Carnation Banyan, District Seven, Gemini

"Let's try again." Iona, Carnation's mentor, said. She smiled peacefully but Carnation could see the furrow between her eyebrows that signaled the woman was frustrated.

"What is even the point of this? This is a fight to the death, not a beauty pageant." Carnation complained.

"They have pageants in Seven?" Amber asked distractedly. She was watching pregames footage, eagerly waiting for the score reveals as Carnation and Iona worked on interview strategies. Well, more accurately, while Iona kept badgering her about strategy and Carnation threw miniature temper tantrums.

"That's not the point. The Capitol isn't in there, and I'm good enough to not need sponsors. So why do I need to create some weird persona of myself that capitolites like?"

"Because the Hunger Games, above all things, is a show." Iona explained, "The interesting ones get better treatment. If a gamemaker doesn't think they're getting a lot of content from you, they'll unleash a mutt just to avoid boredom."

"I can be interesting without coming up with a gimmick."

"I'm sure you can. But deciding on an angle helps people process you better. Allows them to remember you. Nuance is encouraged, but they need a base to start with. That's why we're working on this today."

As frustrated as she was, Carnation liked Iona. She was from Four, an industry district that created strong tributes and eventually started training Careers. It was everything her father wanted. Iona was also pressured by her parents to volunteer, though they seemed more convinced that her younger brother would be the one to survive. Despite her frustration, Carnation knew that the woman was trying to help her. That they all were. It was a completely foreign concept to her. Perhaps, for Iona, she would try to find an angle.

"Frazier Nelson, nine. Ally Thimblewhitte, ten."

Callia Haversham's voice broke through her thoughts and Carnation couldn't help but pay attention to the screen. It was a strong start, certainly. But of course it was, the Aries pair were both careers.

"Revalie Satyr, eight. Baron Margenium the Fifth, nine."

Carnation didn't want to admit that she was worried about her score. It wasn't like interviews, where the only point was to make people like her. She wasn't likeable. Or at least, she never thought she was. Her father certainly thought she was a miserable creature and Solstice's kindness always carried with it a hint of pity. So the best she could ever truly hope for was being talented. She knew that she was good at combat, but how good was she truly? Could she measure up to the careers, or would this be the day that Amber and Lustre discovered how useless she truly was?

" Carnation Banyon, eleven. Amber Black, ten."

Amber hugged her before Carnation could even fully process the score. "Congratulations!" She said, "That's amazing."

It was amazing, particularly for an outer district tribute. Many years, no one got a twelve and eleven was the highest score. In fact, a twelve was often a death sentence as everyone saw that sort of talent as a threat. Eleven was impressive, but despite being the highest score so far in a sea of careers she didn't feel particularly targeted.

Mostly she just felt elated.

"My whole life, I just wanted someone to care about me." She said, tearing up slightly at Amber's embrace, "Someone to recognize my talents. Tell me I was special. And now that I'm here, it feels like the whole world is shouting it."

Iona crouched to the side of the two of them, wiping a tear away from Carnation's eye without actually disturbing their hug. "That's it." She said, smiling gently, "That's your angle."

Bixby Case, District Three, Virgo

"Millie Oatbratton, six. Trent Charr, four."

Bixby wasn't paying a lot of attention to the television at the moment. It was on, and like most televisions in Panem there was no way to turn it off manually, so of course he heard snippets of the training score announcements. But it certainly wasn't his focus. He woke up with a song in his head and was attempting to fine tune it on a guitar his team procured for him earlier in the week.

"You really don't want to survive, do you?" Peeta asked. It could have been a scathing response, but Bixby could hear the genuine curiosity in his mentor's voice. He hated to admit it, but his initial anger for Peeta was beginning to fade. The man was annoying, but he was genuine and helpful. He was also so clearly, genuinely sad that Bixby didn't think his anger could ever equal the torture Peeta was heaping upon himself.

"My best friend's uncle won the games about ten years ago." He said in between chords, "He was a nice guy, before. Taught me how to play guitar. Afterwards…well I'm sure you know. I think that's when I realized there are worse things than death. Living is nice, of course. Don't get me wrong. But my options are limited right now."

"Chenille Garcia, four. Consus Anona, seven."

Peeta looked thoughtful, understanding even. If anyone could understand what Bixby meant, it would be him. Was Bixby beginning to like him? That was both unexpected and annoying. He tried to remember that this was the man who murdered Katniss Everdeen, the person who enabled the Games to continue.

"So what's your plan then?" Peeta asked.

"What makes you think I have a plan?"

"Because you always do. Even though it never looks like it."

When did he become transparent?

Bixby let out a long sigh and played a few quick notes before placing his guitar down, "You were right, I guess. I have a way with words. So if I have to die, I want it to mean something. I'm going to do it in a way the Captiol can't censor. I'll make all of Panem hear me."

"Bixby Case, two. Eli Slater, eight."

Despite himself, Bixby looked over to the television when his name was called. He didn't think that he was getting a high score, but he wasn't expecting something that low. Was this punishment for speaking out during his reaping? Or did he merely suck that bad?

"It's a good goal." Peeta said, "Just try not to get yourself killed in the meantime."

Acacia Springhill, District Seven, Scorpio

"Rudy Jackson, six. Hades Yamaguci, eleven."

One good thing about her mentor Serena May was that she didn't talk a lot. Acacia was stationary, but the anticipation was building so strongly within her that she felt like she was on fire. Acacia herself was not great with an axe, often working on tying the bundles of lumber together instead. It meant her combat was low but she was talented at making traps and other projects that required fine motor skills. She hardly expected to do as well as Carnation, the great surprise of the evening. But perhaps her score meant that District Seven wasn't doomed after all.

"Gideon Farlane, five. Acacia Springhill, four."

Clearly she spoke too soon.

"Could be worse." Gideon said.

"Could be better." She answered, "Much better. We're both under the halfway point. Which is worse than it sounds because they very rarely use ones and twelves."

Gideon shrugged it off. Acacia needed to know how he managed to not take her seriously without setting off the anger within her. It felt like almost everything made her angry, nowadays. People disagreeing with her. People agreeing with her. People telling her that everything was going to be ok.

She was in the Hunger Games. Obviously everything wasn't going to be ok.

"The numbers don't actually mean anything, though." Gideon continued, "It's just guesses. Guesses based off what the Capitol thinks is good in a survival situation. Do you think anyone giving out those numbers has gone hungry? That they've ever had to kill something?"

"Are you telling me that you've killed something, Gideon?" She asked in a joking manner, trying not to betray her own fear.

"Have you?" Gideon asked.

Acacia had spent most of her life free of death, one of the few true luxuries of District Seven. They spent their time among the forests, and provided the Capitol was satisfied, there weren't a lot of incidents. Except lately, the Capitol was becoming greedy. Higher quotas for wood, more demanding hours at the factory. She herself collapsed from exhaustion once, and she didn't have a particularly strenuous job by Seven standards. The whole District was feeling like it was going to be worked to death.

Then there were last years games.

She couldn't quite explain what was different about it. Serena May was no mockingjay. She was simple and resourceful and talented at making connections. In summary, she was Seven through and through. And there were the other tributes: strong, stubborn children from across Panem who were willing to say that the districts mattered.

That was what led to the riots, to Acacia accidentally starting a forest fire. Was it accidental? She had wanted something to burn, just not necessarily to the degree that it had. That was the thing about fire. There were ways to guide it, but fire was never under anyone's control.

"Valency Adamant, ten. Nate Fowler, eight."

Acacia stared at the screen to avoid Gideon's gaze. She wasn't sure she could handle the emotions that would well up if she looked at him.

"Not on purpose."

Lustre Audemar-Miuccia, District One, Pisces

Lustre could be patient, when he put his mind to it. Someone whose skill laid in the social sphere had to be. But it was hardly something that came naturally to him. He was a man of action with a temper to match and holding back his impulses was often difficult. It was even harder for him in the Capitol, where everything seemed to be going wrong.

"Why are you so angry?" his sign partner Woodrow asked, "Your ally got an eleven, didn't she?"

He took a breath and held it for several seconds, willing his rage to cool. Woodrow's question was valid, and Lustre knew the other boy was making sense. That made him angrier for some reason, but he bit it back. Words were easy to Lustre, lies fell out of his lips like water and he could make the most mundane story sound like an epic battle with life-altering stakes. Except when he lost his temper, like now. Then people saw through him, knew him to be a liar, and all the pretty words in the world couldn't save him. It was fitting, Lustre decided, that the only thing that could truly ruin him was himself.

"I wanted us to all get nines or tens." He answered, although it was a lie, "There are so many careers this year, I think we're going to all get pretty high scores. But if our scores were about as good as the rest of them, we could win people over with our personalities. Our stories. Now it will just be about that number."

Lustre was very good with people, so he could tell that Woodrow responded well to that. Of course he would, the boy was sentimental to a fault. If he saw Lustre as a hurt boy, struggling to be seen against a cruel system, he'd be more likely to see him as less of a threat.

"Solomon Cavalier, ten. Nixie Slate, six."

More names were called, and Lustre tried to remember that he was being watched. It wouldn't do to preen at Nixie getting such a low score, or to fret about his own. Lustre knew that Solomon and Hades were probably his biggest threats in the competition, but to see them get ten and eleven respectively made him nauseous from anger. The Twos really thought they could outshine the Ones this year, didn't they?

He really shouldn't worry this hard, and he knew it. For all he knew a gleaming Twelve was in his future. But the whole Games had been small blow after small blow. Nothing was going like it was supposed to, like he'd planned it out for an entire year. It was all slipping through his fingers, and the worst part was that the more it happened the more his temper threatened to destroy his already slim chances.

"Joaquin Diaz, three. Bolt Eisen, two."

"You have to be at least a little bit relieved." Lustre said to Woodrow, who had returned his attention to the scores. Which made sense, of course. Their scores were the only two Callia had yet to announce. "Your ally got the other eleven. A bit of a shame with the two sixes, but if that's the worst your alliance has you're in a really good position."

Woodrow seemed taken aback by the positive words, "I thought you hated my alliance." He said.

"I hate Hades." Lustre clarified, "And even then it's more that I don't like how he's playing the game."

"Because he kicked you out of the careers?"

It took a great deal of self control to not hit Woodrow right there. But he somehow managed to find that small shred of patience inside of himself. "Sort of? It's not even that I'm not in it. He just automatically decided to favor District Two, and only District Two. Cut the other districts out entirely."

"Not entirely. Millie and I are with the Twos." Woodrow said.

"Did you hear that?" Lustre asked. "Millie and you are with the Twos. That sounds like two separate alliances working together, not one cohesive unit."

Woodrow frowned and thought about that for a minute, "Perhaps. But that's not necessarily a bad thing."

"Oh I agree. It's a great place to be early game." He replied, "Just promise me you'll get out of there before they start to see you as outsiders. I know this is a weird situation to meet someone, and we may have to kill each other before all of this is over. But you're a good guy. Millie's a child. I want you both to have as good of a chance as possible."

His district partner looked uncertain, and Lustre couldn't blame him. It was a transparent ploy to create tension among the Twos and their outer district allies. But that was part of Lustre's talent. He had a knack for laying out the facts in such a way that they were unignorable. He knew that his words would sink deep into Woodrow, where the truth and the lies would fuse so beautifully that they appeared to be the same thing.

"Lustre Audemar-Miucca, nine. Woodrow Stickman, eight."

Woodrow almost jumped for joy when he heard his score announced, then turned and smiled over at Lustre. He was a little less pleased with his score. A nine was solid for a career, but it wasn't exceptional. It was also the same score as BV. That irked him. Still, he'd formed a crack in the alliance of his greatest competition. A crack that would only widen with time.

Lustre smiled back.

Juarez Nicolby, Capitolite

The television was on, but Juarez wasn't paying much attention to it. This was a skill he'd developed several years ago when he realized there was no way to stop himself from viewing The Hunger Games. Screens were on in public spaces, at his place of work, even one television in his living room had no off switch. He turned it down as low as possible at night, but he could still occasionally hear whispers and see light from the device dancing down the hallway.

Since there was no way to avoid the grisly sights physically, Juarez realized that the block had to be in his mind. He acknowledged the buzz of sound and images that emanated from the TV, but he gave it absolutely no attention. To him, it was the equivalent of an abstract painting. From time to time it may catch his attention, but ultimately it was all meaningless.

To help him maintain this state of ignorance when alone at night, Juarez usually found something else to occupy his attention. Lately it had been his correspondence with the mysterious figure called 'A.S.'.

Dear A.S.,

I am relieved to hear that you also suspect that this year's quell was purposeful, as most people scoff at me if I so much as allude to the possibility. Your information about the new exploratory element that President Thornewood herself is participating in also appears to back your assertion that this is the work of someone within her administration.

It had been only a short amount of time since Juarez first found one of their letters in his office, but since then they had written to each other almost every day. Few people were capable of writing as rapidly as him, which he appreciated, and whoever was on the other end of their discourse was clearly an intelligent empathetic person. Despite having no idea who A.S. even was, talking to them had become a highlight of his life. Particularly during the Hunger Games, when the sins of the Capitol were so clearly laid bare and he realized how daunting the goal of change truly was.

However, I am reluctant to believe that this was purposeful on her part. This is not just because I hold Madame Thornewood in high regard (Although you know I do, as I have told you about her ongoing interest in my younger brother's education). It also simply does not make sense in relation to the quell and what I infer its larger purpose to be.

A nearby avox brought him a cup of coffee, which Juarez sipped idly as he attempted to sort through his thoughts. Exploratory was a strange piece of information that he was glad to know about, although he still didn't understand how his unknown partner learned of it. While the stations themselves were odd, even odder still was the fact that Capitol officials close to the president were the ones to oversee the stations. They were looking for something, a trait that normal training wouldn't show them.

Did they anticipate more than one tribute would survive? It had happened before, although only once officially. Even then, Katniss Everdeen had all but cornered the gamemakers into the choice. Anything other than a single victor was always the work of rebels.

The twist erased any distinction between districts, and I suspect that may have been on purpose. This dissolution of district competition may lead them to think of themselves not as twelve separate entities but as a unified Panem. As the smallest of the territories, this would prove nightmarish to a Capitolite. What would the president gain by creating such a cultural shift?

At the same time, I suppose I cannot discount any possibility. Not without thoroughly examining them, at least. I shall continue to investigate and hope to hear a response from you shortly.

With High Regards,

Juarez Nicolby

AN: Hello everybody! I'm going to be honest, this has taken so long it's hard to know if anyone is still actually reading. But I love this story and am going to write it until it ends, audience or not. So for those sticking with me, thanks for waiting and I hope you liked this chapter. We've only got three more chapters after this until we go until we go into the games, so let's hope they go faster than this last one. Anyway, thank you for reading. Please consider letting me know if you're still around by reviewing or DMing me, and I hope that you enjoy!