "No. No, I wanted to say that … I understand. I understand why you're here, what you're doing."

"How could you possibly understand what—"

"Mars, I regret a lot of what I had to do in the arena. I killed five people. Five. And four of them, I will never be able to get out of my head. But the fifth – my last kill – the girl from District One … that one, I don't regret. That one was for her – for Heaven."

For a moment, they were both silent. Mars remembered that one – remembered feeling a bit of satisfaction, at least, and a surge of relief that at least Heaven's murderer hadn't won. "I'm glad you got your revenge," Mars nodded. "But I need mine, too."

Tania nodded. "I know. It's too late to stop you from being here, anyway. I just … didn't want you to go into the Games without saying anything. I wanted to at least see you and … wish you luck, I guess."

He wasn't sure what to say to that. He didn't want luck. He wasn't planning on coming back alive. "Thanks," he said, anyway, and Tania took that as her cue to leave. But curiosity got the better of him. "Wait," he called. "You said that she mentioned me. What did she say?"

Tania looked away. "She said that she hoped you would be okay without her – you and your parents."

Mars watched as Tania left. They hadn't been okay. None of them. Heaven hadn't gotten her last wish.

But he would get his.

Prius Gazer, 16
District Six Female

"He's watching us again," Prius grinned, motioning towards the boy from One.

Angus turned to look, then shook his head, turning his attention back to the dummy he was trying to skewer with a spear. "Not us. Me."

"Why you?" Now that he mentioned it, it did seem to be true. The boy wasn't really paying attention to her.

Angus shrugged, trying to look like he didn't care. "Just something Jade mentioned before – his sister was in the Games a few years ago. The girl from my district killed her."

"Ooh, two tributes from the same family!" Prius grinned. How exciting! She didn't remember the girl, but the boy was quite impressive – good with pretty much every weapon she had seen him pick up.

Angus nodded. "So we should probably watch out for him."

"Why?" Obviously, everybody should be watching out for a tribute as dangerous as he was, but Angus seemed to think he was a threat to them in particular.

"In case he's holding a grudge – for his sister."

"But why would he? I'm sure she was honored to be here, to compete, to die for her district."

Angus shrugged. "Not everybody sees the Games like that, Prius. You volunteered for this. I would have, in a few years. Most of the people here can't say that. And I didn't get the impression his sister was a volunteer."

Prius blinked. She hadn't really thought of that. She had volunteered. Angus had planned to volunteer in a few years. But most of the people around her didn't want to be here – and it showed. Some of the younger tributes shrank away from the larger, stronger ones, moving on whenever another tribute approached the station they were at. Even among the groups that were forming, there were occasional glances of suspicion, of distrust. And even the other volunteers didn't seem excited to be there.

Except Angus. Cheerful, excited, determined – he was the perfect ally. He understood what an honor it was to be here. He understood the thrill she felt every time she swung a sword or threw a knife. She could see it in his eyes; he was a killer. Just like her. Just like the girl from One four years ago.

"But it's still an honor," Prius insisted. Surely he understood that. "Besides, it's not as if you killed her. The girl who killed his sister is dead. So why would he come after you?"

"Maybe he won't," Angus agreed. "I'm just saying we should be on the lookout – just in case."

She couldn't really argue with that. Of course they should be on the lookout – for everyone. "Well, if he decides to come after you, he's in for quite a surprise," she grinned. Angus was tougher than he looked. He was small, but he was fast. Agile. Determined. She was lucky to have him as an ally.

The little boy smiled. "He sure is."

Equinox Kunzite, 16
District Two Male

Equinox almost wished the Games would start already.

He was as ready as he was ever going to be. A few more hours of training weren't really going to make a difference. And if he had to put up with much more of Husk's ordering them around from station to station, he was pretty sure he might punch the arrogant farm boy. Again. Just because he knew how to use a few weapon-like farm tools and Equinox didn't. That didn't make him the leader.

But the little kid – Harakuise – had a point. They had a better chance together. For a while. But it was only a matter of time before all the pent-up anger in the group turned inwards. And when it did, Equinox intended to come out on top.

Which, for the moment, meant convincing the other three that he was up for the whole "working as a group" thing. So he followed the boy from Twelve to a pickax station while Husk gave the scrawny little Harakuise boy a few pointers with a sickle that was far too big for him. He watched absently while Aldo tried to show him a few moves with a pickax. As if he was going to be using a pickax in the arena. If Equinox had his way, there would be no weapons. He was good in a fist-fight. Better than Husk, he reckoned. And certainly better than the other two.

Only when the boy stopped swinging did Equinox realize he had probably said something. "What?" he asked irritably.

Aldo shrugged. "Nothing. I just asked if you had any family at home, that's all."

Equinox blinked. He wanted to chat? About families, of all things, while they were all plotting to kill each other? He swung his axe. "None worth mentioning."

"Sorry."

Sympathy. That was the last thing he wanted. "Don't be. When I win, I won't have to put up with anyone else. No more problems. No more worries." No more coming home to his mother passed out on the couch, drunk – or, worse, awake. No more staying out late just to avoid coming home. No more.

No more, either way this turned out.

Aldo shrugged. "That's one way of thinking about it."

"And what's the other?"

Aldo swung his axe. "Well, I've got a family – one that I do care about. An older sister. A little brother. And they're the reason I want to get home so badly. They need me."

Equinox nodded. That made sense – for him. For someone who had a family to go home to. But no one needed him. Maybe it would be better, in the end, if someone like Aldo won. Someone who had someone to go home to. Someone who could actually have a happy ending.

Not that it mattered. Not that a victor got a happy ending. After spending a few days with Vester, Equinox wasn't even sure he wanted to win. The Hunger Games' first victor was so obviously miserable, it was pathetic. That was what the people in the Capitol idolized? What they thought he wanted?

Sickened, Equinox swung his axe again. He definitely didn't want that. Didn't want to end up like his mentor, sulky and sullen and just waiting for the next batch of tributes to die.

The problem was, he wasn't really sure what he did want, either.

Husk Fange, 16
District Nine Male

At least the little boy could take orders.

Husk had sent Equinox off with Aldo, mostly just to get rid of them for a while. He couldn't stand being around his allies any more than necessary. The boy from Two who had been careless enough to spill his lunch on Husk during the first day of training, and the boy from Twelve who had taken forever to accept their offer of an alliance. He wouldn't be putting up with either of them, except that the little boy from Five had a point: they had a better chance together, especially with the other alliance that was forming.

The boy from Five – Harakuise – was better company than the others. He didn't argue, didn't talk back, didn't butt in with his own ideas. They moved from station to station together, with Husk giving instructions, as he was accustomed to, and Harakuise following them to the best of his ability. The boy was handy with a knife, but most of the larger weapons were too heavy for him to use effectively.

But that was all right. It would make it easier to take him down when the time came.

Almost as easy as taking down his mentor.

From the way most of the other tributes acted around him, it was pretty obvious that word had gotten around. The smaller ones were terrified of him. The older, stronger ones – the ones who actually stood something of a chance – were sizing him up as a threat. Which was why his mentor – his new mentor – had suggested that he would need some allies, because otherwise the other pack that was forming might make taking care of him a priority.

Of course, they still might, but Husk was pretty sure that he, Equinox, Harakuise, and Aldo could handle the others. And then he could handle them.

But, for now, he had to at least seem like he was trying to help. So he took a sickle himself and showed Harakuise a slightly better stance. Harakuise copied him almost perfectly. Husk swung his weapon in a wide arc, slashing through several dummies at once. Harakuise tried to copy the move, but the sickle ended up lodging itself awkwardly in the first dummy he hit.

Husk shook his head. "Don't get so close. Slice, don't stab. Don't swing so hard. You don't need to. Just get it started, and let the blade do the work. Here." He swung again, this time slowing down his motions to let Harakuise see.

Harakuise swung again, a little bit better, but still choppy and off-balance.

"He needs a smaller blade."

Husk glared. Equinox had snuck up behind him. "There may not be a smaller blade in the arena. He'll have to make do with whatever the Gamemakers provide us with."

Equinox shrugged. "And if they only give us small weapons? Or no weapons at all? Will you be ready then?"

"Do you have a point?"

"My point is, you can't prepare for everything, so you might as well prepare with what you'd be able to use best." He headed over to the shelf and picked a smaller blade. "Here, Harakuise, try this one."

Harakuise swung, this time slicing through the first dummy, but missing the second. "Here, stand closer," Equinox suggested, moving a few of the dummies into Harakuise's range, completely ignoring the fact that Husk had just told him to stand farther away. Husk glared. Equinox thought he knew more about weapons now. Just wait until they were in the arena.

Then he would show them.

Antiquity Kirsh, 14
District Nine Female

Antiquity nearly jumped when they sat down next to her at lunch.

Three girls – the ones from Four, Seven, and Twelve. She had been watching them. Training at some of the same stations. Not intentionally, of course – they just seemed to be everywhere. As if she were drawn to them for some reason.

"Cahra," said the girl from Seven, holding out her hand. She seemed to be the ringleader. "This is Ella and Heloise. What's your name?"

"Antiquity." She was pretty sure she was supposed to say 'pleased to meet you' or something of that nature, but she wasn't pleased. She was annoyed. The other tributes were perfectly happy to leave her alone; why were these three here?

"Saw you at the climbing station earlier," Cahra continued, undeterred. "I love climbing; it helps clear my head. Didn't realize you'd have any sort of practice with that, Nine being the grain district and all."

Antiquity didn't answer. She'd had practice, of course. When she was younger, she used to climb the grain elevator at night to get a better look at the stars. But she wasn't about to tell that to this strange girl.

"We thought you might want to join us for the afternoon," the girl from Twelve – Heloise – piped up. "We're allies, and we were wondering if you might be interested in—"

"No," Antiquity interrupted before the girl could get any farther. She didn't want allies. She didn't want to have to worry about anyone else in the arena; worrying about herself would be more than enough. Alone, it was easier to lie low. Easier to be forgotten. Everyone else seemed to have forgotten her already.

"Are you sure?" the girl from Four asked. "It never hurts to have a little extra—"

"No."

Cahra nodded. "All right. Just remember, you're welcome to join us if you change your mind." The three of them wandered off to another table.

"Good choice."

Antiquity turned, startled. The boy from Eleven stood behind her, smiling – almost giggling. "Saying no to them?"

The boy shook his head. "No – them leaving when they did, before they annoyed you even more. You don't seem like someone I'd want to annoy."

"Then you should leave."

The boy laughed. "Good point. Just one question, and then, I promise, I'll leave you alone."

Antiquity cocked an eyebrow. "What question?"

"What'd you kill him with?"

"Who?"

"You've killed more than one person?"

"No, but—"

"But how did I know? You've had that same expression on your face for three days – a sort of numb dullness, like you're not at all bothered by what's going on here. You're mentor was killed on the train right in front of you, and you never batted an eyelid. You've seen death before. Traumatic death. You don't want to team up with anyone, which means you don't want to get attached – means you already know that you would never want to kill someone you already knew. So the man you killed – the man who attacked you – you probably knew him in some way, am I right?"

Antiquity shook her head. "Never met him before." That was only half-true, though. For two years, she'd been trying to piece together where she had seen the man's face before that night. But it didn't really matter now.

Sher nodded. "Okay, so I was only mostly right. But what did you use?"

Antiquity looked down at her hands. "A broken bottle. Why?"

Sher shrugged. "Just curious. And thought it might do you some good to admit it. Feel any better?"

Antiquity shook her head. She didn't feel anything. Better. Worse. It didn't matter. She'd hoped that maybe here, facing the other tributes, she might feel something again. Maybe that was why she'd been drawn to Cahra and Heloise – they seemed to feel so much, even if most of it was anger. Even that would be better than nothing.

She looked back up, but Sher was gone.

And she couldn't even be happy that he'd left.

Heloise Cache, 12
District Twelve Female

Heloise was almost glad Antiquity hadn't been interested in their alliance. It was perfect as it was. Even Pardeck had said so. And Cahra seemed to have finally warmed up to Ella. The three of them were practicing throwing knives together. Everything seemed perfect. If not for the Games, they could have been fast friends.

If not for the Games. If not for the fact that they were about to be thrown into an arena to fight each other to the death. If not for the fact that, in a few short weeks, at least two of them – and possibly all three of them – would be dead.

No. No, one of them would survive. They had to. She would prefer it if it was her, of course, but the thought that it might be one of the others … well, that was at least tolerable. If she couldn't win, then she wanted Cahra to. Cahra, who seemed to hate the Capitol almost as much as she did. Yes, that would be all right, too.

Heloise shook the thought from her head. She didn't want to start thinking like that – thinking about who she would want to win if she didn't. She wanted to win. She wanted to live.

And she could.

"So what are you going to show the Gamemakers?" Cahra asked suddenly.

Heloise shrugged. She hadn't even thought about that – not really. They'd been watching for the last three days; they knew what she could do. "I don't know," she admitted. "I'll probably ask Pardeck what he thinks; he's usually got some good ideas."

Cahra sighed. "I wish my mentor was as helpful. All she said this morning was that my age was going to be a huge disadvantage."

"Hazel said that?" Ella asked, practically giggling. Then, after seeing Cahra was serious, she added, "Well, Mags says you two are going to be excellent allies."

"She's probably glad you have allies," Heloise pointed out. Ella's district partner, Mars, hadn't shown the slightest interest in teaming up with anyone else.

Ella smiled. "Well, I am, too. I couldn't imagine going into the arena alone."

"I could," Cahra insisted immediately. "It wouldn't be so bad – no one to worry about, no one to watch out for—"

"No one to help you find food," Ella countered. "No one to take turns sleeping."

"No one to stab you in the back while you sleep."

Ella shrugged. "Do we seem like the sort of allies who would do that?"

"Do the sort of allies who would do that seem like it beforehand?"

"Look, if you don't want allies—" Ella started.

"I do," Cahra assured her. "I'm just saying, there's no point in acting like we all trust each other completely. Because we can't. No one can."

"If we weren't in the Games—" Heloise started.

"But we are!" Cahra snapped. "We are, and there's nothing we can do about it. I hate it! If I'm going to live, all the rest of you have to die, and I hate it!" Her knife struck a dummy in the face.

Heloise nodded and threw a knife, which struck a dummy before clattering to the floor; she was getting better. "I hate it, too!"

There was silence for a moment. Heloise turned to Ella, who was watching the two of them with a strange expression. "What?" Heloise asked.

Ella smiled a little. "Nothing. I was just thinking that I'm glad I have allies who hate the Games … as opposed to allies who would enjoy killing me."

Heloise nodded. Ella had a point. As allies went, it was definitely better to have ones who would hate the thought of killing you. And if she died – if any of them died – she just hoped they wouldn't have to kill each other.

Sher Haimish, 17
District Eleven Male

After three days of watching the other tributes, Sher had come to the conclusion that every single one of them was insane.

It wasn't all that surprising, of course; anybody remotely interesting was usually mad in some way or another. And even if you took a group of twenty-four utterly normal people and put them under this kind of pressure, most of them would crack. Still, this bunch seemed particularly bizarre.

He wondered – and not for the first time – if the Gamemakers planned it that way. If they went through a list of potential tributes, picked the most insane, crazed tributes they could, and made sure they were reaped. Of course, that didn't account for volunteers, but anybody who volunteered for a fight to the death was automatically insane, anyway.

Or maybe it was all random, after all, and the craziness of the Games brought out the madness in everyone.

"Got any plans for the private training session tomorrow?" Ivy asked over dinner, breaking his train of thought, even though the question had been directed at Lordez.

Lordez shrugged. "I just figured I'd show them what I can do with a sickle, tear up some dummies, that sort of thing."

Sher yawned. "Boring. They've been watching us train; they know you can do that."

"And they know you can make pinwheels," Lordez countered. "And sew dummies back together in the wrong order. And make six-foot piles out of the camouflage supplies. And make a hedgehog out of the head of a dummy and some fishhooks. I'm sure they're going to be impressed by whatever you show them next. Or was that the plan? Lower their expectations with all the crazy stunts you've been pulling, then surprise them by actually doing something competent?"

Sher smiled. He had actually been quite proud of that hedgehog; it had reminded him a bit of his friend Joham. But he hadn't gotten the ears quite right. Not that it mattered, of course. As soon as he'd walked away, the boy from Nine had come over and smashed the little critter to pieces.

Sher shrugged. "Doesn't really matter, anyway; they're just numbers."

"But the sponsors—" Lordez started.

"Won't care one bit." He leaned back in his chair, eyes half-closed. "You're a gambler, Lordez. You know a thing or two about betting. The tributes who score high numbers – say, a ten – you know they're not holding back. They've got all their cards on the table. What does that tell you?"

"That they have a good chance."

"But there won't be any surprises. People like surprises. Nobody likes to know the whole story beforehand. Nobody wants to go with a sure bet. Because if you bet on the same tribute as everyone else, that's nothing to brag about. But if you bet on someone with a lower score – and you happen to be right – you get to rub it in everyone else's faces later. You get to say, 'I told you so.' And if they lose … well, at least it's not a huge disappointment, because nobody expected them to win, anyway."

Lordez shook her head. "So you're saying I should hold back?"

"Oh, it's too late for that; like I said, they've been watching us. You'll get a good score, but who cares? It doesn't really matter once the Games start. Getting a high score doesn't hurt, but neither does a low one. What was your score, Ivy?"

"Ten," Lordez answered for her.

Sher smiled a little; of course Lordez would know. "And the other victors?"

"The first one – Vester, the boy from Two – got a nine. Hazel got a four. Glenn got a two. Tania got a five. Lander got an eight. Jade got a ten. Mags got a six." She nodded, seeing his point. "All over the board."

"Exactly," Sher agreed. "So do whatever you want tomorrow. Play with a sickle. Paint a picture. Take a nap. Just don't do anything stupid."

"Like what?"

Sher grinned. "Like what I have planned."

"It is wisdom to recognize necessity, when all other courses have been weighed, though as folly it may appear to those who cling to false hope. Well, let folly be our cloak, a veil before the eyes of the enemy."