Tear Nikuya, District 9, 16

Rita was so beautiful.

I watched her hold onto the folds of her second hand dress, her hair bouncing with her as she spun around and laughed. I followed after her, smiling as she radiated pure joy in the way she always did when she was with me. She glanced at me once, raising an eyebrow suggestively as we walked along the green fields. It was the outskirts of one of District Nine's urban areas, leading into the surrounding forestry. Here registered hunters would go into the forests and would find meat; most of the time, they'd sell it to one of the factories in the cities so that the food could be tinned or processed.

"What's the matter, do I not dance good enough for you?"

"You have two left feet," I teased. I was lying of course; she danced beautifully. Every crevice within her screamed beauty.

"Please, as if you can do any better!" She laughed. I walked past her and she ran after me, screaming and giggling as she jumped onto my shoulders. Being much taller and stronger than her, I could take her weight easily. She laughed as I gave her a piggy back, running through the long grass and hills underneath her weight. "Where are you taking me anyway?"

"To a cool place I found," I said.

"... It's not out of bounds, is it?"

"Kind of," I said. That too was a lie; it was out of bounds, even if just barely.

We eventually walked alongside the electrical fences that inhibited the District; usually, there were gates near every mile or so, and people with permits would get scanned by Peacekeepers and would be let into the forest to perform their job. Though my dad was a butcher, he wasn't granted this liberty and was just expected to pay hunters. So I didn't have the privelege to wander outside the District. Still, I found something really cool. After a while of walking we saw the large shrubbery of a tree on the ground and it was evident it had obliterated part of the fence.

The Peacekeepers hadn't discovered it in the past few days; the gap in the fence was so large anyone could just climb onto the thick tree trunk and wander through. They would inevitably fix it, but it had given me the chance to explore the forest I had been separated from my whole life. I also collected fruits and berries of the tree from my family, but my favourite discovery lay camouflaged amongst the trees - it looked like a cave, the surface of it indistinguishable underneath mounds of moss and ivy. I hopped onto the tree trunk, balancing on it as Rita looked at me.

"Seriously?"

"It isn't far, it's just that," I said, pointing at the moss and ivy. "C'mon, you only live once!"

Rita sighed, clambering onto the tree trunk and reluctantly following me as I made my way along the tree trunk. She struggled to balance, so I held her hand and also led her across until we were both at the other side; though it was only a meters difference, in this area I could feel the freedom and nature seep into my nostrils every time I inhaled. I smiled, leading us towards the apparent cave. However, as I tore away some ivy and revealed an empty space where a door was supposed to be, it was evident that this was quite different.

"Where's this?" Rita asked, her eyes wide as I led her in.

"The Jungle," I said as we entered the interior of a building - well, it wasn't perfect. It was completely bland; parts of the ceiling had collapsed, and inside the remnant of an old civilisation plants and greenery had invaded. Still, there were elements that told us this was once a place; there was a clear bar, made out of wood. There was also some kind of dancefloor, the tiles of it ripped out. Platforms had elevated and had revealed metal bars that stretched from the floor to the ceiling.

"This isn't quite a jungle..."

"The sign says it is," I said, pointing to a glass sign that was tilted on the unstable wall. A beetle scuttled across it; it would have once been lit, but the electricity would have been stripped by scavengers. It was a sign declaring that this domain was called the jungle next to a formed image of what seemed to be a woman, posting explicitly and seductively.

I walked behind the bar, searching around the dusty shelves for any glass. There apparently wasn't any, but that was to be expected. Shuffling rightwards, to avoid a dripping stream of water, I removed the bottle of cheap whiskey from my rucksack and set it out aside as I glanced at Rita with an eyebrow raised. She was jokingly spinning around one of the poles, laughing and throwing her hair around, liberated outside the boundaries and conventions of the District.

"What are you doing?" I said, setting the whisky onto the bar and making a tsunami of dust spread in its wake.

"Just dancing like they would have here back in the pre-Panem days," Rita approached me until she was on the other side of the bar. She leant over and we kissed briefly before she pulled away with a slight grin. "Am I sexy?"

"You know the answer to that."

She rolled her eyes and laughed. "So, what do you have exactly?"

"Whisky."

"Any glasses?"

"You know the scavengers would have taken them all by now," I told her, trying to not sound condescending. Scavengers were Capitol hired people who flew around the areas of pre-Panem that weren't within the Districts. They had two jobs: kill anybody who wasn't where they were supposed to be, tucked away tightly into one of the Districts or the Capitol, and their second job was to go to old places in pre-Panem and scavenge materials from the old society so they could be put away in the new society. This included all their machinery, electrical circuiting, glasses... they stripped the old civilisation bare, putting it to use in the Capitol or occasionally displaying the place in museums. "I'm shocked the scavengers didn't take those metal poles and melt them or something."

"Yeah, same," Rita said. "Or this wooden bar. Or the glass sign."

"If times get desperate again, like they did in the first and second rebellions and the great famine eighty years ago, they probably will take the whole building," I said sadly, taking a swig from the whisky and handing it out to her. Despite her look of innocence, she smirked at me and took the whisky. "So, looks like we're drinking from the bottle. How about a toast to say fuck you to the Capitol?"

When I woke up, it was like the morning after I had shared a whole bottle of whiskey with Rita. We'd never drank before, so the feeling we experienced the next day was extremely unpleasant. Along with nausea and a headache, the worst side effect of over-indulging in wine was easily the fact I had dreamt of a past memory with Rita - a memory that only happened three months ago, and felt so real I could envision it like a movie. I lingered over the memory, trying not to cry when I thought of Tear and trying not to throw up when I lingered on the present hangover.

Luke had also just woken up; the morning light seemed to blind him, and as he shielded his face I wandered into the wide-spaced kitchen. To my surprise, water spilled out of the tap when I twisted it. I pulled two glasses underneath it, letting them collect the contents of the water before I walked back into the dining table. The food from last night - barely touched due to us not managing to eat it all - lay scattered on trays and plates, visibly beginning to rot now bar the alcohol and drinks. Luke was sat on one of the chairs, his nose pointed away from the rotting food in disgust.

I shoved a glass towards him and he didn't accept it.

"Drink it, it helps. Hangovers are a bitch."

"I don't think I'm ever drinking again," Luke said, taking the glass and reluctantly taking a few sips as I downed my water. It didn't have an immediate effect, but I knew it would help me a bit. Still, Luke was coughing visibly, his face was rub and puffy and mucus leaked out of his nose. Looked like, as a first time drinker, he was coping worse than I was. I refrained from telling him this could be the first time he drank in his life and smiled a little.

"You'll get over it, there's worse that can happen in the Hunger Games," I said, sitting down. "So... we need a clear strategy... do we wait along here with the rotting food or do we get going?"

"I want to say the former," Luke said, glancing at me. "I can remember the mansion well. We can explore a lot, I guess. Maybe we should convert the kitchens into a base? The food here has rotted, but there's a lot here in the kitchen and we can't carry it all, plus the corridors are complex and running and escaping are easy."

"Yeah," I contemplated as I watched Luke drink a glass of water. I needed to get home to Rita. I'd do that via any means possible if I had to. "We should take it easy today. But maybe we should... you know..."

"What?"

"Hunt tributes," was all I responded. Luke was about to protest but coughed violently into his own hand. "I know the Bloodbath wiped out what - a third, maybe a fraction less - of the competition, but there's only one winner. If we're serious about winning... if we want to show everyone we're serious... we need to show the Gamemakers we can tear a leaf out of the Careers' book," I watched as Luke continued spluttering. "You okay?"

"Yeah... yeah," he sniffled, standing up. He seemed too drained to protest. "Well, lets start by scavenging the kitchen and the pantries. Shouldn't take more than ten minutes."

Mirane Saffell, District 8, 17

I paused before I reached the door. While Darius had been asleep and Hadley - who I don't even think slept - kept staring out of the window, I decided to make productive use of my time by going out and hunting. Although there were a few problems. I couldn't really venture too far because I could get lost, and thus my chances of actually finding and shooting any tributes was slim. And, as I expected, I didn't find anybody.

I paused as my fist hovered over the wooden door. Darius and Hadley were probably inside. Who said that I had to go back to them? I mean, Darius did tell me that he needed me to survive... but I needed to survive too... I knew that I had the bigger chance of survival; I didn't depend on Darius. But while his ally was catatonic and he had no food or water, Darius did depend on me. I didn't know how I felt about that. I could abandon him... I should abandon him... but at the same time, the prospect of doing that was just too hard. Keeping a stony expression, I rapped hard on the door.

"Who is it?" I heard Darius' voice through the door.

"A Career," I said, sarcastically. "Who do you think?"

"How do I know this is the real Mirane and not some Mirane that is programmed to slice and dice me?" I sighed and frustratedly twisted the door knob. As always, it was left locked.

"Stop it," I sighed. "I'm not in the mood for jok-"

The door twisted open and I saw Darius' face through the doorway. He had that endearing, shy smile on his face. His hair was messed up, too. The shy appearance he gave was kind of ruined though, when you considered that the front of his outfit was soaked in blood. Behind him I could see Hadley; he hadn't changed. He was in the same old chair, staring out of the window in the same way he did when I found him early this morning... or last night. I stepped into the room as Darius closed the door behind me. The room was still the same as I remembered it; doorway blocked over by a tipped over bookshelf, maps and atlases and the large table...

"Where did you go?" Darius asked inquisitively and calmly.

"Hunting," I said, throwing the gun down on the table. "Why? Worried I abandoned you?"

"Well... I was maybe a little bit..." Darius trailed off his sentence and then frowned. "What did you mean? Hunting?"

"I had a gun, hunting for tributes," I said, as straightforward as ever.

"Oh... don't you think that's... a bit..." Darius paused, scared to say the next few words. "Career like?"

"Maybe," I paused, my gaze set on Hadley for a few seconds before I continued: "But if there's anything the Careers do right it's the killing part. I mean, they do tend to win more than non-Career Districts for a reason. Eight tributes died yesterday, Darius," I smiled. "I'm a third of the way through this thing - almost halfway there. If I keep at it, if I kill the tributes, that's a step closer to home. To survival. I mean, do you honestly think I'm a bad person for wanting to get out of this hellhole?"

"N-No..." Darius thought before making an argument. He moved over to a corner of the room where a large book was situated, and he began to read it again. As his eyes scanned the page, he glanced up at me. "It's just... I don't know... there's something not right about it... something not good."

"Well I don't consider death to be a good thing."

"I know that!" Darius, once again, thought before speaking. "I don't know, Mirane... I don't like the thought of going out there and just hunting for tributes like they're meat..." Before I protested, he spoke over me. "Look! I get it. You want to survive. And so do I. I'm not saying we shouldn't kill anyone - I mean, I killed someone in the Bloodbath," his voice grew softer. "And it was the worst feeling I've ever felt in my life... Only somebody sick in the head or desensitised to it like the Careers could just shrug death off, you know? I agree. We need to fight. We can't play peacekeeper. If anyone attacks us, they're going to get a nasty shock," he paused. "But we can't just hunt."

"I guess in a way you're right..." I paused, grabbing the gun and inspecting it for a second. "But I still disagree. We have a gun - do you know how lucky that makes us?"

"Hm..." Darius smiled a little. "Talking about guns, I have a present for you."

"What?" I straightened up a little as Darius reached into the pocket of his breeches and showed me what seemed to be like bullets, all placed neatly in cartridges. As soon as I saw them I hurried over. I was worried that I'd run out of ammo - I mean, I blasted a good few bullets into the District Four girl. As I inspected each bullet, smiling, I glanced up at Darius. "You were sponsored bullets? Why? I'm the one with the gun..."

"Someone must think we make a good team," was all he replied, a slight smile on his lips. As much as I didn't want to, I smiled back.

"So what are you reading?" I noticed a map stretched across the book Darius was reading. He almost snatched it and moved it out of my view defensively, but he blushed a little.

"I got bored... I decided to just look at some of the books to pass time, assuming you were away," he said as I scanned what was obviously a map of Panem. My eyes hovered over the geography, though I was a little shocked at how it showed the snowy mountains up North and the tropical rainforests down South - apparently these were also countries... Canada and Mexico. The names looked so unfamiliar to me. What seemed even more familiar was how Panem was divided by many lines and letters, forming chunks of the land. They were all signalled with two letters. "I got kind of interested at all of the maps and stuff."

"What is this? Pre-Panem?"

"Or, as it's officially called, the United States of America."

"No," I protested. "We were called Pre-Panem."

"Nah, apparently we were called America or something," Darius laughed. "We just refer to it as Pre-Panem because it's the same land in a totally different era... different social values, different technology, different lives." He smiled lightly. "Do you really think they named the country Pre-Panem knowing that it would eventually be replaced with a nation called Panem? Were the country founders oracles?"

"Oh shut up," I said, pushing the map away. I didn't like being wrong, and I didn't like being condescended for it either. I glanced at a particular spot in the map and my finger trailed to it. "District Eight is here. It borders NY and PA. What are they?"

"They named particular parts of the land, apparently," Darius said. "So if we didn't live in Pre-Panem we'd either live in the state of New York or Pennsylvania." He referred to some kind of guideline at the side of the map, explaining what the two letters meant. "How cool is that?"

"Pretty cool..." I paused. "And where is the Capitol?"

"Apparently it was called New York City... I didn't realise how close we were to the Capitol."

"Go us," I sighed sarcastically.

"And I tried finding out where District Seven is," Darius explained. I glanced at him quizzically, but he elaborated: "You know, just in case Hadley ever asked." He finger trailed down the map. District Seven is in a place called Washington... almost trails up to the snowy North, though... which was called Canada..." Even I found myself intrigued, imagining another world where big cities were common and people weren't so divided by money as we were. Or was I just having an idealistic vision? Darius and I stared at the map in silence before he closed the book.

"I even found a world map," Darius said, reaching for another book.

"Maybe we should talk about..." I paused, glancing at Hadley as he stared out of the window emptily. "About Hadley. And I don't mean where District Seven is, we can't pretend that everything is okay with him here."

"Wh-What do you mean?" Darius said, as if he didn't know.

"You know what I mean," I sighed, watching Darius pretend to look at the large world map he threw out before us - wow... I didn't know the world was that big. I barely knew what lay beyond Panem. "Sometimes Darius..." I wanted to word it sensitively; I knew Darius would be against anything I would have to say. "If Hadley was stabbed in the heart and died, we'd have to leave the body right?" Darius frowned; but I knew his response. "Sometimes some people... they... die in their mind... and things happen to them that make them shut down. Like when you're stabbed in the heart, there's no cure. There's no option but to leave them."

"You're suggesting we abandon Hadley?" Darius hissed, offended.

"Not right now," I was being uncharacteristically reproachful. "But we can't stay here forever - it's the second day and the Gamemakers aren't gonna be kind forever. Eventually they'll send something and Hadley won't move. We can't go down with him, can we?" Darius continued staring at the book, refusing to answer. "Hadley has always been weak-"

"... He's stronger than he looks..."

"No he ain't, we know that," I said, closing the book on Darius so that he didn't have an excuse to look away from me. "Some people aren't built for the harshness of the world. When it hits them, they shut down. He probably wants to die when the time comes," I snapped. "I saw it happen in District Eight. Once a large cog malfunctioned and was shot through the factory - caused a pretty large explosion, I don't live near the factories, considering my family are rich," I paused. "But I heard about this mother who lost all three of her children. Apparently she died inside. They just let her wither until she starved to death the way she liked it. Maybe Hadley is experiencing the same..." I paused. "Maybe he wants to die."

In the corridor outside what sounded like a good few grandfather clocks chimed in unison, announcing the coming of a new hour.

"Did you hear that?" Darius paused, standing up.

"Don't change the conversation," I glanced at Hadley as I also stood up. He probably overheard our conversation, our discussing of abandoning him. If he did, he didn't move or react.

"No..." Darius paused. "Are there that many grandfather clocks in one place?"

"No idea..." I paused. "Never went out into that corridor," what sounded like five grandfather clocks continued chiming directly outside - a very unusual sound. When were so many clocks put in one place. I grappled for the gun while I gave instructions. "Lift the bookshelf up so I can open the door."

"Anything there and you shoot," Darius agreed, moving over to the bookshelf I had toppled over a day earlier.

As I moved closer to the door I heard Darius groan, struggling to lift the bookshelf. He just about managed, stray books that dangled off the shelf falling open on the floor and giving me access to the door. Keeping my gun close, I grabbed the doorhandle. The chimes had stopped and now I could hear loud ticking noises... a choir of them... ticking over and over again. My ear was pressed against the door and I looked Darius in the eye, nodding at him as a signal as I readied my gun and forced the door open quickly.

I screamed when a blade immediately slashed my arm, tearing the fabric of my dress. Blood wept out of the wound which seemed to send shockwaves of numb pain through my body - I didn't have time to look at what did it. I first assumed a Career, but dressed in smart, romantic attire - its face concealed under a wig - was some kind of moving creature with a blade where its hand was supposed to be. A mask, concealing something underneath, had painted lips twisted into a psychotic smile. What was even creepier was that many clones, replicas of it, were marching down the corridor towards us in unison.

I shot at its head, the bang deafening, but sending the creature sprawled across the floor. As I jumped back, trying not to look so frightened, Darius released the bookshelf and it crashed forward - once again blocking the door. The robots gave electronic sounding jeers, their blades hacking into the wood of the blocked door angrily as I watched blood pour from my arm.

"Wh-What are they? Ticking mutts?"

"Something much weirder..." I said, turning to the other escape route we had planned. Outside the door there was also the sound of ticking. I turned to Darius, scared. "We're blocked."

"We're locked in," he said. "It'll be fine."

"Down with the bourgeois!" Robotic voices shouted over and over again as they stabbed into the door. I glanced at Darius, shocked. Ironically, Darius had stated we were safe when we were locked inside, but beyond the blocked door there was the sound of a saw working its way through the door we had crafted. Pausing, terrified, Darius glanced at me.

"It won't be fine," I aimed my gun at the door and paused. "I'm going to shoot. Then we leave."

"What about Hadley? They'll hack him into tiny pieces!" Darius said, looking at my arm and knowing that was the result of a second with those creepy things. They'd continue shouting their robotic insults about tearing down some kind of system.

"We discussed what happens to Hadley," I said, eyes narrowed at the door, finger teasing the trigger.

"No!" Darius paused, rushing over to Hadley and kneeling down by him. He squeezed Hadley's arm reassuringly, once, and as I glanced to the door I heard him talk to Hadley: "Hadley, stand up! We're in danger, we have to go now... Okay?" No response, the only sound was the angry ticking and slogans coming from behind both doors. "Look, I know you're there Hadley. We don't have time for this... please... just... do something. Mirane is here for you. I'm here for you."

For the first time, Hadley spoke: "No-one is here."

"We're here, Hadley, listen to me," Darius gripped both of Hadley's hands and stared into eyes which refused to stare back. Hadley didn't seem remotely perturbed by the danger going on around him. "We're in danger and right now we need you. Like, really need you, so listen up, okay? You don't have to do anything. You don't have to fight. Mirane is going to shoot and you run with me. How about that?"

The glimmer of hope which was Hadley responding to Darius had already faded; he simply turned to stare out of the window once more. I felt anger burn inside me - but didn't know who it was directed to. I was angry at Hadley, for being so selfish, for letting Darius be dragged down into the consequences of his own mental failings. But Hadley couldn't help that - it was Darius I should be angry at. A man who falls into an icy lake isn't necessarily at fault; but those around him should accept his death. Anyone who jumps in to save him and is trapped under the ice is at fault, is stupid.

Thankfully, Darius seemed to know this. He appeared at my side, looking forlorn.

"I don't know what to do," he said, sadly. "If he r-really wants to die... We should just let him, right?" He bit back tears, but looked determined. Suddenly the glimmer of a circular saw poked through the door, spinning aggressively and almost tearing the blockage down. "We need to take the stairs. I think there are less of them there and we could push them down instead of wasting bullets."

"Agreed," I said as Darius stormed towards the doorway that led down the stairs - I could see chips and chunks taken out of it from the monsters behind it. As Darius stormed towards the door I turned to Hadley, feeling guilty. Could I really just leave him here to die?

I stormed towards Hadley, and he didn't react until he saw how infuriated I looked. His eyes widened, only barely, and my hand lashed across his cheek. I slapped him with such ferocity his head span under the force of the connection, leaving a pink mark on his cheek. After that, he didn't react, but I shouted at him furiously:

"You're just going to give up like that?!" I snapped. "People have died for you, for Panem's sake!" I slapped him again and suddenly he seemed awake and alive. He stood up, holding one of his reddened cheeks as I stared down at him. "If you want to die, fine! But don't expect other people to go down with you, okay?"

He stared at me once, in shock, and then nodded. I didn't think it was the slaps or even the shouting that had dragged Hadley out of his eternal nightmare - in fact, the numbness in his eyes still remained. But he was no longer dormant, and I knew that was because he ultimately didn't want anybody to die because of him. As Darius unlocked the door and sprang it open, Hadley and and I charged towards the stairway. Two of the mutts - or whatever they were - leapt at Darius, who clumsily wrestled with one of them before they were forced down the stairway, crashing loudly.

The other managed to scream out some foreign saying before I aimed the gun at its chest, shooting. Sparks flew out where its heart was supposed to be as it followed its ally, crashing down the stairs which the three of us charged down. As we rushed down the stairs with it, getting away from the room as quickly as possible and hearing the door get tore down, I noticed what the mutts that attacked us really were: underneath the masquerade was smashed glass which spat out sparks. Instead of innards and bones, cogs and mechanisms were scattered around the corpses.

Clockwork robots.

Magnus Carmine, District 5, 17

Once again I lay slumped against the wall. After the terrifying ordeal that happened last night Leda woke me up and told me to keep walking. But fear of what lay out there - fear of my own mind - had meant I couldn't function. My head throbbed with confusion, a beating headache made me slump against the wall and shake with pain. Leda patiently looked at me for the past hour, knowing she couldn't do anything to help me. She rummaged in her small pouch, rolling a berry between her fingers before eating it while I cradled my head in my hands.

Weak, pathetic, Carmine... That's the name your weaker self deserves. Just lying there, being pathetic, unable to cope the potential you truly possess.

"No, Carmine... Magnus..." I mumbled to myself. I grabbed my hair and tugged at it aggressively. It was scary how apathetic Leda seemed to be; she looked at me almost curiously, glints of sympathy in her eyes. She was smart enough to not act; the closer she got to me, the more she endangered herself. And she couldn't help. The only thing that ever helped were the pills...

Pills? Don't you mean sedatives. You should have never took them. Not ever. All it did was cloak the real you - the evil you - the person you were supposed to be. They turned you into Carmine; the weak, childlike alter ego that was supposed to die with his parents. Magnus - the real Magnus - was sedated by those stupid fucking pills. And like it or not, he will be coming back.

"No he fucking won't," I snapped, aggressively.

He will. He'll come back with such a vengeance it'll be unreal. The last time he killed with free reign was so many years ago... a decade ago, perhaps? That was when he killed your mother... as much as you try to deny it he killed her... he killed your father's killer... and he'll kill again. He'll kill so aggressively even the Careers will tremble before him and beg him for mercy; did you remember that girl you killed, back at the Bloodbath? Did you remember feeling her brain squelch and the blood running across your fingers? You pretend you didn't like it, but you loved it. And you'll love it again.

"I hate it! I hate it!" I wept. Leda edged closer to me cautiously, suddenly looking more sympathetic than ever as I choked on my own sobs against the wall, unable to contain the pain and the nasty voice.

Prison is torture for you. Locked away from others, locked away from killing. Won't it be great to feel that again?

Starting with your ally...

"Stay away!" I snapped at Leda, almost screaming with fury. She stepped back a few times, looking terrified.

"Magnus..." She said, scared.

"Stay away!" I screamed again.

Look how willing she is to help you. Kind of like the deer wanting to help a lion. And you are the lion - you are destined to kill. A lion cannot survive without meat and blood. You cannot survive without killing. Where do you think all of the pain comes from? The urge is throbbing within you because it's at arms reach and all you have to do is grab her, take her own knife from her and gut her like a fish. Once you do that the urge goes... the pain all goes away... it's so easy to do and you know you're capable of doing this. You've already taken three lives, Magnus. Why not a fourth?

"M-Maybe..." I said, rocking back and forth, wanting the pain to go. "Maybe..."

That's right. Get up and kill her. And the pain all goes away.

I glanced up and looked at Leda. Her hair fell over her narrow face in dark curls. She looked at me, confused, not knowing what to do as I drove myself into a catatonic state before her. In one hand, held neatly and wisely - probably just in case I snapped or needed to be euthanised - her sickle glinted in the morning light as it seeped into the corridors we were in. She looked at me once, not knowing how to react.

"Not Leda..." I said to my inner voice, the mentioning of her name startling her. "Not Leda..."

Look at her, with that knife. She isn't as loyal to you as you are to her. Not just will killing her take the pain, it is the wisest decision!

"No... not her, not Leda, never Leda," I breathed shakily.

Your call then. But next time you will snap.

That was the last I heard from my inner, darker voice and then my mind descended into an anti-climactic silence. Suddenly I heard nothing but the serene ticking of the grandfather clock down the corridor. When the silence came, the pain left... and the paranoia left too. I felt clear and cured. The aftermath of the throb still rumbled inside my mind, though, leaving glistening sweat across my forehead. I struggled to stand up, using my arm against the wall to support myself. Leda followed, barely managing to handle my weight as I got to my feet.

"You okay?" She asked, her voice shaking mildly.

"I guess," I mumbled, not wanting to get any attention.

"You were like that for an hour," Leda said. As pale as she was, she had somehow turned a shade paler. She looked at my towering figure, speaking in a hushed voice: "Things like that just don't go..."

"It was just a glitch, I can control it," I said - more to myself than to her. "I just need the medicine. And we can't afford to wait around for any longer. Come on... We need to get going..."

With that I turned, storming down the corridor. For the first time I noticed it in all its glory; dark skirting boards, painted red walls which looked glossy whilst basking in the morning light. The burning smell of incense drifted into my nostrils and a glance out the window showed me the greenery of the grounds and the crisp blueness of the sky above it. I stared out the window for a brief second, just hoping that Rayann could sponsor me some medication and take away the torture - make sure it's all over. And then, as if nothing could happened, I marched away. With hesitancy, Leda followed.

Rayann Grace Carter, District 5 Mentor

I didn't know mentoring would be so difficult. The interacting with sponsors thing was difficult enough, but watching your tributes on screen? Desperately trying to sponsor stuff to them? Now knowing if it would be their last day or not? That was the hard part. Which was why I had locked myself away in the bathrooms, desperately splashing cold water on my face and trying to regain myself. It seemed impossible to breathe. I thought I had escaped the nightmare of death, the stench of death. But as long as I lived I would have to experience this.

After managing to remain calm, and leaning up shakily, I made my way out of the bathroom and into the well-heated corridor. It seemed relatively empty, but the mentor's station down the corridor was alive; I could hear chatting from inside it. Eventually a bored looking Iopian stumbled out of the corridor, glancing at me once.

"Do you know who let the vultures in?" He asked.

"The what?"

"The paparazzi, the media, they're inside," he sighed, strolling down the corridor as I strolled up it. He smiled lightly. "Prepare to be harassed."

"My favourite thing," I grimaced, walking into the mentor's room.

The mentor's room was a collection of stations which each mentor - or escort, in place of a mentor's absence, were surrounded by small panels which showed how much money they had. There was also a telephone, so they could call in and request items, and numerous buttons to deploy said items and occasionally leave messages with them if they were willing to pay that extra bit of money. Each of the walls projected twenty-four split screens - as soon as a tribute died those screens disappeared to make more room for the remaining screens.

The escorts were standing by their station in peace. Some of them were forlornly looking at the screens, at their tributes or assessing other tributes close by, but there was a gaggle of paparazzi surrounding Jynx Blackthorne. She seemed to be really enjoying the attention; she barely paid attention to her tributes (not that she needed to, them being Careers and all) and laughed at some of the questions.

"You really want to know my whole backstory?" Jynx said, filing her nails, kicking her feet up comfortably. Everyone surrounding her nodded. "Well, it's pretty long but if you want a juicy scoop out of it who am I to not dish it out, right?"

I approached my own station. Contessa was slumped asleep across a few buttons, leaving her green make-up smudged against the metal framework. I scowled as I approached her, shaking her violently. She mumbled to herself before I pinched her harshly, watching her eyes widen. She shot up, snapping insults at me while instinctively fixing her wild black and white hair.

"You promised me you'd keep an eye out!" I scolded.

"I was watching... with one eye... slightly closed..." She said, her blush concealed by make-up.

"Seriously?" I glanced at the digits that flashed on a screen before me - the amount of sponsor money we had. It was millions of credits, definitely enough for medication. I promised Magnus I'd sponsor him the medication. I had to. "Magnus has literally done nothing but talk to himself and you think that we can just afford to sleep around? I sponsored him the medication... has it been sponsored?"

I ignored the paparazzi behind my back. I saw the flashes of their cameras in my peripheral vision, felt some of them jab my back desperately for attention. Intense aggravation flared inside me as I tried my best to ignore them... their questions filled my ears, asking me how I felt, if I thought I stood a chance of producing a victor and if I was dating (which was a ridiculous and unrelated question). I picked up the phone and moved it to my ears, the familiar voice of Enarife, the woman who ran sponsoring and financing.

"Hey Rayann, lovely!" She said cheerily down the phone.

"Enarife, I sponsored something," I said to her, trying to speak low enough so that the paparazzi couldn't hear me. That was kind of impossible, as they had stopped asking questions and simply resorted to listening to my conversation. I wondered if any were still listening to Jynx's long-winded story. "Do you have any idea when it will get to Magnus? I pressed the deploy button at least a thousand times."

"Speak a little louder dear," Enarife said, but before I repeated myself I heard her voice accompanying the typing of a computer: "Oh. Looks like your medication won't reach Magnus for a long time. It's been blocked."

"Blocked? Did you block it?" I said, frustrated.

"No, I sent it off for deployment," Enarife said. "Looks like the powers that be-" codename for the Gamemakers or the Nystalgias. "Don't want your tribute to get his psycho meds."

"What?" I shouted angrily, making everyone jump. "Why?"

"M-Maybe they just think he can do without it... or he's too entertaining to make sane again..." Enarife started. I felt fury creep into my temples and down my eyes, leaving a trail of migraine in its path.

"I have the perfect headline - Rayann basks in Hunger Games Disaster... Maybe horror would work best," a male journalist said to his cameraman.

I didn't hang up the phone on Enarife as I planned. I turned around swiftly, swinging the phone on the cord and watching it slam into the journalist's face. His cry of pain was muffled by the sound of his nose breaking and everybody surrounding us screamed before excitedly taking pictures; even the journalists surrounding Jynx paused to look up and observe what had happened. Before Contessa could scold me, I glared at the journalist who lay crumpled on the floor and spat on him before speaking.

"I hope that makes a good story," I said, storming out of the room and back into the corridor.

This had to be the fiftieth time I had planned to go to the bathroom to cool my face down in the last hour. Wherever I went I felt flushed and hot and - for obvious reasons - the paparazzi didn't dare follow me.

"Rayann!"

"Fuck off," I growled, before I saw the tall, blonde figure. I turned on my heel and paused. "Oh, Luster... I d-didn't..."

"Don't sweat it, they're horrible," he paused, before adopting a more serious expression. "Look, I need to tell you something pretty important - I was watching Magnus last night and-"

"He needs medication," I said. "If he doesn't-"

"Look, there is worse out there for him," Luster said. "I know you're worried - I'm worried too-" I wanted to tell him he shouldn't be worried when he had Careers with massive sponsor bases on his side. "But trust me. You need to sponsor Magnus a flashlight."

"A what?"

"Last night..." Luster trailed off...

"He needs medication! Have you seen his state of mind?"

Luster paused. I knew he had information he wasn't allowed to give me. Exhaling in frustration, I rested my arms against the wall and tried to forget this whole ordeal. Luster stared at me sympathetically, before continuing, free from my interruptions. "I know Magnus isn't okay. I know he's far from it. But trust me, despite everything, if you want him to survive tonight you need to sponsor him a flashlight. It's the only option, so I'd sponsor it before the sun sets," he paused. Why was he telling me this? He could just let his tributes survive over mine... "Please."

"I'll consider it," I said, weakly, watching Luster walk away.

I considered Luster's advice. Was it true? Luster wouldn't lie... So the even more sinister question was... where did he get such information? And why did Magnus need a flashlight of all things? Was something coming for him, was there something that desperately needed to be found in the dark corners of the mansion? I considered the options, confused. All I knew was that, despite how accommodating it could appear, it seemed as if this Palace the Gamemakers had built had to possess some of the most sinister elements to an arena... the kind of things children had nightmares about...

I was right to have worried about my tributes.

Willow Horvat, District 11, 13

My mother had always told me that with good perspective life could be made a little easier, even if you were in a sticky situation. I knew it was just another of the stupid things girls say, but I still thought it was a nice thing to think. So as I walked along a bland corridor, I couldn't help but repeat such words in my head. I mean, I followed Iopian's advice and got out of the Bloodbath alive. Even better than that, I had an abundance of supplies with me. The immense weight of the many backpacks that hung off my shoulders meant my walking was slowed down; in one hand I had a hatchet, and in the other I had a bagel. A delicious bagel.

I chomped into it and kind of considered my prospects - even if things looked good now... how would they look in a week? Would I even be alive in a week? It was easy to doubt that prospect when there were still fifteen other kids in the arena, some of them skilled and some of them trained and definitely desensitised to killing. In a week my supplies would at least deplete by half, especially if I continued snacking trivially like I had done in the past twenty-four hours. I knew it was stupid, but I guess eating all the food I had available was my way of coping; there was no television, there were no people and you could only entertain yourself for so long...

I stopped as I finished the bagel, licking my fingers to savour any remaining flavour that had lingered on them. I glanced around a few times to inspect the corridor for any potential and dangerous Careers. There weren't any people at all. I couldn't say much about the corridor I was in - because it was so bland, especially compared to the other ostentatious corridors I had wandered down. The corridor was extremely long though, with many plain, wooden doors that lined down the corridor like still soldiers. I suddenly felt very small in the bareness of the wide hallway; the only sign of any decoration in sight was some kind of piece of paper above a doorway down the corridor, but the language was foreign and I didn't know what it said - être poli à vos maîtres. What did that even mean? I didn't even know other languages existed, and what were those squiggles above the letters? I squinted, observing many more of these strange words lined up next to bullet points. They spilled right to the bottom of the page.

The door beside me suddenly opened. It was as if somebody kicked it, and the noise it made produced a squeal from me. I raised my hatchet and turned towards the door, only to notice that nobody was there. Still wielding my axe, and visibly trembling, I wandered lightly into the room and noticed no-one was there; it was a bedroom, but it was very bland. No decorations. Just a single bed and a wardrobe of sorts. There was also the window which gave me a clear view of the afternoon sky.

I turned and paused, confused, when the door quietly closed behind me. It wasn't as violent as the previous time a door closed out of nowhere, but it was still really slow. I couldn't help but feel nervous, especially when the wardrobe doors conveniently opened slowly. Maybe it was just a draft. It couldn't be anything too bad, right?

"Stop fucking with me," I mumbled as I moved to the door and tried to open it. For a few seconds it wouldn't budge. Slightly alarmed, I continued pulling on it and kicking it; there were no locked, and I couldn't feel a force from the outside keeping it closed. After a struggle for ten seconds it burst open, forcing me onto my rear on the harsh floorboards beneath. And yet there wasn't anything outside. Despite there being nothing, everything was moving on its own accord. As if it were mocking me, the wardrobe doors slowly and neatly closed themselves.

I stood up, a slight throb being felt on my backside as I waddled outside and took a look around. All of the doors were closed. There wasn't anything there. I felt overtly paranoid. I moved to the door and closed it experimentally - and for thirty seconds I stood there, relieved that it didn't burst open. As I began to wander down the corridor my illusions were shattered all of the doors opened so harshly on command that they flung off their hinges.

That definitely wasn't a draft.

I adjusted the straps of a few backpacks and ran down the corridor, pausing and screaming when the doors flew down the corridor after me. I ducked as they smashed into walls and into spare bedrooms, leaving pieces of obliterated wood in their wake. I stood up again, charging closer towards the only untouched door - the one that led out of this creepy place - as the obvious sound of laughter followed me. It was a chilling noise that was carried with the wind, and it finally spoke, sounding more like a paranoid thought process than an actual voice:

"Willow, Willow, we're here!"

I screamed, the door getting ever so closer.

"You can't run from us Willow!"

I managed to reach the door, twisting the door handle and screaming when it wouldn't open. All activity behind me ceased. There was silence, and my own thudding heartbeat rang through my ears as I leant against the door. I tried to pull it open again but there was no response. The door refused to budge. I refused to cry like a girl, but I did feel tears of fear sizzling in the corner of my eyelids as I continuously pulled at the door, begging it to open. My shoulders ached from the weight of my supplies and I knew I could run faster if it wasn't for this stupid, girly dress.

"It's only a matter of time Willow..."

Footsteps thudded closer from behind me. Through the silence, I could hear the floorboards creak.

"... And then you'll be one of us... You'll be ours..."

Screaming, I smashed my hatchet into the door. As the footsteps got closer I did it again and again, removing vicious chunks out of the thick slab of wood. I continued hacking, the loud sound of the axe destroying the door somehow less audible than the creepy, silent footsteps that edged closer behind me. Not daring to look back, I hacked my axe into the door desperately a few more times until it was blatantly loose. Once I saw I had severely weakened it, I smashed my door into it and watched as the door burst open.

Tears flowing from my cheeks, I rushed down the stairs.

Hey! I love you guys a lot, so it's nice to get PM's and a review expressing how much you missed me. I'm not gone, and you know I won't abandon the story. I just suffer from this thing we all suffer from time to time in life. No, not the common cold. Busyness. But despite University's academic (and, somehow more daunting, social) demands, I'll still manage to spew out a rushed and heavily unedited chapters when I can. Okay?

So can we get to 400 reviews? :3 that's be brilliant.

~Toxic

Capitol Commentator Question: Which tribute do you think is the most motivated?

Interview Question: Are you a drinker? If not, why? If so, what do you like about it and how often do you drink? I've personally dabbled with alcohol a little like most people, but I've never really caught the appeal with it unless it's very moderate.

P.S - 'Where's Trojan?' you all scream; for better or worse, you'll find out soon enough. But I do love how engaged you are with the audience named 'mystery of the eighth cannon' - I thought you'd all treat it as a fun subplot, and I thought I could afford to be unsubtle about it. But you all have an eye on it so I'm throwing in subtlety and red herrings wherever I can. I will say it's clever of you all to not just treat it as a subplot, because it's going to be a massive story arc that will directly affect most of the tributes, and distantly affect everyone right until the end of the story. Your own/favourite tribute who is still alive? Yep, it'll affect them.