Reprisal: The 329th Hunger Games (Closed SYOT)

by LC-it-gets-better-alt-account

President Willoughby Shakira was volatile yet incompetent. Head Gamemaker Konstance DuMouchel was efficient yet ruthless. I, Griffin Cadbury, bring you the story of the 329th Hunger Games, juxtaposed against the striking backdrop of a shifting political climate and the rebellion it brought about.

12. Pre-Games: Train Rides

TW/CW: Kenny's POV contains the standard Avox-y things and slight aftermath of whipping. Amy's POV contains creepy manipulation attempts and needles. Mare's POV contains manipulation attempts. One POV contains an intense, non-graphic fight scene, but I have decided not to identify which POV to preserve suspense (feel free to PM for info).

---

Kenny Michaels, 15

District Eight Train, En Route to Capitol

D8M

July 1, 329 AEDD

---

Opiter hadn't been lying when he said he wasn't done talking to Kenny about the day's misdeeds. As soon as he and Ash had left the Justice Building and made their way into the car, Opiter had taken it upon himself to immediately begin pontificating about behavioral expectations, and frustratingly, Kenny found himself struggling to tune it out. "...tantrums," Opiter was saying. "...choice. Your image directly correlates with your chances of survival. Keeping yourself in good standing makes you more appealing to sponsors. Sponsors, you may recall, are the wealthy Capitolites who purchase lifesaving gifts for tributes in the arena, and can heavily influence the Games' trajectory. In addition…"

The lecture had already covered Kenny's actions at the Reaping, which Opiter had comprehensively dissected. The annoying thing about Opiter, Kenny thought, was that he didn't know when to quit. His prattling was beginning to induce actual feelings of regret in Kenny, a tremendous achievement in and of itself, all without upsetting Ash, who Kenny felt was emotionally unprepared for the Hunger Games. As the car approached the train station, Opiter interrupted himself and abruptly changed topics, for which Kenny was deeply thankful. "We're almost here!" Opiter said brightly. "You'll each have your own bedroom, and I'd encourage you to explore them and relax. Food is available in the kitchen, though you can also place an order from your room if you'd prefer to eat there. At some point, we're going to gather in the living room to watch the Reaping Recap with your mentors, but I think we could all use some time to decompress first." Kenny glanced over his shoulder. Behind him, Ethel Linnenem and Brennen Woolspeth sat quietly, speaking to one another in hushed voices. Kenny knew that, compared to most of District Eight's tributes, he was lucky. There had been exactly seven Victors in the 328 years the Hunger Games had been occuring, and many of the tributes didn't have a mentor. Kenny had two, so he was already in a better position than most of his predecessors.

The Avox who was driving parked the car. She and the other Avox got out of the car and opened the passenger doors, one on each side, for the tributes. Kenny stared at the Avox. She was tall and thin, with wispy black curls and sad eyes. She looked at him with understanding, and he ducked his head in acknowledgement. "Thanks," he said gruffly. Opiter gave a vigorous nod and clapped his hands appreciatively, one-clap-two-clap.

"There are your manners! I knew they had to be in there somewhere." Kenny couldn't tell if he was being mocked or not, and was slightly embarrassed that he'd been caught speaking to the Avox. He knew that if his mother's business connections in the Capitol soured against her, he'd have been Avoxed or executed long ago. Privately, he wondered if she'd ever lost investors because of him. He thought of his father too. Shannon and Clark loved him. They'd told him so during the Goodbyes. Maybe it wasn't in a way he usually appreciated, at least not these days, but he had buried memories of an untroubled childhood. Clark scooping him up and swinging him around like a hovercraft, Shannon tossing back his bedding every morning and bribing him to get up with forehead kisses, Travis crumpling up old pattern paper scraps into a ball and teaching him how to play street hockey.

But Travis was dead, and Travis had also been lucky enough to have two mentors. Those same two mentors were now boarding the train platform, and Kenny realized Opiter was telling him to pay attention and walk. He obeyed. The train appeared in the distance. Springy rubber buffering separated each car, and as the train rocketed forward and ground to a halt, the buffering stretched and contracted, giving Kenny the impression of an enormous silver caterpillar. A horn blew jauntily and the doors whooshed open.

The doors opened up into a white hallway which turned into a beautiful sitting room. The interior of the train was decorated in light pinks and dark greens. Sunlight from the train's massive windows reflected off of pink walls and onto brass tables with glass surfaces and jade-colored wooden stools. District Eight was cast almost entirely in gray: dusty gray smog, crumbling gray architecture, shabby gray clothes. The only brightness in Kenny's life had come from Shannon's box of colored pencils, used to create delicate figure sketches of Capitol clothing, and Kate Tyson's dazzling blue eyes. He remembered how he'd been on his way to see her that morning, before the Peacekeepers held him up, how fifteen hurried minutes in the Justice Building hadn't been enough time to express his gratitude for her friendship.

Opiter gave Kenny and Ash a brief tour of the train. Kenny's bedroom was enormous and painted a striking white. "Are the same trains used every year?" he asked Opiter carefully.

"Each district has its own train, which is customized according to the current escort's tastes. The rest of the train might look different year to year, but the bedrooms are furnished based on whatever the mentors believe would make their tributes most comfortable. So yes, Kenny, to answer your question, Travis stayed in this room." Kenny felt sorrow prick his chest and grasped for the right words. None were forthcoming. Opiter had already guessed what he really wanted to know.

"I'm going to lie down for a bit," he said hollowly. Opiter stressed that everything in the train was there for his convenience and to find him or one of the Avoxes if there was anything he wanted, and then he and Ash moved on. Kenny had the room to himself.

He moved wearily to the dresser and opened each of the boundless drawers until he discovered one full of pajamas. He selected a pair of soft shorts and began undressing, loosening his tie and undoing the knot, stripping off the wretched button-down, kicking off his shoes and socks, and replacing his khaki shorts with the new pair he'd found. He stood shirtless in front of the mirror, twisting around to inspect the whip marks. He was glad he'd soaped them thoroughly that morning, even though it hadn't felt too good. They didn't seem to be agreeing with the summer heat, and every drop of sweat that slid down his back was excruciating, but at least there would be no infection.

The bed called to him. Despite the aforementioned heat, he craved the warmth and pressure of the comforter. He slid between the cool sheets, sighing as they touched his back, and bundled the blanket and comforter around himself. He buried his face in the pillow, clutched the covers, and cried until the gentle motion of the train and the sunlight streaming through the window coaxed him into sleep.

For forty or so minutes, he blessedly slept. Then a particularly bright sunbeam caught him directly in the face and his eyelashes fluttered open. He yawned, decided the world hadn't improved enough to bother getting out of bed, and drifted off again.

Half an hour passed. He woke up a second time, stretched sluggishly, and sat up. He wanted a glass of cold water. He stumbled to the dresser and pulled a shirt over his head. It fit snugly, the weave abrasive against his back. He waffled, remembered that he now had the luxury of choice, and removed it, letting it fall to the floor. He chose anew.

The second shirt satisfied him. He ventured into the closet and found a pair of slippers in his size, smoothed his hair out in the mirror, and walked to the kitchen car. Opiter sat at the counter. The two Avoxes stood behind it. The one Kenny recognized from the car was facing away from him, chopping vegetables. The other one, a young man, was making a cocktail for Opiter, who noticed him immediately. "Ah, Kenny! What can I do for you?"

"Can I have a cup of cold water?"

"Of course." Without speaking (duh, she couldn't speak! Kenny had almost forgotten), the girl Avox moved to scoop ice into a glass. She held it under a tap and rushing water frothed to the top. From somewhere behind the counter, she retrieved a thin lemon wedge and pressed it onto the glass's rim. She set the glass on top of the counter.

"Thanks." The water was good. He drank all of it and then chewed on the ice. His mother bought ice for the Reaping Day luncheon, but it was too precious for regular consumption. The kind his family usually had was cut into cubes, but the Capitol ice came in all sorts of shapes. He asked for a napkin and laid out each piece: a large sphere, three smaller spheres, a heart, and a star. The Capitol could make everything fancier. Behind the bar, the boy Avox was still shaking whatever Opiter had ordered, and Kenny's curiosity got the better of him. "What'd you get?" he asked.

"Ramos Gin Fizz. I'd never have one at a bar because it takes so much time and effort to make, but it's my favorite. I only ever request it during the Games."

"Oh. That's…considerate."

"It's not. That poor boy's arms are going to be sore for days. It takes fifteen minutes of shaking to get the consistency of the foam right."

"You're right. That's not considerate at all. The Avoxes don't have a choice." Kenny knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but he needed to know exactly where he stood with Opiter.

"As far as Avoxes' jobs go, being chosen for the Hunger Games is a pretty good gig. And making it onto one of the tribute teams is the best of the Hunger Games duties. I definitely give them a hard time with my drink orders, but there are worse fates out there. That's not to say it isn't bad, but Avoxes generally don't have nice lives."

"How are the Avoxes chosen? For the tribute teams, I mean."

"The escorts pick from a pool. Some get new ones every year. I chose Flora four years ago, when my first female Avox died. Her counterpart wanted to stay in Eleven and Cake, the new escort, is glad to have him, so Orin here is new."

"Flora? Orin?"

"The Avoxes. Flora's preparing our lunch. Orin's making my drink."

"I didn't know they had names."

"Most owners prefer using their identification numbers, but they have names from their old lives."

"Owners?"

"Avoxes are slaves. If they're 'good,' they can qualify to be hired for the Hunger Games. The government chooses whomever it wants and pays their masters an annual stipend in exchange for their labor. Most of the Avoxes look forward to it for the same reason some district folk look forward to the Reaping. For the celebration, the time off, the food. Not the actual event."

"Are you sure? Flora seems unhappy."

"You seem unhappy too. There's a lot wrong in the world, Kenny. I can't fix it, but I improve things when I can. Believe it or not, escorts are here because we want to help you in the best way we know how. Our social connections can save lives, but not if our tributes refuse to listen to our advice."

"I knew you were going to turn this into another lecture."

"Why don't we find Ash and get that Reaping Recap over with? Then we'll have some lunch. The Capitol isn't too far off."

"You're changing the subject."

"I bet Ethel and Brennen are in the sitting room."

---

Nathaniel Lewis, 18

District Four Train, En Route to Capitol

D4M

July 1, 329 AEDD

---

The limousine containing two Avoxes, two mentors, two tributes, and one escort finally arrived at District Four's train station. The limousine was emptied of passengers, the Avox driver was exchanged for a Peacekeeper, and all seven people boarded the high-speed train bound for the Capitol. Sterling, the escort, immediately set about giving Odicci and Nathaniel a tour. They each had their own bedroom and bathroom (Nathaniel's bathroom was larger than his family's entire house). There was a kitchen stocked with delicious foods, and Nathaniel asked if the tour could resume after lunch. Sterling and Odicci joined him. Unused to the richness of Capitol food, Nathaniel requested something simple and unlikely to bother his stomach.

He was given a plate of decadent, but unrecognizable, food and ate heartily. He considered asking for seconds but decided against it. He could always have more later. Sterling received some sort of message from a cuff on his sleeve and eagerly informed the tributes that the Reapings were ready to air, so he rounded up the mentors and then led everyone into a spacious living room, where they all occupied a massive sectional couch.

Sterling flicked on the television and tuned into the Reaping Recap, where Pandora Mink and Ivan Cardozo welcomed them in lively fashion. Things proceeded in district order, with commentary along the way, so as Pandora began speculating about Griffin Cadbury's mentoring aptitude, Odicci leaned over to Nathaniel. "I wonder what our allies will be like," she said. Nathaniel looked around the room. All three adults had out notepads and pens, ready to jot down important observations. He felt slightly embarrassed about not doing that himself.

Finally, District One's town center filled the screen. The male Volunteer, Orpheus, had stage presence and was popular with the crowd. His district partner, Nascha, seemed confident, but angry at someone. Both seemed strong and well prepared. Pandora and Ivan reappeared and began offering information on the tributes, including their ages, relatives, and current odds. Nathaniel was mildly surprised at how quickly they'd obtained such information, and then realized the Capitol knew everything and probably had files on everybody, especially the Career tributes, since Miss Albacore sent them a dossier of her chosen pair each year. He wondered what trivia would be offered about him.

District Two's tributes projected pure glory. Nathaniel's main takeaway about the female Volunteer, Haylia, was that she was physically more imposing than any girl he'd ever met. Girls in Four tended to be wiry and lithe. Not weak by any stretch of the imagination, but not brawny like Haylia. She seemed focused and competent. "She seems good," he whispered to Odicci.

"I agree." The male tribute, Tybalt, was undoubtedly impressive, but his shiny, confident smirk was dulled by a vainglorious patina. He seemed to bask in his own strength, but was obviously dripping with arrogance. By the look of his outfit, Nathaniel knew he was rich. He tried to keep an open mind, but he wasn't so sure he'd like Tybalt. District Three produced two younger kids, and then it was District Four's turn. Nathaniel felt that he and Odicci had done a fine job of representing their home. Pandora commented on their reputations, personality traits, and relatives. District Five turned up a diva and a street kid. District Six had a ticked-off boy and a plain-looking girl, both on the older side. District Seven had two average tributes, also older. District Eight had a younger girl and a scowling boy. District Nine was more exciting; the girl was unremarkable but the boy was exceptionally tall and muscular, with an outfit that reflected wealth. His name was Jeremiah. "Maybe we should consider him for the Pack," Nathaniel suggested to Odicci.

"Yeah, let's have a chat with him tonight at the Parade." District Ten's boy looked rather unwell, but the girl was upper-crust. District Eleven, like District Three, had two young tributes. Finally, District Twelve also had a surprise in store: the girl seemed weak, but the boy, Nikita, seemed more Career-like than a typical strong outlier, with familiar confidence and poise. "How about him?" Odicci asked.

"Let's talk to him too." Then Pandora explained that Nikita was originally from District Two, and Nathaniel and Odicci looked at each other. "A bonus Career."

"Definitely." Nathaniel turned to Lura as Sterling shut off the television.

"We need some advice."

"You do," Lura agreed. There was some shifting around on the couch, and the five of them formed a sort of lopsided oval. "How are you feeling about the other Careers? Any first impressions?"

"I like Haylia. I'm fine with the Ones. Tybalt's not my favorite," Nathaniel said.

"Yeah, pretty much," Odicci said.

"Alright," Kaylee said, "How would you like the Pack to be structured?"

"I want to lead," Nathaniel said.

"I want Nathaniel to lead, but what if someone else wants to?" asked Odicci.

"We can always talk to their mentors and try to work something out, or you can choose a point of competition. I wouldn't worry about that," Lura said. "Are there any outliers you want to bring into the Pack?"

"Nikita, maybe Jeremiah."

Kaylee said, "My only worry about Nikita is that he's from District Two. If it turns out he's friendly with Haylia or Tybalt, that could create a power imbalance, especially if one of them wants to lead."

"Outlier Careers don't get a vote," Nathaniel argued.

"But bonus Careers do. Say you accept Nikita and Jeremiah. Jeremiah can't vote, but Nikita can."

"Who's to stop us?" he asked.

"Fabian and Petra. If they think we're trying to take away an advantage they've earned, they might get pissy, and this isn't worth damaging district relations over," said Kaylee.

"I thought you were worried about this."

"I am. But it's not that serious."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the ones who'll die if this goes south."

"Well," Lura countered, "During my Games, there was a bonus Career. A stupid rich One girl on a business trip with her father in District Eight. She had this wicked sharp xiphos sword. She got a vote. Made the most of it and fought her way into the final two with me. You can guess how that turned out, since I'm here with you today."

"So you think we'll be okay?" Lura frowned.

"I didn't say that." Nathaniel was getting frustrated. Was he supposed to be worried about this or not? Next to him, Odicci sensed his agitation and put her hand on top of his.

"What should we be focused on right now?" she asked. "What should we do to prepare?"

"At the Tribute Parade, you'll focus on establishing a positive relationship with the other Careers, but there are other things that come first and are just as important. Sterling?" The escort perked up.

"Right. The tributes' arrival times are staggered so that each district has a five-minute cushion to prevent interaction with others. It also keeps the crowds entertained, to see the full slate of tributes in an hour. They mix up the order to keep the viewers guessing. Nobody will know which tributes you are until you're stepping off of the train. They'll be packing the plaza, which you'll have to cross to reach the Remake Center. This is your first opportunity to interact with them. They'll watch every move you make to evaluate whether or not they should bet on you, and gamblers often make the most generous sponsors because they want to protect their investments."

"How should we act, then?"

"Never push. Outliers who feel intimidated tend to force their way through to the other side as quickly as possible. You'll hear people shouting your name. Give them attention! Wave! They might seem a bit strange, you being from the districts and all, but they are glad to see you. If you must apply pressure to navigate the crowd, do so graciously. An elbow dig will never be as effective as a hand on a shoulder, and an 'excuse me.' Accompanied, of course, by a winning smile. My job is to collect you at the Remake Center and hand you over to your very own Peacekeeper entourage, who will bring you to your prep teams. They are knowledgeable about the Capitol's fashion and grooming trends, and their job is to provide your stylist with the best base possible upon which to array your costumes for the Tribute Parade."

"Then you'll head backstage, where your entire district team will gather. That includes Sterling, Kaylee, me, both of you, both of your prep teams, both of your stylists, and both of our assigned Avoxes. The other district teams will also assemble there. Flossie Merveilleuse, the Head Tribute Coordinator, will brief you on Parade expectations," Lura said. "Once she's finished, we'll have half an hour for any finishing touches. Expect your prep teams to be hovering around, making last minute adjustments. As they do this, you should be mixing with the other tributes. Generally, outlier district mentors accompany their tributes as they search for allies, but Career mentors congregate together to discuss our tributes and devise a group strategy."

"You're eighteen years old," Kaylee added. "No more hand holding. You go form the Pack, snag Jeremiah and Nikita if you want, and work things out on your own. Coming over to us for advice at that point is like interrupting the grownups' table on Reaping Day dinner to tattle on your cousin. Which is why we need to figure this out now."

It was at this point that worry began idly gnawing at Nathaniel's gut. Realistically, he knew that he had two excellent mentors and an expert escort, who were giving him the keys to success, but the idea of going from Academy trainee to fully independent Career was, well, new. And any mistake could have deadly consequences. He guessed it must have shown on his face since he realized Lura was making meaningful eye contact with him, and then Lura loudly announced that he and Kaylee should probably take a few minutes with their individual mentees for some more focused attention, and Nathaniel and Odicci were being led towards opposite ends of the train.

"You're in your head," Lura informed him.

"I am," Nathaniel admitted.

"Fear is a natural part of this process. Fear's going to keep you alive. But if you let it take over your mind, it can kill your chances of Victory. What's bothering you so much?"

"I just…I just don't know if I'm up to negotiating by myself. When I was at the Academy, that usually didn't go so well for me."

"I know." Lura smiled comfortingly. "Those boys were awful to you. But Miss Albacore chose you instead of them for a reason. You've already proved that you can hold your own against aggressive personalities. You've done this before! And I'm here to clear some of those obstacles for you. I just can't be there at the Tribute Parade, but if someone gives you shit, you can tell me afterwards and I'll run interference. You can stand on your own two feet, Nathaniel."

He realized he'd been overreacting. It was a moment of weakness, but Lura had boosted his confidence. He could do this, and he would beat Tybalt out for leadership of the Pack, no matter what.

---

Amy Kawasaki, 16

District Five Train, En Route to Capitol

D5F

July 1, 329 AEDD

---

Amy needed to make Aran loyal to her. Over the course of her lifetime, she'd discovered that there were numerous ways of conditioning other people to obey her, but the easiest one when it came to boys was flirting. Unfortunately, Aran seemed to be immune. If anything, scooting closer to him in the backseat of the car had only irritated him, and he'd rebuffed her and growled for her to leave him alone. And then Ravya had made her actually leave him alone, which was even more troubling. Her plans could be ruined if the adults in the Capitol were too observant. And yet, while Ravya's attentiveness was concerning, Amy understood.

Ravya had been a permanent fixture in District Five for so long that it was almost unthinkable to imagine another escort someday replacing her. Amy's stepmother had once commented that Ravya had been the escort when she was of Reaping age. And because District Five had been home to an expanding illicit underbelly in recent decades, Ravya had grown cautious around her tributes. District Six still reigned when it came to crime, but since Five was the only other district with any real black market, she was right to be careful. Ravya doted on them, but she also didn't take their actions at face value. Which was what worried Amy.

When seduction failed her, Amy usually turned to her second favorite technique: gaslighting. However, Aran seemed too grounded in reality to bend to her will before the Games actually commenced, so the next best option was pain. But hurting Aran would be difficult if Ravya was around. So Amy pouted as the limousine carried her to the train station and contemplated her mentoring team instead. Dot Tatarkus had won a long time ago and had brought home exactly one Victor: Sturgis, who'd won five years ago. District Five had claimed only nine Victories, and Amy was determined to be the tenth. One mentor was jaded from decades of failure. The other was young and inexperienced. The most valuable member of the group, clearly, was Ravya, who would help Amy get lots of sponsors. Glamorous tributes rarely emerged from the outlying districts, but Amy was a diamond in the rough, and she knew once she got to the Capitol, she'd finally be recognized for her true worth.

The car stopped. The train station was ancient and made from industrial concrete, clashing with the shiny, clean train. The interior was beautiful, Amy decided. It was just right for a tribute of quality such as herself. Lunch would come later. Her first priority was hunting down Aran while the adults gathered in the kitchen to plan their afternoon. She hung back for five minutes to allay suspicion, then followed him to his bedroom. He was on the bed, muddying the creamy bedspread with his filthy boots. Heathen, Amy thought to herself, but then she remembered that he was going to be her personal bodyguard in the arena and thought she had better be nicer while she trained him, to reduce possible resistance.

She popped across the hall to her own bedroom to hunt for training tools. Her fingernails had proved useful enough at the Reaping, but she needed to inflict something more acute if she wanted him to put his life on the line for her. In the closet, she came upon a rack of Capitol-appropriate hats, and with them, hatpins. She selected the sharpest one she could find that still had a bit of stoutness to prevent it from bending.

The first step to training a boy was proximity. It was less like prodding someone with a pitchfork and more like burning them with a match. She had to make the pain personal, make him associate it with displeasing her. It was about willpower, and Aran seemed lazy, so Amy thought her plan would work nicely. It would be heavy handed. She would not hide what she was trying to accomplish. But based on Aran's demeanor, she thought that he would take the path of least resistance, and if that meant making lofty promises to her, so be it.

She returned to his bedroom, plopped down on the bed next to him, and cheerfully attempted to make conversation. "Leave me alone," he growled.

"We don't speak like that," she chided. "Be nice to your friends."

"Shut up." (They were always so resistant at first.) She evaluated his clothing, honing in on his sleeveless undershirt.

She lanced his bicep with the hatpin, eliciting a storm of profanity. "Stop that," she ordered.

"You crazy bitch!" he yelled. Amy created a second puncture next to the first.

"Friends don't swear at one another," she admonished.

"Friends don't stab one another with needles," he argued.

"Ah, so you agree. We're friends." This was progress. Trapping boys in their own logic was a key element of training them.

"Friends do exactly what I tell them to do. Right?"

"Wrong," he said. Pensively, she pierced him a third time. "Ow! Fuck!"

"Friends do exactly what I tell them to do. Right?"

"Sure. Whatever." That was progress, but she gave him a little prick, not a real puncture, for his reluctance.

"That didn't sound very enthusiastic."

"Right. There. Happy now?"

"Delighted, Aran. Friendship is so nice, wouldn't you say?"

"Not really." A full-force jab. "Yes! Fine! Friendship is nice."

"And since we're friends, we're going to be allies, right?"

"Absolutely not. I think we're done here."

"I'm warning you, Aran. We could have done this the easy way, but if you upset me now, when we get into the arena, you'd better watch your back."

"Sure, Princess Perfect. And everything'll just be hunky-dory. Actually, I'm going to tell Ravya about your little stunt."

"You wouldn't dare. I saw the crowd's reaction to you at the Reaping. They were glad to be rid of you. Of course, I run in much more elite circles, but once the Capitol finds out what you did, Ravya won't believe a word out of your mouth."

"Well, in that case, I guarantee I'm a shittier person than you. And I'll take my chances with Ravya. You know you don't actually have power over me here."

"Stay a while," Amy suggested, but he was already heading for the door. Realizing her chances of success were slipping through her fingers, she impulsively somersaulted to the end of the bed and pounced in front of him, poising her her hatpin. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," she warned. He smiled like he had a trump card, despite being unarmed and at the mercy of someone with a weapon.

"Oh yeah?"

She lunged. "Ravya!" Aran bellowed. "Help!"

"Can't do that in the arena," Amy taunted. She traced the hatpin over his collarbone, since he was taller than her by almost a foot and she couldn't really reach his throat. "Nobody there to save you when it matters. Last chance to beg for my forgiveness–you taking it?" He cocked a fist, and she sprang up and headbutted him in the nose. He shouted in pain and grabbed his face, doubling over. His hand came away bloody. "Trying to hit a lady?! Why you little–"

"Ravya!"

"She's not coming, Aran. Fucking pussy, calling for a referee!" She felt him grab her waist and ram her back against the doorframe. She howled, bolts of pain shooting down her spine. It felt like her tailbone was on fire, and she thought maybe it had struck the doorjamb. Aran's arm traversed the bureau, his fingers closing around a heavy glass sculpture of a ballerina. The blow to her jaw rocked her, and she could feel her vision blurring. Blood poured from her mouth. She saw a tooth fall to the carpet, dizzying from the impact, but she still had the hatpin! Aran leaned, checking to see if he'd done her in.

"Ravya!" This time, there was a response, enough to distract Aran further.

"Help is on the way!" Amy heard feet pounding in the corridor. She had to act fast. Before Aran could bring the heavy sculpture over his shoulder for a second blow, she seized the opportunity, plunging the hatpin into the front of his neck, right through his Adam's apple. She tackled him, bringing him to the ground, and punched him in the mouth. He was screaming for Ravya again, but the sound died in his throat, and the footfalls approached faster.

"Peacekeepers!" a coarse voice shouted. "Stand back!" Amy was lifted off of her unfortunate victim, kicking and screaming. She heard more footsteps.

"Aran? Amy? Children, what happened?" Ravya rounded the corner and stopped in her tracks, shocked by the scene before her. She gave a shriek that echoed to the other end of the train and back again and swooned. Amy thought Ravya was going to faint, but she dutifully steadied herself on a Peacekeeper's shoulder. "Avox!" she yelled. "Avox, the tributes need medical attention!"

---

Vica Madsen, 17

District Seven Train, En Route to Capitol

D6F

July 1, 329 AEDD

---

Vica Madsen had not received any visitors. This was unsurprising. It wasn't as though she had a family to say goodbye to. It surprised her that Dana had gotten visitors, but it didn't matter. Vica could support herself.

That is, if she ever stopped feeling so carsick! The limousine turned her stomach as it bounced over a cobblestone road. Aurelius had told her that if worse came to worst, there were barf bags available in the console, but Vica was really hoping she wouldn't toss her cookies in front of her new tribute team.

Britta Morrigan was very fashionable, and Vica was glad she was her mentor. She pitied Fleet for having to put up with Dana, and she pitied Britta for having to be on vomit lookout. "How much farther?" Vica asked.

"Just a few miles away," Britta said soothingly, laying a cool hand on the back of Vica's neck. "The train is a much smoother ride than this. You know what helps with carsickness? Ginger ale. Ever had ginger ale?"

"No."

"We'll get you a nice glass of ginger ale on the train. I can see the station from here."

"Oh, thank God." At the far corner of the passenger area, Dana was sandwiched between Aurelius and Fleet, having some sort of serious talk. Vica craned her neck in an effort to eavesdrop on their whispered conversation, but the car jounced particularly roughly and she struggled to contain herself. The Avox driver wasn't at fault for the bumpiness, of course, but that didn't make her feel any better.

"You've got this," said Britta. Aurelius checked his watch.

"Seven minutes left," he said. "We've already been driving for twenty. It's three-quarters of the way over." Vica supposed that was a good thing and tried to focus on the breeze generated by the open window.

"Will there be paparazzi at the train station?" she asked. She couldn't let her persona, and thus, her chances of winning, be spoiled so early in the Games, and by a bout of nausea, no less!

"No. A long time ago, there was, but it was costly and useless, so it got scrapped under President Pearce-Blidt's administration. He felt the Hunger Games celebrations had become too hedonistic and were in need of some general belt-tightening." Vica didn't necessarily disagree, but some of that ceremony would come in handy for making an impression on the Capitolites. Still, she was inclined to side with President Pearce-Blidt on this one, if for no other reason than her current state.

The car thumped over a pothole and she felt a sudden wave of panic. "Barf bag," she screamed, "I need a barf bag!" Opiter scrambled to his feet, immediately thwacked his head on the low roof of the limousine, and produced a string of four-letter words. Fleet sprang forward, popped the console, and snagged a bag off the top. He tried to snap it open, but in the summer warmth, the stiff waxy paper had stuck together and created a seal. Frantically, Fleet started working a fingernail at the opening. "Barf bag!" she yelled, and her stomach gave one last, final lurch.

Vica stuck her head out of the open window and yodeled groceries all over the limousine's expensive paint job. Britta held her ponytail out of her face and murmured sympathetically. "There you go. Let it all out, girl." Finally, Vica lifted her head back up, but the car thunked again and she had to rush for the window.

There was a third round, and then a fourth, and then Vica dry-heaved onto the train platform. When her stomach was finally well and truly empty, they finally heard the train whistle blow. The train sped into the station, gave a pleasant chug or two, and the doors opened. Vica gasped.

The train was like nothing she had ever seen before. It had a chandelier. She couldn't marvel at it for too long, though, because Aurelius hustled them all into the kitchen. "Are you all up for eating while we watch the Reaping Recap?" he asked. Then he thought to correct himself. "Not you, Vica. We'll get you a ginger ale and some saltines to snack on. You'll be able to have something heavier later this afternoon."

There were no objections. The living room was full of comfortable furniture. As the Avoxes prepared lunch, the tribute team waited for the Reaping Recap to air. "Now, Vica and Danny, would you like to be mentored together or separately?" Aurelius asked. Vica had to think about this. She didn't want to offend Dana (Danny? She should probably call him Danny) but she also really didn't want to ally with him.

"What's normal?" she asked.

"Usually Fleet and I work with our tributes individually on skills and strategies they want to keep private, to provide you with security that the other mentor isn't telling your district partner secrets about you, but we do the rest of the mentoring as a group, so you can get the most help possible," Britta said.

"What would be the advantage of separate mentoring?" Vica asked.

"You would get more privacy and a more individualized approach, but you'd lose out on the benefit of Fleet's experience. If you wanted to be mentored together, we'd be able to offer you both more help, but you'd be more vulnerable to one another."

"Danny, do you have a preference?" Fleet asked.

"Normal is fine."

"Normal's fine with me too," said Vica.

"Great. The Reapings should be ready momentarily." Aurelius turned on a television set, where a buffering screen appeared. The two Avoxes entered the room to serve lunch. Vica was presented with a plate of salty white crackers and a tall glass of an effervescent amber beverage. She took this to be the ginger ale. It was sweeter than anything she'd ever tasted in her life, and it seemed to pop in her mouth. She liked it, but it was hard to describe. She began to eat slowly, ignoring the sumptuous meal being served to the other people in the room.

The television came to life and Vica heard the familiar voices of Pandora Mink and Ivan Cardozo. She had, after all, seen the Reaping Recaps each year as part of the mandatory Games viewing. She'd always gone to the public square to watch the big screen even though she had her lair to hide in. Sometimes the Peacekeepers conducted census checks mid-Games to make sure everybody was really watching, and considering what had happened to Vica's family, she really had to avoid that.

She looked down at her forearm. There were three notches cut into it, perfect little chevrons. She wished her blouse didn't have short sleeves.

In past years, when Vica had watched this part of the Hunger Games, she'd recognized that they were scary and would probably kill both of the tributes from her district, but it wasn't until the moment she saw Orpehus Adello's smile that the reality of the Careers truly registered.

She was looking at the boy who would kill her. And then Nascha Eirena Czarin volunteered too and Vica was looking at the face of the girl who would kill her. And Haylia Boaz and Tybalt Alistair Martell were going to kill her too. Her brain paused for a brief interlude as District Three's tributes, two walking Bloodbath deaths, were Reaped. And then she looked into the pixelated eyes of Odicci Harbore and closed her own eyes against the television screen, but opened them again to see Nathaniel Lewis. She couldn't fight an enemy she couldn't recognize. District Five's tributes were nowhere on the level of the Careers, but they were still unusually sturdy stock.

And then it was District Six's turn. Anticipating Danny's meltdown, there was nothing. The Capitol had pulled the offending footage, cut from his initial reaction to a still of him on the podium, and moved on to Vica. She watched as her face, a blank mask, pressed into the expression she'd chosen to cultivate. She'd done alright. District Seven's tributes were uneventful. District Eight's boy, Kenny, had a jump cut like the one they'd done for Danny. A potential ally for him, maybe? The girl looked like a stiff breeze could knock her over. District Nine had a formidable-looking boy, although he didn't hit her like the Careers had. The girl wouldn't go far. District Ten's girl looked strong, not dissimilar to Vica, but richer. The boy was shuddery and sickly-looking. District Eleven produced two more instant Bloodbath kills and District Twelve turned out a girl with another apparent jump in footage and a boy whose expression punched her in the gut.

A Career. Nikita Valeta. She didn't know what subversion of the natural order had occurred, but there was no doubt in Vica Madsen's mind that he was a Career just like the first six.

Her fingers trembled around her ginger ale and Britta slid it out of her grip before she dropped it. "I think the sugar's making you jittery," she said.

"Not sugar. Careers." She thought of her persona. Her persona could maybe save her by getting her sponsors, but it might not matter. Would she be a Bloodbath tribute like the little kids from Three and Eleven? The Careers were pursuit predators. They would stalk across the arena, running down the tributes they most wanted to destroy. If she made her persona too captivating, she'd be inviting them to target her. But if she appeared weak, they would try for her in the Bloodbath. She would ask Britta later.

"Do you want more sugar?" Aurelius asked. "I was just about to have the Avoxes serve dessert." Vica nodded numbly and a silent man placed a crystal dish of mauve ice cream in front of her.

It was so good she almost wanted to cry.

---

Aspen Silvius, 15

District Twelve Train, En Route to Capitol

D12F

July 1, 329 AEDD

---

Nikita Valeta, Aspen's Peacekeeper district partner, was disgustingly happy, but Aspen was far from enjoying herself. She had fainted at the Reaping and been carried to the stage. Stefania, the escort, said she was out for under a minute and had reassured her that it would be omitted from the Reaping Recaps, but she was just hoping it wouldn't tank her sponsorship prospects too much. Nikita was much too pleasant for the occasion. It reminded Aspen of her mother's pretend eagerness for the annual spring cleaning.

Nikita Valeta was whistling a tune. Aspen was pretty sure that not even the Careers whistled tunes while they boarded the train, although they might've opened the windows and pulled up a chair to look out at the passing landscape as Nikita was now doing. Somehow, smiling idly with the wind from the train streaming through his hair, Aspen's district partner didn't have a care in the world. In a moment of spite, she hoped the Careers rejected him. He certainly wouldn't be accepted into any outlier alliance. He might go into the Games as a lone wolf, and the thought of that made Aspen glad. Good! It would be satisfying, seeing such a smarmy person—pig, she reminded herself, not person, he was an honest to goodness Peacekeeper—get his comeuppance.

She almost felt grateful when Stefania called a team meeting in the kitchen. It felt like she and Nikita were finally on even footing. Sitting at the same table. He would always have an advantage over her, but at least she didn't feel lesser in comparison to him. District Twelve's two living Victors, Yew Whettery and Aileen Bartonhill, joined them. Yew was young and affable. Aileen was middle-aged and blunt. "I'll assume you'd prefer to be mentored separately," Stefania said.

"Definitely," agreed Aspen. She could guess at Nikita's strategy and wanted him to know nothing about hers.

"Then which mentor would you each like?"

"It's usually gender-based, right?" Aspen asked. She knew that in previous years, the male tribute was given the male mentor, and the female tribute the female mentor. It had never occurred to her that the tributes had a choice in the matter.

"Usually," Yew said. "That's the default state. But if either one of you feels that you might be better off with the other mentor, then you can trade, as long as the other tribute is willing to."

"Which mentor is better?" Aspen asked. She really wanted to ask which mentor liked Nikita less, so she could choose that one, but that wasn't a wise thing to say out loud.

"Neither of us is better. Aileen's more experienced than I am, but I've experienced this head Gamemaker. Some tributes prefer a more serious mentor like Aileen. Others find that sort of mentor intimidating."

"Which of you would collaborate best with the Career mentors?" Nikita asked. Aspen internally rejoiced. In a roundabout way, he was asking the question that she couldn't, for courtesy's sake. The mentors looked at one another for a long, uncomfortable moment. This was a good sign, Aspen thought. It meant that neither one of them wanted to be affiliated with the Careers.

"I've known them for longer," Aileen said slowly, "But Yew might be a better fit for you."

"Are you sure? Aileen, really, you have a relationship with them. I don't." Yew didn't look particularly pleased with Aileen's shrewd attempt at handing off Nikita.

"A poor relationship. My negative history with them could jeopardize Nikita's chances of survival." Aileen had won, and they both knew it. Nikita's mask of jocularity had begun to slip, and he frowned slightly. Apparently, he was intelligent enough to discern that the mentors' conversation was about who had to put up with him, not who would serve his best interests.

To clinch the deal, Aspen said, "I'd prefer Aileen. If that's okay with you, of course." Nikita agreed that it was indeed okay, but he looked troubled. Aspen felt a twinge of pity for him, but quickly brushed it aside. The Hunger Games were not the time for sympathy; she had to look out for number one. Stefania announced that with the question of mentoring being settled, it was time for some refreshments as they reviewed the Reaping Recap. Aspen was served a triangular glass of lemonade and a thin slice of something Stefania called shoofly pie. It didn't have a patch on her mother's apple pie, but it was still a treat. The lemonade was fresh and tangy, and the presence of food dampened her fears about seeing the other tributes.

The tributes from District One caught Nikita's attention because he was planning to ally with them, but they caught Aspen's eye for a different reason. The boy was glitzy. The girl was intense. They didn't look quite as strong as the One tributes from other years, but Aspen was quite certain that they were both much more dangerous than they looked. The District Two female had visible musculature and the boy had a distinct arrogance. They interested Nikita too, but he seemed to be searching for something. His calm façade had slipped, and she saw the desperation, the need for answers. Aspen wavered before deciding to call him on it. "You hope they don't recognize you," she guessed.

He seemed surprised by her directness. She had caught him off guard. "No," he denied. "Just scoping out the crowd for old friends." It was explicit confirmation of his Career status, not that Aspen needed any.

"Liar. Typical Peacekeeper. There's a reason you're here, not with your 'old friends.' You might come from a fancier place, but you're as Twelve as I am." He wasn't, of course. He didn't share her birthright. But she hadn't said it to make a point, she'd said it because she thought it would upset him. It worked. She watched the resentment creep into his expression, but he didn't have a snappy retort waiting for her, so she thought maybe he'd taken it to heart. She wouldn't push the argument too far. She didn't want to make him angry enough to target her, after all, but she would continue chipping away at his confidence. It would throw him off his game. And at the very least, he would feel guilty for his role in the beatings and executions, the torture he chose to subject the starving people of District Twelve to.

District Three was unremarkable, but Aspen felt a little sorry for the kids. Like her brother, they were being taken too young, by the same murderous entity. District Four produced two more Careers, an expensive-looking girl and a definitely not expensive-looking boy. Was it difficult, growing up poor in the Career districts? Whatever the case, he had volunteered, so he would either die after two weeks of luxury or grow old in a mansion, counting his Victory money. Not too shabby of a deal. District Five looked like maybe the boy would make a good ally, but she wasn't certain. District Six's tributes were possibilities. District Seven seemed a little, well, a little plain. Aspen was sure Brielle and Tom were nice people, but they didn't present any clues as to their personality or background. Aspen liked the boy from District Eight. He had the attitude she was looking for.

District Nine had a harmless-looking girl and a massive boy that would maybe pull a Nikita and try to join the Career Pack. He was far too strong. He wouldn't ally with a tribute as weak as her out of the goodness of his heart, so she would stay away from him. She wasn't particularly attracted to District Ten, but Pace, from District Eleven, seemed like a maybe. And then she watched her own district's Reaping. Her fainting spell was completely absent. She did look terrible after she'd revived onstage, but, oh well. It could have been worse.

Then it was time for her and Aileen to analyze her prospects in private. As soon as Aileen had closed the door of Aspen's bedroom behind them, Aspen finally felt like she could relax. Aileen looked at her with a cool gaze. "The unconsciousness doesn't bode well for you, but at least I don't have the most disappointing tribute of the day," she said. It was dry and observational, free from the meanness the words might have otherwise carried.

"I don't like Nikita," Aspen confessed.

"Darling, you don't have to. I'm just glad he's not my problem."

"True. But it was a nasty trick, pawning him off on Yew."

"Yew's better for him. I'd have declined to give him advice and told him to ask his precious Career mentors himself."

"Do you really not get along with the Career Victors?"

"It wasn't a total fabrication. There's a tension between me and the older ones, but I have no quarrel with the six that are mentoring these days. It's just that there's not much I can offer a Career tribute, and I'd rather not squander my wisdom on someone with no use for it."

"I'm still going to die."

"Most likely. But sometimes there are surprises. I was floored when Yew won. Here's some advice: read up on your survival skills. Better to be killed by someone else than by natural causes."

"I've been thinking about some allies," Aspen said. That was her priority. She would have plenty of time to ask Aileen about recommended areas of study later that evening, but her time before the Tribute Parade was limited.

"Oh? I can introduce you to them tonight, if you'd like. But only to the ones I approve of."

"How do you decide if you approve of someone?"

"I wait until Stefania finishes gossiping with the other escorts, and she tells me who to avoid."

"I see."

"It was a good strategy, provoking Nikita. He's susceptible. He doesn't like himself very much."

"How do you know?"

"I've seen it often enough in my tributes. In myself, when I was younger. It's a weak point that you can exploit, and that's what matters. Take advantage where you can. It can keep you alive."

"Is it ethical?" Aspen asked.

"Nothing about the Capitol is ethical. Sometimes there aren't any good choices. Now, which tributes did you want to ally with?"

"I'm considering Aran, Dana, Victoria, Kenny, and Pace."

"Too many people. You'll have to cut some of them later."

"Okay."

"Really, Aspen, you're doing just fine. Keep agitating Nikita. We'll build up a strong strategy for you, and when the Games come, you'll be ready."

"I hope so."

---

Mare Duster, 18

District Ten Train, En Route to Capitol

D10F

July 1, 329 AEDD

---

As soon as Mare and Fahad sat down with their mentors for the first time, Penn Rossi demanded that Harrietta Livery trade tributes with him, since he "didn't want a runt." Mare thought that was a little unfair to Fahad, although not untrue. It was probably for the best. Penn was prickly as a rule, and he wouldn't have been as patient with Fahad as Harrietta. Imogen, the escort, had tsked loudly at Penn's rudeness, but there wasn't much she could do to change his decision. Personally, Mare was getting along with Penn just fine. He had a grudging respect for her strength and she knew how to separate his advice from his endless complaints about the tributes, the mentors, and just about everything under the sun.

And Fahad, of course. He had befriended Mare quickly, was easily trusting, and didn't stop to wonder why she, a much stronger competitor, wanted to ally with him so badly. He would find out eventually, Mare thought grimly, but maybe it was better this way, for him to be safe under her protection for most of the Games. Would it be kinder of her to let him die in the Bloodbath? Kindness didn't really matter in this context, she knew, but there was something a little different about leading Fahad on, something about the situation that nagged her. It troubled her all throughout the car ride, and then at the meeting on the train, and then as she and Fahad were exploring their new mobile bedrooms.

She finally put her finger on it. The Peacekeepers had made the choice to pursue her, someone much too young for them, and they'd made the choice to hurt her family. Hurting them back was justifiable. Fahad had been unlucky, and had done nothing to deserve that. Taking advantage of him was an action, not a reaction. But wasn't Mare allowed to do everything in her power to protect her life? Generally yes, but if it took an innocent person's life away from him…Well, Mare reminded herself, If I live, he has to die anyway. If they were the final two tributes, Mare would kill him in a heartbeat. Was that really any different?

It was too early for philosophy. She would think about that later. Right now, Imogen was saying she and Fahad had to hurry to the living room so they wouldn't miss the Reaping Recaps. There was a piece of furniture that was too small to be a sofa and too large to be an armchair. It could fit two people, but it would be too cozy for most newly introduced district partners. Mare didn't hesitate to invite Fahad up onto it with her.

He climbed up. If they really squished, they could sit side by side, pressed in by the armrests, but that was a tight squeeze for both of them and Fahad's bony hip ground into Mare's, so he angled his legs inward, putting them in her lap. That was good, Mare thought. That meant he trusted her, was comfortable with touching her. She laid a hand on top of the thigh furthest from her, ostensibly to secure Fahad and prevent him from sliding off the smooth velvet cushion, but they both knew the real significance of it. He smiled at her. She smiled back.

Mare asked for pen and paper and an Avox arrived immediately with the requested materials. She planned to take down her first impressions of the other tributes. She didn't plan on allying with any of them, only Fahad, but things might change, although mostly she wanted to get an idea of who her competition would be. She knew that the main threat would be the Career Pack, as was true every year. Orpheus had stage presence, Mare decided. She liked him, but she wasn't stupid enough to take him at face value. The friendliest people were often the most dangerous, she mused, reminding herself that Fahad was going to learn this the hard way.

She immediately felt a pang of guilt and turned her attention to Nascha. Mare recognized the familiar symptoms of bitterness in the glare, the walk, the way Nascha faced the crowd, as if daring them to do something about her volunteering. She had a feeling that District One's tributes wouldn't be on the same page as one another. Mare predicted that District Two's tributes would complement one another more, although they had contrasting images. Haylia seemed more true to herself than Tybalt. He might have read well to a Capitolite, and Mare didn't necessarily see a problem with the image he cultivated, but she felt he was overcompensating for something. Haylia was more understated but, in Mare's opinion, equally captivating because she seemed present as herself, with no extra persona and no missing pieces. Haylia was totally honest with the audience, and with herself––either that, or she was a very good actress and Mare ought to ask what her secret was—which was refreshing when compared with the other Careers who'd been introduced so far.

District Three's tributes looked like genuine ingenues, unprepared to navigate the world of deception, alliance, and sponsorship. Three had a rather unearned reputation of producing young psychopaths, which was largely due to the exploits of a few select tributes over the years, none of whom had won. Mare felt like it was dishonest to apply the actions of a couple of screwheads to an entire district. The two kids didn't seem unintelligent, but being smart could only get you so far in the Hunger Games. Unless there was a surprise with the training scores, she planned to ignore them once in the arena.

District Four's Careers were harder to read. Odicci was more of an average Career girl than Nascha and Haylia had been, but a lot could be concealed by pretty dresses and a bright personality. She was difficult to read, but there was an ease between her and Nathaniel that suggested they knew each other more, or at least liked each other more, than the other two district pairs. Nathaniel was a mystery to Mare. She sensed concealed emotion, but he was too focused on the moment to get lost in his head. That made Mare's job harder. She decided to watch the Fours carefully during training.

The Fives were interesting. Amy bore some similarities to Mare, but just by looking at her face, Mare could pinpoint the difference between them: Amy's manipulations were for the love of the game. She took an immediate dislike to her. Mare would keep Fahad away from Amy at all costs. As for Aran, Mare picked up a sleazy Peacekeeper vibe. She didn't trust him. She didn't know why, but she would act on her gut feeling.

Victoria from District Six intrigued Mare. She had the feeling that Victoria was a kindred spirit. She'd talk to her, she decided, see if she was good enough to bring into the alliance. She respected Dana's commitment to his misery, but he wouldn't be valuable enough to join his district partner. District Seven's tributes didn't seem weak exactly, but they weren't going to make suitable allies, although Thomas might be a threat, Mare thought. There was something that suggested he was more than he appeared.

District Eight's tributes didn't grab Mare's attention very much. She might be wrong, but she thought they were probably going to be standard mid-Games deaths. Ash seemed smart, so Mare thought she'd stick around longer than some of the other tributes her age. District Nine's Jeremiah interested Mare. He would probably go far. The Gamemakers would see him as a valuable foil to the Careers, assuming he didn't join them. If Mare didn't have Fahad, she might consider enlisting Jeremiah as an ally, but she did have Fahad and she had to commit to her plan with him.

Mare was impressed with her performance in her own Reaping. She felt it had accomplished what she'd wanted it to. Fahad's vomiting had been cut out of the footage, but he still cringed watching himself stagger up the steps. She could almost feel him wilt. Wrapping an arm around him, she tugged him into her chest a little more, rubbing his back. He sniffled.

Yeah, no, she could not let Amy interact with Fahad at all. For strategy reasons, of course. He would be less trusting of her if Amy got into his head.

District Eleven had two young kids, neither of whom appealed to Mare. She was getting tired of the Recap. District Twelve at least provided a surprise. A Career named Nikita had been Reaped. It was clear from the way he moved and the clothes he wore that he wasn't like, the mayor's son or in a situation similar to Mare's. He was a Career, plain and simple, but there were multiple ways this could go.

The first possibility was that he would join the Career Pack and everything would go swimmingly. But of course, there was often tension between the core Careers and others they invited into the Pack. Nikita might get turned into a scapegoat early on in the Games. There was some chance that he might pair up with Jeremiah or ally with another strong outlier, but that was less likely. Not many tributes would be willing to trust a Career to enter their alliance. He might choose to go it alone, but that would make him vulnerable to the other Careers. His incongruence with his district of origin made him an enigma.

Mare would worry about the other tributes later. She listened as Imogen started going on about the events of the afternoon. They were going to eat lunch, then arrive at the Capitol, then meet their prep teams and stylists. They'd wash and groom and dress and mingle backstage to scope out the other tributes before training began. They'd eat dinner, arrange their bedrooms, and go to sleep. They'd wake up the next morning and train all day long, and then for two more days. They would prepare for the interviews, get interviewed, and spend a final night in the Capitol. They would travel to the arena and enter the launch rooms.

Mare had five days to build up Fahad's trust in her, not that it would be hard, but she also had to prepare in other ways. Would she get it all done?

If she ran out of time, she wouldn't get a second chance.

---

Xanthe Sparacello, 13

District Eleven Train, En Route to Capitol

D11F

July 1, 329 AEDD

---

Xanthe Sparacello was having a bit of a communication difficulty. Elodie Ermine, her new mentor, didn't quite understand Xanthe's explanation. She sighed. They were on the third repetition of this.

"The High King will keep me safe," she said.

"And you think you don't need to participate in training because he's going to rescue you? This man is somehow going to prevent you from dying of dehydration?"

"No," Xanthe patiently corrected. "He's not a man. He's more. I'm a prophet. I'm supposed to help heal Panem of Degeneracy and He has chosen me to raise the other tributes to the Elation."

"Xanthe, please don't take this the wrong way, but this is a really poor plan in terms of survival. What if you, um, offend him and he doesn't keep you safe? You really ought to have a backup. Suppose the High King is busy and doesn't see that you're in danger until it's too late for him to save you? Maybe you should find some allies who can keep you safe if that happens."

"It doesn't work like that. But that's a good idea! Just like He chose me to be Reaped, He might've Reaped helpers for me in the other districts! So they can make sure I win!"

"Yeah. That. We should watch the Reaping Recaps. Can you tell at first glance if someone's been chosen by the High King?"

"Not always. It's easier to tell if they're a Degenerate."

"And these degenerates…what do they do? Why are they so bad?"

"They're straying from the path the High King has laid out for them. They do drugs, drink alcohol, laugh, listen to the teachings of false prophets, practice idolatry, and fail to live according to the scripture. So they must be raised to the Elation for their own good. It's a mercy. Instead of punishing them for their misdeeds, the High King forgives them and sets them free. And the High King's mission for me is to purge Panem of these evildoers, to help them ascend to a better world."

"Um. Xanthe. You're thinking of genocide, hon."

"Genocide requires permanent death. The Elation is an ascent to eternal life. It's different."

"Well, that's very nice, but you can only, uh, ascend the tributes once they're in the arena."

"I know. These Hunger Games are very poorly planned."

"Huh. Well, we need to hurry to make sure we see the Reaping Recap." Elodie led Xanthe to a leather couch. Pace was sitting with their mentor at the opposite end of the room. Xanthe had already determined that Pace was a worthless Degenerate due to their rudeness. All Xanthe had done was ask them how their complaining was serving the High King and they told her to leave them alone and stop being all preachy.

Preaching was the whole point of being the High King's chosen prophet, so Xanthe knew that Pace didn't have anything to do with Him. It was a disappointing moment, since Xanthe had thought that maybe the High King had provided her with a dutiful district partner to aid in her mission. Pace was clearly not dutiful. The escort, Cake, was also a Degenerate. She was drinking and giggling, two very serious offenses. As for Elodie, Xanthe wasn't sure. Elodie had clearly never been exposed to a messenger of the High King before. She was a Degenerate on a technicality, since nonbelievers were automatically low level Degenerates, but Elodie was friendly and helpful. She'd recognized that the High King's provenance would be a boon for Panem.

Xanthe watched the Reaping Recap with clear intent. She needed to be on the lookout for clues that the other tributes had been selected by the High King for the same purpose as her. The tributes from District One were steeped in charisma. Charisma was a very serious form of Degeneracy. The District Two Female, Haylia, had no disqualifying traits, but Xanthe didn't know if she would be willing to part from the Career Pack. She would ask, she decided. The worst that could happen was Haylia would reveal herself to be a Degenerate, in which case Xanthe would simply continue her search. Haylia's district partner was clearly very arrogant, another unforgivable offense.

The District Three girl seemed like a good choice, a little like Xanthe herself, but lacked the ability to defend her from the violence of the older Degenerates. The High King would have given Xanthe protection, and Twyla was not protection. Beemo seemed nice enough, but fatness was a sign of indulgence and gluttony. He was a Degenerate, and Xanthe couldn't ally with a tribute like that. The Career tributes from District Four seemed like, so far, the most likely choices of the bunch. District Five's girl wasn't a possibility due to her vanity, and Aran was exhibiting weakness, a clear result of a dearth of faith, which would not be tolerated by the High King.

Dana from District Six was scowling, an indication of pessimism, which, again, pointed to a lack of faith. It was a classic example of Degeneracy. Victoria seemed pretty alright, though. Brielle and Thomas from District Seven were equally unremarkable. Ash from District Eight was another example of weakness, judging by the way her voice trembled when she asked to be referred to by her nickname. The High King would not stand for that. Pessimism and lack of faith emerged a third time in her district partner, Kenny, and weakness again in Maize of District Nine. Jeremiah, the male tribute from Nine, behaved with just the right amount of confidence. He looked so pleased to be representing someone (the High King!) that Xanthe knew he was the perfect image of the gospel. Her savior had given her someone older and equally passionate who would recognize her holiness and preserve her mission in the Hunger Games!

The tributes from District Ten could be ruled out for obvious reasons (vanity and more weakness resulting from faithlessness), and after Xanthe watched her own district's Reaping, there was only one more district to go, not that it mattered. She had found her protector in Jeremiah already, but quickly determined that District Twelve's tributes were unsuitable allies due to their Degeneracy and began mentally preparing her shortlist.

At the top, of course, was Jeremiah. Then Haylia, Odicci, and Nathaniel. Twyla, Victoria, Brielle, and Tom were also possibilities. She told this to Elodie, who gave a small, poorly-concealed grimace. "Xanthe, you really shouldn't be ruling out so many people based on appearances. What if you're mistaken and you're missing out on a great ally?"

"I have Jeremiah. He's the best ally."

"Have you considered that he might not want to be allies with someone substantially weaker than him? And really, teaming up with the Careers is a poor choice, assuming they want you. I'm all for optimism, but this is asking for a lot of things to go extremely smoothly, and I'm not sure they will."

"Of course they will. The High King will ensure it."

"So, when we get to the Capitol, we mentors will be schmoozing with some of Panem's wealthiest men and women, trying to convince them to sponsor our tributes. They're going to ask me who you plan to ally with tomorrow and if I tell them you've got your heart set on Jeremiah and the Careers, they're going to laugh in my face. They're going to ask me why you're going to win and if I tell them it's been ordained by the High King, you're going to slip down to last place in the placement prediction rankings. This is a highly unusual strategy for a young girl from an outer district."

"But it's my strategy."

"What I'm trying to say is that I don't think it should be your strategy."

"Earlier, Cake said mentors are supposed to be supportive."

"Earlier, you said Cake is a Degenerate heathen and nothing she says holds value. That's called hypocrisy, Xanthe."

"I'm not a hypocrite!"

"I am being supportive, Xanthe. Sometimes the responsibility of mentoring means telling people things they don't want to hear."

"I don't want to hear it," Xanthe admitted. "The High King knows what's best for me. I just need to follow His instructions and I'll be fine. I don't understand why you're telling me all of this stuff."

"Xanthe, you're very mature for someone your age, and I appreciate that you have such a clear vision, but this only works if you let me be the adult. I have experience with the Hunger Games and can give you important information. You can decide to ignore it, but by doing that, you diminish my ability to social network for you. We can give this a really positive spin, but people aren't going to be invested in you if you keep calling everyone Degenerates."

"They are Degenerates, though."

"It makes them feel attacked. Please, Xanthe. Help me so I can help you. We have to deal with people we disagree with sometimes."

"Let's talk about Jeremiah."

---

Nascha Eirena Czarin, 18

District One Train, En Route to Capitol

D1F

July 1, 329 AEDD

---

Nascha Eirena Czarin was enjoying the summer breeze. The train windows had been left open, and she was having a good time, nursing an iced tea as the mountains sped past. As she gazed out at the swaths of emerald forest and winding rivers of crisp sapphire water, Nascha couldn't help but feel that District One from the outside was just as beautiful as it was from the inside. She'd never been far enough away from it to truly experience the majesty of the landscape, and she was happy to finally see it. Realistically, she knew that by now, the train had gone far beyond her district, and she was definitely just looking at plain unrestricted land, but she used her imagination.

She turned over Madden's old hawk blinder in her fingers, a relic of his training. She would miss her best friend when she was away, but she would be glad for this reminder of the support she had back home. Nascha had to rebuild the Czarin legacy, save it from eternal ruin due to Armani's actions, and it would be less daunting with a memory of Madden at her side.

The District One train had been upgraded since Griffin Cadbury's Victory. The television set could be angled out to the sitting area near the windows, so Nascha wouldn't even have to move from her spot when the Reaping Recaps aired. Admira and Griffin, the mentors, sat in the living room, waiting for the program to begin. Ariadne, the escort, had tuned to the correct channel, but nothing was happening yet.

Orpheus sat on a yellow stool near Nascha, consuming a cheese and bacon turnover. Nascha hadn't yet formed a solid opinion of him. He wasn't much like her, but seeing the woods from beyond the district border had put her in a favorable mood and she was already on her way to establishing a good rapport with him. Ultimately, Nascha knew she would want to form an interalliance with another Career to keep herself secure when the Pack collapsed at the end of the Games, but that was a long way off, and until then, district loyalty mattered above all. Neither of them were particularly inclined towards leadership, and were open to seeing what the other districts would bring.

The Recaps finally loaded on screen, and Nascha settled into the familiar routine of watching. In previous years, she'd usually watched it at home, but sometimes Rubellite hosted a viewing for the trainees, where the Victors would describe what they should be looking for when they became tributes. The voices of Pandora Mink and Ivan Cardozo were familiar presences in the Czarin house, voices that comforted Nascha more than her own parents. They had been a reminder that one day Nascha would be listening to them on the train to the Capitol and watching the Recaps for real, with real stakes.

That day had finally come. First, Nascha and Orpheus watched their own Reaping. Admira assured them that they had done very well and made an excellent impression on the Capitol. District Two was next, and Nascha paid careful attention to her new allies. Both of them looked strong and hardworking, classic Two tributes. She thought that she would get along with Haylia most, out of the Careers. Something about her felt trustworthy. Orpheus speculated that Tybalt would probably become the leader, but Griffin suggested that another Career might be better. "You hold the power here," he said. "Neither of you want to lead, so you have the most influence if the Pack is torn between two leaders."

Nascha was on the lookout for strong outer district tributes, the kind of tributes that could pose a threat to lone Careers at the end of the Games if left unchecked. Those were the kind of tributes Nascha would want to get rid of in the Bloodbath, to prevent them from causing more problems down the line. District Three did not present any such tributes.

District Four's tributes seemed to already know each other, which perturbed Nascha slightly. That gave them an advantage over Nascha, and she never liked to be the underdog. She was glad that she and Orpheus had clicked so quickly. They needed to be able to trust one another, not that Nascha would ever wholly trust anyone again, but this was the Hunger Games. She had to place some faith in Orpheus, secured by the bond of district loyalty. Odicci and Nathaniel looked like standard Careers, and Nascha was excited to see that the Pack would have a strong foundation this year.

District Five's tributes looked strong. Nascha was unconvinced by Aran's apparent weakness because she could see his biceps and she knew that he could still cause some serious injury if he felt like it. Amy looked nonthreatening at first, but Nascha had been taught how to recognize muscle, and she saw some on Amy. The deception wouldn't work on her.

Districts Six and Seven weren't threats. Nascha picked up on some stubbornness from the Eight boy, but the girl wouldn't be a problem. District Nine's boy, Jeremiah, definitely looked strong enough to be a serious threat to the Careers, which worried Nascha. There would definitely be a discussion about the pros and cons or bringing him into the Pack so they could keep an eye on him and prevent him from gaining enough momentum to be a real problem for them. District Ten's girl looked strong, although definitely not strong enough to be a Career. District Eleven went much like District Three, but District Twelv held a surprise.

Nikita Valeta was a Career. Nascha recognized this immediately, as did Orpheus, Ariadne, and the mentors. Pandora cheerfully informed the viewership that he was originally from District Two, which caused everyone to perk up. "Oh, thank goodness," said Admira. "I was afraid he was going to be from Four. Then we'd have a real problem on our hands." This would tip the power balance back in District Two's favor, neutralizing Four's advantage of having an already cohesive pair of tributes. It still wasn't good, but there were ways Nascha could play this to District One's advantage.

The train left behind a golden prairie and began climbing a mountain. "We're almost to the Capitol," Ariadne said. She started telling them about the finer points of interacting with the other Careers, how to push back without upsetting them, and how to deal with the stylists' choices even if they were stupid. Nascha had heard it all before in training, but she was glad to be reminded of it. She was generally rather solitary and wondered if she would be able to stand up to the crowd's scrutiny when she arrived, but she had to make the most of her time left on the train, so she put the hawk blinder in her dress pocket and went to her bedroom to freshen up.

Brand new tubes of makeup sat on the bathroom vanity, all in her shade. She ignored them, washing her face in the sink basin and drying it on a soft hand towel. She had little experience applying makeup and couldn't risk making a mistake with it so close to her first Capitol appearance. She straightened her outfit in the mirror, smoothing away the wrinkles, and adjusted her hair. Knowing she smelled fine but nervous, she reapplied her deodorant. Nascha was ready to make the best possible impression at the train station.

She returned to the sitting area and stood awkwardly near Orpheus and her tribute team as the train began downshifting. It entered a pitch black tunnel for several minutes and when it reemerged, there was a sea of color in the distance. Tall, metallic skyscrapers jutted up from the landscape. The train began slowing and Nascha could make out the faces of individual people in the distance. She leaned out of the window and waved. Hundreds, maybe thousands of people erupted in cheers and waved back. The adrenaline buzzed through her, and she jogged Orpheus's arm. "We're here!"

When the train doors opened, she stepped out into a concrete semicircle marked out by Peacekeepers, who separated her from the raucous throngs of people. The one who seemed to be in charge stepped forward and placed his glove on her shoulder. He escorted her a few steps forward and parted a velvet cordon to allow her passage into the crowd. She tried to avoid thinking about the high heels she was wearing, a poor choice of footwear, and all the people bumping into her, grasping at her dress, her hair, her hands.

"Nascha!" they chanted. "Nascha! Nascha!" They started incorporating Orpheus's name into the chant, so she knew when he'd stepped from the train behind her. "Orpheus! Nascha! Orpheus! Nascha!" She smiled and waved, wading through the people. Everyone wanted to touch her, prove to themselves that she wasn't a mirage. She was suddenly a celebrity. Orpheus was doing the same thing, taking a different route so as to cover more people between them.

Slowly but surely, they reached the other side. Ariadne appeared out of nowhere, taking their hands so they wouldn't be separated. They mounted the stoop of the enormous white marble Remake Center, and Ariadne ushered them inside. A cluster of Peacekeepers, looking less mechanical than usual due to the absence of their reflective helmets, greeted her. "Miss Czarin?"

"This is she."

"Right this way, Miss Czarin." Down a massive, high-ceilinged corridor that would have more accurately been described as a thoroughfare, there were a series of closed doors. The first was labeled D1F. The lead Peacekeeper, a man with a dark mustache, unlocked it with his identification keycard. He led her to a raised steel surface, like a doctor's surgery table, and directed her to sit. "Your prep team will arrive shortly, Miss Czarin." He rejoined his fellow Peacekeepers, closed the door, and locked it behind her.

She kicked her mint-green stilettos against the table's support beams and waited.

---

Ivan Cardozo, 30

12 Witherkemp Road, Capitol

Hunger Games Announcer

July 1, 329 AEDD

---

"Linus Cannon says there wasn't DNA testing done on Megaera's body," Lula Jacobsen was saying. Ivan Cardozo was privy to this particular piece of information because once he learned that Lula intended to meet with the Head Peacekeeper at his house, Ivan knew it was of critical importance that he eavesdrop. Nikolai Fassnacht was working from home in light of the disruption at his usual office, and Ivan was rather uncomfortably clinging to the trelliage anchored to the side of the building. It had traditionally been used to support ivy, but it was now being used to support Ivan's full body weight, something he felt slightly leery about. Unfortunately, it was necessary to do this particular task personally. If you wanted something done right, you did it yourself, and if an incompetent henchman mucked it up and got caught, the whole plan would be in jeopardy.

"The Department of Peacekeeping only tracks district citizens' DNA, and only through the annual Reaping. We didn't have a database sample, but her two sisters ID'd her. So did I."

"She was a triplet, right?"

"We thought of that. They're fraternal, not identical. Different DNA. Two girls and one boy. With an extra sister, a year apart from them."

"The brother?"

"Estranged."

"What about the paper? How did you find her fingerprints in the database if the Capitol doesn't go through the same automatic collection as the districts?"

"Well, even for the districts, it's all about the DNA. We only take fingerprints. Meg got booked for public intoxication once, as a teenager."

"Linus wants to know if you took fingerprints of the body."

"No. The body was in the bloating stage. All of the features become distorted when they enlarge, and the skin sloughs off. It wasn't possible to take fingerprints." This was bad, Ivan knew. Very bad. If they were having this conversation, that meant that someone would figure out soon, or had already figured out, that Megaera was alive.

"Linus has a theory," Lula began, "that perhaps the body you recovered was not Megaera Arkinnian at all. He thinks it's highly unlikely that she either touched that paper before her 'death' or someone planted her fingerprints on it, and that it's more plausible that she just touched the paper herself recently. There was no scientific confirmation of the body's identity."

Fuck, thought Ivan Cardozo. This was even worse. If Nikolai, fastidious investigator that he was, began combing the Capitol for leads, at some point, he'd come across somebody who knew something. It might take him a week or so, but he'd grill all of the Coquettes about what they remembered of Meg, and after going through Karen, Flossie, Ivan himself, and Pandora, he'd remember Alecto, and things might be okay, but Alecto had an uncommonly strong intuition, and Nikolai trusted him, definitely more than he trusted Ivan. Ivan had been counting on the sluggishness of bureaucracy and Nikolai's reluctance to rely on other people. It should have been several more days until any questions about Meg's death were raised, but apparently Linus Cannon's presence was changing things.

On the bright side, if Nikolai figured something out, better this than another part of the plan. Meg knew she couldn't keep it a secret forever. It was just that Nikolai could be unpredictable. Ivan reminded himself that the plan didn't have to hold for much longer, only through the Games. Meanwhile, Lula and Nikolai had moved on to other matters. "Linus recalled Eurydice saying Konstance DuMouchel had been behaving suspiciously, so when he was using the Gamemakers' analysis lab, he snooped through Konstance's desk, and he found this strange string of numbers written on official Peacekeeper memo stationary in her mail tray. He suggested it might be a code, since it has punctuation."

"What were the numbers?"

"He wrote them down here: 31343435 2443 442315 32343115. 1415423444 43441144243433 4442111325 2134424454 33243315. 141532113314 511533221511331315. –11. Would you like the paper?"

"Yes, please."

Linus Cannon had to be dealt with, and soon. Tonight, after the Tribute Parade, Ivan would tell Konstance about what he had overheard. He had no idea what the code meant, but he assumed that if Nikolai managed to crack it, it would be very bad news. Ivan sensed the conversation waning, and, knowing that he had to escape before Lula left, climbed to the ground. He departed in disguise without being noticed. Once safe in the throngs of people packing into the pavilion in anticipation of the tributes' arrival, Ivan hailed a taxi and ordered the driver to take him to the Tribute Building, where he entered with a platoon of florists, chucked his disguise in a bin of flower clippings, and sought out Flossie Merveilleuse. He found her on the phone and interrupted her, earning a glare that would have frightened a wild animal. "I'm busy," she hissed.

"Meet me at the Tiger Lounge for Happy Hour," he said. She scowled and ignored him.

"So sorry, Imogen. I was rudely interrupted. Yes, of course we can–"

"Twenty minutes," Ivan insisted. "The fate of Panem depends on it." Something in his tone convinced her, and she returned to the phone.

"After the Tribute Parade. I apologize. Something's come up. Oh, no. No. My fault! Have a great afternoon. Ta-ta!" Flossie gave Ivan a second, slightly less agitated glare. "This is the busiest day of my entire year. It had better be important."

"Twenty minutes. I promise. I need to talk to you, you haven't eaten lunch yet, I'll buy you an appetizer and explain everything. Honest." Flossie scowled.

"Twenty minutes." A second cab was hailed, and Ivan and Flossie were seated in a booth at Ivan's favorite bar. He had wanted some shots, but Flossie had insisted he have nothing stronger than a mimosa, so they had compromised on a Bloody Mary. Flossie picked at a plate of nachos. Ivan was just regaling her with the climax of his eavesdropping when suddenly, something odd started happening. He was gasping for breath. He crossed his hands over his throat in alarm, and Flossie leapt from the booth to administer the Heimlich maneuver, but something wasn't right. She yelled for help. Someone called for an ambulance, and when Ivan collapsed to the ground in catatonia, the bar manager performed CPR. It didn't work. By the time the paramedics arrived, Ivan Cardozo was dead.

---

Hey y'all!

Whoopsie daisy, my hand slipped. :)

How do you think the Tribute Parade will go? If you haven't already seen it, I've made a map of Panem for my verse and linked it in my profile. More fun awaits next chapter.

Also, if you have questions about the Capitol subplot, or if it seems unclear in any way, please feel free to comment or PM me. There's some info that I'm intentionally keeping secret, but if something just doesn't make sense or if you forgot something and don't feel like close-reading all the Capitol POVs again, I'm happy to set the story straight. The Capitol thing has a lot of moving parts and I want to make sure nothing slips through the cracks. See y'all next time!

–LC :D