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

Note: And here's our next batch of ten tributes.

Decide

March 16th, 11:24 MST
Maria Nanami, 26

She wondered what they would decide.

Maria made her way over towards Penelope as Alvin brought out a few large trays. White and wheat bread, along with several kinds of lunch meats – ham, turkey, and roast beef. Peanut butter and jelly. Assorted fruits and vegetables covered one of the trays, and there were fresh pitchers of juice and lemonade, a fresh pot of coffee, and small cartons of milk. Several of the contestants headed for the table immediately, but most hung back, already occupied with writing letters or mingling with the other contestants.

"What do you think will happen tonight?" Maria asked as Penelope joined her. "Got any feel for how many of them might choose to participate?" The talent show of sorts hadn't been her idea; it had been Lillian's. But she had to admit that it was a rather effective way of helping the contestants show everyone what they could do. It could help them find others to work with.

But only if enough of them participated. Lillian and a few others had wanted to make participation mandatory, but in the end, the consensus had been that the idea simply wasn't practical. There were at least a handful of them who had no real control over their powers and wouldn't be able to demonstrate anything on command. And there were some who would probably want to keep their abilities a secret – either to make the other contestants think that their powers might be more impressive, or to avoid scaring away potential teammates with the fact that their powers were a bit intimidating.

"If I had to guess, I'd say around half," Penelope reasoned. "A few more, a few less. Probably enough to keep it going. In a few more years, it'll probably be mandatory."

Maria winced. A few more years. Penelope was already planning for more Games in the future. And maybe that was the right idea, thinking long-term, but Maria didn't want to think about how many more Games there might be. Right now, she just wanted to focus on this year. These Games. The thirty contestants in the room with them right now, and the fact that only two of them were going to survive.

Then again, thinking long-term was the only reason there were going to be two survivors in the first place. Alvin had convinced Diana to call off an attempted rescue, and in return, he'd struck a deal that allowed for two survivors, as well as prevented them from choosing any relatives of former contestants for the Games. Thinking ahead had protected several young mutants from the possibility of being chosen. Except…

Except that meant someone else had been chosen in their place. They hadn't really saved anyone; they'd simply exchanged one life for another. No matter how this went, twenty-eight of the young mutants in the room right now were going to die. That would happen no matter who they decided to work with, or how well they worked as a team, and no matter what she or Penelope or Ian or Vincent did.

So many of them were going to die.

Jaime Sanchez, 20

They didn't want to die.

Jaime turned the postcard over in their hands. They'd been staring at it for a while now, but still hadn't written a word. Because writing something down, putting their thoughts into words now, meant that it was real. And they didn't want it to be real. They didn't want to die.

But even more than that, they didn't want to kill. They didn't want to be a monster. People kept talking about mutants like they were monsters, and with a power like theirs … well, it wasn't too hard to believe it sometimes. They'd never wanted to cause pain, but if the choice had been between it being their pain or someone else's, it hadn't been hard to make that choice. But if it was death rather than just pain … was that any different?

Did that make them a monster if they went along with it?

Jaime glanced down at the postcard – a cheery sunrise behind the figure of a buffalo. Or maybe a bison. They'd never exactly been clear on what the difference was. Maybe it didn't matter. In the end, an animal was an animal. And the only thing separating humans and mutants from animals like that bison was their ability to think, to reason, to make decisions based on more than just instinct. More than what would keep them alive at the moment.

Jaime nodded a little. Maybe going along with these Games wouldn't make them monsters, but animals … maybe. That was certainly how the MAAB was treating them – as animals to be trained and collared and forced to perform the way they were expected to. It wasn't fair, treating them like this, but most of them didn't seem to think there was anything they could do about it. And maybe there wasn't – not looking at the big picture. But there had to be something…

Slowly, steadily, trying to force confidence into their movements, Jaime got up and made their way over to a corner where Elio and Lea were talking in whispers. Elio looked up as Jaime approached. "Care to join us?" he asked with a warm smile.

It was more than it sounded like, though. More than just an invitation to take a seat in their little corner. Jaime nodded and sat down anyway. "What they're doing – it's wrong," they said at last, as if that was an explanation. "And I don't … I don't want to be a part of it."

Elio nodded. "Well, I don't think we have much say in whether we're a part of it, but we do get to choose which part. What's your name?"

"Jaime Sanchez." They hesitated a moment, but only a moment. They weren't out to a lot of people besides their father, but if they were going to die, they were at least going to die as themself. "And I use they/them pronouns."

Elio didn't miss a beat. "Elio Haines, and I use he/him."

"Lea Cervantes, and mine are she/her." Lea held out her hand, and Jaime shook it.

"So what's your plan?" Jaime asked.

Lea chuckled. "What makes you think we have a plan?"

Jaime shrugged. "Well, you were definitely whispering about something."

Elio smiled. "The whispering's just for show. It makes them nervous."

Jaime glanced around. "Really?"

"Mostly, it seems to be bothering the coaches," Elio admitted. "But that's a start. If they get nervous enough, it might start to rub off on the people who really should be nervous." He shook his head. "But there's not really a secret plan. We get as many people together as we can. Once we're in the Games, we get as far away from everyone else as possible. And we don't kill each other. What're they going to do?"

Jaime let that sink in for a moment. What would they do? The coaches had probably been right that trying to convince everyone not to fight wouldn't work, but if they could get enough people – or even a few – and just stay away from the action, what would they do about it? Did they really expect to be able to force them to fight? And how did they plan to keep them in the same area in the first place? Last year's Games had been on an island; that seemed like a pretty good way to keep the contestants contained. But unless there was an island somewhere in the middle of Wyoming that they hadn't heard about…

That was certainly possible, of course. They'd rarely been outside of New Mexico, after all, and they hadn't gotten a good look around the night before. But from what they remembered from high school geography, Wyoming had quite a few mountains. If that was where the arena was, how hard could it be to get lost? How hard could it be for their captors to lose track of them?

What was to stop them from just running away?

Coburn Hughes, 17

What was to stop him from just running away?

Coburn played the words he'd just heard over in his head. Once we're in the arena, we get as far away from everyone else as possible. It sounded like a reasonable plan, so what was the catch? How was anyone planning to stop them from just running away? Sure, they could send in the Sentinels to round them up again, but how was that going to look to the people watching the Games? That would certainly make it clear that they didn't want to fight, that they were being forced into this.

Coburn shook his head. He still couldn't quite believe what they were being forced into. His gaze strayed to his postcard, where he'd started writing a note to his sister, Cari. He'd started over at least five times now. What was he supposed to say? What were any of them supposed to say? The letters were going to be screened for any hint of what was really going on, so what was the point in sending anything at all?

Besides, he wasn't even certain where his sister would be. Would she still be with their father in Texas, or would all the excitement mean she would get sent back home to their mother early? What would happen if someone found out that she was a mutant? Would she get sent here, too? No. No, there was no way anyone else could know. He set fire to things, after all. There was no way anyone would be able to tell she was a mutant.

Was there?

Coburn glanced around the room. He hoped that was true. But the other mutants in the room … surely they didn't all have powers as obvious as his. And yet the government had found out about them. And managed to capture them, as well. Whatever they could do, however strong their powers were, it hadn't been enough to protect them.

Coburn pinched the bridge of his nose. For a moment, as he'd been looking around the room, everything had seemed a bit fuzzy. He blinked. He was probably hungry. Yes, that was it. He hadn't really eaten much of his breakfast, and he hadn't had anything from the lunch table yet. Yeah, he was just hungry.

What else could it be?

Unless...

No. No, that was too much to hope for. Wasn't it?

Slowly, he got up and made his way to the lunch table, made a sandwich, and sat back down. Okay. Eat something. That was something he could do, at least. Maybe he couldn't do anything about the rest of it, but he could make sure that he wasn't starving.

"Anybody sitting here?"

Coburn looked up, but the girl had already taken a seat beside him. "Just you now." He shrugged. No one had said they had to sit at the table that matched their color. Just because the girl was wearing red, and the table was—

Red. The table was also red. Coburn nearly jumped to his feet. "I didn't realize. Sorry, I'm in the wrong spot. I—"

The girl couldn't help a laugh. "It's okay. No harm done. They're just colors."

But Coburn was already hurrying back to the blue table. "It's not that." He snatched up the postcard he'd left on the table when he'd gone to get his lunch. "I didn't want to lose this."

The girl nodded, glancing at the postcard lying by her own plate. "I started writing one for my dad, but…"

"But what do you even say?" Coburn agreed. "Everything happened so fast when they took me, I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye. Not really." That wasn't entirely true. He and Cari had been communicating telepathically, but he sure as hell wasn't going to say that right now, when the MAAB could be listening. He'd lost touch with her after they'd left the hospital, but he kept hoping that maybe she was still listening somehow.

"I was at work when they took me. I didn't get to say goodbye, either." She turned the postcard over, as if doing so might reveal the right words to write on it. "It's just … if I die in these Games, all he'll know about what happened is what he sees on the television. But even if I win … Well, look at what happened to her." She nodded towards Penelope, who was standing in a corner with one of the other coaches. "She won, and she's still here. It's not like they let her go home. Even if I win, will I ever get to see him again?"

Coburn opened his mouth, but then shut it again. He hadn't even thought that far ahead. He'd been trying to think of some way to escape; he hadn't even bothered considering what might happen if he actually won. When he opened his mouth again, the words came out before he could stop them.

"Why don't we ask her?"

Savannah Kingston, 19

"Why don't we ask her?"

Savannah blinked as she ran the suggestion over in her mind. Such a simple idea, and it clearly hadn't even occurred to the boy that they might not be allowed to do that, or that they might not get a straight answer even if they did. After a moment, she shrugged. "Okay."

Immediately, the boy stood up and headed over to the younger girl. Younger, yes, but somehow also more intimidating. She had survived last year, after all, against so many older, stronger mutants. Savannah ran her fingers along her collar, where the "P-0206" reminded her that this girl was her coach. She was wearing the same red outfit Savannah was. Surely she was allowed to talk to her coach, right?

Penelope nodded as soon as she saw them coming. The coach she was talking to – the boy's coach, Savannah realized – smiled a little. "You probably have questions."

"A few," the boy admitted. "What happens if we … well, if we win?"

"Already thinking optimistically," Penelope noted. "Good."

The boy shrugged. "Well, it's pretty obvious what happens if we lose. But even if we win … we don't get to go home, do we."

"Probably not, no," Penelope agreed.

Savannah raised an eyebrow. "Probably? You're still here."

"Didn't have much of a home to go back to."

"And the other girl who survived?" Savannah asked.

Penelope and the other coach – Maria, she was pretty sure – shared a look. After a moment, Maria answered. "The last we heard from her, she was with her family."

"Great." The boy's smile lit up his face.

Savannah put a hand on his arm, as if to stop him from getting carried away with himself. "And when was the last time you heard from her?" she asked skeptically.

"Almost a year now," Maria admitted.

"So you don't actually know what happened to her after last year's Games."

"Not … exactly."

There was something she wasn't saying, but Savannah knew better than to press the matter. They weren't going to get answers now – not with so many other people around. Maybe if they could talk to the pair of them alone…

They. Savannah glanced over at the boy. "What was your name again?"

"Coburn."

"Savannah. And it sounds like the only way we even have a chance of seeing our families again is to win this thing."

"We?" Had he picked up on the same thing she had? Maybe. Maybe he was just looking for someone – anyone – to talk to, to be his friend. Maybe in the end, that was what she was looking for, too. Because it didn't really matter what had happened to the other girl after the Games – not as long as she was alive. Before they could even worry about that, they had to get through this. They had to win.

Didn't they?

"We, if that's okay with you," Savannah agreed.

"You don't even know what I … what my power is."

"And you don't know mine," Savannah admitted. "You want me to go first?"

"I make things catch fire," Coburn blurted out before she could get any farther. "It's a pain, really. I can't control it at all. That's why I'm here in the first place. I wasn't even supposed to be here, but they found out I'd burned down our house, and … well, I guess it's safer for everyone if I'm here." He looked away. "I'll understand if you don't want to … well, work with someone like me."

Savannah tilted her head and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "I nearly burned down our school."

"You … what?"

Savannah nodded. "I was in the principal's office when I got some … bad news. My mother had cancer, and … and eventually it was too much. They told me, and suddenly there was electricity everywhere, like lightning. No one was hurt, but it wouldn't have taken much for it to be worse – a lot worse. I can't control it either. Not really. The best way to avoid setting it off is to stay calm, stay away from stressful situations, but…"

She didn't need to finish the thought. This whole thing was one big, stressful situation. She had no way of knowing what might happen if they turned her collar off. No, when they turned it off. Even if they kept it on until the Games, they would have to turn it off then. That was the whole point. She shook her head. "Sure you want to work with someone like me?"

Coburn hesitated a moment. But only a moment. Then he held out his hand.

"I think I do."

Iola Boman, 19

What had she been thinking?

Iola drummed her fingers on the table. She had been listening to the pair behind her, and even thinking about asking if they wanted a little more company, but now she was glad she'd waited. A pyrokinetic and an electrokinetic? If they could learn to control their powers even a little, they would be a force to be reckoned with. And if they completely lost control, that could be even worse – for everyone else and for each other. No, it was better to stay as far away from mutants like that as possible.

That would take some getting used to – the idea of staying away from other mutants. She was used to trying to surround herself with as many of her fellow mutants as possible. But this was different. She couldn't start forming a family here like the one she'd found with Ekon, Compass, and the others. These people would be trying to kill her soon. And she would have to try to kill them.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. But maybe it wasn't all that surprising, either. If the humans could convince themselves that mutants were no better than animals – animals that would turn on each other at the first sign of trouble – then they could feel better about everything they were planning to do to them. Or at least feel less guilty. After all, who would it hurt if a few animals were rounded up, relocated, culled every now and then?

Who would it hurt if a few animals were slaughtered?

Iola shook her head, picking at her sandwich. The humans were the real problem, but she couldn't afford to focus on that right now. There wasn't anything she could do about the people who were running the show. Not yet. Right now, they were all on guard, and none of her fellow mutants had their powers. But once the Games started…

Maybe. Maybe there would be something they could do then, if the opportunity presented itself. But in order to do anything, she would have to stay alive. That was the important thing. And if she was going to do that, she was going to need help. Being able to mimic other people was useful, certainly, but it wasn't exactly something that was going to help her in a fight. There was strength in numbers.

But at the same time, it was dangerous to surround herself with mutants who were too powerful. Chances were, most of these kids – and most of them did seem to be kids – didn't really know how to use their powers. Certainly the two she'd been listening to didn't. And that was important. She was used to helping younger mutants learn how to control their abilities, but she didn't have time to do that right now. There was no time for hand-holding; she needed people who already knew how to use their powers.

Of course, it was hard to tell from just a glance which of the people around her might fall into that category. Maybe that was the real purpose of the little talent show the people in charge were planning. Maybe it wasn't so much about learning what each other's powers were, but about learning how well each of them could use them. That would be useful information for the people in charge as well, of course. They probably had some idea of how much they could control their abilities, but any more detail would obviously be helpful to them.

Iola took another bite of her sandwich. She didn't want to help them. She wanted … well, at the moment, she wasn't entirely sure what she wanted. She just knew that she didn't want to be here. She didn't want to have anything to do with this.

But she didn't have a choice.

None of them did.

Okay. She forced down what was left of her sandwich and made her way back towards the lunch table. It wasn't much, maybe, but it was something that she could do. She wouldn't be any good to herself or anyone she might end up working with if she was hungry. There would probably be enough of that once the Games started. They hadn't said anything about providing them with food. What had happened last year?

She couldn't remember exactly. She'd tried not to pay much attention to what was going on last year. A bunch of mutants taking part in some sort of experiment up in Alaska hadn't really interested her.

Now she wished she'd paid more attention.

Lilith Haywood, 23

Now she was glad she'd been paying attention.

Lilith finished what was left of her lunch and headed over to the table where Coburn and Savannah had settled down. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop. Not really. But the truth was that there wasn't a whole lot else to do. She'd started to write a letter to her sister before realizing that her sister might not even have gone home after what had happened with the Sentinels. So she'd settled for writing one to her family as a whole, but what was she supposed to say? That she was all right? That she was safe? She wasn't. None of them were. And even if she won, was she ever going to see them again?

What would they say if she did?

Lilith took a deep breath. One thing at a time. No matter what they might think of what she might end up doing in the Games, it was better than being dead. They would understand that. They had to. Any of them would do the same thing in her place. Anybody would.

Wouldn't they?

Of course they would. That was the whole reason why the Games had worked last year. Sure, there might have been one or two who had refused to play along, but most people, when their lives were on the line, would choose their own life over the lives of strangers. That was what the MAAB was counting on. Most of them wouldn't be willing to just roll over and die and let someone else win.

It would be different, maybe, if her death could save all of the rest of them. If she died and the other twenty-nine would live. That would be different. That would be heroic. But only two of them were going to survive, no matter what she did. She didn't have a choice in how many people died. All she could do was decide whether she was going to fight her hardest to be one of the ones who survived.

But she couldn't do it alone. Not that she would have wanted to even if she could, but her power was pretty much useless by itself. All she could do was help others control their own powers. From the sound of it, though, that was exactly what the other pair needed. A pyrokinetic and an electrokinetic together was a lot of raw power. If she could help them control it…

Would they want her help, though? That was the real question. The people in charge had said that only two of them could survive. Two, not three. Would that mean people wouldn't want to form larger groups?

Still, there was no harm in asking.

Coburn looked up as she approached their table. To her surprise, he was already smiling warmly. "Hey. Saw you watching us."

Shit. Had she been that obvious? Lilith could feel her face growing red. "I … yeah. I overheard. And I thought you might want some … some help."

Savannah cocked her head a little. "Why us?"

"I'm not a fan of forest fires."

It was Coburn's turn to go red. "I don't mean to set things on fire. It just—"

"Happens. I know." Lilith took a seat next to him, undeterred. "Look, my sister Meghan had the same problem. Not with fire, but with water. She can turn herself into water, but she couldn't control it. It would just happen. It used to drive her crazy."

"Used to?"

Lilith nodded. "She can control it now. I helped with that. That's what my ability is – I can manipulate other mutants' powers, dampen them a bit so they can get them under control." In theory, it also worked in reverse, but she'd only dared to try once or twice to amplify her sister's power. Neither attempt had gone well, and after crippling Meghan's limbs for several weeks and falling into a coma herself, she'd sworn off trying to strengthen anyone's powers. It wasn't worth the effort – or the risk.

Besides, from the sound of it, these two already had plenty of strength, plenty of raw energy. They just needed to be able to focus it. And Coburn was already nodding along. "You'd do that … for us?"

Lilith smiled. "I think we'd make a good team. What do you say?"

Savannah hesitated. "We don't even know your name."

"Lilith."

"Savannah, and this is Coburn."

"I was listening."

"Yeah."

Lilith nodded. "Does that bother you?"

"No, but…"

"But there's something else that does."

Savannah looked away. "They said … only two people can survive. If there are three of us…"

"At least one of us is going to die," Lilith finished. "I know. I get it. But we can deal with that when…"

"When there are fewer of us left?" Coburn offered.

"I guess so," Lilith agreed.

Savannah nodded. "Okay. Until then." Lilith smiled.

She hoped she hadn't just made a mistake.

Joseph Harris, 13

There had to be some sort of mistake.

Joseph finished scribbling the last line on his postcard, resisting the urge to cross it out and start all over again. Maybe it was never going to be perfect, but it was better than nothing. He had to send something to his mother, and the people in charge had said they were going to read them. Maybe if they read his, they would realize just how unfair all of this was. Maybe they would realize that he didn't deserve to be here.

Joseph wiped a few tears from his eyes. The truth was, none of them probably deserved to be here. But at least some of the others probably stood a chance. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't shoot beams of electricity or create explosions with his mind or even turn invisible or something useful like that. All he could do was make other mutants' powers stronger. Didn't they know that? They had to, didn't they?

So why was he here?

"Anybody sitting here?" The voice startled Joseph out of his thoughts. Quickly, he wiped the tears from his eyes and looked up. The voice belonged to an older boy – one of the contestants who had spoken up earlier and insisted that everyone could just refuse to fight. What was his name again?

"I'm Elio." The boy took a seat next to Joseph. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry. It seems so unfair that they're involving kids like you in this. Not that it's fair to any of us, but—"

"Oh, please," came a voice from behind him. Joseph turned in time to see an older girl rolling her eyes. "You can't be serious."

Elio met her gaze. "What do you mean?"

"Look, if you want to be a martyr, that's your choice, but there's no reason you have to drag little kids into it."

Joseph could feel his face flush. "I'm not a little kid! I'm just as old as the girl who won last year."

The older girl nodded. "Okay. And how did she win? Did she win by refusing to fight? Hoping that everyone else would go along with it? No. She won because she fought. You willing to do that?"

"Of course I am!" The words left his mouth before he even had time to think. "I don't want to die!"

Elio shook his head. "Of course you don't. But those aren't the only two options. If we—"

"Yes. They are." The older girl's voice was firm. "Win or die. That's it. Eventually you'll realize that, but it'll probably be too late. Leave the kid alone."

"I'm not a kid."

The girl rolled her eyes as Elio wandered off. "Sure you're not. What's your name, kid?"

"Joseph. What's yours?"

"Iola."

Joseph glanced at where Elio had gone. "Thanks … for what you did."

Iola shrugged. "You would've gotten rid of him eventually."

"You think so?"

"Maybe. In a day or two. You can't afford to start making friends right now, Joseph – especially not ones who aren't going to be able to protect you."

"What about ones like you?"

Iola's expression froze. "What?"

"I just thought … Well, it seemed like you wanted to protect me. Not that Elio meant to hurt me, but … you could have just let him talk to me, hope he convinced me to join him. After all, if less people are fighting, that's better for the people who are willing to fight, right? Less competition?"

"I guess so, but—"

"But you stepped in and stopped him. Why?"

Iola shrugged. "I don't like seeing people taken advantage of."

"You think that's what he was doing?"

"I hope that's what he was doing, because the alternative is worse."

"What do you mean?"

"The only other option is that he really is that idealistic, and that's not going to end well for him."

Joseph nodded. "Okay, but why do you care?"

"I don't."

"I think you do."

Iola glared. "Damn it, kid, I should've just let him talk to you, okay?" She stood up and started to storm off before seemingly realizing that there wasn't really anywhere to go. She settled for heading for the lunch table. Joseph watched for a moment, then shook his head. Maybe she should have kept quiet. Maybe he should have kept quiet. He shouldn't be out here looking for friends.

But he wanted a friend.

That was all he'd wanted.

Alannah Cavan, 12

All he'd wanted was a friend.

Alannah watched as Iola stormed off to the lunch table, leaving Joseph alone. He hadn't even been looking for someone to keep him alive – not really. He'd just wanted someone who was good company. Someone he could talk to.

Alannah hesitated. But only for a moment. It had been a while since she'd met anyone new. Sure, she had a few friends at the asylum, but they were always the same friends. And if she was going to die here, this was probably one of the last chances she might get to talk to someone without having to worry that they might kill her. Besides, the boy seemed friendly enough.

Actually, he seemed a bit too friendly, but she understood that. He was scared. She'd seen a lot of scared people, and they reacted in different ways. Some closed themselves off, but others – people like him – they just kept reaching out, hoping that someone would come along and calm that fear. And maybe she couldn't do that, exactly. In fact, she was used to doing exactly the opposite. But maybe he just needed someone to talk to.

This time, he was paying attention, rather than staring down at his postcard, and he saw her coming. He sighed. "Look, I—"

"I just thought you might want someone to talk to. Someone who isn't going to storm off."

Joseph opened his mouth. Then he closed it again. When he opened it once more, he was nodding, too. "Okay. What's your name?"

"Alannah. And you're Joseph." It wasn't a question. Half the room had probably overheard the argument. There really wasn't a whole lot of privacy, but she was used to that, too. She was used to people watching her, waiting for the slightest thing that might go wrong. "Where are you from?"

That was probably a safe enough question. She didn't want to ask anything too personal; that might scare him away. But asking about home would give him an opening if he wanted to talk about how much he missed it or—

"Billings. Well, I mean, we used to live in Billings. My mom and I moved out to Fort Peck a while ago, but it still doesn't feel like where I'm from, you know? But it's where my mom is, and…" His gaze strayed to the postcard in his hands. "And that's home, right? Where your family is? She's the only family I've got left, and she … she's going to be all alone if I…" He trailed off. "I'm sorry. I just … It's not fair. My sister Martha died, and then my dad died, and now I … I'm probably going to die here, in the middle of nowhere, because these people think we're all monsters."

"And you don't?"

"What?"

"You don't think you're a monster? After what happened to your family?"

Joseph's face grew red. "You think it was my fault?"

"I just assumed—"

"My sister had cancer! How is that my fault? And my dad…" His voice cracked for a moment, but then he continued, almost yelling. "My dad couldn't take it anymore. He was so upset over Martha's death that he killed himself. You think that's my fault?" He was out of breath now, panting.

Alannah looked away. "I'm sorry. I thought…" She didn't want to finish the sentence. Didn't want to explain why she had jumped to that conclusion.

But it didn't take Joseph long to piece it together. "Wait. Did you … did something happen to your family? Because of your mutation? Is that why you assumed that I—"

"It doesn't matter."

"What happened to them?"

"I killed them!"

Joseph froze. "What?"

"Not … well, not exactly, but … but it was my fault. My mutation … I make people afraid. Insane, sometimes, if it gets bad enough. My brother killed himself, and then my mother and father … well, they lost it. My mother went after my father. She killed him. She tried to eat him. And then she came after me, and I … I did kill her." She shook her head. "Look, maybe you're not a monster. Maybe you don't deserve this. But I am. And I do. And I'm sorry if you're one of the safe ones, one of the ones who haven't hurt anyone, but the truth is that most of us mutants deserve to be here. We deserve this, and other people deserve to be protected from us."

Joseph went silent for a moment. A long moment – longer than was really comfortable, and Alannah was already pretty used to long, awkward silences. When he finally spoke, though, his next words were not what she'd been expecting. "What if I could help?"

Alannah looked up, startled. "What? Didn't you hear what I just said. I'm dangerous. Anyone who's around me too long starts to go nuts. Except…"

"Except who?"

"Well, people who are already nuts."

"What do you mean?"

"My friends at the asylum. It didn't seem to have any effect on them. But unless you forgot to mention that you've spent the last few years locked up in an institution, too—"

"No, but … my ability is that I can make other mutants' powers stronger. My friend Ben and I used to play around with it. He could control fire, and anytime I helped … well, he had more control, he could do more with it. But I was just thinking, what if … what if it works in reverse?"

Alannah blinked. "You think you can stop my power?"

"I think it's worth a try." He held out his hand. "What do you think?"

Alannah stared at his hand for a moment. Was that really possible? But maybe … maybe it had to at least be possible. The collar was stopping her power right now, after all. So the only question was whether Joseph could do the same thing. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was worth a try.

What did she have to lose?

Alphonso Bell-Garcia, 15

What did he have to lose?

Alphonso glanced up as the man who had introduced himself as Judah entered the room and whispered something to Alvin, who shrugged. Before he had a chance to second-guess himself, Alphonso raced over just as Judah was turning to go. "Wait. I need to talk to you."

Judah shook his head. "Don't try it. Your collar's still on; it's not going to work on me."

That had been his first thought, but he'd figured it wouldn't work. He recovered quickly, forcing a smile. "Oh, I don't want to use my power on you."

Judah raised an eyebrow. "I'm listening."

"Not here."

"Why?"

"Walls have ears," Alphonso reasoned, and that seemed to be enough. Judah nodded and gestured to Alphonso to follow him out into the hallway. "Thanks," Alphonso smirked. "Wouldn't want to give my plan away."

"What's your plan?"

He didn't have a plan. He had maybe half a plan, and that was being a bit generous. "This little talent show you're planning? I know there are quite a few people who aren't interested. Either they want to keep their powers a secret, or they don't want to feel like they're being treated like animals at a circus, expected to perform on command."

"And you think you can do something about that?"

"I know I can do something about that. The question is whether you want me to, and who you might want me to do something about. I can't force all of them to volunteer to demonstrate what they can do; it doesn't work on that many people at once. But if there are one or two who would be able to give you a good show, one or two that I might be able to persuade, then I might be willing to do that."

"And what's in it for you?"

Alphonso shrugged. "The pleasure of their company."

"So you're looking for someone you can manipulate, someone with abilities that might be useful to you, and someone who wouldn't normally be inclined to … show off?"

"Exactly."

"I think I have just the right person in mind."

Alphonso's heart leapt. He hadn't expected things to go quite this well – not this quickly. "What's the catch?"

"Let's call it a … gesture of trust. After all, you're asking us to trust you to get him to play the game, rather than to help you escape or something. In return—" He shrugged. "In return, I'm going to ask you to go into this blind. I'm not going to tell you what he can do. And I don't want you to ask, either – not until the … What did you call it? A talent show?"

Alphonso turned the thought over a few times. But there was really only one answer. Whoever Judah had in mind, they undoubtedly had a pretty impressive power. And the chances of him being able to figure it out on his own were slim. Judah had said he, but that only narrowed it down by about half. "Okay," he agreed. "Who is it?"

"His name is Sebastian. Friends call him Seb. He could be a major player in this if he had half a mind to be."

"But he's … How did you put it? Not inclined to show off?"

Judah snorted. "Partly that. But he's also probably a bit upset with us at the moment, and not very excited about … How did you put it? Being treated like an animal at a circus?"

"I don't think any of us are exactly excited about it," Alphonso pointed out.

"He's … got more reason than most of you to be a bit put out right now."

"What did you do to him?"

"When I came to collect him, there were … complications. His uncle was killed. It's understandable that he'd be a bit upset, but you can help him get over that."

Alphonso let that sink in. "You killed his uncle, and you expect him to just get over it?"

"Probably not, if you put it like that. But you can at least help him channel those emotions into something productive."

Alphonso nodded. There was still something that didn't make sense. "If his abilities are that powerful, why didn't he try to save his uncle?"

Judah shook his head. "Sadly, it probably didn't even occur to him. He's a bit out of practice, you see. But with the right motivation, the right encouragement, the right … manipulation, even, he could be a force to be reckoned with. And you could be there to guide him. What do you think?"

Alphonso nodded. There wasn't really much of a choice – not now that he knew this Seb could be such a powerful ally. If he didn't take advantage of that, someone else was bound to. And he'd rather have someone like that on his side. He held out his hand.

Judah smiled as he shook it.

Elio Haines, 16

The boy was smiling when he came back into the room.

Elio shook his head. "He's up to something." Even as he said it, he knew how silly it sounded. All of them were up to something. They were getting ready to be thrown into a fight to the death. All around them, people seemed to be choosing sides, starting to form up into little groups. But so far, he, Jaime, and Lea hadn't had any success in adding to theirs. "Maybe we're going about this the wrong way," Elio muttered before he realized he'd said it out loud.

Lea raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Something one of the older girls said to me earlier. If you want to be a martyr, that's your choice, but there's no reason you have to drag little kids into it. Lea, who did you ask?"

Lea nodded, apparently catching on. "They were some of the younger ones. Fae told me she'd think about it, but I don't think she wants to cause any trouble. Henry said they weren't interested pretty quickly."

Elio nodded. "Exactly. I figured the same thing. Offer to help the younger kids, the ones who might be more frightened, less likely to want to fight in the first place. But Iola … she seemed to think I was taking advantage of them, that we're just … recruiting martyrs for some hopeless cause."

"But we're not," Jaime pointed out, but less emphatically than Elio would have liked. "We have a chance, don't we?"

"More than a chance," Elio agreed. "And a better chance if it's not just a few of us. But going around and just asking people … well, maybe that's the wrong way to go about it."

"What are you suggesting?" Lea asked.

Elio leaned forward. "We need to put our money where our mouth is. If we're serious about not participating in this, we don't participate. We don't get up there and make fools of ourselves for their entertainment during their little talent show tonight. We don't indulge them. We don't train."

"So you're saying we do nothing?" Jaime asked. "What will that prove?"

"More than you think. Right now, they're just waiting for us to crack. Waiting for the moment when we're going to break down and play their game. People who might join us are going to think we're hypocrites if we say we're not going to fight and then spend three days training to learn how to kill people."

"Or learn how to defend ourselves," Lea reasoned.

"Against mutants who might be able to destroy an entire island in one blow?" Elio asked skeptically. "Do any of us have powers that can do anything against that?" He glanced at the other two before realizing none of them had actually told each other what they could do. Maybe the others did have abilities that would be able to protect them. Neither of them seemed about ready to answer, though; maybe they were reluctant to admit their powers wouldn't stand much of a chance against some of the others. Maybe they were embarrassed that they would.

"Look," Elio sighed. "I calm people through prayers. A light appears, and I soothe them, heal their minds. Sedates them a bit, in some cases. Sometimes the light forms some sort of barrier, but that part … I can't really control it. I've never really had much of a reason to try. It might act like a shield, but I don't really know, and it's certainly not going to keep people away forever."

Lea nodded. "I can copy movements. Any motion that someone does, I just … automatically know how to do it. I guess I don't really know what good practicing would do me anyway. The whole point is I don't really have to practice."

Elio turned to Jaime, who looked away before murmuring, "Pain transferal."

"What?" Lea asked.

Jaime shook their head. "You heard me. I can transfer pain from one person to another. Can't create it, can't get rid of it, just … transfer it. I know that sounds terrible, and maybe it is, but … well, it's what I can do."

Elio laid a hand on Jaime's shoulder. "Pain isn't always terrible. Pain can be … cleansing. Purifying." He was certainly in no place to judge. How often had he caused himself pain as punishment for his sins?

Elio wasn't exactly sure what to make of the look that Jaime gave him, but after a moment, they nodded their agreement. "You're right … about not training, that is. That's not something I want to practice doing. So we just … what? Wait?"

Elio nodded. "I guess we do."

Elena Burleigh, 21

"I guess they're almost ready."

Elena looked up from the last of her postcards. One for her parents, one for Astrid, one for Kathleen, and one for Cody. Beside her, Lee nodded towards the end of the room, where a few of the MAAB members were clearing out the lunch table, leaving a wide, empty space. "Wonder if that'll be enough room," Lee chuckled.

Elena shook her head. Lee hadn't said much more than a few words all day. He'd been sitting there, watching. Watching her pace around the room every now and then, getting up to get food, to refill her drink, to ask where the bathroom was. As far as she could tell, he'd gotten up once – for lunch. He'd been writing on a postcard at one point, but she hadn't bothered to ask who he was writing to. It didn't matter, did it? He was going to be dead soon. Or she was. Or they both were.

But still…

"Probably not," Elena agreed. "Not if some of them can do what last year's contestants did."

"Some of them," Lee repeated meaningfully. "Not you, I take it?"

"Mine … doesn't take up a lot of room," Elena agreed vaguely.

Lee nodded. "Neither does mine."

Maybe that should have been comforting. His tone certainly hadn't been threatening at all. But a power didn't have to take up a lot of room to be deadly. Of course, he was probably thinking the same thing about her. None of them had any idea what any of the others could do. Which was the purpose of the little talent show, of course. It saved awkward conversations like this. But if everyone was about to find out anyway—

"I can turn into a robot," Elena blurted out before she could second-guess herself. "Well, not exactly. My hands and feet turn robotic. But I can't control it. It just happens when I'm nervous, or scared, or … Actually, it'd probably be happening right now if this thing weren't on." She tapped her collar. "I was thinking about participating in the show, but—"

"But you can't control it."

"Yeah."

Lee shrugged. "What do you have to lose? No matter how much you try to hide it, people are going to find out eventually. And no matter how much practice you get in the next few days, you're not going to be ready. None of us are. Hell, even those of us who know how to use our powers aren't ready for this." He leaned forward a little. "Want to know what I can do?"

Of course she did. But she didn't want to seem too eager. "Sure," she agreed, trying her best to sound nonchalant.

Lee nodded knowingly. "I manipulate colors. I can drain the color from something, transfer it to something else. I'm pretty good at it, too, but…"

"But it's not exactly going to be useful in a fight," Elena finished.

"Except as camouflage, yeah," Lee agreed.

"Or maybe a distraction," Elena offered. "Someone's coming at you ready to fight, and suddenly all the color is gone – that would certainly throw me off balance."

Lee chuckled. "It doesn't work like that. It's not that quick, and I need physical contact. I can change my color a bit quicker, but someone coming at me to try to kill me probably isn't going to care what I look like."

Elena nodded. "Sounds like we could both use a little help. Maybe we could … I don't know … try to find some together?"

Lee raised an eyebrow. "You want to work together? I just told you what I can do is pretty much useless."

Elena shrugged. "Okay, so your power's not the most useful in a fight. That doesn't mean you're useless. I've seen you, you know. Sitting here all day, watching everyone else. Observing, rather than just jumping right on in. I mean, I'm usually someone who jumps right on in, but this is … well, this is different. I've never been in a fight before. I just want…"

She trailed off. What did she want? She wanted someone who seemed to know what they were doing, someone who wasn't freaking out – not like she was inside. And Lee didn't seem to care that she had no control over her powers. Elena looked up, realizing Lee hadn't answered. "If you don't want to, I understand."

Lee shook his head. "I didn't say that. I was just waiting for the end of that sentence."

"I don't know what I want," Elena admitted. "I just don't want to die."

"Me, either," Lee agreed. He held out his hand.

"So let's stay alive together."

Dr. Alvin Mendelson, 61

Everything was beginning to come together.

Alvin glanced around as he moved another chair into place. Most of the contestants had registered that something was going on – that it was almost time to get started – but no one had really made a move yet towards the other end of the room, where Judah and Anita were clearing out some space. Not nearly enough space for some of the mutants' powers, but that was where the back wall would come in handy, ready to be rolled back if the right mutants decided to show off.

It would be tempting, maybe, for them to make a run for it when it opened, but that was why there were a few Sentinels stationed outside – just in case. And of course, any of the MAAB could turn anyone's collar back on if necessary. In that case, even if they managed to temporarily make a break for it, they would be on their own in the wilderness, and it wouldn't take long to track them down.

That was the idea, at least. Now that they knew two of the mutants they had thought had enhanced speed were actually chronokinetics, there was really no way of telling what might happen once their collars were turned off. But would either of them really want to participate tonight? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe it didn't really matter when it happened. Either something would happen now, or something would happen during the Games. It was inevitable.

"Alvin, right?"

"That's me," Alvin agreed before turning around. He slid the chair a little to one side and turned to see two of the contestants. Savannah and … crap, what was the new boy's name? Something with a C, wasn't it? Alvin glanced down at the postcard in the boy's hand. Oh, good. Neat handwriting. "Coburn, right? What can I do for you?"

"I was just wondering what to do with these." Coburn held up the postcard.

Alvin nodded to a table on the far side of the room. "Just stick it over there in that pile. I'll make sure they get where they're going."

Coburn hurried off to the pile, but Savannah stayed. "Need a hand?"

Alvin shrugged. "Sure. Just grab a few of the chairs from that table." He set another one in place. There was something … odd. Something off. Not about the girl's offer to help, but about where she was putting the chairs, as if she was aware that he was watching her, and trying to keep him from looking—

Out of the corner of his eye. Clever. Judah and Anita were busy, not paying attention to anything else going on in the room. He'd been the only one watching, and she was keeping his good eye on her. "Not bad," he nodded, and turned to look where she didn't want him to look. Sure enough, there was Coburn, sifting through the pile of letters. Okay. "What does he think he's going to find in there?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Savannah insisted. "He's probably looking for where you put the stamps or—"

"You're not a good liar," Alvin pointed out. "Don't take it personally; I'm not, either. What's he really looking for?"

When he didn't get an answer, Alvin headed over to the table, where Coburn looked up sheepishly. "I put them in order for you."

"In order?"

"Alphabetically by state." He held out the pile. "Here."

Another bad liar. Alvin quickly glanced through them. They were in order, and Coburn and Savannah were already headed to one of the other tables, where Lilith was waiting for them. Alvin sifted through the postcards. There was nothing particularly interesting there. Certainly nothing useful. A lot of 'I love you,' and 'I miss you.' Nothing mentioning the Games. Nothing useful about the contestants' abilities that he wouldn't have found out in an hour or two anyway. Alvin's gaze fell on one of the postcards with shaky handwriting. He'd have to try hard later to make out the name.

Names.

Names, and addresses, for a good number of the contestants' families and friends. That was what was on the postcards. But what was he planning to do with those? What could he do with those? Unless—

Shit.

There was always something. Always, always, always. No matter how hard they tried, no matter how smoothly the others were sure things were going to go, there was always something they couldn't account for. Something no one could have predicted. Something that could go very, very wrong.

And he was pretty sure it had just happened.

"Only you can decide what you will do."