Disclaimer: I still don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

Note: And here's the first of our Pre-Games chapters. No train rides, so what's happening here is three chapters of pre-training stuff that's taking the place of train rides and chariot parade. Each tribute will get a POV in either this chapter or one of the next two, so if you don't see yours here, don't worry; they'll get their time in the spotlight. After that will be training. Right now, my plan is to stick with the 6-chapter, 10 tributes per chapter format I used last time, which gives each tribute two POVs during training. Seems like a lot, but when you consider the fact that private sessions, training scores, and interviews aren't a thing (yet), it evens itself out, and the Games sneak up pretty quickly.

On that note, off we go...

Wrong

March 16th, 04:42 MST
Calpet, WY

Nicholas Wright, 64

There were so many ways this could go wrong.

Nicholas pinched the bridge of his nose as he stared at the paper in front of him. There wasn't much on it, but what was there was enough. Enough to cause problems, certainly. Maybe even an international incident – something they couldn't afford right now. It might even be enough to bring the Games to a halt, if the right people found out.

Nicholas glanced up at Mack, who was still standing there, waiting. Waiting for Nicholas to scold him, perhaps. Maybe even to start shouting. But Nicholas simply shook his head, letting it sink in. He'd signed off on this, after all. He hadn't known everything, but chances were good that Mack hadn't, either. And losing his temper wouldn't solve their problem. "Did you know?" he asked at last.

Mack shook his head. "No. I swear I didn't. I knew Senator Hughes came here from Canada, of course, but I had no idea his children were still Canadian citizens. Most of the year, they live with their mother, but I never thought to ask where she lived."

"Ontario, it would seem," Nicholas muttered. "I suppose it's too late to simply send him home?"

"Too late to do so without answering unwanted questions, yes," Mack agreed. "There's no solution now where everything works out nicely. That ship has sailed. At least a few of them have probably figured out what's really going on, and if he's one of them, or he's talked to any of them, then word gets out as soon as he gets back home – whether that's Texas or Canada."

"All right," Nicholas agreed. "So how do we spin this?"

"I'm working on it."

That was all he could ask for, really. Mack had been blindsided by this just as much as he had. "All right, then," he agreed. "Time to let our coaches know what they'll be dealing with, I suppose."

"Sir?"

"There's a lot they haven't prepared for. A lot we haven't had the chance to prepare for. We've got a matter of days before everything has to be ready, so we'd better get to it." He shook his head.

"We can't afford to let anything go wrong."

Ian Viera, 23

Something had already gone wrong.

Ian glanced around at the faces in front of him – his fellow coaches, and two members of the MAAB. Mack looked the most alert, but Ian could tell that even he thought it was way too early in the morning. Ian said nothing. He'd always been a morning person himself – and an evening person, and a night person. Since he didn't sleep, one time of day was pretty much the same as any other. He'd learned in school, of course, about a concept called the circadian rhythm, but as far as he could tell, he essentially didn't have one.

Maybe that gave him an advantage.

Ian shook the thought from his head. He didn't need an advantage, because he wasn't competing with anyone else in the room. These were his friends. Well, except Alvin and Mack, but the other coaches … they weren't the competition. They were friends he'd worked with for years. Or at least, Maria and Vincent were. And Penelope … in the year since her Games, they'd all gotten to know her pretty well. He certainly didn't see her as the competition.

Because that was what the MAAB wanted – to turn them against each other. None of them had said so explicitly, but they didn't need to. The different colors, the sense that each of them was leading a 'team' of mutants rather than individual competitors. But it was all an act. No matter how well any of them worked together as a team, only two of the contestants were making it out of the Games alive.

Ian shook the thought from his head. They were a long way from that yet. Right now, Alvin was passing around another sheet of paper. "I added another time slot at the end of the days," he explained, barely holding back a yawn.

Penelope raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because two of you are going to need it. We picked up a couple of extra contestants."

"And you didn't think it was a good idea to tell us until now?" Ian asked.

Alvin shook his head. "Don't shoot the messenger. I found out three hours ago. Thought I'd let you – or most of you, at least – get a bit more sleep before I broke the news."

Penelope nodded crisply. "What do we know about them?"

Ian couldn't help a smile. Down to business, and never mind how they got there. Exactly what he'd come to expect from Penelope. Alvin tossed two conspicuously thin files on the table. "Not a whole lot, but we're working on it." He nodded at one of the files. "He's a pyrokinetic."

Maria's hand flicked up a little. "I got him."

Alvin nodded. "There's something else."

Ian scanned the file quickly. "The fact that he's Canadian?"

"Yeah. Mack's working on how to spin that, and it's not really your problem, but you'd have found out eventually." He nodded at the other file. "The other kid's unlucky."

"Aren't we all," Vincent muttered, but he was already glancing through the razor-thin file. Something apparently caught his eye. "He volunteered for this."

Alvin shrugged. "He didn't know exactly what he was volunteering for, of course. He saw a chance to gain control of his mutation; he saw how the collars work. Understandably, for someone with his particular talent, he doesn't tend to see his mutation as a gift."

"He saw what he thought was a chance to improve his life, and he took it, without fully realizing what that meant," Vincent agreed. "And you took advantage."

Alvin opened his mouth to object, but Mack nodded. "We did. And if you play your cards right, so can you."

"We're not going to—" Ian started.

But Vincent was already gathering up the file. "I'll take him."

"You sure?" Ian asked. "I could—"

"I'm sure. Trust me."

Ian hesitated. He did. He did trust Vincent. He had to. The moment they started to doubt each other was the moment the MAAB won. "Okay," he agreed, turning back to Alvin. "Any other surprises we should know about?"

Alvin sighed. "Unfortunately, yes. We were under the impression – as were you – that both Kenji and Manaka's mutations were advanced speed. They're not. They're chronokinetics."

Ian blinked. "Both of them?"

"Yeah."

"That makes three."

"Yeah."

"Is that a good idea?"

Alvin shook his head. "Absolutely not. Any more questions?"

Ian held his tongue. He had plenty of questions, but most of them started with, 'Who thought it would be a good idea to…' And he knew the answer to that. They hadn't thought. They hadn't really thought this through – any of it. They were more prepared than the year before, it was true, but they had also taken on more than the year before. More unpredictable contestants. More training. A bigger arena. He couldn't help but wonder if they'd bitten off more than they could chew. Clearly, enough of the board thought they could still handle it.

But there was a part of him that hoped they were wrong.

Liv Holle, 18

She woke up in the wrong bed.

Liv rolled over a little, nearly falling off the bed. It was smaller than her bed at home, the mattress thinner, the pillow almost non-existent. Funny, how she hadn't really noticed the night before. By the time they'd arrived, she'd been too tired to worry about anything but getting some rest before … whatever was about to happen. She wasn't sure what to expect, but it couldn't be good.

There were clothes laid out on the end of the bed – a deep purple jumpsuit, socks, and headband, along with a pair of white sneakers. A hairbrush, deodorant, toothbrush, and toothpaste had been set out on a small end table. A curtain in the corner hid a toilet, a sink, and a small mirror. Liv ran her fingers along the collar around her neck. A quick glance in the mirror revealed a letter and a few numbers etched in the collar – V-0204.

Liv's stomach churned. They were doing their best to disguise it with the colorful clothes, the livable room, the fact that the collar was plastic rather than metal. But the fact was, she was a prisoner. They'd taken her – and God only knew how many others – because she was a mutant. She had never hurt anyone. She hadn't done anything.

But that hadn't mattered.

Okay. Okay, first things first. She brushed her teeth and her hair, then changed into the purple outfit. It was a bit baggy and certainly not very flattering, but at least it was clean. Liv shook her head as she pulled her hair back with the headband. Clean clothes, a bed, and some bare minimums of privacy. What was that all about? An attempt to lull them into thinking that they weren't actually prisoners here? A reminder that things could be worse? Maybe they could, but that wasn't the point. The fact that things could be worse didn't mean that they weren't bad now.

A rap on the door shook Liv from her thoughts. After only a second, the door swung open, revealing a woman in her thirties or so. "Ah, you're already up. Excellent. Breakfast is that way." She pointed down the hall, then headed to the next door before Liv could get a word out. Liv watched as she rapped on door after door. Muffled voices came from a few of them, but it seemed like most of the others had still been asleep.

Liv glanced down the hallway in the direction the woman had indicated breakfast would be. It seemed completely empty. No guards. No Sentinels. What was to stop her from running, from trying to get away?

Liv took a few steps down the hallway, but she didn't run. It was tempting, but it was also pointless. Maybe there weren't guards here, but they were undoubtedly somewhere. And even if she somehow found a way out of the building, it was probably locked. And even if it wasn't, she had no idea where she was, or where to go once she got out. It had been dark when they'd arrived, and she hadn't gotten a good look around, but she was pretty sure there had been mountains in the distance – or something with a similar looming shape. There had been no town, no sign of buildings except for this one, nowhere for her to go to hide.

At the end of the hall was a large room – a cafeteria, from the look of it. Four tables, long and rectangular, stood in a row. One was covered in a red tablecloth, one in yellow, one in blue, and one in purple. Okay, then. On one side of the room was another table, this one draped in a black cloth and covered with food. Fruit, cereal, bagels, donuts. Apple juice, orange juice, milk, coffee. Nothing extravagant, but more than she'd been expecting.

Did that mean it was working?

Liv shook her head, chose a banana, a bowl of the least sugary cereal she could spot, and a glass of orange juice. Then she took a seat at the table with the purple cloth, choosing a position with a good view of the door. A few others were beginning to make their way down the hallway. A quick count of the chairs in the room revealed thirty.

Was that how many of them there were?

Caihong Lee, 25

He'd never seen so many mutants in one place.

Lee took a seat at the blue table, watching as one person after another filtered in. Most of them seemed younger than him – some quite a bit younger – and they were dressed in different colors to match the four tables, but all of them wore identical collars that marked them as mutants. A couple had tried to hide the collars with the headbands they'd been given, but they seemed to relax a bit once they realized that everyone else was wearing one, as well. In a way, that made them equal. Equally powerless, maybe, but equal nonetheless.

Most of them had taken advantage of the breakfast table. A few had decided not to – either because they were too scared to be hungry or out of some sense that starving themselves meant they were defying their captors. Lee took another bite of the donut he'd chosen, warming his hands with the cup of coffee. There was no harm in eating, was there?

"Lee, right?" a voice asked, and a girl took a seat beside him. "We met on the plane."

Lee nodded. He hadn't been in much of a mood to talk then. Still wasn't, really, but the girl didn't seem deterred. "I'm Elena. Any idea what's going on?"

Lee shrugged. "Only what we were told – that there was breakfast down here." He hid a smile as Elena poured three sugar packets into her coffee. "I suppose they'll have to tell us what's going on eventually. Maybe ignorance is bliss, though."

Elena shook her head. "I'd rather know what's going on – better or worse."

"They're probably waiting until we're all here," Lee pointed out, nodding towards the door, where a few more mutants were still trickling in. The tables were nearly full, but a few of the others – a girl in blue and a boy in yellow – were stubbornly standing by the breakfast table, refusing to take their seats.

Finally, the last few mutants entered, followed by an older man in a suit, several other official-looking people, and then four more mutants – three of them around his age, by the look of them, the other a younger girl. Each wore a jumpsuit matching one of the table's colors. The one in yellow took a step forward, addressing the room. "Good morning. My name is Ian. This is Vincent, Maria, and—"

"Penelope," finished a boy a few seats away from Lee. He shook his head. "You're Penelope. Last year – the experiment up in Alaska—"

The younger girl took a step forward beside Ian. "You're right, Marcus. Very observant. But it wasn't exactly an experiment – not in the way most people thought, at least. Thirty of us were chosen last year, taken to Alaska, and instructed that what was about to happen was a fight to the death." She glanced around the room. "Just like you."

Lee froze. Maybe it shouldn't have come as a surprise. With the government's attitude towards mutants, the idea of rounding them up and forcing them to fight to the death wasn't all that far-fetched. There had been rumors – rumors he'd dismissed as wild conspiracy theories – that that was what had happened in Alaska. But the idea that they would pick him for something like that – that was ridiculous. Penelope's power had led to the destruction of an entire island. His wasn't anything like that.

He didn't deserve this.

No. No, it wasn't about whether he deserved it. None of them did, after all. As far as he could tell, most of the other mutants in the room were just as surprised as he was. They'd probably been plucked out of normal, everyday lives, just like him. None of them deserved it. But what chance did he have if some of their powers were anything like Penelope's?

"I know it's a lot to take in," the woman in blue, Maria, was saying. "But the four of us are here to answer your questions and help you out as much as we can. And there's something else you should know." She glanced at Penelope, who nodded. "Penelope survived last year, but she wasn't the only one. Two of them made it off that island alive – Penelope and another contestant named Piper. There were two survivors – and the same rules apply this year."

Lee let that sink in. Many of the other mutants were already glancing around the room, wondering the same thing he was. If two of them could survive, then maybe he had a chance, after all. If he was going to survive, he needed to find someone who could help keep him alive. Someone with a power that was a bit more … well, useful for fighting. Lee took a deep breath as Maria kept talking.

At least he wouldn't have to do this alone.

Marcus Del Rio, 19

At least he wouldn't be alone.

Marcus stared straight ahead as Maria continued. "The Games begin on Friday. That gives you four days to prepare. Individual training will begin tomorrow. You'll each be working with one of us to help you learn to use your powers in a way that will be most beneficial to you in the Games."

There was a bit of murmuring from the mutants at the red table – maybe a little confusion about the fact that Penelope was so much younger than the others. But Marcus knew better, as would anyone else who had actually bothered to watch what had happened the year before. Penelope knew exactly what she was doing. If anything, her contestants might have a bit of an advantage…

"We've set up a schedule with one-hour time slots for each of you," Maria continued. "You're welcome to bring other contestants along to your session – or to accompany them to theirs – if you've decided to work together."

There it was. No one had said it yet, but it was the obvious consequence of allowing two of them to survive. No one would want to go it alone when everyone else would be teaming up with someone, at least. He just had to find the right person. Or people. Two of them could survive, but there was no rule – none he'd heard yet, at least – saying more than that couldn't work together for a while. There had been a few larger groups the year before.

Marcus leaned back in his chair, wishing he'd paid a bit more attention to exactly what had happened. He remembered Penelope, of course. It would be hard to forget a mutant who could single-handedly destroy an island. But she had been working with someone else for a while, hadn't she? Quite a few of them had.

"Today's focus is more on mental preparation," Ian explained. "Take some time to let it sink in, consider your options, form a strategy. Feel free to mingle with the other contestants. Meals will be provided, and snacks will be available throughout the day. There's a table over there with pencils and postcards if you'd like to write a letter to someone. Family, friends, anyone you like. Just be warned that the letters will be screened, and if there's any mention of the fact that you're being forced into this … experiment, they won't be delivered.

"As some of you have probably decided by now, you might want to figure out who would make a good teammate in the Games. To help you decide, there will be a gathering tonight where all of you will have the opportunity to demonstrate your abilities if you'd like. Participating is voluntary, and—"

"A talent show?" a voice from the purple table asked skeptically. "You want us to show off exactly what we can do so everybody knows our weaknesses?"

"And that is why participation is voluntary," Penelope agreed. "You're right, Iola; there are advantages and disadvantages either way. Demonstrating your abilities gives away an element of surprise, but it might also draw in people whose powers are compatible with yours and help you form a stronger team early on. The sooner you start training together as a team, the more experience you'll get working with each other. On the other hand, there are various reasons you might not want to let others know what you can do."

"What did you do?" Marcus blurted out before he could stop himself. He wasn't thinking straight. He was used to having more time to think. Under normal circumstances, he would have slowed time down by now, trying to give himself more time to react. But with this damn collar on…

Penelope didn't seem to mind the question, though. "I didn't have the opportunity. This is something we've added this year. That part of the official story is true – this is a bit of an experiment. This is only our second time doing this, so there are still kinks we're working out, things we've added, things we've changed." She shook her head. "Given the choice, though, I think I would have participated. But that doesn't necessarily mean that you should. Think about it. Weigh the options. Decide for yourself."

Marcus nodded along. She was right. There were good arguments to be made both ways. And it might take some of the others a while to decide.

But he'd already made his choice.

Evelyn Hong, 17

There wasn't much of a choice.

Evelyn nodded along as the mutants at the front of the room continued to explain their options for the day – which seemed to consist mostly of sitting around and thinking about what a terrible situation they were in. She wanted to be doing something. Yes, this was terrible, but sitting around and thinking about it wasn't going to make it any better. And as far as deciding whether or not to show off her abilities … Well, that was what she'd always wanted, wasn't it? To be able to show what she could do, and not have her parents worrying that it might get her targeted.

There was no reason to worry about that now. She'd already been targeted. She was already here. This was the worst that could happen, and it was already happening. There wasn't a good reason not to be honest about what she could do.

"We're aware that leaves you a lot of free time," Ian was saying. "The four of us will do our best, but we can only be in so many places at once. Which is why several members of the MAAB have volunteered to provide additional training, particularly in areas where your own abilities might not be as useful." He nodded to the people standing behind the four of them.

A man took a step forward. "I'm Colonel Judah Burgess. I'll be providing instruction in hand-to-hand combat for anyone who's interested. Even if your power is something fiercely impressive, you might still find yourself in a situation where you have to fight – with or without an actual weapon. I'll be helping you prepare for that."

"I'm Dr. Anita Donahue," said the woman beside him. "I'll be offering instruction on first aid and the basics of treating injuries. No matter how careful you are, the chances of you coming out of this without a scrape are pretty slim, and knowing how to treat an injury could be the difference between life and death. Either Judah or I can also help you with some of the basics of surviving in the wild – how to start a fire, boil water, and so on."

The man on the end gave a little wave. "I'm Alvin. Any questions you have that don't fit in any of those categories, you can go to either me or Nicholas." He indicated the man on the other end. "But let's be honest; you're probably coming to me. Nicholas is a busy man; I just make sure that things run. Anything miscellaneous. You run out of pencils, want more lettuce on the salad bar, think your jumpsuit needs more pockets, want to know how you're supposed to change into a bear if your collar is too tight – that comes to me. Or if you have any math questions, which is what I'm actually here for. Probability, statistics, game theory – all that wonderful stuff that everyone complains they'll never use until they need someone to come in and fix the mess they've made because they don't know what they're doing." He shrugged. "Any numbers you need crunched, I'm your man."

Evelyn giggled nervously. She couldn't help it. The idea that anyone would have a math question in the middle of all of this was funny. She immediately stopped as the rest of the room turned to face her, but Alvin smiled. "There we go. I was hoping for a laugh. Diffuse the tension and all that. Anybody got any questions right away?"

Evelyn raised her hand before realizing she probably didn't need to. "What's with the Hogwarts tables?"

This time, there were a few more chuckles, and Maria was smiling a little as she answered. "The tables are color-coded to match which of us you'll be working with, but aside from that, it doesn't mean anything. They're just colors. Feel free to work with anyone regardless of color group. The two survivors can be any combination of colors, and there might even be a bit of an advantage to choosing to work with someone who has a different coach, because then you get to train with more than one of us, get a different perspective on things." She flashed Evelyn a smile. "And incidentally, if they were Hogwarts houses, that table would be green, not purple."

Evelyn smirked. "Yep, you're a Ravenclaw."

Lea Cervantes, 18

They were actually smiling.

Lea shook her head as she glanced around the room. A few of them were smiling, chuckling along. Not many of them, but enough. A few of them was enough. They only needed a few who were willing to go along with this, who thought it was a joke, a game, in order for it to succeed. Clearly, it had worked last year. And it was well on its way to working this year, unless—

"You think this is funny?" a voice demanded. "Did you hear anything they just said? They expect us to kill each other, and you're sitting here laughing about it like they invited us to play a game of football. What are you thinking?" The boy beside her in the back of the room shook his head, disgusted.

"He's right," Lea agreed, a bit ashamed she hadn't been the first one to speak up. "This isn't a joke, and it's not a game. And we don't have to play into it." She took a step closer to the boy in yellow, her arms crossed. "We don't have to do this. None of us do."

"You're right," came a voice from the front. Vincent, the only coach who hadn't spoken up yet. For a moment, Lea's heart leapt. If one of the coaches agreed with them, then maybe they had a chance. But Vincent shook his head. "You're right; there's always a choice. You could always choose to die, instead."

Lea could feel her face flush. Those weren't the only two options. They couldn't be. "But if none of us fight—" the boy beside her began.

Vincent shook his head. "None of you? Look around, Elio. Look around, Lea. Can you honestly tell me you don't think any of these people will fight? Because that's what it would take – all of you. And looking around, I see—"

"You don't know us," Lea interrupted. "You don't know any of these people."

"That's where you're wrong, Lea. You don't know them. You don't know anything about them. We, on the other hand, have information on almost all of you. Some of you aren't fighters, it's true. But some of you are. And all it takes is some."

"Just because everybody last year was ready to fight—"

"They weren't. Not all of them. There were a few who chose not to. But the fact that you didn't know that – the fact that none of you remember that – is the point. If you want to refuse to fight, that's your choice. All I'm saying is that you can't count on everyone else making the same choice."

Lea fell silent. He wasn't saying anything she hadn't already known. They didn't need everyone to cooperate in order to make the Games work. A few would be enough to get things rolling, and once they started…

Then what? If push came to shove – and it almost certainly would – would she fight? If someone was attacking her, was she really going to refuse to fight back on principle? Lea swallowed hard. Maybe that would be the right thing to do. But if doing the right thing was going to get her killed…

But there was a pretty good chance she was going to die anyway. And if she was going to die, wasn't it better to die a hero? A martyr? That was what the sisters would say, she was sure. Better to die than to fall into sin, and killing … well, there wasn't exactly a bigger sin than that. Soldiers killed, yes, but this wasn't a war. The other kids in the room – they weren't her enemy. They weren't anyone's enemy. They just wanted to live.

But only two of them were going to.

Unless…

Lea took a step closer to the boy – apparently Elio – and turned to face the room. "You can count on me making that choice," she said firmly. "How about you, Elio."

Elio nodded and held out his hand. "Count me in." Lea shook it, then quickly scanned the room.

"Anyone else?"

Kenji Rose, 12

"Anyone else?"

The words hung in the air as they all waited. Kenji held his breath, waiting along with the rest of them. It would have been different, maybe, if a few of the others had jumped up immediately. If more people had started joining in. But everyone seemed to be waiting for someone else to make the first move. And no one did.

He wanted to. He really did. He wanted nothing more than to promise not to hurt anyone, and to be sure that no one else would hurt him. He wanted the whole room to leap to their feet and agree not to kill each other. But that hadn't happened. And it wasn't going to happen.

After a few moments, Vincent seemed to take the silence as confirmation that there wasn't going to be a mass revolt. "All right, then," he nodded. "That's that."

The girl's face was beet red. "If you change your minds, we'll be right here," she said, addressing the room as a whole. Kenji looked around. Some people had turned back to their breakfast. Most of the adults at the front of the room were leaving. But the coaches stayed, along with the man who had introduced himself as Alvin.

Coaches. That was what they had said, but he'd heard enough of his siblings' stories to know who they really were. It wasn't something they would want to advertise, maybe, and certainly not something that would mean anything to most of the others, but…

Slowly, Kenji got up and made his way towards the nearest one. Maria was already heading towards him, and wrapped an arm gently around his shoulders. Ian wasn't far behind. "Kenji, I … we're really sorry."

Kenji shook his head. This wasn't their fault. "How did you guys get here? What happened at the school? All they told us was that there was a raid, and some people from the government came to tell us they'd … they'd collected our mother's body for testing, but Isamu and Nami … they didn't say anything about them. Do you know what happened? Did they get away?"

Ian shook his head. "I wish we had some answers for you. Your mother was outside, fighting, trying to give the students time to get away. Some of them did, but we don't know who, or how many. Isamu and Nami's bodies weren't collected, but the Sentinels … they don't always leave bodies."

"But they could have gotten away," Maria added with a pointed look at Ian. "We don't know. We were inside, destroying all the records we could. We didn't want to leave anything that might lead the government to … well, to kids like you, not to put too fine a point on it. But once they found Vivian's body, it wasn't hard for them to locate you."

Kenji nodded, fighting back tears. For a moment, he had thought he might get some answers, but at least they couldn't say for certain that his brother and sister were dead. "What about you?" he asked. "How did you end up here?"

"One of the reasons the Sentinels came that night was to eliminate the X-Men," Maria explained. "Another was to retrieve some suitable coaches for this little … experiment. Given the nature of our abilities and the fact that we were inside rather than outside with the others, we were some of the easier ones to get ahold of alive."

Kenji nodded. Their powers were definitely cool, but not exactly the most useful in a fight. Ian didn't need to sleep. Maria could breathe underwater. And Vincent…

Kenji glanced over at Vincent, who was still standing in the far corner, watching the others as they began to interact, to talk things over, to form themselves into little groups. For a moment, his eyes found Kenji, but he looked away almost immediately. "What Vincent said to those other two – Elio and Lea – that was…"

"The truth," Ian finished. "He could have put it more delicately, but that doesn't make it any less true. This is happening, Kenji."

"But if more people had joined in—"

"But they didn't," Ian finished. "You didn't. And not because you're weak or cruel or a bad person, Kenji, but because you want to live. There's no shame in that."

"He's right, you know," came a voice from behind them. Kenji turned to see a girl in yellow watching them. "Given the choice between dying together and surviving alone, most people will choose the latter. It's human nature … well, and mutant nature, I suppose." She cocked her head, studying him, then blinked slowly. Almost unnervingly slowly.

"Did you say your mother's name was Vivian?"

Florence Roos, 114

She already knew the answer.

Florence watched the boy's face as he searched for the right words. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop. It was just that she was used to hearing so much more. In a room with this many people, she would normally hear every nervous breath, every beat of a heart as it pumped blood through veins and arteries, every drop of sweat as it dripped to the floor. It wasn't even something she thought about anymore. It was just there, that constant background noise of all the normal functions of a warm, blood-filled body.

Now, all she could hear were voices, and it hadn't been hard to pick out theirs. They hadn't exactly been quiet. Or maybe they had, and it had just seemed loud in comparison to the sounds she was used to hearing all the time. After what seemed like minutes – but was probably only seconds – the boy nodded slightly. "Vivian Rose."

Florence nodded. So she had married the Rose boy after all. "But before that … her name was Vivian Hann."

"How did you know?" the boy asked.

Florence shrugged. "You have her chin." And her eyes. And her cheekbones. But remarking on all of those would probably startle the boy even more.

"No, I mean … How did you know her?"

"We went to school together … for a while."

"You and … my mom?"

"I'm older than I look," Florence assured him.

"Is that your power – staying young?" Kenji asked, clearly intrigued.

"That's part of it," Florence answered vaguely. "And what about you? Assuming you're about as old as you look, you wouldn't be here if your power wasn't something pretty impressive."

"What do you mean?"

Florence's gaze fell on Ian and Maria. "That's the idea, right? They wouldn't really throw twelve and thirteen year old kids into the mix along with young 20-somethings and … well, me … unless they thought they really had a chance. Look at what happened last year. All those older mutants, and Penelope comes out alive? That's not a coincidence." She smiled at Kenji. "Of course, if you'd rather not say, that's fine. You have no reason to trust me, after all." Except…

Kenji took a deep breath. "You and my mom were friends?"

Florence nodded. "We weren't particularly close, but we knew each other. Super strength, that was her thing. Oh, and she knew how to use it, too. Had a bit of a temper back in those days."

"Really?"

"Well, maybe not so much a temper as a strong sense of justice. She certainly wouldn't have been one to go down without a fight." She cocked her head slightly. "You probably got that from her, too, I think."

"You think so?"

"I saw you watching those two earlier." She gestured over her shoulder at Elio and Lea. "You were thinking about joining them, but you didn't. You've got a bit more sense than that. They've got the right idea, sure enough, but they're going about it the wrong way."

"What do you mean?"

"There's a little saying I heard once. If there's a fire you're trying to douse, you can't put it out from inside the house." She was pretty sure none of the others had heard it, but across the room, Vincent couldn't help a snort of almost-laughter. Florence ignored him. "Do you know what that means?"

Kenji hesitated, but only for a moment. "You can't solve a problem if you're stuck inside it?"

"Exactly. In order to really do anything about these Games, we have to make it out of them alive. We can't really change anything from the inside. We have to be patient, and for now, we have to play their game."

"Chronokinesis," the boy blurted out. "That's what I can do. Manipulate time."

"Excellent," Florence beamed, holding out her hand, which Kenji immediately shook. She waited a moment, deciding, but only a moment. What the hell. Why not?

"And I'm a vampire."

Emery Mullins, 15

"And I'm a vampire."

Emery's ears perked up. Or at least, they certainly would have if she'd had her other ears at the moment. She had much better hearing in wolf form, but the girl nearby hadn't exactly been whispering. It was as if she didn't care whether anyone else found out who she was or what she could do. And maybe that made sense for someone with … well, whatever a vampire's powers were. Could she fly? Turn into a bat? Turn other people into vampires?

Emery turned. She couldn't help it. She was curious. To her surprise, the girl who had spoken was one of the ones who'd been on the plane with her. Emery raised an eyebrow. She hadn't said anything about being a vampire then. Of course, Emery hadn't exactly been broadcasting what she could do, either. They'd had no idea what was in store for them, what they might be expected to do. But now that they knew…

"Emery, right?" the girl asked, and Emery realized she'd been staring. The older girl – much older, from the sound of what Emery had overheard – smiled, and Emery was surprised by the lack of fangs. Stupid. Of course she didn't have fangs. It wasn't as if Emery had fangs, either – not when she was human. "Florence Roos," the girl introduced herself, holding out her hand. "Never met a vampire before?"

Emery smirked and shook it. "Never met a werewolf before?"

"No, but I could smell it on you."

Emery froze. "Really?"

Florence chuckled. "No. When he picked me up, Judah mentioned someone sprouting fur and turning into a wolf. You were the only one already on the plane. I did the math."

"Why didn't you say something then?"

"Didn't know enough about what was going on. Wasn't sure what your reaction might be. I'm sure you can understand that."

Emery nodded. She'd never actually told anyone about her mutation. If the girl had simply blurted out that she was a vampire on the plane, how would she have reacted? "Aren't vampires and werewolves supposed to be…"

"Hereditary enemies?" Florence chuckled. "Never really been sure where that came from, myself. And like I said, never actually met a werewolf before. But if you'd rather be enemies—"

"No," Emery blurted out. "I want…" She trailed off, unsure how that sentence should end. What did she want? She wanted to go home. But home … home didn't really exist. There was her brother, of course, but he was safe. He was probably safer, in fact, now that she was gone. There was nothing else for her to go back to. Which was just as well, because clearly the people in charge had no intention of letting anyone go anywhere, no matter how things ended. Penelope had survived the year before, after all, and she was still here. There was no going back.

"You want a friend," the boy next to Florence finished automatically. And maybe that was it. She wasn't sure she would know if it was. It had been so long since she'd had any friends beside her brother. The boy held out his hand. "I'm Kenji. You can join us, if you'd like."

Emery shook his hand cautiously. "Are you sure? They said only two of us can…"

"They said only two of us can survive," Florence reasoned. "They said nothing about how many of us could work together – for a while, at least. Strength in numbers and all that. Wolves hunt in packs, after all."

"Wouldn't know much about that," Emery admitted. "Always been something of a lone wolf, myself." But that was only because it had been safer that way. Now … well, maybe it would be safer in a group. A pack of sorts. She smiled at Kenji. "It would be nice to have a friend or two."

Kenji grinned. "A vampire, a werewolf, and a … I need a better name than chronokinetic. It makes me sound like a science experiment."

"Time-Turner?" Florence offered.

Kenji made a face. "Isn't that something from Harry Potter?"

"Yeah, it is," Maria agreed. "Timekeeper?"

"Sounds like you're holding a stopwatch," Ian chuckled. "Timelord?"

"That's the doctor," Maria reasoned.

"Doctor who?" Ian asked.

"Exactly."

Ian rolled his eyes, chuckling, and Emery smiled along, even though she wasn't sure exactly what the joke was. "Timebender?" she suggested quietly.

Kenji immediately beamed. "I love it. A vampire, a werewolf, and a timebender. If only my family could…" He trailed off.

Emery wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Hey. It's okay. We've all got family we want to get back to. I've got a little brother about your age."

"How old is he?"

"Thirteen."

"I'm twelve."

Emery smirked. "Close enough."

"I've got a sister who's sixteen."

"I'm fifteen."

Kenji nodded. "Close enough."

Vi Voclain, 18

He'd already had enough.

Vi took a deep breath as he slumped down into a corner with a cup of coffee, gripping it so tightly he was sure it was going to spill. Vampires and werewolves and whatever the hell a timebender was. Probably a whole load of other impressive things, too. How was he supposed to compete with that? How was he supposed to survive this?

He wasn't. That was the answer, really. He wasn't even supposed to be here. This … this was why no one had cared that he'd shown up and thrown a wrench in their plans. He would be dead soon enough, anyway. Nothing to worry about. No reason for them to bother about him.

"This seat taken?" asked a voice, and without waiting for an answer, the coach who had introduced himself as Vincent plopped down beside him. "Not quite what they promised you, huh?"

Vi scoffed. "You can say that again." He shook his head. "But they didn't really promise me anything. He just told me it was a competition and said I could wear one of these." He tapped his collar. "I figured … well, I didn't really think I had anything to lose. Guess I didn't really think it through."

Vincent ran his fingers absently along his own collar. "Maybe not. But I can't really blame you for that one. You were in a tough spot. Still are. Sometimes there aren't any good choices." He let the words hang there for a moment. "But there are still choices. Did Judah happen to say whether he was planning to keep that collar turned on?"

"He didn't say," Vi realized. "I just assumed—"

"Don't. Don't assume anything. And don't ask him, either, because chances are good that he'll lie."

"So what do I do?"

"Show him that he should keep it turned on. Convince him."

"How?"

"Why do you think he agreed to let you participate, Vi?"

"Why not? I'm dead as soon as someone with a stronger power decides to zap me out of existence."

Vincent almost laughed. "With that attitude, you certainly are. But that's not why he agreed. Your power, your … talent … it guarantees that something interesting will happen. Probably something bad, at least from your perspective, but bad is interesting. If I had to take my guess, they'll wait until there's a dull moment, a moment where they need to get things moving, and then they'll let your power loose." He waited a moment to let that sink in. "Unless you show them that they don't have to. That you can keep things interesting all on your own."

"You mean…"

"Yes. If you show them that you're willing to fight, to shake things up a bit, to keep things moving, then they'll probably continue to let you do it."

"And you really think I have a chance? Against all of them?"

Vincent shrugged. "It doesn't matter what I think. What matters is what you're willing to do." He shook his head. "One of my contestants last year was a younger boy who was immune to poisons. Certainly a useful ability, but not exactly the most helpful in a fight. Sort of like mine."

"Yours?"

Vincent tapped his collar. "Did you think this was for decoration? I can hear and send messages on the wind." He nodded towards the other two coaches. "Maria can breathe underwater. Ian doesn't sleep." He leaned back against the wall. "I didn't push for a lot of the … improvements that we're making this year, but there was one suggestion I made."

Vi nodded, piecing it together. "The man who offered to train us in hand-to-hand combat – that was your idea."

"Got it in one."

"But if the idea of the Games is to show the world how dangerous mutants' powers are—"

"It's not."

"What?"

"It's not about our powers. Never has been. If this was just about how dangerous our powers are, they wouldn't be worried about people like me. And they would just hand you a collar and send you on your way, and you'd probably be grateful for it. This isn't about showing that our powers are dangerous. It's about showing that we're dangerous – with or without our abilities. The boy last year – the one who was immune to poison – he wasn't killed by anyone's powers. He was killed with a knife. And he's just as dead as all the others." He clapped Vi on the back. "Show them you're just as deadly without your powers – maybe more – and they'll probably leave that damn collar on."

"You really think so?"

Vincent sighed. "Look, it'd probably be cheating for me to tell you what anyone else can do, but pay close attention to anyone who participates in their little talent show tonight. Find someone you think you can take in a fight, start off strong, and don't look back." He shook his head.

"After that, it's anybody's game."

Rick Clifton, 19

He wasn't ready to play this game.

Rick took a deep breath and finished the last of his coffee. It was stone cold, but it had taken a while to convince himself that he should at least drink it. He still didn't feel like eating anything. He felt like he was going to be sick, but no one had mentioned where the bathrooms were. There was one back in his room, if he made it that far…

That seemed like a better idea than just sitting around, so he headed back down the hall. No one tried to stop him. What would be the point? It wasn't as if he'd be able to find his way out of the building. Now he just had to remember which room he'd been in…

A sudden lurch in his stomach shook that thought from his mind, and he darted into the nearest room and made it to the toilet just in time. He heaved, flushed, then heaved again. It smelled awful, but at least that was something real. None of the rest seemed real. The rest of the mutants. The idea of fighting any of them to the death. The idea of killing, of dying. None of it seemed real.

"Any better?" asked a voice from the door.

Rick hauled himself to his feet and flushed again before turning around. He'd expected one of the coaches, or maybe one of the other contestants – maybe whoever's room this was – but instead, the man who had introduced himself as Alvin was watching him from behind a half-darkened pair of glasses. "Alvin, right?" Rick asked. "You're the one we're supposed to ask about … what, math?"

"If you like."

"Well, I guess I do have a math question."

Alvin smiled a little. "Differential equations?"

"Probability."

"Ah."

"What are the odds…" He trailed off for a moment, unsure. But where was the harm in asking? "What are the odds you people find out I'm a mutant before I'm even sure myself?"

Alvin looked genuinely surprised. "You really didn't know?"

"I thought maybe I was, but you … you're not guessing. You're sure."

"The tornadoes weren't a bit of a giveaway?"

"I live in Kansas."

"Fair point." Alvin nodded to the door. "Think you can make it down the hall?"

"Why?"

"Something I want to show you. I could bring it back here, if you're not feeling up to—"

"I'm all right," Rick insisted, and followed him down the hall. He wasn't all right. None of this was all right. But walking around felt a little better.

At the end of the hall, Alvin ducked inside a room for a moment and returned with a manila folder. "You're right," Alvin agreed. "We weren't guessing. We knew. You see, it's not a guarantee, but mutations do tend to run in families."

Rick shook his head. "There's no way my father's a—"

"Not your father. Your mother."

Rick froze. Despite how many times he'd asked when he was younger, his father had never told him what had happened to his mother – only that she was never coming back. Eventually, he'd stopped asking. Rick took a deep breath. "What's in the file?"

"Everything we know about her – which is considerably more than you do, I'd imagine. You were seven when she disappeared, right?"

"Yeah." He held out his hand. "What happened?"

Alvin made no move to hand over the file. "She was a mutant, like you. Pretty similar power, actually. Sometimes that happens; sometimes it doesn't. We don't really know why. Hers, however, was more focused on negating weather, on calming things down. She wasn't exactly shy about it, either, which is how we found out. And by 'we,' I mean the government in general. I wasn't involved at the time. But I remember hearing about the storm."

"She caused a storm?"

"No, quite the opposite. Like I said, her specialty was negating weather. The government came to her for help, asked her to stop a storm that was brewing off the southeast coast. Against your father's advice, she agreed to help. Maybe she was hoping that if a mutant was seen helping prevent a catastrophe, that would help change people's opinions. Maybe it would have, if more people had known. Probably not." He shook his head. "It wasn't enough for her to be in the same area as the storm, though. In order to use her power, she needed a perfect view. She had to be outside in the storm. She managed to calm it down, help avert the crisis. But she didn't survive."

"She saved everyone?"

Alvin smiled. "Well, not everyone, but the damage would have been much worse if she hadn't gotten involved."

"And the government … they never told anyone. No one ever told me."

Alvin nodded solemnly. "Because that's not the story they want people to hear. The government asking for help from mutants? Relying on them? Turning to them in times of catastrophe? They couldn't have that."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Alvin shrugged. "You asked. You'll find there aren't as many secrets around here – not from the people involved, at least. And like it or not, you're involved. Your mother got to make that choice. You didn't." He handed the folder to Rick.

"But there are some choices you can make."

Vincent Reid, 28

That was an interesting choice.

Vincent watched as Rick came back, clutching a manila file. He was followed by Alvin, who kept his distance as Rick settled into a seat in one of the corners and opened the file. With only half his peripheral vision, it took Alvin a while to notice Vincent was watching him, but when he did, he made his way over to Vincent in what he probably thought was a casual manner. Vincent nodded. "You told him?"

"Yes."

"How much?"

"Enough. The rest is in the file I gave him."

"Why?"

"Why not? What harm can it do? If the kid's going to die, he deserves to know what got him into this mess."

"You don't believe he has a chance?"

"I believe in numbers. Thirty of them. Two come out. Those aren't good odds for any of them, especially for someone who just found out he even had powers."

"He didn't know?"

"Apparently, there are enough tornadoes in Kansas that he wasn't sure. Would've been a different story if he'd known his mother was a mutant. As it is … he's got three days to learn how to use abilities he wasn't even sure he had."

"Puts him in the same boat with a few of the others, I suppose," Vincent reasoned. "Not because they didn't know, but because their powers won't be particularly useful. A girl who can sing people to sleep, a girl who can bring her shadow to life, a boy who's hoping you keep his collar turned on because his power will probably kill him if you don't."

"All yours, I noticed."

Vincent looked away. "Maria's got a few. One who can manipulate starlight. Another who controls colors."

Alvin wasn't finished. "And I noticed you snatched up our volunteer pretty quickly."

Vincent glared. "If you have a point, make it. And I seem to recall you're the one who suggested I take Fae."

"I figured music was your thing," Alvin reasoned.

Vincent nodded. It was, but he hadn't expected Alvin to remember that. "And I'll tell her and Makenzie the same thing I told Vi – that it might be a good idea to take Judah up on his offer to teach a little hand-to-hand combat."

Alvin nodded. "I just told Rick the same thing."

"Really?"

"The chances of him learning how to really control his power in the amount of time he has … Well, it's good to have a fallback plan."

Vincent nodded. "Thought you might point him towards Liv. At least she knew she's a mutant. She might have a tip or two."

Alvin chuckled. "You really think that's a good idea? Nudge the two weather manipulators towards each other?"

"Seemed to work out with the two aquakinetics last year," Vincent reasoned. Well, aside from the fact that they'd both died, but twenty-eight people had died.

"That was different."

Vincent sighed. He could always choose not to take the bait, but he had to admit he was a bit curious. "This is going to be about math again, isn't it."

"Weather is…" Alvin trailed off. "No. You know what? It's not math. It's music. It's sound waves. When waves meet, they can either cancel each other out, or they get added together."

"You're talking about interference."

"Constructive and destructive interference, yes. Now, let's say two sound waves meet constructively, but they're not perfectly lined up. Their frequencies are just a little bit off. What do you get?"

"They're out of tune."

"Exactly."

"And you're saying … What? The same sort of thing happens with weather?"

"Yes. Well, no, it's more complicated than that. But for the purposes of this explanation … yes. More or less. The point is, if the two of them decided to work together, there's a chance they might end up with the exact same frequency. You might get some beautiful music. But the chances are better that they'll end up out of tune. And given the scale of things that weather can affect, that would be … bad."

"Sounds like that's an understatement."

"You could say that."

"So you giving him a nudge towards Judah … That's not just about giving him a chance. You don't want him manipulating the weather."

"I don't want him manipulating the weather at the same time and in the same area as Liv. Which is a lot less likely if he's not doing it at all. So yes."

Vincent nodded. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah."

"What are you going to tell him?"

"Exactly what you told me. Stay away from Liv, don't try anything in the same area, and it wouldn't be a bad idea to spend some time with Judah."

"Just like that?"

Vincent shook his head. "Alvin, you let Penelope destroy a whole island last year, and none of you broke a sweat. If you're actually worried about what might happen if there are two people trying to do different things with the weather—"

"It wouldn't even have to be different things," Alvin corrected. "Even the same thing, just a little bit out of sync."

"Right. My point is, if a storm comes and wipes out half of Wyoming, none of us get what we want. They all die, we all die, and someone else picks up where you left off, with even more ammunition that mutants are dangerous. That's not what any of us want."

Alvin nodded. "Agreed."

Vincent hesitated. "The thing is…"

Alvin sighed heavily. "There's always a thing."

"If he didn't know about his power, then he's obviously been using it subconsciously. He wasn't trying to. So even if he's not trying to affect the weather, that's no guarantee."

"I know."

"What do you plan to do about it?"

"Nothing we can do. I told Nicholas we were in over our heads here. He didn't listen. Now we've just got to deal with it as well as we can, and hope for the best."

"That's your plan? Hope?"

Alvin shrugged. "Got a better one?"

Vincent shook his head, glancing around the room. He didn't have a better plan. Not for Liv and Rick, and not for the three chronokinetics. If messing with the weather was that dangerous, after all, how much more dangerous would it be if three of them were manipulating time? But there wasn't anything he could do about that – or any of it.

Nothing but hope that Alvin was wrong.

"Who says what's wrong?"