Author's Note

I do not own The Hunger Games.

Marcellina Arnoult, 16

The sound of the Gong was deafeningly loud, splitting the field. Marcellina had only just got her code into her numberpad and the noise jarred through her, shaking her bones. The tube disintegrated around her, and she stumbled out onto the soft grass. Her heartbeat hammered in her chest.

What if she couldn't do this? What if she was cut down, here and now?

They'd just wanted to get back at Lysandra.

It all seemed so distant and childish now.

She snatched the tiny belt of throwing knives in front of her pedestal and took off to the left, scanning the players around her for Calpurnia. Some were still stuck in their tubes, hammering frantically at their numberpads. Others were already beginning to turn on each other, snatching weapons and swinging them at each other.

She just focused on finding Calpurnia.

They could worry about everything else afterwards.

As more and more players tumbled from their pedestals, she veered closer and closer to the cornucopia, until her foot caught the strap of a small brown backpack. She grabbed it and threw it over her shoulders as she ran. Maybe there'd be something in there she could use.

Up ahead, a strange black track cut across the grass, deeply embedded into it. Could she jump it? She'd never been super athletic, what if she fell?

On the other side of the track, she caught a glimpse of Calpurnia's platinum hair. Something in her soared. Once they were together, everything would be better.

"Calpurnia!" she screamed as she ran. Behind her friend, a girl with dull brown hair slammed her spear through the chest of the small girl beneath her and turned towards Calpurnia, raising the weapon. Marcellina screamed. "Duck!"

Calpurnia lunged forward and the spear swung over her head, though the girl still brought it down on her head and dropped her armour two points. Marcellina flung one of her knives, clipping the girl's armour and bringing her to nine. Calpurnia grabbed the nearest backpack.

"Go!" she shouted as she sprinted forward to join Marcellina. The two of them turned and sprinted for the edge of the ring.

Iridescence Sterling, 17

It crossed her mind so many times during the countdown that Gilmore could betray her. He could use her weakness to cut her down while she couldn't fight back, debilitated by the nauseating dizziness gripping her even now. But as the gong went, Gilmore rushed forward, snatched the heavy axe left in front of his pedestal for him, and took off towards the cornucopia. Iridescence was slower, less coordinated, but she made it forward to grab her bow, gripping it at the end while she still lacked arrows. If nothing else, she could use it as a bludgeoning instrument.

There was a small backpack only a few steps away, the type that usually only contained a handful of small items, but it was better than nothing. She risked stumbling the few steps forward and grabbed it, swinging it on.

Up ahead, Gilmore had reached the cornucopia, and grabbed the quiver of arrows. He turned and held it up. "Sterling, catch!"

She raised her hands to grab it, but her coordination must have been off, because it hit her in the chest and clattered to the ground at her feet. She snatched and turned to sprint from the fighting. There was no shelter here, only the open, rolling grass leading up to the looming grey building in the distance. Gilmore screamed something behind her. Iridescence notched an arrow and spun round, finding him engaged in combat with a taller boy. Both had already lost points from their armour. A different kind of nausea rushed through her. If that announcer had been telling the truth, they would actually be killing each other here.

But she had made a deal.

She let the arrow fly. It caught the bigger boy between the shoulders, bringing his armour down to zero in one shot. Ranged weapons for the win. Gilmore swung his axe round.

It cut through the taller boy's chest in a spray of blood, nearly severing his upper half from his lower. The remains smacked to the ground.

The bow shook in Iridescence's hands for an entirely different reason than weakness.

Had she just helped to kill someone?

Apollo Gilmore, 17

He drew level with Radiance Sterling as they approached the inner ring of backpacks. Both of them were already armed with their preferred weapons, him with a sword and Sterling with a mace, but Sterling showed none of his usual willingness to engage and fight. Apollo raised his sword and swung it at the other boy's back, bringing his armour down to seven.

Sterling grunted and stumbled forward, spinning round and swinging his mace out as he did so. "Fuck off, Gilmore! There are bigger things!"

Apollo grinned. "There is nothing bigger to me than this!"

Sterling grabbed one of the backpacks and brought it up to block his next blow. The sword cut through the fabric, and the items inside spilled across the ground.

"Don't you get it?" Sterling demanded, tossing the remains of the backpack at him. "If we fight, if we hurt or kill each other here, it happens in real life."

Apollo laughed, the rush of his blood pounding in his ears. "Perfect!"

"What's that mean? I don't want to hurt you!"

Apollo raised his sword. "Oh, that makes this easier then!"

Sterling spun aside and gripped his mace in both hands, swinging it at Apollo. He dodged to avoid the impact, but the ball still caught him in the shoulder, bringing his armour down to eight. Apollo laughed. "Is that really the best you can do?" He ducked and dodged the next swing. This one was evidently the one with the temper. "You don't have the guts for this, Sterling!"

Sterling bared his teeth and brought the mace up. The studded ball cracked into the side of Apollo's head. Stars flashed behind his eyes. He staggered aside, the sword tumbling from his hands. A wet trickle dribbled down his head.

No.

He needed the sword.

He scrabbled for it even as his vision continued to blur. Blood streamed into his eyes. What level was his armour on? It had to be near zero.

Sterling let out a sharp yell and grabbed something from beside him. His footsteps retreated.

Apollo gulped in air.

He could have killed him.

So why hadn't he?

Andreas Amandiel, 18

There were enough smaller backpacks scattered further away from the cornucopia that he could grab one easily, as he usually did, rather than being greedy and caught unawares. His bladed fans, of course, had been left within easy distance. He shifted them to both hands as he swung the backpack onto his back. Nearby, Marquis was trying to go a little further in to grab one slightly bigger.

"Just take any!" Andreas shouted. The last thing they needed was to be caught in the main crush.

Especially if it was true.

He looked down at his fans. There were kids screaming from somewhere on the other side of the cornucopia, and the most awful churning, grinding noise gradually getting louder, echoing through the arena.

If it was all true–

Closeby, a small girl with vivid red hair was just catching up with him, reaching for the nearest backpack with one hand and clutching a knife in the other.

Perfect.

She grabbed the backpack and pulled it onto her back as she turned, clearly planning to run. Now, how did this work? Did he need to weaken her armour first, or could he just..? Rather than waste time, he struck forward, aiming for her lower back. The strike brought her armour down to seven, her nodes flickering and turning black. She shrieked and stumbled, spinning round and raising her own knife in defence. Damn. He hadn't wanted a fight. She was much smaller though.

"Wait!" cried a boy nearby.

Andreas struck out again, this time clipping the girl in the neck. Her armour dropped to two. Perfect. One more strike should take her out.

"Phoenix!" came a boy's yell from somewhere, his voice ringing across the meadow.

Andreas splayed out the fans and squared himself before slashing them at her neck.