Artemis Shale, 16

District 2 Female


I grit my teeth as Vivi and Don chattered away, enthusing about his interview and speculating about tomorrow. The incessant noise was getting on my nerves. This wasn't the time to boast. It was the time to focus and prepare.

For the first time I found myself wishing Mozu was here. She'd caught a separate elevator back to our apartment and I was stuck with the loud members of our team. Luckily, we only had a few floors to go.

When the elevator doors opened I was the first one out. I pushed past Brutus and began to make a beeline for my room.

"Artemis, where are you going?" Vivi asked. "It's dinner time and we had a special feast made."

"I'm not hungry," I lied, clenching my fists in annoyance. Vivi opened her mouth to protest but Mozu, who had just arrived, stepped in.

"We need to focus, not eat. I'll have the Avoxes set something aside for her," my mentor said. Then she looked at me and nodded.

I raced to my room and violently kicked off my heels, satisfied with the way they thumped against the wall. I yanked down the zipper on my dress and let it drop to the floor. Then I slammed and locked the bathroom door. I need to think, or yell, or punch a wall. I didn't need niceties with my distracted mentors and cheerful, useless escort.

The interviews were so pointless. Frankly, it was offensive, making me primp and preen for the Capitol. It had nothing to do with my skills. The Hunger Games weren't about looking pretty and appealing to the audience. They were about honor and rising to the top. Kill or be killed. And I was the killer.

I turned the shower to the highest setting I could handle and stepped in, viciously scrubbing the makeup from my face. Scorpio, my stylist, said it made me look sexy and mysterious. I thought it made me look silly and dumb. Why did I have to slather myself and makeup and drench myself in perfume to appeal to them?

I scrubbed the glitter from my hair and arms and let the too-hot water wash away the anger. Anger with Mozu and Vivi and Scorpio and Donquixote. And myself. How could I have let Don get the same score as me? I was far better than he was! Was it because I was younger? Was it because I was a girl?

In District 2, the boys and girls trained equally. But the 18-year-olds were usually chosen to volunteer over the younger trainees. I was a special case and I knew it. But did the Capitol see the skill my trainers saw?

I couldn't let it stand. I was stronger than he was and I had to prove it. I was a trained killer. I killed a trainee to get here! Don was just another pretty face.

My anger only grew as I thought about my district partner. I had to outshine him in the arena. I wouldn't split our alliance until the Careers were the only ones left, but I would prove myself to be stronger than the others at every opportunity. I would need to have flashier skills, better form, incredible tact, and most of all, more kills. But I knew I could do it.

I was born to win the Hunger Games and I wasn't going to let anyone stop me.


Phaedra Fox, 24

Head Gamemaker


The day was upon us. In less than an hour, my tributes would board the hovercraft and be transported to the arena. My masterpiece was hungry for blood and I would gladly give it.

My team was also thrilled. I allowed them each one glass of champagne to celebrate, but then we had to get to work. We spent most of the night going through the tributes' tokens and deciding who got to keep theirs.

Freya Thatcher's token was a pouch of cherry pits. Cherry pits contained cyanide. Technically I should confiscate her token… but the girl intrigued me. She poisoned an Avox in her private session. She gained the favor of the audience in her interview. She was a canvas I could paint a victor on.

So I allowed her to keep her token.

"Ma'am, the hovercraft has taken off," Dexter told me. He tucked a pencil behind his ear and forced a tight smile.

"Excellent," I said. " Everyone, begin your final checks. It's time."


Arawn Giedroyc, 18

District 12 Male


The hovercraft engines whirred lightly, the only thing breaking the silence amongst its passengers. We must have been in the air for at least two hours, but it was difficult to keep track of time in the cramped hovercraft cabin.

I folded my fingers neatly together and rubbed my thumb over my knuckles, a gesture I often did when my hands were sore from the shovel. By the end of the day, I could be one of the bodies I used to bury. Would they use the same shovel?

Whenever I buried a deceased tribute, I couldn't stop myself from imagining I was in their place. How would I feel? Would I be afraid? Ready? Would I miss my mama and Rhonna?

But I was always able to brush the thoughts away. I wasn't a tribute. I only had to worry about keeping my family fed and laying the dead to rest properly. But now I was staring death head-on.

My line of work gave me lots of time to consider my death, and the death of others. It was an inevitable end, but it wasn't something to be rushed towards. I wouldn't foolishly risk my life in the arena but there was a high chance I wouldn't make it out alive. Surprisingly, the thought didn't scare me. It just made me sad.

As awful as my home was, I would miss District 12. It was familiar. It was known. And therefore it felt safe. I was far beyond the safety of home now. Far beyond the reach of my loved ones. But I was closer than ever to being beyond a world that could hurt me.

There was a drop in my stomach as the windows went dark. A woman in lavender scrubs emerged from a sliding door with a huge metal syringe and needle in her hand. She ordered Becky to hold out her arm and we all watched in horror as the attendant injected something into her forearm.

Everyone stayed quiet as she made her way around the room. Only when she reached Aspen did someone speak up.

"What is that?" Calceus asked nervously.

"Your tracker," the attendant replied. Aspen winced as the needle pierced her skin.

Finally, the attendant reached us. I heard Marjoram whimper and held out my arm for my turn. I grit my teeth and nearly groaned at the intense ache that spread through my arm. But over the next few moments, it began to dull.

The attendant disappeared through the door again and the sensation of dropping became more intense. We were definitely landing. Finally, there was a gentle bump and the engines shut off. The doors opened and Peacekeepers flooded inside.

We were led off the hovercraft by two Peacekeepers each. We were in a round concrete room with lots of tunnels leading off from it. A Peacekeeper directed me onto a small electric cart and we drove off.

I was finally deposited next to a white door. The taller Peacekeeper accompanying me punched in a code and I was roughly ushered inside. As the door slid shut behind me I was enveloped in a tight hug by a woman who smelled like bubblegum. Prissy, my stylist.

"Arawn!" she gasped when she released me. "Isn't this exciting?"

"It will be an adventure," I told her flatly. She squealed her agreement and then guided me to a table, where a bowl of broth and a glass of water waited for me.

I wasn't hungry, but I dutifully ate every bite. Food could be scarce in the arena and I would need all the calories I could get. When I pushed the bowl aside, Prissy was suddenly in my face, a stack of clothing in her arms.

"Let's get you dressed!" she chirped.

The arena outfit turned out to be black canvas pants, a thick gray turtleneck, and a dark gray-green windbreaker. My socks were thick too and my black boots were sturdy and had grippy soles.

"One minute," a robotic female voice declared. A black podium rose from the floor in the corner of the room. Prissy took my hands in hers and smiled.

"You're going to do great," she said. Then she nudged me towards the circle.

"Good luck!" Prissy said as I stepped onto the platform. I just nodded to her in response. I felt completely numb. I couldn't have spoken even if I'd wanted to. A countdown from ten began and I bounced on my toes. A glass tube came down around me and the platform began to rise.

This was it.


Hi everybody! This is it! We have officially reached the final chapter before the bloodbath. I want to thank you all so much for sending in your characters and reading and reviewing and just being supportive. I have so much fun writing SYOTs and I appreciate you all. I know Arawn's POV ended up being longer, but that's because there was some logistical stuff happening. Also, thanks to SilverflowerXRavenpaw for giving me some help with Artemis's POV :)

I want to remind everyone that there is a high chance your character will die. It's how these stories work. If your tribute dies in the bloodbath it is not because I dislike them or you. It's just how it goes. I'm sorry if you're offended.

Also! We have a blog now! It's laymetorest66 and it's a weebly blog. Sorry that I can't link it properly. And thanks so much to Kkstar47 for helping me make it!

Questions

1) Will Artemis be able to outshine the other Careers?

2) Is Phaedra cheating by letting Freya keep her token?

3) Will Freya receive any special treatment?

4) Is Arawn's calmness going to benefit him in the arena?

5) Any final bloodbath predictions?

Alliances

The Careers: Becky, Aurelius, Artemis, Donquixote, Crash, Lotus, Taffeta

The Allied Cats: Kairos, Leona, Jay

Honoring The Lost: Isaac, Aspen, Birch

Deranged & Confused: Calceus, Freya

The Power Couple (+ 1): Mac, Brady, Saigon

The Maid & The Mercenary: Brielle, Marjoram

Loners: Robyn, Anastasia, Andy, Arawn


Have a nice day, be kind to each other, and never stop reading!

- Fiona