My eyes snap open when I feel a hand on my shoulder, a pale-faced female Avox dipping down into my vision. She waves me good morning, pointing to the set of clothes on my bed.

Part of me wants to stay in bed. I don't think I've ever had sleep as good as I had it here. It beats the flimsy cot in the sublevels and train car armchair by miles. I groggily say my thanks and slip out of bed when the Avox leaves, sauntering over to the clothes in question.

The uniform of the day appears to be brick red skin-tight leggings with silver striping, sports bra, a jacket with the same striping and silver sneakers to boot - perfect for a day of training.

"Training day today, the first of many - expanded by at least a week." Viondra remarks, padding her mouth with a napkin. A light grin on her lips, she asks, "Any personal goals?"

It takes me a few seconds to answer her, as I instead decide to immerse myself in the breakfast they give me. The beef hash, scrambled eggs and crepes are leagues - leagues better than the breakfast MRE, salmon, I had yesterday.

Shrugging, I swallow my food and wash it down with a tall glass of apple juice. "Take it day by day I guess."

I watch as Viondra makes an expression of agreement, nodding. "I'll make an addendum to that already decent plan." She dips down to feed her puppy creatures her scraps. Making a joyful 'wooping' noise, they suck it up like a vacuum. "These Games are basically a giant reset. You're all fish out of water -forget everything that happened in the past. I imagine there'll be a sizeable amount of...objectors. No one will really rush to pick up a spear, neither will you. No showcasing your skills."

I frown, my fork clattering against my plate as I stare at Viondra. Isn't that the point of training, confirming your knowledge, getting an edge on your opponents mentally? "Why the hell not?"

"We've barely got here yet all eyes are on you." Viondra snips, her lips twitching into a smirk as she sips a glass of water. "You don't need to add flashing lights to the gargantuan target on your back."

I roll my eyes as her smirk grows into a brief smile.

"Observing is the name of the game this time around." Viondra continues, snapping for the Avox to fill her glass. "I will fill you in about the other tributes each time you come back here, so you can supplement what you observed in person."

I offer a slight shrug in reply. I'd very much prefer to lob a few spears - let off some steam, but I can't help but inwardly cringe at the thought of ninety-odd other tributes who want me dead glaring daggers at me while I'm actively participating in what's supposed to be their punishment Games.

If I want revenge, I have to get this right.

As if reading my mind, Viondra reclines in her chair as she grins that cocky grin of hers. "What do they teach you at that Academy? Have you been sleeping during your strategy classes? Before you conduct a mission, you need to plot your course before you execute. Superb execution is key."

Chapter Nine - "Quid Quo Pro: Part One"

"In a matter of weeks, ninety-five of you will be dead. Now more than ever, who that singular person will be depends on how well you pay attention during your time with us."

Taking up a front row seat, I hang on to the words of the Head Trainer Atala Floris as if they were a message from the Gods. She delivers it from a podium flanked by trainers in an auditorium that rivals that of Naysmith Hall. Holovision crews photograph and record the affair, for history purposes I suppose. She heaps tons upon tons of information at us, spouting statistics about the probable ways most of us will die before a victor is declared. Starvation, infections, hazards. The room is dead quiet and has been since they filed all of us in here. If it hasn't sunk in for some, it has now.

"No fighting with the other tributes." Atala says, my body flushing with warmth when her dark eyes flicker my way. For the first time in my life, I see her serious demeanor falter as she begins to snicker. "There'll be plenty...of time for that...in the arena."

There's a chorus of chuckles from the trainers that line the wings of the auditorium. Something inside me twinges once again as I feel a hundred-odd eyes boring into the back of my head. Rief and Es are probably fuming with rage right about now.

"This isn't your usual twenty-four tribute melee. You will be put through the ringer moreso than any other roster of tributes including the Second Quarter Quell. It is imperative that you take away as much as you can from your days here. It'll be that person who'll most likely remain standing."

And with that we're made to move to the gigantic gymnasium - a concrete pavilion with stations for various survival or combat courses, just like the documentaries showcase. High above, there's an equally as large mezzanine where a gathering of who I assume are Gamemakers and Capitolites mingling about. My assumptions are confirmed when I notice the President and the Vice President sitting down in armchairs. Viondra is there as well, among young people who look identical to her. She notices me before I notice her, jostling the shoulders of two younger girls - sisters I assume - who wave frantically at me. I politely wave back.

Before we could disperse, we're made to run 'compulsory' courses, like obstacle gauntlets. With Viondra's words in mind, I run the exercises like an average PE class, making the occasional screw up but not showing off the decade's worth of drilling both Academy NCOs and my own father have instilled in me. Seeing as I fractured a tribute's arm, the same tribute who glares at me now as I complete the last gauntlet, I doubt I'm fooling anyone. The way most of the tributes continue to gawk at me now already confirms my scrap with Rief has made the rounds.

Thank the Gods we don't have to stick around once we finish. We're able to now branch out to the various stations the gym has to offer. I take up a spot near a prefabricated forest, where a giant oak tree dominates the space. A trainer offers to teach me a thing or two about bushcraft - making fires, setting up bivouacs...all things I started by sixth grade and mastered by the time I finished eighth grade. For civics class, the Academy makes us teach the elementary school classes lessons on how to do it for themselves.

Still, I accept his offer halfheartedly and still I keep Viondra's words in mind, trying my darnedest to pay attention to the ninety-or-so other tributes that run the gauntlets. Thankfully they're color coded for each district. I could easily tell that most of them have combat experience, judging by their dedication and determination as they vault over platforms and avoid the projectiles and fake blades that are tossed and jutted toward them. Spinel Knudsen is a peculiar case, completing the exercises with a gleeful smile on her face. Obviously Tatiana, Lilith and Eldwyn do well.

I can't help but giggle as poor Rief traverses the courses with his cast. Even though he does it well, it's an amusing sight.

Nearly everyone melts into the same category, older male and females who unlike the recaps of prior Games where the kids were always scared out of their minds barring the Career Pack, they meant business.

Nearly Everyone.

District 12 naturally has my eye. Whatever they've been doing in that cave for seventy-five years, it seems to be working in their favor. Matix and his friends, they work fast, like how I would move if I didn't have a huge target on my back and Viondra forbidding me from showing off too much.

What catches my eye most about District 12 is a black girl with circular eyeglasses and a fancy updo who appears even younger than Eunice Dixen, which makes her twelve - the youngest tribute by a mile. She runs the gauntlet without getting hit once. Even Atala makes note of it by nodding in approval. She moves toward a towering figure with the same dark features - her brother I assume - who claps her on the back as they join the other tributes on the bench.

The trainer gently nudges my elbow, saying in his clipped Capitol accent, "Hey tribute, are you even paying attention?"

I lob him an incredulous look. Hasn't he watched the news recently? I begin to gesture toward the tarpaulin shelter we've created. "I wouldn't use this shelter as is, obviously...unless we shroud it with shrubbery. I also wouldn't keep it so high. In fact, ground-based bivouacs are disadvantageous due to being easy to spot by the naked eye...I'd just suspend up in the tree. Rather break a bone than the hearts of my loved ones...or so my NCOs say."

A look of astonishment flashes over the trainer's face. "Well gee...Okay Little-Ms-Know-It-All, show me a suspended biv."

I shrug. Why not? It's not like anyone is doing anything of note. They've all gone through the gauntlet and are just sitting there, not touching the weapons at all. As I set up my suspended biv under the Trainer's guidance, I watch as the other tributes loaf about. If they're not sitting around, they've joined me here in the miniature forest or participate in other survival courses - plant identification, the Games archives, among others.

"Survival goes both ways, tributes," Atala says over a PA system. "Hunger, thirst and hazards are a major killer but people are too. There is no escaping this, embrace your reality now."

"She's right, you know," The Trainer says from below. "It wouldn't be pretty if the gong goes off and no one makes a move..."

"I wonder how it'll shake out," I reply back. It's too far away to actively think about, so I decide to just think about the here and now - the reaction to Atala's light warning.

I watch from my finished bivouac as the other tributes murmur to themselves for a few minutes tops. It's Rief who starts the gradual shift - with our scrap in mind no doubt - stomping over to the expansive rack of blades where a Trainer stands idly by. Rief selects a trident and the Trainer begins to give him a brief explanation. Gradually, dozens of tributes follow after him, prompting other Trainers to head over to the weapons rack and select various other blades requested by the tributes to be demonstrated. After the verbal lessons are given, they all spread out to practice their skills against dummies, 'shadowboxing', or even Trainers.

I note that they're all eager, especially Rief who seems to be getting rid of all the pent up energy after being embarrassed by a female half his size. But I zero in on the Twelve's after minutes of watching the others. After the Dixen's and Shadd are dead, It's the Twelves that I'll be killing first.

Matix selected a rapier to my surprise. And with that ginger-haired boy that seems to tail him everywhere, he begins taking etiquette lessons from a Trainer, which quickly evolves into full out sparring. He's a fast learner and not half-bad - a trait taught to him by his D13 Army. Still, I think I could take him and finish him with any blade within a minute tops.

I know they're talking about me when the ginger whispers into Matixs' ear and the pale-skinned boy begins looking around cautiously. After that, I watch as they dabble with each and every blade - far less eager than they were before. I take away that Matix is partial to a sword and his ginger friend enjoys spears.

"She watches them," a boyish voice chimes.

"And they watch her," a girlish voice says back in reply. "I wager the Thirteen's - or the 'Twelves' - have more up their sleeve than they let on."

"Mmm."

I glance Trainer down at the forest floor, only to see him helping out a pair from Six. So who the hell was that speaking just now? I ignore it, assuming that it was just fatigue and hunger getting the best of me.

After perusing the library containing video copies of each Hunger Games alongside detailed encyclopedias for an hour, they announce lunch. Unlike the concrete that seems to dominate the gym, the cafeteria resembles a nicely-decorated diner, adding a splash of navy to contrast with the grey.

Despite the breaking of Rief's arm and the hoopla surrounding my 'reaping', I fuse into the cafeteria line seamlessly barring some whispers. I silently thank the Gods for the Capitol deciding to be generous and give us variety - I decide on pasta and a fancy-looking salad.

We're given designated areas to sit for each district - circular tables with moveable chairs or circular booths. District 2 gets a circular booth - or I get the circular booth. My 'district partners' decide to eat elsewhere.

Jeremiah, his sister and Lucas give me one glance and quickly scurry off to another table. They already know where they stand in my books.

Lilith and Tatiana glare at me so hard, I'd probably slump dead over this table if logic didn't exist.

Eldwyn snickers like an idiot as he makes his way over to me, grinning while pulling up a chair on the opposite end of the table. I find it interesting that he's the only one from our District to actively talk to me. Maybe, like he crassly said to Viondra on the train ride up here, he isn't anyone's 'stepping stone' and likes to follow the beat of his own drum. Dare I think it, but that garners some form of respect from me.

"How does it feel being the 'outcast'?" he jests, stabbing his fork into a piece of veal.

I snigger at his brazenness, swallowing my food. "I could say the same t'you, Bishop." I clap back. "What, you feelin' sorry for me, so you decided to come give a girl some company?"

Eldwyn's face scrounges into a scowl before blowing a "Psh!" out his lips while waving me off. "Hell no, I wanna at least survive the bloodbath," He says. "I just find you to be an interestin' dame, is all."

I lean back against the leather upholstery. "Is that so?"

"Mhm. I couldn't help but notice the PK chatter this morning. Said you were gone with the escort?"

"That's right." I shrug, inwardly cringing at the thought of yet another reason to be targeted if he decides to rat to his friends. "If you see the opportunity, you gotta take it."

"And what 'opportunity' is that, being a puppet for a city that'll toss you away like a dirty rag any other time?"

"We're not puppets. We're Twos, the protectors of Panem." I recite feebly. "Even with our participation in the Games, we turned it into something beneficial so everyone wins." I believe that with all my might. Even if Viondra is looking for something bigger, that doesn't detract from the fact that District 2 is loyal to the Capitol and to Panem. That's why we've done so well. If the other Districts tried as hard, they would've benefited too.

"Protectors of what exactly, a city where people puke up food at the sip of a tonic and eat more while others starve?" Eldwyn counters evenly. "And don't get me started on these 'Games'. If 'everyone wins' why did they toss the victors into the Quell and execute the others? C'mon Rivendell, where have you been the past year?"

"In my own personal hell." I spit, gripping my fork for dear life. "If you spent the War in my shoes, feel how I feel right now...You'd understand." For the first time since I've laid eyes on him, that look of scorn falters.

"If I were you, I'd drop the rebellious garbage and talk to Viondra." I say. "I saw you on Reaping Day, you were never arrested. You have potential, why waste it by goin' along with Rabe n' Gibbs?"

"Again, potential for what - for these clowns to cheer my name, to 'like me'?" he sneers. "These people ruined my life, killed people I cared about, all because we wanted something different from life. And if you support these people unironically, then you're dumber than I thought."

I opt to say nothing. Instead I continue to eat away at my food. There's nothing to gain from reasoning with a rebel. As if 'President Coin' or any outer districtpeople would know the first thing of keeping Panem prosperous.

"If I'm gonna die, or win this thing, I'm gonna do this my way." He hisses, leaning forward against the table as he juts his fork my way. "I don't give a shit about what they have to say about it."

With that, the chair Eldwyn sits on screeches back as he rises up from off of it, tray in hand.

"I'm sorry about whatever happened to you, but you're still wrong," He says.

Silent, I continue eating as he swivels to his right and makes his way over to the Twelve's (Thirteen's) table. Lilith and Tatiana are there - of course - chatting it up with Matix and his fellow rats as if they were old pals.

I continue eating, despite the occasional flicker of eyes my way. I've been isolated ever since I marched down the aisle and onto the stage, so it's only natural I'd be the odd man out at lunch in a punishment Games.

My eyes flicker to the D1 booth connected to mine, watching as the blonde girl who tried to calm Rief and I down continues to eye me. Instead of glaring me down with utter hated in her eyes, they're light she grins.

Viondra DeWynter is a weird character, much like my Lady Callista Ryder back in Two. In all my years as a cadet, I've known Capitol-born PK officers to be prissy and uptight. They would come down from their fancy academy (and because it's a Capitol academy it's apparently better by virtue) and squawk about their version of soldiership and how we as lowly 'men' have to look up to their model.

So when I see her wearing only her slip, lounging sideways on her red oversized armchair, using a military-issued knife to peel off slices of apple and unceremoniously slip it into her mouth, I can't help but grin.

"There are Thirteens in almost every District this year." She answers, slipping another slice into her mouth. "They consist of POWs from the War or from relocated families following their surrender. Most are in Twelve, obviously, because Twelve borders Thirteen."

Scratching the head of one of Viondra's puppy-things, I glance up at her. "What'll happen to District 13 now that...y'know?"

When we regained the initiative, locking down each and every District until Thirteen was all alone, they dug in and dug in good. The Capitol used various means to try and dislodge the Rebels within. When the news reports showed the interior following the surrender...well, it looked like an underground tomb rather than an underground city. Blood splattering the walls, bullet holes, what looked to be bodies too mangled to recognize, among other shocking sites.

"Apparently they're to refurbish the underground network while sourcing another derelict city to use." Viondra replies, shuddering as she slips another slice of apple into her mouth. "I wouldn't want to be stationed in that place, far too many ghosts."

Using a remote, she fast forwards to lunch time, rotating the camera so that it focuses squarely on the District 12 table.

"Matix...Justin," the ginger boy presses, his voice oddly soothing as he places a gentle hand on the wrist of the boy in question. "I'm going to ask you one more time. Who is that girl and why does she hate you so much?"

A hulking 'boy' - man - with buzzed blond hair nods in agreement. "I've never seen someone look at you that way...ever."

The boy in question - Matix, the Thirteen - glances up from his half-eaten lunch and gazes at his colleagues with that same blank mask he calls an expression. I wonder to myself if D13 rats even have emotions, or are they all taught to be emotionless machines?

"A ghost from my past..." he answers impassively, glancing my way. "A tortured ghost I should've put out of their misery when I had the chance. But I didn't and now, I have a significant problem on my hands."

Oh you have a significant fucking problem on your hands alright.

Viondra pauses the recording, zooming out just a bit to capture the table in its entirety. I could feel her watching me seethe from the corner of my eye. "Just as fate would have it, we have your adversary Justin Matix, alongside Thom Asbury, Irene Latendresse and Theta Dunning. All are District 13, 1st Combat Division - Coin's tip of the spear."

"1st Combat Division?" I murmur.

"Intelligence says Thirteen trained their youth from a young age to ensure that everyone was able to fight if need be." Viondra explains, lifting her chin towards me. "Just like you with Overwhill Academy...but marginally better. Let's just say that during the War, if we caught any Thirteen kids, well...we took our time. They're a Capitol pain in the behind, performing assassinations, reconnaissance missions, taking on false identities to blend in just before the War erupted-"

"So basically, they're the Careers and I'm the outlier," I say, stating a fact rather than a question.

"If we had problems combating these rats, you will too. I mean look-" Viondra fast forwards a few seconds and lets the footage play. Eldwyn joins the table following my talk with him, not to mention a dozen other tributes from different Districts. It's then and only then that Matixs' dull expression breaks into a warm grin as he greets each newcomer. Barring my 'district partners' they sit and talk as if they've all been friends for years - because they have.

"It's a Thirteen's game this year...if they suddenly want it to be." Viondra shrugs with a frown. She pauses when the entire gang is in frame - fifteen in all. "All of them - Matix, Asbury, Dunning, so on and so forth - have familial relations to those within Coin's circle. They take their flawed ideals seriously, which means they take their training seriously - just as serious as you do back in Two."

My eyes don't leave the holovision. "Tell me, what's the strategy to kill 'em?"

Viondra lets out an airy laugh, slipping another slice of apple into her mouth. "Oh Rivendell...There's a squad of them, plus a two dozen more wildcards and only one of you. Of course, the situation will change drastically when the Games start but chances are they'll escape the initial dragnet the Gamemakers will set up to kill off the threats. To get at them, you'll need to play it smart."

Finally, I rip my eyes from the rebel 'family dinner' and turn to Viondra. "How can I do that when there's only one of me-?"

Viondra grins widely as the realization hits me like a brick. As far as I know, this year's roster is filled with rebel rats. After my displays on Reaping Day and Rief from Four, who could I possibly trust for a nanosecond without having my throat slit? All I've been getting from the other tributes are glares and gawks of disbelief.

I think back to lunch and the fight with Rief Cohen before that and then it hits me again.

Coming Up Next...

"It turns out the Capitol needs more trainers to adequately teach you all..." Viondra says, wobbling her head and rolling her eyes. "Naturally, the good Sergeant was a fitting choice."