Author's Note
I do not own The Hunger Games.
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Apollo Gilmore, 17
19.
This had to be a joke, right?
It had to be a bad joke, something to go along with the special.
Because this couldn't be happening.
This couldn't–
It couldn't be happening.
He'd never wanted to compete in the Hunger Games for real.
How could this be happening?
The Game was…
Just a game.
It was just a game!
Apollo glanced about himself as the floating timer hit nineteen. This wasn't the arena for the Fiftieth. He stood on dead, black grass, with white mist stretching out across it from behind. To his left was the smallest player in the Game, a little girl with a mop of black hair, still pulled back in the braided style she'd used in the interviews. To his right was a girl with platinum blonde hair, similar to the Sterling clones. Maybe he'd make her his first target, just to prove a point.
Apollo pressed his hands to his tube and looked as far as he could in both directions. The other tributes were positioned maybe eight feet away from him, wider than the normal spacing. But maybe that had been done in the Fiftieth. Camera angles always made that hard to tell when watching recordings.
He could see a glimpse of green hair, though it might not be Ares. There were a couple of others in here with green hair. And he couldn't see Artemis at all.
Apollo's heart hammered in his chest. They were a team, him and his siblings.
And if this announcer was right, that they could now truly be hurt, he could lose them.
Marcellina Arnoult, 16
18.
She wanted to be sick.
Nausea was rushing through her, bile rising in her throat.
Marcellina had always loved to watch the Hunger Games, but it was a punishment for District scum, not something that was ever meant to endanger Capitol children!
She looked about herself. The field she stood in was all open green grass, with the other players curving around in a line. To her right was a golden haired girl with bronzed skin, while to her right was a boy a touch shorter than herself.
She couldn't see Calpurnia.
"Calpurnia!" she called. Around her, many other voices were doing the same, calling for friends and allies.
Even if Calpurnia was calling for her, she'd never hear her voice.
"Sorcha! Luminita!"
Maybe they were on the other side of the cornucopia. Nausea twisted in her stomach.
She should have kept her promise to her father.
She didn't want to die.
Luminescence Sterling, 17
17.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Focus.
He could do this.
He'd played The Game plenty of times, though never with the arena for the Fiftieth. If this was the arena for the Fiftieth. It looked like it, a beautiful meadow filled with wildflowers, sprawling out around him.
But from what Luminescence remembered of replays of the Fiftieth, the cornucopia shouldn't look like… that.
It was twice the size as normal – which made sense, there were twice as many players – and stood atop a large mound of long grass. But there was something above it, a strange platform suspended on two odd slopes that started somewhere behind the circle of players. Luminescence craned his head back, attempting to catch a glimpse of what was up there, but he couldn't see enough from this angle.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Think.
The tubes gimmick was from the Ninety Second.
The platform up there had to be something similar, but what Game had had a suspended platform above the cornucopia?
The Fifty Sixth, the Sixty Ninth, the Seventy Seventh–
Luminescence turned to look at the slopes leading up to the platform.
The Eighty Eighth.
Etheria Arquette, 17
16.
Her eyes burned with tears, the wetness streaking down her cheeks. Her chest tightened.
This was meant to be fun.
"Luminescence," she called, her voice trembling. "Luminescence, what do we do?"
He looked scared too, much of his earlier confidence gone. "We follow the plan," he replied. "Ray- Radiance and Iridescence– They know the plan. They'll use it to find us."
Follow the plan. There was an enormous black warhammer laid in front of her pedestal, like the one she'd used in training. That had to be meant for her. She needed it, more than ever if kids could really get hurt during this Game. And supplies. She'd seen in both the real Hunger Games and playthroughs of The Game how important it was to have supplies. Plus Radiance had said during the score reveals that everything in the arena for the Fiftieth was poison. So she definitely needed supplies.
Get hammer.
Get supplies.
Get allies.
Get out.
Calpurnia Catallus, 16
15.
This arena was ugly.
A disappointment.
And where was Marcellina? Calpurnia couldn't see her. She couldn't see much past the white mist shrouding everything. There was a taller girl with brown hair to her right and a boy with faded blue hair to her left, but it was difficult to see anything past them.
"Marcellina!" she shouted, since many of the other players were calling for their own friends and allies.
But she couldn't recognise a reply in Marcellina's voice.
She was on her own, at least through this part of The Game.
The one thing she did have on side was the nice, shiny silver sword only six feet in front of her pedestal. That had to be for her. She had chosen sword work in training. But she wanted more supplies than that, she needed a backpack.
The backpacks were mostly clustered around the cornucopia. A few smaller ones formed a kind of outer ring, with bigger ones close to the golden horn itself, spilling from the mouth of it.
Everyone was going to want one of those.
And still the timer ticked down.
Emeria Delilah Echavoque, 15
14.
Where was Silverie?
This circle of players – tributes, now, she supposed – was so wide she couldn't see them. And there was no point shouting, so many were doing that she'd never be heard. They'd just have to find each other once they'd both fled the bloodbath. They'd done it before, in Games.
Except this was the real thing now.
They were going to be fighting for their lives.
And one of them had to win.
There was a beautifully carved silver bow before her pedestal, but no arrows with it. It was obviously meant for her, bow was her weapon, but where were the arrows? Would she have to go further in to get some? Perhaps it would be best just to buy some with her sponsor points after the bloodbath. She didn't want to end up trapped in the fray, and she couldn't see any quivers with the first ring of backpacks.
Emeria nodded to herself.
She'd have to take that plan, and hope nothing went too far wrong.
Luminita Summerfield, 17
13.
She was swallowing laughter and tears.
Of course this would happen, on the one day she decided to let herself be goaded by Sorcha and enter this damn Game behind her to watch her fall. Of course it would. Just her luck.
And where was Sorcha? She couldn't see her from here, but there was a large sloped thing that cut off her line of sight a handful of tributes away. Sorcha could be somewhere behind it.
She'd need to find her and get her out of here before she did anything too stupid. Knowing Sorcha, that could be very fast. But they needed to get out of here as soon as possible. The bloodbath was always violent, confusing, and bloody, and this one was going to be filled with scared, confused kids. The last thing she needed was for Sorcha to be… Sorcha.
She glanced around herself. To her left stood a boy with hair dyed a deep green, similar to her own but slightly more glossy, and a face full of piercings. To her right was a platinum haired boy, one of the three similar looking siblings. She remembered them both scoring high in their private sessions. The blonde was banging on the glass of his tube, shouting what sounded like threats about the slopes leading to the platform above the cornucopia.
Luminita looked mournfully at the knife so close in front of her pedestal.
Fuck, she was so screwed.
Zephyr Almon, 13
12.
He wished he'd listened to Celeste.
He should have listened to Celeste.
The one time he didn't listen to Celeste–!
Speaking of Celeste…
Zephyr scanned the circle, but he couldn't see her. She must be opposite him, or behind one of the cornucopia angles. Great. He'd have to go all the way round it to get to her. And get over these railway track things. She might be… kinda weird and strange and sometimes creepy, but she was still his big sister, even if it felt sometimes like he was guiding her through the world.
While the counter ticked down, he took a look around the arena and other players. Tributes, now. His opponents, if he wanted him or Celeste to live.
Although…
Hadn't there been a girl like Celeste, a few years ago, in the real Hunger Games? And she had done… something? Could Celeste do… something as well?
He needed to find her; he needed to get to her, before one of the older players cut her down. They didn't know it, but she, his kinda weird and strange sister, might have just become their best hope.
The other players seemed… mostly confused, right now. Some were crying, some were calling to each other, while others had collapsed into hysterical tears. One girl a little way away from him was shrieking with laughter. Others seemed to still be in pain from whatever the machine had done to them and were crouched on their pedestals still, groaning and holding their heads.
"They don't actually expect us to kill each other like those District barbarians, do they?" asked a girl near him with tiger striped hair.
"Yes, Angelica, that's exactly what they expect!" One of the older boys shouted back.
Something he did have on his side was that there was a medium sized backpack lying near him. Which meant that so long as he went without a weapon, he could grab that and look for Celeste.
Zephyr steadied himself and focused on the backpack.
Grab that and find Celeste.
Easy.
Iridescence Sterling, 17
11.
Iridescence's head was still swimming, the clock over the cornucopia blurring before her eyes. It felt like something was trying to split her skull open from the inside. Bile burned in her throat. She was thankful she'd taken Ares's truce offer, since he'd probably been the most immediate threat, but he wouldn't save her if other players aimed for her while she was unable to stand straight.
She needed to get her head together.
And get her numbers into the numberpad, a minute's disadvantage could be all it took for other tributes to arm themselves and be waiting to kill her.
Now, if only everything would stop being so blurry.
She pressed her hands to the tube and forced herself to stand straight. It seemed to take all the strength in her. She squinted through the glass. A bow had been placed near her, but she couldn't see any arrows. Damn Game meddling disembodied voices.
Ares must have caught her looking at the bow clearly meant for her – she'd chosen archery during her training sessions – because he pointed at it and then at a quiver of arrows leaning against the cornucopia. She nodded. He mimed throwing the arrows and then waved his hand at his back. She flashed him a thumbs up.
It was as good a plan as any, and much as she fought with Ares Gilmore, she'd never wanted him dead.
Silverie Erilea Amarendaje, 14
10.
Their code, they needed their code. Silverie reached for the numberpad with grumbling fingers. There had never been any gimmicks like this in The Game before. They'd always assumed they were just too hard to program.
Age, 14.
Player Number, 17
Private Sessions Score… 7.
But the pad needed six numbers.
Six numbers, they had five.
What now what now what now?
The spear in front of their tube glittered tantalisingly in the light, but if they wasted time getting out of the tube it would be gone.
What now?
Hortensia Chrysalis, 18
9.
Carefully, she punched her code into the numberpad. All it took was being steady and not losing her head. Some of the other players around her looked to be panicking, banging their palms on the tubes and punching various numbers into the pad. Good. More of an advantage for her. The longer they were delayed and the more uncoordinated they were when entering the fray, the better her chances of getting away without being struck. Did their armour even work with all these changes?
A shining white bow lay only a few steps from her pedestal, but she couldn't see any arrows. Not to matter, the boy to her right had a knife in front of his podium. In fact, looking about, every player she could see had a weapon in front of them. Odd. Most kids chose weaponry in training, but there was always the odd person during the bloodbath that would be unlucky and get a canteen of water or a spool of wire in front of them instead. This time round, however, everyone had weaponry.
It was going to be a bloody bloodbath.
Sorcha Summerfield, 17
8.
Her code.
What was her code?
What had that bitch said?
"Luminita!" Sorcha shouted. She would know; it was the kind of thing she'd know. She'd put in one seven already, but what came next? Her score? Or her player number? No, she was pretty sure it was her score. But two numbers for that? What about zero eight? Then she was player nineteen–
The numberpad flashed red. Incorrect? How? That was her score and player number!
"Luminita!" she shouted again. There was no way she was being left at a disadvantage, no way. Someone would grab the fine sword in front of her pedestal before she could get to it!
"Luminita!"
Artemis Gilmore, 17
7.
She swallowed her laughter. This wasn't how things were meant to go; this wasn't how things were meant to go!
Artemis glanced about herself, curling and uncurling her gloved hands. This wasn't how The Game worked! They weren't meant to be in any danger; they weren't District scum. Her heart thumped in her chest and she could feel it, pounding against her ribs. She still couldn't see Apollo or Ares. A few short steps ahead of her podium lay a sword, enticing with its gleam. What she'd been hoping for only minutes ago when she stepped into the tube. Now it made her want to cry.
But she needed to think.
She'd played The Game before; she'd won The Game before.
She needed to get that sword. Then a bag. Then she needed to find Apollo and Ares, and then they all needed to stay alive until Capitol officials could fix whatever glitch had gone wrong with The Game.
Artemis glanced at the arena surrounding her. A wide grass field, with the cornucopia, bigger than usual, laid out ahead. The grass rolled out behind her, but in the distance she could see a large grey building against the horizon.
This wasn't the arena for the Fiftieth.
This was–
Phoenix Sterling, 13
6.
Someone up there was having a good laugh, she was sure of it.
She had come here to help her siblings outdo the Gilmores, not because she thought there would ever be any risk of dying.
And now, apparently, she was in a race for her life.
As well as being one of the smallest and probably youngest players in this Game. There were two others smaller, a boy and a girl, she'd seen them, but that still meant forty five that were bigger than her, forty two that were going to be trying to kill her.
She needed to get out of the bloodbath as soon as possible. There was a knife in front of her – she didn't take knife work in training! – and then she needed to go. Cormac, who was, thankfully, not too far away, had agreed on that plan. If she was one of the first out, maybe she'd try for a backpack – but then she was out.
What choice did she have?
Vivaldi Perlman, 16
5.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
What was he meant to do?
He couldn't even see Thorin.
Was this what he had been trying to warn him about?
Had he known?
How could he possibly have known?
But here Vivaldi was, now, in a death match.
He'd just wanted to prove that he could do it!
There was an epee laid in front of his pedestal, the weapon he'd liked the most in training. That was something, wasn't it? He'd be armed.
But how could he actually kill anyone?
That wasn't what he'd come here for!
He really needed to find Thorin.
If it was safe to find Thorin.
Radiance Sterling, 17
4.
The mist was receding slightly, crawling back from the cornucopia area. Most likely whoever had taken over this Game wanted the players to be able to see each other so they could actually fight and kill each other.
Sensible.
And at least Radiance knew where he was now. He'd never played in this arena, but he knew it.
He could see Phoenix a little way away, her bright red hair stood out, but he couldn't see Luminescence or Iridescence, and the three of them did stand out a little with their silvery platinum hair. Should he go to Phoenix instead then? It would tip the Gilmores off if they were around, but she was smaller than all those around her, and the Game had just changed its rules.
They had brought Phoenix here.
He couldn't leave her on her own.
Maximillian Marcus Badondé, 18
3.
The idiots around him were panicking. Maximillian wondered how many of them had played The Game before, giving them an advantage over him, and they were still panicking. Morons. They had signed up for this, he was dragged here by those twittering dimwits called his foster sisters. Where were they? He couldn't see them. Not that it mattered. If they died here and now in the bloodbath, it would be less competition for him.
A large, curved black bow laid only a few steps in front of his podium. He had that on his side at least. Grab that, and then get out of the crush that would be the bloodbath. He could worry about picking off other players later, when he could more safely take the high ground.
He'd survived too much to die here and now.
Andreas Amandiel, 18
2.
Marquis was in the tube next to his, which had to have been set up by whoever was running this Game. Someone wanted Andreas to survive this bloodbath, wanted to see him fuck shit up in the arena. Why would they have been placed like this otherwise?
He couldn't see Sequinn though. She could be on the other side of the cornucopia, or just on the curve of the circle. With forty eight players, the ring was bigger than usual, blocking his view of many of the others.
His favoured bladed fans were right in front of his podium, and Marquis had a sword in front of his, which only added to the theory that someone up there was tipping things in their favour.
Well, Andreas wasn't about to complain.
Ares Gilmore, 15
1.
Sterling still didn't look well.
Her face was painted grey, and it looked like it was straining her to stay on her feet, her shoulders shaking and her hands balled into fists. Ares wasn't sure how much use she'd actually be during the bloodbath, but he also couldn't bring himself to kill her in cold blood. They'd never been friends, but they'd been competitive, not here to actually hurt each other. Let alone kill each other. Over all the Games they'd played, they'd come to know each other a little bit. She was a person, less spiteful than Artemis but more competitive than her, with a higher aptitude for sports. And far more intelligent.
Ares didn't really want Iridescence to die.
He didn't really want her siblings to die.
He didn't want his siblings to die.
He didn't want to die.