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Salya Ionatti
District Seven Female, 17 Years Old

"Don't tire yourself out from eating so quickly, Dalton. You'll need all the energy you have."

As I take a seat across from Dalton, he looks up, his mouth full of food. He's shoveling it all down his throat, barely giving himself enough time to breathe. Ever since he woke up, he's been eating, probably to convince himself that it'll help him out in the arena in a few hours. I'm not sure if it will, really.

It might just give him a stomachache or weigh him down.

I'll let him think what he wants, though.

"If you're too fat to run I'm not carrying you," I say, grinning. Dalton chuckles, placing down his fork and knife, crossing his arms on the table. "Taking a break? It looked like you were only getting started."

"What's going on over here?" Katcia turns the corner, a cup in her hand and a newspaper of some sort in the other. "All I hear is laughing. I'm not sure now is the best time for that."

"Yeah, yeah," Dalton says, clearing his throat, pushing his plate forward. "Now isn't the time for that."

We sit there silently, with Dalton tapping his finger on the table and Katcia flipping through the newspaper. She skims some articles here and there, and as I glance at it, it shows a picture of the District One victors, Cashmere and Gloss. The newspapers here are completely different than the ones in Seven, with brighter colors, bigger pictures, and better paper it looks like.

District Seven never seemed to have much to say, anyway.

"Anything good?" I ask, trying to start some type of conversation. I don't like all of this silence today.

Katcia shrugs, raising her eyebrow. "Not at all. But, let's talk, shall we?"

"What's there to talk about?"

Katcia smirks, leaning back in her chair. She takes a sip from her cup, looking at me as she swallows it down. "There's so much we could talk about, Salya."

Last night, I thought I had a lot to ask her. Where I should run, what I should grab, what could I do to make sure I meet up with Dalton. But, right now, I don't want to ask her any of that. How will she know the answer? She doesn't know the arena, nor does she know what's best for me.

Dalton and I can take care of ourselves.

Katcia nods her head at Dalton and then back at me. "You two. Do you have any plans? Any strategies?"

"We might," I answer, knowing that we haven't talked about the Games that much. "We will."

Katcia nods her head, moving on to another topic she must have planned, saying, "And what about you two? How's allying with each other?"

"Good," Dalton says, and I nod my head, not sure of what else there's to say. It isn't the worst alliance, but if you were to compare us to the Careers, maybe we are.

"Good," I repeat.

"You two always did seem good for each other," Katcia says, mostly talking to herself. She looks down at the ground for a few seconds, and as she looks back up, her attention is out the window, not at us.

Are we good for each other?

Katcia told me that ever since I've allied with Dalton, I'm not as serious. As moody. As gloomy.

Ever since my brother died, everyone told me that I didn't smile or laugh anymore. I admit that I wasn't as happy or peppy, and I let my anger get the best of me. I was just mad… Mad at who, I don't know. Mad at myself? Mad at the Capitol? Mad at the Hunger Games?

I don't know.

I just was mad.

And now, I'm in the Games, just like my brother was. But, I can't die like him. I can't let him down, either. I can't let everyone back home – my friends, my family – down. I'll do it for my brother. I'll do it for Dalton, too, because I know that we both can't win.

It's either me or someone else.

And it has to be me.

"I would say so," Dalton finally says. "We haven't fought yet."

"You have a solid foundation," Katcia continues. "Not to dwell, but so did my alliance when I was in the Games. There were a few of us, and you wouldn't believe the bond we all had… It's sad. Really, it is. That they had to die."

"You still remember them?" Dalton asks, and I laugh, seeing as Katcia is only about ten years older than us. She doesn't have that bad of a memory.

"I'm not that old," Katcia says, smiling. "I remember a lot."

"Can you tell us about one of your allies?"

Katcia inhales deeply, and as she blinks, you can tell that this is a touchy subject. She fidgets a little, and as she opens her mouth, her lip quivers. "There was Damaris. She was from District Nine. She was a nice girl – too nice, now that I think about it – but she was one of the best people I have ever met."

"What happened to her?"

"She died," Katcia says, her voice in a hushed tone. "And I couldn't save her. There was nothing I could do. Damaris died, so I won for her. I won for all my allies."

As Dalton and Katcia go on, they talk about random topics and little memories Katcia has from her Games. I try to listen in on it, but I can't really concentrate on them talking. I just sit back, think to myself, and find myself getting anxious about the Games starting in a few hours. Glancing at the clock, I realize that it's nearly time to go, and once Katcia sees me looking at it, she winks.

She knows that I'm strong. That I'm clever. That I have in it me.

She won't say it out loud, though. Not in front of Dalton.

Does she have faith in me? Does she think I can win? That I could bring District Seven back another victor? I think I can. And if I think I can, then I will. I will be victor, and I will win, and I won't let Katcia down.

I'm a fighter.

And I won't give up.

I won't go down without a fight.

Clara Novisont
District Five Female, 17 Years Old

"Don't you think is all so stupid?"

"What is, my dear?"

"You," I quip. "This room. The Games. The Capitol. Panem."

My stylist shuts up, going back to preparing my outfit the arena. She just stands there, trying to glance over her shoulder once or twice, but when she sees me staring, she is startled and turns back around. Her job isn't to speak to me or start conversation, it's to prepare my outfit and prep me.

That's all she should be doing.

I might as well have some fun, though.

"Is there something you want to say?" I tease, gripping my fingers around the edge of the table. I wait for her to respond, and when she turns around, her face is all red.

"No, I don't," she says, walking over to a hook on the wall where my outfit is in some bag. She unzips it, revealing a dark gray suit and she takes the boots off a shelf. "Are you ready to get dressed?"

Pushing myself off the table, I walk right passed her, nearly hitting her with my shoulder. I grab it off the hook and kicking the boots towards the table. I begin to undress, but when she walks over, I stop and back up.

"What are you doing?" I snap, holding my hands over me.

"Do you need any assistance?"

"Get away from me," I spit. "Do not come near me.

"Sorry, Clara."

"You should be," I retort, rolling my eyes and going back to getting undressed. "If I wouldn't get in trouble you'd be my first victim. I'll strangle you with this belt if you take a step closer."

My stylist goes quiet, and when I'm fully undressed, I slip into the arena suit. It's a whole body suit, and when I zip it up over my chest, I look in the mirror. It's tighter than the training suits in the Capitol we had and a lot darker. I slip the belt on and then the boots.

"How do I look?"

I turn to the side in the mirror, looking at myself at different angles. When my stylist doesn't reply, I look at her, the fear so evident in her eyes. She doesn't know what to say and probably doesn't want to say anything at all.

"When I ask you a question you answer me."

"You look very nice," she says, stuttering with her own words, her voice shaking. She stands in the corner of the room, all the way on the other side. Is she scared of me?

She should be.

"Nice? That's it?"

"You look beautiful, Clara."

"Don't patronize me."

"I-I… I wasn't," she mumbles, once again stuttering. "I didn't mean to…"

"That's enough," I say, rolling my eyes and waving at her so goes quiet again. It makes me feel calmer when she doesn't speak, and if she weren't breathing, I'd probably feel good about this whole day. She's always been annoying, but today she's even worse.

I would like to see her go into the arena.

She'd probably be the first death.

Over that girl from Eleven or the boy from Twelve, anyway. It'd be my stylist, then the two of them. And would I be the one to kill her? Yes, yes I would.

I would want to have the honor.

"Do you like that idea?"

"What?"

"Me killing you. Would you mind?"

She doesn't say anything, so I just go back to sitting on the table. Looking up at the ceiling, I let my eyes wander around. When I think of the arena, all I can think about is everyone that will be watching. It will be broadcasted all over Panem, so what will everyone think?

How will people react? Whenever I watched an old Hunger Games, I just disregarded the killing. It was always so petty, and although I do feel for the family, it isn't the worst possible thing that could happen. It's easy for me, anyway. I have no one.

I have no one to care about my death.

Or my victory, for that matter.

I have no one left in District Five. My mother and father were killed for being rebels, and my brother… He was killed for taking it too far. He did it to himself, though, and he deserved it. He deserved to die, but my parents? They didn't.

They were fighting for what they believed in. To stand up to the Capitol, to show them that they don't own them. And that's what I want to do – to show the Capitol. To show the President and the Gamemaker that I am different. That I am not another pawn they can play around with and control.

I'm worth more than that.

And I will prove it to them once we enter that arena.

Will killing really prove anything, though? I won't be the only one to kill. Everyone will if they have to, mostly out of survival or instinct. But my motives are different. My motives were always different; I'm not fighting to just go home, or for the fame and money, or to make my name known.

I'm fighting for myself. To show that I have overcome everything I have went through in life. I'm not a little girl anymore, and if my brother were still alive, I would want to rub that in his face. I'm glad he's dead now. He never deserved to live.

After my family died, I was left with my brother. My asshole of a brother. The one who made feel victimized. When my brother was killed, I felt different. I changed.

I became more independent.

I became a new person.

And here I am, going into the arena for the Hunger Games. When I'm there, I'll let that new person come through, but with the memories of my family and brother in my head. That's what will make me keep going.

My family and my brother.

I will fight for my family.

And I will prove my brother wrong.

Allan Barre
District Twelve Male, 14 Years Old

"I'm scared."

My stylist kneels down in front of me, bringing my hands to her face. Davina warms them up, and as she looks up, I see a smile on her face. She nods her head, not saying anything, and stays there on the ground.

"I understand, Allan," she says quietly. "You have every reason to be scared. I'd be terrified if I were about to go into the arena too."

"What do you think I should do?"

"About what?"

"The arena," I reply, feeling a lump in my throat. I swallow through my shaky voice, trying not to seem like too big of a mess right now. "I don't know what to do."

"You have allies – find them," she answers, letting go of my hands and standing up slowly. "And then run. Run as far as you can for as long as you can."

"What if… What if not all of us make it? What if one of us dies?" I say, shrinking away and scooting myself back to the wall. "What if I die?"

"You won't," Davina says, turning away from me. She looks at me over my shoulder, a tear in her eye. She doesn't cry, though, and seeing this look on her face makes me feel ten times worse. Why is she crying?

"I don't want to."

"You don't deserve to," Davina whispers now, and I don't know if she's really talking to me. She paces around the room, tapping her nail on the clipboard in her hands. "None of you do."

Leaning up against the wall, I close my eyes, not wanting to be here right now. I'd rather go back to the beginning of the Capitol, where I knew no one and no one knew me. Where I just got here, where I was curious about everything. I don't want to be here right now, where I'm about to go into the arena.

The arena… The arena where someone will kill me.

I won't survive out there, will I?

Will Veles or Daisy? Will we all die?

What will happen to us?

"It's time, Allan," Davina says to me, still looking away. She's facing the tube that I'm going to go in that will bring me up to the arena.

Hopping off the table, I step down, looking at my outfit one more time. It's a dark gray, with everything being the same color – the boots, the belt, the cuffs. It's tight, so I hope it's not too hot in the arena. There isn't too much room to move around or get comfortable in.

"Step up, please."

I approach the tube, but before I get in, I turn to face Davina. She's taller than me by a foot or two, so she leans over, hugging me. We hug for a moment, my arms squeezing her. We finally let go, and as I step into the tube, I don't want to turn around and face her again.

I don't want to see all that I'm leaving. Everyone that I'm leaving.

Once I do turn around, though, Davina mouths something to me. I can't hear it from in the tube since it's sound-proof, but I nod my head and place my hand on the glass. As the tube begins to rise, my legs shake and I look upwards. The top of the tube opens and I see sunlight and a blue sky.

What else is there?

When the tube reaches the arena, it gets locked in. Looking down at the pedestal, it looks like a boulder of some sort, all oddly shaped. Then, when I see the surrounding surface, I see more stone. Slowly, I look up, seeing the same thing.

Stone.

It's all stone.

Glancing over my shoulder, I see that we are surrounded by large pieces of stone and rock. None of them are uniform, all abstractly shaped and different sizes. Some are pointy, some are not. They surround us, with some cracks and exits here and there. It's a large area, with enough space to run if we have to.

There's enough room to fight too.

My attention is directed to the center now, and when I realize there's no Cornucopia, I'm confused. Why isn't there one? Every year, there's usually a Cornucopia. Why is it different this year? Where will we get all of our supplies?

In the center of this large platform, there's a sculpture of some sort. It's a design that I'm not really sure of and it looks like nothing I'm aware of it. It's just a large structure with some backpacks hanging on the ends of it and weapons lying around it. There are supplies, but not a lot. On top of the platform are hovering numbers, with the number '60' there right now.

Then I see her.

Daisy.

She's directly across from me, all the way on the other side of the stone structure.

I'm not sure she can see me, but I see her, and as I look around at everyone else, I see Veles. He's in between the boy from District Six and the girl from District Nine. He doesn't see me either, even when I try to make a face or wave my hands for him to notice me.

He seems to be looking at something, but I'm not sure what.

As I look back into the center, the number has gone down. It's down to 30 now, and as I put my hands into fists, I keep them tight to my side. I have to run. I have to meet up with Veles and Daisy. That's my plan.

That's what Davina told me.

To run.

And not stop.

Now, it's down to '15'. And as it ticks down, I begin to shake again, even when I'm trying to get myself to stop. I squint my eyes, focusing right on the center and on my allies. Daisy and Veles aren't too far from each other, but I'm on the other side. I have to reach them. I have to get to them.

I can't let any of us die.

5… 4… 3… 2… 1.

I don't want to die.

Please.

"Let the Seventieth Annual Hunger Games begin!"

Author's Note:

Here is the Launch chapter!

After this, of course, is the Bloodbath chapter (which has been revised and is now 5 POVs. Three for the actual Bloodbath, then Two afterwards, but you'll see that in a chapter.) I actually have most of it written, so I won't waste any time with that.

Soon, everyone. Soon.

I have a poll up too? Isn't that cool? Go vote on it.

Questions!

How were these tributes? Any opinions change? Anyone stand out?

And, more importantly: Who do you want to die in the Bloodbath? Who do you think will die in the Bloodbath?

Any thoughts on Victor? (This is really early, but whatever. Just answer the question.)