Laurel

About an hour and a half after that harrowing confrontation with Vanch, it was time for lunch. Laurel gathered her two allies from their current station and herded them to the cafeteria. After the trio grabbed their lunch from the buffet, Laurel searched for an open table. Most tributes ate independently, trying to keep to themselves and not get too close. For many of them, the Hunger Games had already started and the tributes were already in the arena. They couldn't afford to get close.

The exceptions were the alliances, such as Laurel's, and, of course, the Careers. But now there was an addition to that number. Vanch's new alliance had commandeered a table of their own, silently and unashamedly announcing their association to the rest of the tributes. Looking at them now, Laurel had flashbacks of her district partner cruising around the district, flanked by two thugs just like Zolomon and Woodrue. Some things really did never change.

She wasn't the only one unnerved by this turn of events. The Careers had noticed too and were whispering furiously to each other about it, their original aim of taunting the weaker tributes long gone. They couldn't be happy about this turn of events, the formation of such a serious threat. Preventing strong counter-alliances like this was why the Careers invited the stronger outliers into the pack, and they were probably cursing themselves for not making the offer earlier this year.

Vanch, being Vanch, couldn't leave things well enough alone and decided to taunt them. "What are you lot so unhappy about?" he mockingly asked. "It's not like you have a monopoly on alliances. We're not just sheep for you to slaughter, you know."

"Really?" Helena, the girl from District One, jabbed back before anyone could stop her. "Could've fooled us."

"You want to say that to my face, girlie?" Woodrue shot back, crossing his burly arms. "Come on, go ahead and do it. When we get to the arena, I'll break you in two."

It wasn't long before the two alliances dissolved into jeering at each other, the only form of fighting allowed for them now. Laurel took the opportunity for what it was and sneaked herself, Rory, and Evelyn past the two groups unnoticed. Hopefully, they'd focus on each other for the rest of the lunch period. It would be a much-needed break for the rest of them.

Now sufficiently out of sight, Laurel returned to searching for a table for them. As she did so, she couldn't help but muse over this latest development. Technically, Vanch's alliance wasn't the first formed in the Games — the tributes from District Nine, a pair of brother and sister, had that on lock from the moment they were reaped. Then there was her alliance, which was formed yesterday after lunch. But the Careers hadn't cared, hadn't viewed them as a threat. They had been left alone, outside of the typical bullying that everyone else was being dealt with.

Vanch was a different matter. Rumors were already swirling about his occupation as a crime boss back home (which she may or may not have had a hand in with a few pointed comments around the other tributes), so he was viewed as a threat from the get-go. A criminal like him already knew how to fight and was already a stone-cold killer. He probably had a higher body count than the entire Career Pack combined. Add that in with him winning the allegiance of two of the biggest, strongest, and most athletic outlier tributes this year, and he had gone from a mere threat to one of the biggest favorites in the Games. While they did their best not to show it, the Careers had to be afraid.

That was good. That was really good. The more afraid the Careers were of Vanch's alliance, the more likely they would go for the three of them when the gong sounded and the bloodbath began. That meant a higher likelihood of Laurel and her allies managing to bag good supplies before booking it from the chaos. It was the most ideal situation Laurel could've hoped for.

Maybe Vanch forming his own alliance wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Laurel found an open table soon after that, but her heart stuttered momentarily when she saw whose table it was next to. The District Nine tributes, Joanna and Danny de la Vega. The first pair of siblings to be reaped into the Hunger Games since the Second Quarter Quell twenty years ago. The only rock-solid alliance in the Games.

Joanna, a pretty girl with dark skin and hair, was trying to do her best to urge her younger brother Danny, a remarkably small boy who was only thirteen years old, into eating. The poor child looked ill and depressed, pushing his mashed potatoes back and forth in an idle, mindless manner. Laurel recognized that expression; it was the same expression that Evelyn and Rory both occasionally wore whenever they weren't doing particularly well at a station. It was a reminder of their youth and how much that diminished their chances in the arena. He was afraid of his potential death, and as much as Laurel hated to admit it, he was right to.

It was hard watching them. Seeing them together reminded Laurel of her and Sara. She could imagine her and her sister in their current positions at a different time and in a different place. Scared and afraid of the future, only having each other to rely on. Trying to keep each other's spirits up in a seemingly hopeless situation.

Maybe that was what drove her to guide her and her two little allies to Joanna and Danny's table instead of the open one. Behind her, she could sense the confusion of the Sevens, but they didn't protest, so Laurel took it as a win. For her part, she gathered up her courage, especially when she noticed Joanna looking up from her attempt to cheer up her brother and frowning visibly at their approach.

Laurel cleared her throat. "Is it okay if the three of us sit here?" she asked in the politest and most sincere voice possible.

A brief expression of shock flashed across the faces of both siblings. Joanna quickly turned suspicious, while Danny turned more thoughtful. They exchanged looks and debated silently, and Laurel waited patiently for the verdict. She knew she had won the day when she spotted Danny staring longingly at her allies, the only two children in the Games close to his age. Judging by her knowing sigh, his sister seemed to agree, and reluctantly, she gave a conceding nod.

With a smile, Laurel gestured Rory and Evelyn over to sit next to Danny while she sat across from them, closer to Joanna. Once they were all settled, they began to eat.

By the end of the lunch period, all three younger tributes had hit it off. Evelyn was teasing the boys about some game that Districts Nine and Seven had when the bell sounded. It was time for them to leave the cafeteria and begin training again. The mood dropped when the children realized they would have to separate, which Laurel took as her cue to make an offer. "I don't think there's any harm in the five of us training together, is there?"

She directed the question towards Joanna, knowing the other older girl would be the siblings' decision-makers. It turned out Joanna was as much a decisionmaker for Danny as Laurel was for Sara — standing strong until her younger sibling gave the puppy eyes and made her cave. So that was how the five of them found themselves entertaining the camouflage station, trying to use various natural materials to try and paint themselves disguises. It was one of the few skills being taught that Laurel was legitimately terrible at.

Thankfully, their group's new affinity for each other had gone under the radar thanks to the feud between Vanch's alliance and the Careers. Either that, or both groups had just taken one look at them, dismissed them as a threat, and returned to focusing on each other. Laurel didn't mind which one it was, as long they all left her and her friends alone.

After an hour of camouflage, the kids decided to move on to archery, with Joanna taking the lead on that one while Laurel separated to practice with knives again. They had moved up to knife-throwing, and Laurel didn't have to fake being bad at this one. Precision and accuracy in throwing punches and kicks did not translate to having good aim when throwing projectile weapons. She kept up the practice until she saw the rest of her alliance had finished up with archery and were moving to fish hooks, at which point she ended her session to join them.

"So, not up for learning any archery?" Joanna asked her when she rejoined the group, trying to sound casual. The kids were far away, gathering around the trainer, trying out a new method of construction he was teaching them. That just left Laurel and Joanna on their lonesome. "Could be a useful skill in the arena."

"Maybe, but my mentors instructed me to focus exclusively on knives and the bo-staff. Said I'd have a better chance mastering a couple of weapons instead of all of them," Laurel replied, using the predetermined excuse that she and her mentors came up with.

Joanna hummed, seemingly accepting the answer. And then: "Why do you want to ally with Danny and me?"

Laurel blinked.

"Are we just fodder or something for you, like those two?" she continued, nailing Laurel to the wall with an accusatory expression. "I'm not stupid, you know. Partnering up with a bunch of little kids and a girl who's never fought a day in her life is hardly what one could call an ideal alliance."

She should be offended. Laurel knew she should feel angry and attacked. Joanna was making all these wild accusations, unfairly trying to assassinate the character of a person she didn't know. Laurel had every right to get up and walk away right now.

Instead, she just felt sad.

"Did you watch my reaping?" Laurel abruptly asked instead of answering. "The reaping for District Eight, I mean."

"Yeah, but what does that have to…" Joanna trailed off as the realization hit, and she had the decency to look abashed.

Laurel sighed. "You don't plan on leaving the arena alive," she stated bluntly. Joanna winced but didn't bother to try and deny it. They both knew the truth. "I get that. I understand that. If I were in your shoes, if it were Sara and me in your and Danny's places, I know what I'd choose without a second thought. Which is why I want to be your ally."

"So…?"

"So, I figured if I'm not going to win, I might as well try to help someone who deserves to win even more than I do — like them." Laurel nodded toward the rest of their alliance. "Make no mistake, I'm going to do everything in my power to try and make it back to Sara and my parents. I promised them I would. But if it comes down to the wire, if that's no longer possible… well, I might as well give a friend I've made here a better chance at returning to their own family."

Joanna peered closely at her, trying to find any deception. There wasn't any, so Laurel wasn't surprised to see her expression soften into something more amiable. Even friendly. "Does that make us allies, then?"

A shrug. "If you want," Laurel noted.

That got her a sigh. "…well, Danny wants to, so we might as well, right?" the other girl admitted, some semblance of a smile on her face.

It made Laurel smile back.

Laurel's mentors weren't happy to hear about her adding two more tributes to her alliance, particularly the one that was only thirteen years old. "It's only going to hurt in the end, Laurel," Uncle Ted told her wearily, decades of cynicism bearing down on him. "Only one of you gets to live. There's no guarantee all of you will even survive the bloodbath."

Unfortunately for him, Laurel was Quentin Lance's daughter. She was as stubborn as they came. "I don't care. I want them as my allies."

Uncle Ted took one look at her and didn't bother arguing. He threw his hands up with a sigh. "I'll talk to their mentors later and make it official," he promised, and that was that.

With that settled, they had dinner with the rest of the District Eight team, which, unfortunately, included Vanch. He had been riding high ever since he made his alliance publicly known, and it seemed the best way to celebrate was to needle his mentor on advice for him and his 'allies' by reminiscing over the deaths of past District Eight tributes and asking for the best ways to avoid suffering the same fate. Really, he was trying to be a dick, and unfortunately, it was working, judging by the bottle of wine Alan had been nursing all night. On the one hand, if there was anyone Laurel wasn't sorry to see in the Games, it was Vanch. On the other, life would be so much easier for Alan if he had a more considerate tribute than the one he got.

Thankfully, the unpleasantness of Vanch was offset by dinner, which was mouthwatering as always. Tonight, the chefs had made dishes from an ancient, pre-Panem country called India. They were spiced, silky, smooth, and so good. Even after three days of eating like this, Laurel still wasn't used to the flavor and richness of Capitol cuisine. It reminded her of her promise to bring that cookbook back home to Sara and her parents if she won. They deserved to taste this, even if it was just once.

When dinner was over, and Vanch was safely ensconced in his room (engrossed in those Capitol reality television shows he had developed something of an addiction to, to everyone's amusement), Laurel decided it was time to go up to the roof to train. She changed into a new pair of workout clothes and filled up a water bottle with cold water and ice before heading up, stretching in the elevator. Once she was at her destination, she quickly walked around the floor to ensure no one else was there with her. Yesterday night was enough of a scare.

Laurel got about two hours of practice this time before she was forced to stop, thanks to the sound of the elevator door opening. She grabbed a small cloth towel she had brought and used it to wipe off her brow as she waited to see who the new arrival was. A frown crossed her face when Oliver Queen appeared again in her orbit, entirely unwelcomed.

At least he looked less smug than he had last night. Less flirty, too. Looking closely at him, Oliver was observing her more carefully and thoughtfully. Like she were an actual person instead of a piece of meat he was supposed to kill in four days. "You didn't take my advice," he noted, his eyes running up and down her sweaty form. This time, there was no lust in his gaze.

"Well, like I said last night — I didn't find your words very trustworthy," she replied.

The response caused him to narrow his eyes. "Your funeral, then," Oliver said, responding with a shrug.

Laurel rolled her eyes and went ahead to leave. She had no desire to get back into it with Oliver Queen. They had nothing left to say to each other, not when they wouldn't be allies in the arena and certainly not as opponents. She didn't wish him any ill will, not like she did Vanch, but she wasn't going to lose any sleep over his death. That was the best either could hope for in such a situation.

But it seemed Oliver, just like last night, couldn't leave things well enough alone.

"You know, I saw you and the Sevens getting chummy with the pair from Nine today," he idly mentioned, stopping Laurel in her tracks. "Thinking of allying with them?"

Despite her better instincts, Laurel turned back, nostrils flaring just so. "What of it?" she shot back snidely.

"Just another piece of advice," was the nonchalant reply. "Don't, if you know what's good for you. A big alliance like that, with five tributes, will surely get a target painted on your back."

Oh, really? "So what you're trying to say is that you and your fellow Careers might feel threatened by an alliance of two barely-trained girls and a trio of preteens who can barely handle a knife between the three of them?"

Oliver's smug demeanor almost immediately dropped as he snarled and fisted his hands at his side. As thoroughly unimpressed with him as always, Laurel merely crossed her arms. "Get real. We're no threat to you. Not when you've got that counter-alliance of those three brutes to take care of. If you knew what was good for you, you won't pay any attention to us until it's time to finish the Games. After all, you've got much bigger problems than a bunch of weakling outliers banding together."

There was no response this time—just icy, grudging silence. Laurel, unable to help herself, not that she was going, decided to go for broke. Go big or go home, right? "Now, here's some real advice. Watch your back out there, Oliver Queen. Because when it's time to enter the arena, it won't matter who your mommy or daddy is. Remember, you're a tribute now. You're expendable, just like the rest of us. Your 'allies' won't hesitate to turn on you if you prove you're no longer useful to them, and the Capitol won't hesitate to kill you if you're not interesting enough to the audience. You might have every advantage in the world, but you're still at someone else's mercy. Just like the rest of us."

Laurel was breathing hard by the time she was done, but she was confident that she had gotten the message across. She hadn't said a single lie. Oliver hadn't been the first Victor's child to enter the Games, far from it, and he wouldn't be the first to die if it came to that. He had it even worse than his predecessors, being the child of two famous and popular Victors with an in-built fanbase.

When the Career Pack broke up, the ones viewed as the biggest threats were always the main targets. And Oliver was, without a doubt, the biggest threat. He and Nyssa al Ghul both. They had been surrounded by Victors and all their wisdom, knowledge, and experience all their lives. They had been born and bred to stand beside their famous relatives on equal footing. And they were going to be allied with people who would do everything in their power to ensure those futures never came to fruition. That was the bitter reality, and remembering it would do him good.

The poisonous glare he shot her told Laurel he knew every word was true. He didn't even bother arguing. Content that she had gotten the final word in their confrontation, Laurel adopted her own smug little smile before turning on her heel to leave.

Oliver

As gorgeous as Laurel Drake was, she was a master at getting under Oliver's skin.

The male tribute for District One went to bed on the second day of training scowling and fuming and woke up on the third in a complete mood. It was ridiculous how the words of a single girl who was probably going to be dead two minutes into the bloodbath had managed to get into his head. Yet, despite his best efforts, he couldn't shake off what she'd said last night.

It wasn't like she had said anything he didn't already know, but for whatever reason, it hit harder than it usually did when it came from her. It made him doubt himself and his choices, and he didn't like it. The fact that it was the second time she had done it, too, certainly didn't help. For some indiscernible, inexplicable reason, Laurel Drake was completely throwing him off, driving him insane.

It doesn't matter, Oliver tried to remind himself, tried to make himself believe. Once that gong sounded, neither Laurel's cutting words nor her pretty face would save her. Whether it was him or one of his fellow Careers or even one of the more brutal outlier tributes, once she was attacked, it was over. Someone was going to kill her, and that would be the end of that.

That was the cold, hard truth. He knew it in his bones, yet it didn't seem enough. Because no matter how many times he repeated it to himself, it didn't feel right. There was something in Oliver that was telling him that there was something off about Laurel Drake. She was hiding something, holding something back. It wouldn't be the first time a tribute had tried to downplay their abilities for some advantage. Was that why she wasn't intimidated by him? Was that why he couldn't get her out of his head?

Well, that didn't matter either. Whatever she was hiding, he was sure he could handle it. Only one tribute was leaving the arena, and Oliver had every intention of that tribute being him.

For the third day of training, Oliver separated from the pack and decided to focus exclusively on survival skills. At this point, everyone who was going to let themselves be scared into losing their heads was properly terror-stricken, so there was no point in continuing that venture any further. He already had plenty of practice with his combat skills; it was time to focus on the new stuff that could help in a pinch, involving situations that didn't involve killing someone else. Oliver knew he would have plenty of sponsorship money when he was in the arena, but he didn't want to rely on it. Better it be kept in reserve for a genuine emergency.

He deliberately ignored the little voice in his head that was starting to sound suspiciously like Laurel, telling him that these skills would be helpful when the rest of the pack finally turned on each other. It wasn't wrong, but it felt like conceding to her, and Oliver preferred not to give her another victory. She had plenty of wins on her own as it was.

However, despite his adamant attempts to put any thoughts of Laurel Drake out of his mind, his eyes couldn't help but keep track of her throughout the entire day. Oliver tried to observe her as discreetly as he could, watching as she repeated the routine she had been doing since training started: chaperoning her allies to every survival station and visiting only the knife-wielding and bo-staff stations for combat. He had to admit that she wasn't bad for a beginner, but her paltry skills wouldn't help her in a real fight. Oliver honestly believed she was better off focusing on survival and fostering her ability to run away. That was her best shot at winning the Games.

And yet… and yet…

Oliver didn't get to finish his train of thought. A loud buzzer rang throughout the gym, catching the attention of every tribute present. Ben Turner stepped forward at the front of the gym and ordered them all to clear out. "It's time for your private sessions with the Gamemakers," he announced gravely, and almost immediately, everyone stiffened.

The Private Gamemaker Sessions were going to be conducted in the gym. The Avoxes would arrange everything inside so the tributes would have easy access to whatever supplies or weapons they would need to display the skills they already had or had learned throughout the three-day training period for the Gamemakers. At the end of each tribute's session, whether they had nothing left to show, they had reached the fifteen-minute time limit, or because the Gamemakers had seen enough, the tribute would be dismissed and sent back to their apartment. Once all the sessions were completed, the Gamemakers would assign a training score of one to twelve to each tribute, with one being "hopeless" and twelve being "beyond exceptional," and announce it to the nation in a special program tonight.

The order of the tributes would be numeric, with District One going first and District Twelve last, and the male tribute going ahead of the female tribute. That meant Oliver would be the first tribute overall to have his private session. Slade, knowing that, had told him to take advantage of this fact. "You'll have their full and undivided attention," he was told, "so try to show off as many skills as possible. The more you show off, the more they will want to see of you, which will translate to a higher score."

With that in mind, Oliver entered the gym as a man on a mission. When he got inside, he saw most of the furniture had been removed, leaving just a pile of weapons, supplies, and a few dummies and targets for aiming projectiles at. It was all situated in front of the large balcony that the Gamemakers had been populating in and out throughout the last three days to observe the progress of everyone's training. And seated there, looking down on him, was the entire team.

Oliver recognized some of them from the various interviews they had given during past Hunger Games over the years. But only one truly stuck out: the Head Gamemaker himself, Malcolm Merlyn. He was one of the most powerful officials in the Capitol, beneath only President Darhk, and he was a close friend of his parents.

He had seen him in footage and photos before, but this was the first time he had seen the man in person. Malcolm was of average height and pale skin, with dark brunette hair and sharp features. His eyes were an icy blue, the kind that pierced right through the soul, and Oliver felt intimidated just looking at him. For all his training, there was no question that his life was in this man's hands. More than any other person in the Capitol save Damien Darhk, this was the man Oliver needed to impress the most.

Malcolm gazed down at him with an imperious expression before gesturing him forward. "Welcome, District One Male Tribute. Everything here is at your disposal. Do not disappoint." He paused and then, "Begin."

Oliver didn't need to be told twice. He immediately made a direct beeline for the weapons, picking up a bow and a quiver of arrows, and began shooting them at every target he could find. Once he was through them all, he placed the bow down, took off the quiver, and picked up a sword. He began piercing and beheading the dummies with quick, effortless movements.

After running through all his combat skills, Oliver began showing off some of the survival skills he had learned during training. He made a couple of complicated knots he had been shown at the knot-tying station, made a few snares, and recited all the edible and medicinal plants that might be present in the arena and all their properties. By the time he was done, he could already see several of the Gamemakers nodding approvingly at him, and he silently crowed in success. He had won them over.

Malcolm Merlyn himself smirked at him, his smile a touch impressed. Oliver tried not to beam up at him, though an odd feeling overcame him the longer he stared at the older man. He didn't have time to divine what it was before a blunt, "Dismissed," cued his departure from the room.

Oliver left the gym sweaty but pleased, greeting Helena with a grin on the way back to their apartment. "Knock 'em dead," was his encouraging remark, and she smirked in response. With that done, he returned to the elevator, deliberately ignoring the rest of the tributes, including one frustrating girl in particular.

Slade and Shado were waiting for him when he arrived, Yao Fei having gone out to get an early start on gathering sponsorships. They silently asked him how it went, and Oliver, well-practiced after years of presentations, gave a full report. By the time he was done, they were both looking pleased. "They'll give you at least a nine or a ten with a display like that," Shado praised, and Oliver's heart swelled at her words. Coming from Shado, whom he loved like an older sister, it was everything.

"We'll just wait a few more hours to see," Slade concurred, grunting. "You've got free time until then. Do what you want."

"Right. I could use an afternoon snack," Oliver mused, about to head over to the intercom to order some room service. But before he left, a bit of inspiration struck him. Seeing Malcolm Merlyn in person today, the man his mother was so close to and worked with so often and rarely spoke about, piqued his curiosity. So many times, his parents had rebuffed his attempts to inquire about the super secret Hunger Games business they were a part of, stating that he would find out when he was older and a Victor himself. Well, he wasn't quite a Victor yet, but he was a tribute, and wasn't that enough?

Besides, he couldn't get rid of that weird feeling that enveloped him when he saw the Head Gamemaker. There was something about him that felt… off. And not in the same kind of way Laurel was. If Oliver had to describe it, he would almost say Malcolm was… familiar.

Which was ridiculous. He barely knew the man.

Even so, he still couldn't help but wonder.

"Hey, do you think you two could answer a question for me?"

His mentors, amid their own conversation, turned to him in surprise. "Sure, Oliver," Shado answered for them both. "Shoot."

"My mom works with Head Gamemaker Merlyn often, but she's never told me what kind of work they do together. My parents always said it has to do with the Games, and I'll find out when I'm a Victor, but since I'm already a tribute, I figured…" Oliver trailed off, blinking.

His mentors had dropped their genial demeanors throughout his question and grew… uncomfortable. Maybe even scared. Oliver could've sworn that Shado outright paled for a moment. It was unsettling.

"Is something wrong?" he asked instead of finishing, suddenly worried.

"No, no, kid," Slade assured him. Oliver would have to be an idiot not to see the panic in his eyes. "It's just… the business you're talking about, it's really top secret. We can't tell you anything at all. So leave it be for now." Despite his kind tone, a hard edge to his voice made it clear this was not up for debate.

Oliver frowned. Part of him wanted to protest, thanks to that ever-burning curiosity that had flickered on and off over the years. But he knew Slade and Shado and understood by the looks in both of their eyes that they wouldn't budge. So he let it go.

He'd find out in a couple of weeks either way.

Helena returned about half an hour later. By then, the mood had settled back into something normal, and Oliver suggested they spend the next couple of hours trying out one of the video games their apartment had been stocked with. Being the child of a Victor, Oliver had grown up with this novelty, a way to pass the time when no other distraction worked. His parents hadn't liked him playing these games, saying that Capitol children tended to get addicted to them and that it would get in the way of his training. Oliver had been forced to agree after too many hours on the console, which nearly led to him missing an assignment, and he had only played them sparingly since.

Here, that wasn't a concern. Training was officially finished, and while they might have to undergo some light exercise in the following days to keep their muscles loose, the most physically intensive part of the Games next to the arena itself was over. It was all smooth sailing for the next couple of days, so they might as well enjoy themselves a bit.

About two or three hours in, they were called away from the video game to have dinner, and then it was time to watch the announcement of the training scores. One of, if not the, biggest deciding factor in who the Capitol supported when it was time to enter the arena. Oliver could already see it in his mind: the big gamblers in the city gathering at all the major betting parlors, eagerly watching on television and holo-screens to see who was their best shot at a hefty payout this year. Yao Fei would be among them, trying to sell Oliver and Helena to potential sponsors. He imagined his parents were also there, doing the same for him.

They turned on the massive screen in their room, which dominated an entire wall, tuning into the Hunger Games channel broadcasting this special program to all of Panem. The national anthem of Panem played briefly before segueing into a feed showing the two main hosts of the Games: Jack Ryder and "Glorious" Gordon Godfrey. They had been the hosts for as long as Oliver could remember, and their appearances hadn't changed over the last eighteen years. The benefits of the Capitol's cutting-edge beauty treatments, Oliver supposed.

Ryder and Godfrey opened up the program with a few jokes to help settle the mood a bit before giving a rundown of how the training scores worked for those who were new to the Hunger Games (which was, to say, those children who were now just old enough to comprehend what the Games were). After the explanation, they announced the scores, going in the same order the private sessions had been conducted.

Which meant Oliver's score was going to be the first announced overall. "Starting with District One, we have Oliver Queen, with a score of…" Ryder spoke solemnly, glancing down at the sheet for the number. There was a pause, which Oliver and everyone knew was for dramatics' sake, and then— "Ten."

Almost immediately, everyone in the room released a breath they didn't realize they had been holding. In relief, Oliver sank into the couch cushions as Shado ruffled his hair and Slade patted him on the back in pride. "Well done, kid," he praised. Even Helena couldn't help but give him a slight smirk.

Then, the tension returned as Ryder moved on to her score. "From District One, Helena Bertinelli, with a score of… ten."

The room cheered, with Slade and Shado giving Helena similar praise they had with Oliver. The latter, caught up in the moment, shared a victorious high-five with his district partner. "District One for the win!" he shouted, high off this latest success.

Then Ryder continued with the scores, starting with District Two. The good mood abated slightly at that as everyone settled down to watch. There was a brief moment of immense pleasure when they saw Adrian Chase be given a score of nine. "Best District in Panem, my ass," Helena snorted.

That sense of schadenfreude then died an ignominious death with the next score. "From District Two, Nyssa al Ghul, with a score of… eleven," Ryder stated with no small amount of awe.

Almost immediately, the entire apartment fell deathly silent as everyone gaped openly at the screen. Then Slade grunted angrily, breaking the spell. "Should've expected nothing less from a daughter of Ra's al Ghul," he noted with no small amount of resentment, practically spitting out the words. Below him on the couch, his two tributes exchanged looks, and a silent decision was made: Nyssa would be the first to go when it was time for the pack to break up, no questions asked.

A score of eleven was rare, almost unheard of in the Games. The only score higher was a twelve, which no one had ever scored. Without question, Nyssa al Ghul had established herself as the strongest tribute in this year's Hunger Games and the tribute to beat for everyone else. Her feat was so stunning that it overshadowed the scores for the following two districts, District Three (a five for Cisco Ramon and a three for Felicity Smoak, respectively) and District Four (both nines).

With those two districts out of the way, they had all the Career scores. Collectively, District One was the strongest district this year, though Nyssa's eleven made the waters murky. That boded well for their chances when the pack broke up, but that didn't account for the other districts, particularly the large crop of strong outliers this year. The ones from District Three weren't anything special, but everyone else? It was time to see if any of them were indeed up to snuff or if they were blowing smoke out of their asses.

As it turned out, the early standouts weren't the only strong ones in this year's crop. The tributes from District Five, who had barely made an impression thus far, had managed to score a seven for the boy and an eight for the girl. High for outliers, above the median of six. Potential mavericks, mainly the girl, who had quite a mouth and a personality that might endear her to the Capitol audience. "Kill them early," Slade ordered, and Oliver and Helena nodded in agreement. Mavericks were a Career's greatest enemy, and there were far too many potential ones in this year's Hunger Games for comfort.

District Six was even worse. Hunter Zolomon, one of Vanch's lackeys, scored a nine, right up with the Careers and completely overshadowing his district partner's score of six. "How do you think he did it?" Oliver asked Helena, ignoring the scores for District Seven. Unsurprisingly, the two twelve-year-olds scored low, each being given a two. "I didn't see him a lot at the combat stations."

"Size and strength, perhaps his looks too," Helena muttered. "He might've even been hiding a skill. We'll have to find out in the arena, provided we don't gut him before he can show anything off."

Oliver hummed in agreement as their attention sharpened when Ryder moved on to District Eight. This year's big outlier district standout, starting from the Reaping and into the Tribute Parade. It was time to see if either of those tributes would keep the momentum going.

First up was Vanch. "From District Eight, Cyrus Vanch, with a score of… nine."

A sigh escaped Helena's lips as she scowled at the image of a smirking Vanch. "No surprise there. Alleged gang leader with a bombastic character who probably already knows how to fight and kill. The Gamemakers must've loved him."

That, unfortunately, was true. As much as the Gamemakers loved competent killers, they loved interesting tributes even more. The Hunger Games wasn't just a contest but a show meant to entertain the Capitol. They needed killers, so people died, and they needed characters to make it look fun, so a tribute that could be both was welcomed wholeheartedly. Oliver wondered if the Capitol was seriously considering letting Vanch win the Games, considering his criminal ties. There had to be some kind of limit.

The announcement of Laurel's score cut off his train of thought. "From District Eight, Laurel Drake, with a score of… seven," Ryder announced with little fanfare.

"Huh, not bad," Oliver mused, crossing his arms. It was a bit of a surprise, considering how much she focused on survival stations and neglected her combat training. Maybe she picked up a lot more fighting skills than he'd seen, or perhaps she had an excellent memory and managed to cram all that survival knowledge into her head.

"Maybe she's not just a pretty face after all," Helena added, filled with the slightest hint of grudging respect. Knowing the cutting words Laurel had given him these past two nights, Oliver silently agreed.

By comparison, the rest of the tributes were barely noteworthy. A range of scores from three to six followed, with the only outlier being the male from District Eleven, Jason Woodrue — aka Vanch's other lackey. He had gotten an eight, high for an outlier and on the lower end for a Career. He had probably gotten it for his size and strength, but it was worrying, considering who his allies were.

They didn't get another surprise until District Twelve, the last and most forgettable district by far. Twelve was the poorest district in the entire country, and it had the lowest amount Victors at a total of three, one of whom was dead and the other who was one foot in the grave. Their latest Victor, Ronnie Raymond, was the Victor of last year's Games, and his victory had come entirely out of the leftfield. Considering it was his first year as a mentor, nobody expected much from his tributes.

While that might've been true of the girl, Bette Sans Souci, who only scored a five, the boy, Garfield Lynns, was another matter. He scored an eight — and the worst part was that neither Oliver nor Helena knew how. "Nothing about him stood out during training?" Shado demanded, looking a touch worried.

Both District One tributes shook their heads, confused and irritated. "The only thing I can remember about him is that he stuck around the fire-starting station a lot," Oliver admitted, trying to think back to the past three days and see where Lynns stood out in his memories. "Other than that, there was nothing distinguishable about him."

"That's not a good thing," Slade declared, clicking his teeth. "To completely fly under the radar, and then come out of the blue with a score like that… make him a priority target in the bloodbath. He's hiding something, and I'd rather he not stick around long enough for you two to find out."

It was sound advice. Neither of the tributes wanted to find out what he was hiding, because it likely wouldn't be good for either of them. Oliver turned back to the screen to watch the end of the program, tense and on edge. Tonight had been one of many surprises, which was rarely good for Careers in the Games. Predictable might be boring to the audiences, but it was safer for all of them.

"Well, a lot of strong scores this year, Jack," Godfrey chirped on the screen, looking gleeful.

"You're telling me, Gordon," Jack concurred, setting the sheet of scores down to grin at his partner. "Something tells me that this year's Hunger Games will be one to remember."

Sorry for the late post. Been busy lately, some changes at work have taken a lot of my attention. Plus, I've been going hard these past two months writing thanks to NaNo, so I've been taking a break and focusing on reading books. Don't worry, there are still plenty enough chapters left in the queue so you won't have to worry about a hiatus any time soon.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Laurel partnering up with the rest of her new alliance, another meeting between her and Ollie, and of course, the training scores! Been looking forward to that for a while now.

Please, tell me what you think in the comments/reviews! I've been dying to know. And don't forget to update the TV Tropes page! The link is on the AO3 version and on the Arrowverse Fan Works page under the Crossovers folder!

Next Chapter: The Interviews.