I'm going to swing,

From the chandelier,

From the chandelier.

- Sia

Alexandria Tarsus, District 1, 15

I woke up with a scream.

It was another nightmare, one where I was running through a forest. Twenty three of the other tributes had chased me savagely, the Seven girl laughed as she buried an axe in my shoulder, the Eleven boy spat on me and threw me to the ground. Still, I had escaped, my torn dress billowing in the wind behind me whilst I heard the cackles of so many children – all out to kill me – echo behind.

And then I bumped into Honora, who gave a loud cackle as she raised her axe, swinging it down into my skull.

My whole body now wore an undergarment of sweat despite the thin nightgown I had chosen to wear before I went to sleep. I was so relieved that this was all a dream. But today it could become a reality... Was it even today?

I glanced to the clock on the beside table, which revealed that it was four AM. I knew we'd all be woken up at six, which meant it was only two hours away from the real nightmare. From the Hunger Games. I relaxed a little, wondering how I had even managed to keep my mind at relative rest and score four or five hours sleep. Being so sleep deprived, I'd usually feel the buzz of tiredness flow within, but right now I felt as alert as ever. The adrenaline had already started.

Not sure if the adrenaline rush had invoked a paranoia, I glanced up when I heard the door creek open slightly. It stood there eerily, a monster which would soon open for my escort, the escort who would lead me into the arena. I kept still, knowing I wasn't paranoid when the door creaked again, letting a slit of outside light dash across my face. Fear gripped me and I was tempted to force myself under the blankets and hide away as the door slowly forced itself open.

I was gripped with fear when a shadowy male figure loomed, its spectre in the corridor. It slowly, creepily passed the threshold and made its way to my bed. I didn't know whether to scream or not, but as its hand dashed in a confrontative manner, I gripped the lamp on the side of my bedside table, preparing to launch it.

"What on earth are you doing?" A light turned on and blue eyes were narrowed towards me. It was Pullox, with his golden hair and short stature. "You're going to wake everybody up!"

Lamp still in hand, I stopped before I answered. "I think I should ask you the same thing. What are you doing here?"

"You may not believe me," Pullox grinned. He was still in his nightwear. "I came as the bearer of good news. I came to tell you it's all going to be okay."

A little insulted, I almost threw my lamp down onto the bedside table, glaring as Pullox's hair blended with the golden wallpaper beside him. Wherever he was he seemed like a chameleon. "What do you mean it's going to be okay? I'm no longer part of the Careers and Honora has the biggest vendetta against me! I'm going into the Hunger Games for god-"

A finger pressed against my lips, shushing me as Pullox relaxed on the bed.

"The Careers are all very strong... All very impressive... But I dare say you will outlive them all," he grinned slyly and observed my reaction. "Why look so shocked? Lorelei is pregnant," he said this matter of factly. I didn't know this. The news shocked me inside as I tried to comprehend how Lorelei felt, being pregnant in the Hunger Games. "Honora has anger issues that can be easily triggered, Jericho is silent and disposable... And I... Well... I may just play all of their weaknesses against them as if they were mere chess pieces," he grinned. "Then poof. Careers are gone. All you have to do is run away from the Bloodbath – as soon as possible. No weapons, no food, no water. Find a water source and inevitably food will be close to that, and you're from District One, a weapon could be easily sponsored. Hide, maybe kill if you can, and you'll be fine. The Careers, however, will slowly die off until I stand on their corpses and rid myself of the toughest competition."

Pullox laughed at his flawless plan and stood up, once again blocking the light.

"Why are you giving me advice?" I said, startled. "Why help me?"

He glanced at me for a split second. "Two reasons: I am likely to die, and if I were to die, I'd want you to win. You're more intelligent than any other Career and as annoying at you can be... I like you..." He paused, and then put on his most intimidating glare. "But do you want to know why else I'm keeping you alive? Because, Lexie, you are my biggest weapon."

"W-Well thanks..." I frowned as he stood up and make his way out. "Thanks a lot... I guess."

"No problem," Pullox's hand snaked towards the light switch and he acknowledged me one final time. "Just remember, Alexandria, the arena is large. There are brutal Careers, mutts, and natural disasters all in store..." He smiled, and with a movement of his fingers darkness ate at the surrounding light, blanketing him into invisibility, though those bright eyes glanced at me. "But in that big, wide arena, the only person you should dare be scared of is me."

With that, he closed the door quietly and left me in total darkness.

Jericho Aylin, District 2, 18

I was awake and sitting on my bed, looking out the window when the moment came. I had expected it, and it worked exactly in real life as it did in my head. As the alarm blazed, the door cracked open slightly. Fi-Fi, with her silver hair trailing down her face, acknowledged me briefly with a very small smile.

"Jericho, it's time for the Games."

I sighed, standing and switching the alarm off with the slam of a hand whilst Fi-Fi closed the door, probably going to summon Lorelei. I didn't know how I felt. Others were probably crying, hoping that their lives would be okay and intact by the time the sun had set tonight. But all I could do is feel numb, look at the sunlight fight through the windows like it did during every sunrise. The day had gone as I had expected thus far, but I honestly didn't know if these Games would go as I expected. I expected to charge into that Bloodbath, kill the tributes (hopefully quickly, with a slice to the throat or an arrow in the heart), fight my way through the Games with a bit of a struggle and - after a final, brutal fight with another Career, be dragged out of the Games unconscious but as Victor.

Would the Games go as I expected it would? Would the strategy the training centre had drilled into me for so many years lead me to Victory? I closed my eyes for a second and exhaled, hoping it would. My hands sealed around my token, a key ring filled with keys to my father's business and to our household. I had it because it symbolised an important moment for me; the moment that my father trusted me enough to the business and house. Now he was trusting me to win these Games, trusting me to bring wealth, honour and - of course - myself back home.

"I'm going to win, dad," I said, almost to myself. Nervousness was beginning to hit me, but I ignored it. I thought about why I came here to fight and how much I wanted to go home. "To make you proud. Our family proud. Our District proud. The Capitol proud..."

This was it. This was the start of the Games. I had prepared for them my whole life. Being in the Capitol was surreal enough, but in the next hour I'd be in the arena. In the next few days I'd be fighting for survival, undergoing the most grueling, demanding part of my life. I glanced at myself in the mirror with the short, dark hair and unsure smile, and then quickly turned and stormed towards the doorway. For some strange reason, when I gripped the door handle there was some hesitancy. But, with some pride in my step, I finally swung it open and stepped out into the corridor.

This was it. The Games that I would win were going to begin.

Elizabeth Korrapati, District 3, 15

Marukilla glanced at Trojan and I. Both of us were a little groggy, both of us had sleep in our eyes. I didn't know how I felt. Was this the last time I'd feel sleepy or tired? My stomach had that confused sensation, one where it growled with hunger and yet the prospect of eating felt like too much for me. Without even being in the arena my adrenaline was pumping as if there were already Careers here. Marukilla was giving us one final speech before we left:

"District Three isn't good for churning out Victors," he said factually. "I mean... do you want to look at our fact sheet following the eighth Quarter Quell? In Iopian's Games one of our tributes died by flesh eating parasite, the other stabbed in the eye by the Victor himself," he was pacing the room. "In the next Games, Bethuny was shot multiple times and died of her wounds. And Sarah-Elizabeth? He was smashed repeatedly into a wall. The following Games Karble died in the Bloodbath, his throat was slashed," suddenly I felt ill. I could die in so many ways... "Danni made it very far, but she was gutted by Natalya Nystalgia."

"Is there any point to this?" Trojan frowned. "I'm aware this is life and death."

"I just want you to know... that... you have to try..." Marukilla rushed over to us and hugged us. Trojan escaped the hug as soon as possible, but human contact had made me tear up a little. This was it. It couldn't be it, could it? This just had to be a nightmare. "It was a pleasure knowing both of you. I really, really hope that at least one of you come back with a smile on your face."

"I'll miss you too," I sniffled. I didn't like Marukilla much, but he cared, and he was one of the few people bar Trojan and Tear that I had talked to extensively while I spent this lonely week in the Capitol. "I promise I'll come back with a smile on my face..." Alive or dead. I forced myself to smile lightly.

Marukilla wanted to say something, but halted. I didn't know if it was pity or not, but he weakly smiled and shook my hand one last time. In that moment the Peacekeepers came in, more than the usual two per tribute - there were at least ten, a team ensuring that we had no way to escape. Without a word, Trojan approached them and let them surround him. Feeling much more comfortable, I followed suite, letting the Peacekeepers flock around me. I could barely see anything over the human mass as they led me outside; the only thing I could see was the red carpet beneath and the white ceiling above.

"District Three attained," the Peacekeeper spoke into a walkie talkie.

A second later, a response: "Over."

And with that they marched us away.

Ross Deverell, District 4, 17

As soon as we entered the corridor, the Peacekeepers dispersed slightly. They led us down a stairway and I glanced at Honora without a word. I thought she'd be laughing with glee because soon she would happily paint herself in the blood of innocents, but instead she didn't seem to convey anything: there was no happiness, no sadness, no anything. I almost wanted to know how she felt as those Peacekeepers marched us down that stairway. She told me she'd kill me... but... could she kill? Despite the muscles, her face was that of an eighteen year old girl's. She wasn't a murderer...

Not yet anyway... as far as I knew.

"I just wanna say," Honora glanced at me. "Good luck."

I tried to hide how incredulous I felt. "I want to wish you good luck, too." I paused. "But at the end of the day Honora, however you try to paint me out, I'm no pretty boy who came into the Games to talk ethics. I volunteered too. Careers or not, I'm going to kill. And I'll kill you if I have to."

When we reached the end of the long stairway, the Peacekeepers opened a door - one which had a sign saying that only authorised personnel were allowed to enter. We were suddenly in a long, stretching corridor that seemed almost tunnel like if it wasn't for the fact that it was laced in white, glowing lights of neon.

"You're starting to sound like a Career," Honora said. "Too bad you're not in them anymore."

"I don't need the Careers to survive."

"Oh, you'll die, Ross... remember my promise," Honora swept her hair back in a manner that seemed too effeminate to be true. Her eyes narrowed at me. "I told you I'd kill you, track your girlfriend, and tear out her spine. I remember my words and I intend to follow them."

Just on cue, in a twist of dramatic irony, the Peacekeepers made us walk on the right hand side of the corridor while they saw other Peacekeepers approach from the left hand side. They were escorting Pullox and Lexie, who looked so innocent when she was only clad in a nightgown. Her hair was much more messy than how I remembered it, and her face was blotchy next to Pullox's porcelain, indifferent expression.

Honora laughed at Lexie tauntingly. I noticed her face twitch a little, but she didn't dare show weakness in front of the girl who had constantly tried to bully and demean her. There was barely any space between us, and though Peacekeepers blocked our way I managed to reach my hand out and squeeze Lexie's, watching her give me a small glance as we walked down opposite directions. I didn't know what that meant. Maybe it was my way of wishing her luck, maybe it was my way of telling her that if we both survived we could become allies or maybe it was my way of telling her to run out of that Bloodbath as soon as she could. With Honora on my trail there was a big chance I would die, and I didn't want Lexie to go down too.

I didn't want Honora's promise to be filled, and I didn't want to make any promises myself. Who could make promises when the future was so uncertain?

Leda Viscoy, District 5, 16

The Peacekeepers continued to lead us down the crisp neon corridors. Magnus and I hadn't really said a word since we'd woken up. I think something was wrong with Magnus. His eyes would sometimes go milky and he'd almost take himself to another world. I usually enjoyed being chatty, but for the first time I couldn't find any words to elaborate my feelings. How did I feel? This was the Hunger Games and I was being thrown into a fight for the death. I couldn't really think of any positives. The few positive that there were (being treated like royalty in the Capitol) had met their expiry date the moment Contessa had woke me up.

Going the opposite direction were the District Ten tributes. The boy cast a small smile at us, but the girl only seemed to glare. Not saying a word, as if we were ignoring them, we passed and walked for a good five minutes before the Peacekeepers allowed us to reach our destination, though those five minutes felt like five years. The rate time was moving... the slowness... it was if time was trying to compromise for the short life it had given me... assuming I was going to die today...

"District Five tributes have reached their destination," the Peacekeeper spoke bluntly into his walkie talkie.

We were led through large, metal gates into an extremely large, circular room that seemed to be made completely out of metal. Around the perimeter of the room were small pods - teleporters, ones that would transport us to our stylists one final time. Waiting for us there was Contessa, her green skin and white and black hair making her noticeable even in a room filled to the brim with people. Beside her Rayann stood nervously as if she were to be transported into the Games again. I noticed her glancing at the teleportation pod and knew it was probably giving her bad memories.

"You guys okay?" Rayann asked as we approached her. I noticed all the other twenty-four tributes all being spoken to by their escorts and - if they were lucky enough to have one - their mentors. Some unfamiliar faces were also in the room; I presumed they were survival experts who had been placed in here to act as mentors. Away from the perimeter circular stairs that seemed like seats in a stadium led down to a large control panel, where many scientists were programming the teleporters.

"We'll be okay," Magnus said. He held his head and groaned and then jumped, as if he had seen something that wasn't there.

"D-Don't worry," Rayann smiled. "Just get out of that Bloodbath and you'll get your medication..."

"No, not straight away, I'll fight..." Magnus paused, glancing at me. I didn't know what medication they were talking about but for once I decided it was best to keep quiet. "And what did I tell you to do?"

"Stick around you at all times," I said, repeating his words last night. "Don't let anyone get too close to me. If you die, just run out of there." Having an ally with a score higher than any other non-Career definitely had its perk.

"Right," Magnus nodded. "Lets roll."

Sebastian Keating, District 6, 17

"Okay, remember both of your survival tactics," our survival mentor, a dull, balding man told us with a brief smile. He paused for a second as a Peacekeeper marched up to us, injecting Brandy, who winced. He then approached me and stabbed the needle into my arm. A brief flash of pain only lasted for a second before the Peacekeeper marched over to the District Seven tributes to enact the same process. Our trackers were extremely important; they'd tell the Gamemakers where we are, tell them when our heart has stopped beating and we'd die and - if we rebelled or attempted to escape the arena - send an electrical impulse that would kill us in the click of a button. "I have faith in you guys to do what is needed. What's your strategy Seb?"

"I've done what you said," I replied. "I've had my alliance, I have a strong bond with them. I've avoided the Careers and will continue to do so. I'll continue to avoid fights until they're absolutely necessary," I paused. "I know some of the tributes' strengths and weaknesses, and I'll exploit them for it."

"Good, and you Brandy?"

Brandy paused. She had been crying this morning. Her gaze drifted over to the boy from District Seven. They both exchanged smiles before she glanced to the boy from District Eight and smiled at him.

"The Games are constantly changing, no point sticking to one strategy when a thousand different things could happen," she mumbled. I paused. Maybe she had a point. I mean, I needed to keep every option open. Brandy wouldn't survive; she was way too small and weak. But I felt bad for her because she was a nice person underneath it all. "I have my alliance. I'll wait for Darius to get supplies and then we're darting out of there as quickly as we can. That's all I know right now, but I trust my allies. They're smart."

"I-" The mentor started.

"No," Brandy insisted. "You've never fought in the Hunger Games before. Maybe you've been to the mountains and snow North of Panem and the rainforests South of it, but you haven't been in a fight to the death."

"Tributes, into the teleportation pods please," a raven haired woman said into a microphone. I thought about Brandy's words for a second. She had a point; these survival experts didn't know what we were going to go through. I wondered if ours could even win the Hunger Games. He could create strategies, but acting on them was a totally different ballgame. I sighed and watched as Brandy stepped into her pod, and I followed suite, only glancing at the sign above it (D6M) briefly before stepping into it and being partially blinded by the radiating neon light.

Every tribute had stepped into their teleportation plate. Some were crying, some were calm and the occasional crazy Career was impatiently excited. I barely had time to survey the room before orbs seemed to flash around me and I felt myself become torn away into what felt like a vacuum; air seemed to blow around me powerfully for that one second and - to my amazement - my molecules had briefly split and reassembled perfectly in another room. I felt nauseous, as if I had ran at the speed of light, and my stomach felt as if it hadn't arrived at its destination like my shaking body had, but all in all I was okay.

My stylist glanced at me and smiled in a toad like manner. "Ah, Sebastian, of course. I've been expecting you."

Conifer King, District 7, 14

"Looks like your costume has arrived," my stylist was a flamboyant man called Flavio; I actually really liked him, though he seemed a lot more interested in irrelevant details than actually styling. He absent mindedly checked out his nails before his gaze drifted back to me. "Oh, wow, I dare say that your hair is wonderful! Oh... where was I..." He paused again. "Oh yes, we have permission to allow you to have one last glass of water before your ascent."

"Yes please," I said, walking over to him as he handed me a pint glass.

I had never downed a whole pint glass of water before in one gulp before, but I had managed to do so this time. The water was all gone as soon as I pulled the glass away and I felt it sink into my stomach. It seemed to settle the nervousness that had lurked in it like a tamed beast, but only temporarily. I still felt sweat creep out of every pore in my body. I felt nervous. This was me finally going into a fight to the death that I didn't want to participate it. By the end of the day I could be a killer... a corpse... both... The thought of driving a knife into someone, of watching their pain, sickened me. But somehow the idea of being the one who was at the receiving end of the knife sickened me much more.

And then there were other tributes. Who would be catapulted in the arena to die immediately? So many... How would Luke be? What about Hadley?

I contemplated that for a second. Ideally I would run out of the Bloodbath hand in hand with Luke and we'd both be okay, but there was little chance of that happening. I could only hope to god that could happen. And then the Bloodbath was only the beginning. There were other conflicts and battles that would rage on in the arena, some claiming tributes' lives. I mean, even if I escaped the Bloodbath was there any point? I'd only walk around until I found another place that would kill me. As I told myself that I needed to eject these negative thoughts I watched as Flavio walked over to a wardrobe that beeped, indicating that the outfits were here.

My stylist paused when he opened the wardrobe. I looked at what was hanging up there... none of it seemed practical. It was a frilly dress of green and brown, draping gracefully and hovering above the floor before it touched it. And then there were other accessories too; a masquerade mask of glittering green that was supposed to cover my eyes, a white wig, a golden brooch that looked like it was supposed to be attached to my dress and a brown ribbon for my hair.

"Well..." Flavio paused, removing the dress and running his hand over it. "This is certainly something... new..."

Darius Cortez, District 8, 16

"What is this?" I asked somewhat incredulously as my stylist made me dress.

"I... I don't really know," he admitted, puzzled.

I forced myself to slip black, knee length breeches on. In a world of jeans and pants, this old piece of clothing was completely new to me. It did feel comfortable, especially when large socks to insulate my legs followed. I had never known a man to wear boots before, but I was forced into black leather riding boots which possessed a heel that made me feel an inch taller.

"The heel is practical, it's designed in a special way to allow running," the stylist told me. Usually a tribute's costume would tell them a lot about the arena, but he was only reassuring me that my fashionable costume wouldn't be a hindrance. "The materials they've given you are unique... suitable for hot and cold weather," I slowly began to button a purple shirt and was quick to realise that they had colour co-ordinated my outfit. "The material traps heat under certain temperatures, but will release it when the external temperature is hot."

"I guess that's a reassurance..."

"It leaves the arena completely ambiguous," my stylist chuckled a little, fixing the ruffles of my shirt. "I'm beginning to worry that they've sent you into the wrong reality television show. This seems better for a catwalk..."

"I doubt this is in fashion," I mumbled. But what did I know? Fashion didn't interest me.

"Yes," my stylist paused. "It's like a thousand or so years out of fashion."

There wasn't much left to my outfit after that. I slipped into a black waistcoat and was forced into a black wig which was so unlike my own hair; I felt my scalp slowly become incubated in heat as fake, dark curls slipped down to my shoulders. When I looked in the mirror, it was like looking at a different person. Like looking into a past life, one unlike my own where I was part of the nobility who had no worries under the constant barrage of gourmet. It was like how the Capitolites lived and dressed, only much, much more historic.

I wondered if Hadley was dressed similarly? Usually all of the tributes were. And how were the girls dressed? I was willing to bet that they were dressed in different clothes completely. Thinking about everyone who I had befriended and talked to over the last few days made my eyes water a little bit. This was it. We'd all be thrown into the arena and there was a big chance some of us would die. There was a moment of silence where I thought about my own life. These could be the clothes I'd die in. And who could I lose along the way... Hadley... Mirane... Brandy... even the people who I had only had brief interactions with like Lorelei and Giovanni... I hoped that by the end of the day they'd be okay, and if they weren't I hoped they'd be in peace.

"Tributes please step onto your plates. It's time for the Games to begin."

Tear Nikuya, District 9, 16

I glanced at myself in the mirror. I had never dressed so ridiculously before. A silver, bell shaped dress fell. Like little Christmas decorations, ribbons and petticoats glinted bronze on them. The bodice was also silver, and I had expected there to be long sleeves. Thankfully my arms were free and the flesh was exposed. I was definitely forced into some weird clothes.

"These can't be practical..." I started.

"You need to step into your plate," my stylist said, sternly. Unlike most Capitolites she was a wizened woman; her silver hair untouched, her wrinkles prominent and not doused by chemicals. She glanced at me again reassuringly, speaking in her croaky voice: "Trust me Tear, I looked at the dress. The circumference is wide enough so that it won't prevent you from running. Your arms are free to grab things. The shoes are flat and created from tough materials. The dress isn't too tight and it isn't bright enough to catch too much attention." She sighed. "I agree, it's strange, and not wholly perfect in terms of pragmatism, but whatever disadvantages you may encounter in your costume other tributes will face them too."

"Right," I sighed, nervously running my hands through my dark hair.

"Final calling for tributes to be in their plate, the Games start in two minutes!"

I hurried over to my plate. Thankfully, as my stylist had predicted I didn't stand and trip on my dress which meant it couldn't be too awful. Still, I preferred loose, well fitted clothing over pretty dresses. It was easy to say my outfit made me uncomfortable, but it didn't unsettle me half as much as the events that would happen today. Giovanni seemed completely indifferent to everything as usual whereas I had spent the morning throwing up and praying to an entity that I didn't really believe in.

As soon as I stepped on my plate glass walls slid down around me. My heart skipped a beat and I drew my hand out, watching it squash against the cold surface. One small breath left a layer of condensation that clouded my vision. This was it: I was trapped, I was on my way to the Games and no matter what I tried to believe there was no going back. I felt bile rise into my mouth again though - to my disgust - I forced myself to swallow it.

"I'm rooting for you Tear," my stylist sat down wistfully, giving me a smile. "And though I can't sponsor you, I have friends. I'll tell them what a beautiful person you are."

"Thank you," I said, my voice cracking. I moved my other palm to touch the surface of my prison and looked around the styling room one last time. Arguably it was the last place I had been where I could breathe and consider myself free and safe, but with this glass surrounding me, with the prospect of being risen into an area full of trained killers, I knew that such freedom didn't exist anymore. Did it ever really exist, though, in a world where kids were sent to kill each other?

I was never free.

"Plates rising," a voice announced and I gave my stylist one last desperate glance. "Countdown begins once tributes have reached the arena."

I didn't have time to speak before my plate catapulted upwards, sending me into dark tunnels. Wherever I was, the arena was above me and that was it. I tried to remain composed. I thought of the fact that Rita could have been here in my place, and I squeezed out a tear knowing that this was much better... Rita never could stand enclosed spaces like this. My finger found itself on a ring that Rita had given to me, one that was golden and pure. It had been given to her by her great-grandmother as a birthday present, and she wanted me to enter this Games with a piece of her.

"I'm doing this for you Rita," I slipped it onto my finger, feeling the cold metal circle around it. "And I'm going to win. I promise."

With that my plate sped up, up, up...

And then light shone around me.

Carlie Compton, District 10, 17

I was so focused on my pretty little dress that I didn't even notice the arena. I mean, Games outfits weren't usually so pretty. I wasn't expected to wear a wig of curled white blonde hair, I didn't expected to have a dress that was sewed from a flurry of pink and white, twirling down around me and expanding out massively. Attached to it were what looked like cute white bells, though fortunately they didn't ring when I moved. Still surprised at my whole outfit it was a shock when I glanced upwards and noted the biggest shock of all:

The arena.

My plate halted and the glass around me slid into nothingness, allowing the moderate temperature to sweep over me and replace the stuffy heat of a glass container. High above us was a ceiling that seemed to be at least a hundred meters tall; the room we were in was simply... astounding. We were in some kind of grand hallway. The flooring stretched around us in a square perimeter. Despite the fact it was a large hallway, there seemed to be no doors, only columns crafted from rich marble. Regal walnut banisters imprisoned us in the hallway and the only way out seemed to be two grand, oak stairways that crept down onto the floor beneath.

My gaze trailed up to the ceiling, desperately looking for a way out. Where were the supplies? Surely none of the tributes could get down the staircase when the Careers could block us off? Sadly, the ceiling seemed to be many meters above us - it seemed as if it was hundreds of meters high. The dome shape of the ceiling was painted richly, flashes of skies and clouds dancing across it. Diamond supports attached to it descended and my gaze drifted to the large chandelier that was level to the corridor that we were on, dangling above the large room beneath.

I couldn't help but release a gasp. Even in the Capitol I hadn't seen such lavishness in one place. The chandelier was bigger than any I imagined, well suspended from strong diamonds. It was made of solid gold and stretched across a large area - almost the whole room. And then I realised where the supplies were. Across the chandelier, which seemed as big as a field itself, the supplies were scattered on its solid gold surface. Food, weapons, tents, electricals, oil, chemicals... everything you needed lay there, the value of each item becoming more and more valuable the closer it was to the center.

It wasn't just the chandelier that had made people so shocked - I was between the District One and Five girls and they looked distraught as they glanced to some of the weapons in the middle of the Cornucopia, and I almost had to stop myself from gasping too. Two years ago Hunger Games history had been made when the Gamemakers had decided to give one lucky tribute a gun. This year they'd decided to step it up and make it worse: there were four guns. Two of them long, shotguns like the ones my daddy had for keeping out critters. I couldn't make them out well, but two smaller guns - a revolver? A pistol, perhaps? They also lay amongst the supplies, deadly and glinting.

The Hunger Games would now become a shoot out.

"Bonjour tributes, and welcome to the Palace of Versailles!"

Delilah Fauve, District 11, 16

After observing my surroundings I tried to hold my breath. This was a dire situation, but at least my clothing looked more practical than the girls' stuff. I was glad I was entered into this competition as a male, because instead of being forced into a frilly dress I was instead forced into blue breeches, flat pink shoes, a pink shirt which was accompanied by a coat of blue with tinted pink around the frills and buttons. The only inconvenience was the wig of grey hair and a tricorn of navy blue. No doubt they'd be thrown off and discarded once the Games began.

"Sixty."

The countdown started and my heart accelerated in my chest, only taking brief seconds to brake and send waves of nausea through me. The Games were scary enough, but throw in a few guns and I could suddenly see the death and destruction blast before my eyes in the illusion of bullets and blood. To make it even worse, the guns weren't the only weapons. I glanced at weapons that I myself needed - I couldn't dare take the risk and go for the gun, but my eyes drifted along to observe the many weapons that lay on the chandelier. They were traditional weapons: rapiers, daggers, sabers, swinging maces, axes, pikes... the assortment of ancient looking weapons seemed never ending.

"Fifty."

I tried to assemble my thoughts coherantly as each second ticked by, but I couldn't. I needed to think of a tactic. I need water, food and weapons in that order. I couldn't survive more than a few days without water, I would be crippled and weakened if I went without food for over a week and I'd be okay without weapons up until the final eight, you could avoid conflicts until that point, but once the final eight struck you'd be catapulted into them with no other option. But if I honestly wanted a head start... if I wanted to go home to Nate... I needed to get all three. It would be easy, run over to the banister and vault onto the chandelier, collect the weapons and dash down the stairway to see whatever greeted me down there. That would be enough, right?

"Forty."

I saw the tributes closest to me to ensure I was in a strategically okay position. If I was far away from any of the Careers my plan could go well - beside me to one side, her plate by a towering column, was the Six girl. In her frilly yellow and white dress she seemed like a paling beam of sunshine that would undoubtedly be extinguished by the time the Bloodbath was done with. Sadly, to my right, curved around the corner of the corridor was the District Two girl. I didn't think she was much of a threat right now, but I needed to get to knives before she could otherwise she'd plant one in my back without a second thought. I analysed her in those seconds. She looked much more intimidating in her slim, almost cocktail looking dress of midnight blue and black; the only thing that made her similar to the other girls were the sweeping, fake locks of gold and the pretty blue brolly the Gamemakers had given her.

I was shaking, realising how close to death I really was. I had to do this for Nate. My hands grasped the pendant of the silver hourglass he had given to me. I had to return to my family for his sake, then he could go on the stupid Victory Tours and do the stupid things Victors do in my place. But what if there was no Nate to return to? What if Iopian had already transported them out of the District? What if I was already found out? And if they were found out and whisked into safety, what would happen to me if I was the last person standing?

... I couldn't comprehend it all. And I realised that unless all the luck in the world was supporting me... My family were uncaught and I won... Unless those two near-impossible things coincided, I would not go home. I was on a death train.

"Thirty."

The countdown was halfway done and the Games that would ultimately result in my death or execution would start.

I glanced up, eyes narrowed at the Cornucopia. I would die for Nate to live... I knew that. But if I was going to ride a death train, I might as well do it in style.

Freya Garnsey, District 12, 18

This was the Games.

Well, I had to say it was a lot better than a forest. The Gamemakers hadn't ever done a palace before, but it was better than having to be thrown into a place where you'd kill others with sticks and stones. Now we were in a place of fairytales, of nobility and make believe. I couldn't be a caveman, but I sure could be a Princess if the audience asked it of me. A Princess that would do anything - literally anything - to survive, though.

Not that I looked like a Princess. All of the other girls were circled around, dressed in pretty frilly dresses and gowns with wigs, ribbons, brollies and the like. The Gamemakers knew that while clothing was an accessory for them, just something thrown on to blend them in with the background, for me it was my weapon. My black and grey gown was thin and silky, the outline of my body clearly visible underneath. Unlike the prudish attire the French would wear my outfit showed flesh; my arms were bare, frilled sleeves enveloping at my shoulders. My cleavage was clearly revealed and my dress frilled around my midriff to show my skinny body off. Though my dress spread out like a fountain of silk around my hips akin to the other girls there was a clear slit down it that showed off my clear, impressive legs.

"Twenty."

The only accessory I had was a large wig. An auburn bun, which still sprouted hair that draped down and rested at my breasts. My black shoes were heeled in a manner that made them look like stilettos, though in actuality it didn't add to my height. The Gamemakers would still let me run. They'd let me jump onto that chandelier and dash straight for the gun. People may have underestimated me because to them I was just a slut who shook her hips and was expected to win the Games, but when I had a gun and ammo I could slay anyone in the arena.

"Ten."

Most of the tributes had readied themselves. Some had already slipped their wigs, hats and accessories off and were preparing to lunge them. Not that they'd dare lunge them now, that would trigger a mine that would ensure a salad of intestines and limbs sprayed everyone else.

"Eight."

Speaking about the mines, I looked around and observed that nobody had jumped off them. It wasn't extremely common, but once every five or so years - sometimes more - the occasional wimpy tribute who can't take the pressure of the Games would just step off and let the explosion end them quickly and painlessly. It seemed like everybody here was playing to win, or was at least grabbing their shot at survival and using it while they could. That was an inconvenience for me, but it was going to make the Games that much more... spicy.

"Six."

For the first time my stomach tightened. The Games were that close.

"Four."

Everybody had prepared for the Games in some way or another. Some tributes shook, teary eyed on their plates. The Careers were making signals at each other, though I couldn't discern what they were saying exactly. Some of the tributes who knew how to sprint had bent over, looking determinedly at the Cornucopia. I tried to mimic them. If I needed that gun I'd need to be ruthless and quick.

"Two."

In that one second I glanced at the tributes beside me. Luke was on one side of me, his gaze fixed upon one of the staircases. I think he planned to just wanted to get out of the Bloodbath as soon as possible. The boy beside me, Hadley, looked as if he was on the verge of tears, though I saw him cast one extremely feeble smile at the District Eight boy who was all the way down the corridor to my left.

"One."

I took in my breath and readied myself to run. This was it, Freya. Do or die. Live or survive.

"Let the two-hundredth and fourth Games begin!"

Wow. Well, we're here folks. :) I hope you like the arena. In fact, you better like it because my parents grew concerned when they noticed my internet history literally rambled about old weapons, old politics and old dresses...

I don't have much to say. All I have to say is... wow. That's it. We're here, and in the very next chapter a handful of the characters I've devoted 6 months and 100k+ words to writing - all of whom I love in my own little way - are going to die. It's really awful, and I'm going to offer my condolences to those characters submitters, particularly if they happen to be active reviewers. Just know that I hope you continue to read + review, and there's most probably going to be a sequel you can submit to! :)

On the subject of reviews, I'm not going to nag anyone for not reviewing because seriously, you've been brilliant, with exceptions many have reviewed regularly or have made sure to tell me that they can't review and sometimes even catch up. But remember, you can submit a large sponsor gift to your tribute if you've reviewed 50% (9) of the chapters and a small one if you've reviewed 25% (I'll just set that as 5) of the chapters. These gifts are ones you'll be able to sponsor anytime between the chapter after the Bloodbath & the final 12 and once the Bloodbath chapter has been posted, your reviews won't be counted and you won't be dragged into the sponsor list. So if you want to help a character you love survive to the final 12, even if you're just a passive reader, you can do something. You have a week.

P.S - To the person who has multiple accounts/has a network of willing vote-y friends and voted for Hadley, just Hadley, like 15 times in the space of one or two hours – or over a couple of days (and I'm not pointing the finger at Hadley's creator for doing this, because I trust him) I know you don't know me in real life, I know you don't know my IQ or my academic credentials or my general intelligence, but I'm not that stupid. I notice these things.

~Toxic