Launch


10:30 PM
Less Than 12 Hours until the Hunger Games

Once the District Twelve Male had exited the stage, Jovian dismissed the audience with well-wishes for the evening.

The crowd streamed out, many to parties that would run until late into the night, only concluding so that partygoers would have enough time to catch some sleep before the Games began at ten o'clock in the morning, Capitol time.

One last night, and then the Hunger Games would begin.


10:32 PM
Less Than 12 Hours until the Hunger Games

Adora filed out of the backroom in a group with her allies as they walked to the pick-up point, a back exit reserved for government and tribute use only. Underneath her makeup and camera smile, her face strained with exhaustion. All the lights of the Capitol felt piercing to her eyes; she longed for a quiet corner to catch her breath and recuperate.

Her allies evidently needed no such thing. As they stepped out into the cool evening air, Ilithyia and Nevaeh's chatter rang distant in her ear, even though they were but a few feet away. She smiled like they did, waved to the reporters like they did, posed for the cameras like they did, yet it was as if a dimensional barrier separated her from them.

She caught Adair looking in her direction, so she flashed him a smile. He tipped his hat and chuckled. It had no effect on her. She'd seen too much to fall for such superficial charm. If anything, she wished to pull Ilithyia over and warn her, to tell her not to trust Adair under any circumstance. She doubted that Ilithyia had even given Adair a suspicious thought, given how gung ho the girl was.

She wouldn't reveal her cards so early, of course. Not yet. Making the move this early in the Game was asking for trouble. Ilithyia might overreact, and then Adair would set his sights on her. It might backfire and cause Ilithyia to distrust her. At the very least, she needed her alliance to maintain a farce of unity for the Bloodbath, when their cooperation would be most crucial. After that… who knew how long it would last?

Still, she was content. She'd expected to enter the Games alone, to hide under her alliance but constantly have to worry about being stabbed in the back. To the Adora of just a week ago, the thought of trusting a single person in the Hunger Games was beyond ridiculous. Instead, she had Ven—and maybe even Ilithyia, and she knew they wouldn't turn on her so quickly. It was small, but it was something.

More than she'd ever had before.


10:36 PM
Less Than 12 Hours until the Hunger Games

Ven's face had settled into spaced-out neutrality. He barely blinked when an unexpected photographer blinded him with a sudden camera flash; he grunted when Ilithyia gave him a hearty slap on the back. There were too many people everywhere. His frazzled brain craved peace and quietness. He looked at Adora. She nodded back at him. The two of them couldn't be more different. He felt no need to hide his exhaustion, while she continued her public persona long after her reserves ran low. But both of them were tired.

Ilithyia threw her left arm around his shoulders and her right around Nevaeh's. "Can you believe it? We've made it so far."

It took all his effort just to nod mechanically. He wanted to add that "we" wouldn't be allowed out of the Arena, but he figured it wasn't the wisest thing to say at the moment.

"Oh, come on!" she said. "It's our last night. Let's enjoy it."

"I'm tired, that's all."

He looked back to make sure the others were keeping up, and he found Adair, Eros, and Sos in a heated discussion on whether a taco was a sandwich or not. Though he questioned whether the question was even worth discussing, he figured that things could be far, far worse. For all Liat's worries about Adair and Eros, the two guys in question didn't seem to be messing with the group, at least not at the moment.

He attributed it to Ilithyia, to Nevaeh, to Sos. He was glad the two girls had become fast friends; he hoped their bond would last them until the end, that there'd be enough warmth among all of them to keep their alliance from crashing and burning the way past Star Alliances often did.

He still hoped.


10:38 PM
Less Than 12 Hours until the Hunger Games

Ilithyia waved and blew a kiss as the District Ones wandered off to find their car, Ven in the lead. She sighed, just a little. She'd tried to get him hyped too, but he seemed determined to stay out of it.

Not that she didn't get it, at least a little. She knew she could be a little absentminded sometimes, but she wasn't that clueless. The Games could be stressful; they posed serious risks to one's health and life. But she'd never been one to care about health risks. The closer the call, the greater the adrenaline rush, and the more she felt alive.

She looked beyond the line of cars towards the streets of the Capitol, canyons of light walled by skyscrapers on either side. Their vertical lines drew her gaze up towards the starry sky above, occasionally illuminated for a moment by the explosion of a firework, sprinkling sparkles of orange and yellow and blue in a shower of shooting stars.

She pointed up at the sky, right as another ball of white exploded. "Look! It's so pretty!"

"," Nevaeh murmured. "Qué hermosos."

"What does 'her-mo-sos' mean?"

"Hmm? Oh, it means beautiful."

She frowned, just a little. The Ten girl seemed preoccupied—had she been this whole time? Ilithyia had been too focused on getting Ven to loosen up to notice. She figured that Nevaeh was tired, just as Ven had been.

When she lowered her gaze, she found Liat waiting by the Seven car all alone. The girl's new allies must've already left. Her gut rumbled in discomfort when Liat gave her a little wave. She didn't want to fight the Seven girl—why did the girl have to leave anyway? Now things just felt complicated, and Ilithyia didn't like complicated things.

Still, she waved back and shut up the worried whisper in the back of her head. Ain't no one had time for that!


10:45 PM
Less Than 12 Hours until the Hunger Games

After they'd all said their goodbyes for the night, Eros made his way to the District Two car, Ilithyia in tow. An Avox closed the car doors behind them. The din outside retreated into the distance. Gone were all the other tributes, it was just the two of them now as the car sped into the streets of the Capitol.

Ilithyia pressed her face up against the window, mesmerized by all the lights. "I could stay here forever."

"You think so?"

"For sure. I'd want to spend forever with you and Nevaeh and Adora and Ven and Sos and Adair… it's just so perfect."

He leaned his head back against the headrest. Though it'd been fun, the past few days had been enough for him to know that he would not like to live in the Capitol. Back in Two, the Worshire name was enough to command respect. He'd made his way to the top, always second in the official ratings, first in people's hearts. Here… he always felt like Capitolites were pitying him for being from the districts, and he didn't need pity—though he could work with pity if he had to.

But if he returned as the Victor? That would change everything. Maybe then he wouldn't mind living in the Capitol. Of course, he'd actually have to win first, though that was a job he was already on.

"Too bad the rest of them weren't in a partying mood," he said. "It would've been fun."

"I know, right? But they're tired… It has been a long day."

"Did Nevaeh seem off to you today?" He wondered aloud. Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to be doing this now. It wouldn't be good if the alliance caved too early—the odds of an outer district victor would skyrocket.

The car continued on in the Capitol "darkness," the smooth purr of the engine against a backdrop of firework explosions. A motorcycle sped past them. Music boomed from boutiques and bars, with the crowd's rumble underlying it all.

Ilithyia finally spoke. "I don't know. Was she quiet this morning too?"

"Not exactly." The words were effortless. "They weren't quiet, per se. But Sos is usually up for a good laugh and he just wasn't today."

Her gaze fell from the window. In the neon lights, her eyes darkened with concern. "Do you think… they could be up to something?"

He shrugged. "These are the Hunger Games, you know." He rolled his head over to look at her. "But we got each other, right?"

"Absolutely." She smiled. "We'll be a team till the end."


10:48 PM
About 11 Hours until the Hunger Games

Ada sat in silence as the car took them back to their glorified prison. The reality of the imminent Games pressed against her chest until her breaths came out in labored huffs. The responsibility of the plan weighed on her shoulders; she felt as if she might bend over at any moment. Inside, the boiling pot of emotion threatened to bubble over into a mental breakdown; she could feel it coming on.

She scolded herself. This wasn't the time to sit in her emotions, to cry herself to sleep, to worry about how everyone was feeling. This was the time for logic to dominate, for her to suppress every little twinge until only rational thought and planning remained. Her allies were counting on her. She couldn't afford to let them down tomorrow; she refused to.

She glanced at Ace. He stared forward, his eyes blank yet resolute. She hoped he was holding up well. She wished she could've cared for him more—he'd done more for her than she'd done for him. While she'd spent all her time strategizing and planning, he'd noticed her stress and offered to help. The same went for Electra. The Five girl had squeezed Ada's hand in hers and reassured her that she wasn't alone. She owed the two of them so much.

Now wasn't the time to repay. She'd have time afterward to deal with that messy ball of feelings inside, to check on Ace and Electra and even Scythe if he'd let her, to care for them.

Well, she hoped she'd have time. In this regard, hope was all she had.


Ace 10:51 PM
About 11 Hours until the Hunger Games

Ace stared straight ahead. The lights whizzing by barely registered, completely drowned out by dread. The stress in the air was like amber. It threatened to paralyze him from head to toe in overwhelming fear.

When he'd said goodbye to Electra and Scythe, it'd been hard to speak. At a loss for words, Electra had given him and Ada hugs (Scythe disappeared before she got to him). The three of them had lingered together by the road until they were forced to leave.

Even now, he wanted to talk. He didn't. He couldn't say anything when he had nothing to say, when anything that came to mind felt cheap and fake. "Everything will be fine"—no, things would not be fine and lying to her and himself did neither of them any good!

He reminded himself that it was okay to have nothing to say, and for once, he felt it too. Something had shifted in the air since Electra broke her silence on the last day of training. When she had exposed her genuine anger towards the Capitol, it'd given words to the longing he'd always felt deep in his soul, the unsatisfied rumbling that he'd never comprehended himself.

He'd felt understood. He'd felt alive. He'd felt like he'd belonged.

How ironic, then, that the first time he felt like he really belonged was in the Hunger Games.

This wouldn't last long; he was well aware of that. Within twenty-four hours, all four of them (if he included Scythe) could be killed. Within two to three weeks, three of them would certainly be dead—and more likely four.

Still, he hoped this would last as long as possible.


10:54 PM
About 11 Hours until the Hunger Games

The entire ride home, Azolla could feel Navarro's eyes on her. Not once did he speak. She almost wished he would. Prior to their fallout, she'd always assumed that she'd have someone with her in the Arena. The thought had made her glad; she didn't like being alone. Sure, he was a total mess, but she'd always felt that he'd come around eventually.

Now she wasn't sure, and now she was alone.

The thought left her wishing he would speak again. Things didn't have to be cold, right? She hated the thought of their story ending like this, with an arctic blast between them. She remembered how he'd acted during their train rides, when just a simple considerate act towards him had left him speechless, unable to respond. She remembered how he'd lingered around her in training, even "defending" her when Kiran got a little snarky.

She also remembered how he'd screamed at her.

So she swallowed the lump in her throat and willed herself to move on. She couldn't afford that pain again, not when the Games were so close. Here in the Capitol, she could hide an emotional breakdown away from the cameras, but she wouldn't have any privacy in the Arena.

Perhaps some people were truly hopeless.


11:00 PM
11 Hours until the Hunger Games

As the pair from District Four ascended the Tribute Center, Navarro found himself glancing at Azolla over and over. She huddled in the opposite corner of the elevator, refusing to look back. He wasn't sure why all he could think of was her. He didn't care about her, after all; he'd made it explicitly clear to her that night that she could die and he wouldn't care. She was nothing compared to him, not in her poor background, not in physical strength, not in her Training Score.

She didn't matter to him.

All the same, he felt indistinct words bubbling up in his throat that begged for an escape. He needed to talk to her, to say something that would ease the frozen-over atmosphere, perhaps even restore things to what they were like before.

Without her, everything felt colder. He'd felt the cold back home, and it'd driven him to the oceanside every day after work, where he could soak up the sun and forget about the frigid, empty rooms awaiting him back home, where no one ever really cared about him. But what would he do now? Drown his worries in a hot tub? He hadn't realized how much warmth Azolla brought until it was gone. Her smiles, her closeness, her laughs—now… dare he say he couldn't live without them?

That was a ridiculous thought. Navarro de Leon didn't need anyone. But if he could need a person, it'd be her.

He should talk.

What would he say? He wasn't about to get soppy on her and apologize, for heaven's sake. Navarro de Leon didn't apologize, ever. He took what he needed, and the rest was collateral damage. Apologies were pathetic words uttered by weak-willed people when they could no longer deal with the consequences of their actions—and he could deal with them, no problem. Because he'd yelled at her, he'd now been freed from her persistent questions that wormed their way until his skin and debilitated him. Because he'd pushed her away, he no longer had anyone holding him down.

Because of his outburst, he would now enter the Arena cold and alone. Maybe he was weak. Maybe he couldn't deal with the consequences of his actions. Maybe hanging around her had been… oddly reassuring.

He really should talk.

The doors slid open, and she strode out of the elevator, headed right for the privacy of her room. He found himself babbling before he knew what he was doing.

"Hey!" he said, smiling sheepishly when she turned around and stared. "Um… Sleep well."

"Same to you." Her voice was cold. It was jarring when he'd only ever heard warmth from her.

"Good luck tomorrow."

She narrowed her eyes. "I'm just going to die in the Bloodbath, remember? And you don't care."

He sputtered. "W-We don't know that for sure. Maybe we could… work together if we meet up in the Arena?"

"You don't want me on your side." She cocked her head. Her eyes dared him to disagree. "I'm not helpful. That's what you think, at least."

"Look, Azolla…" The words felt like a knot stuck in his throat; it almost viscerally hurt to force them out. But force them out he would. "I… I messed up."

"Yeah. You did."

"And… I'm sorry."

She raised an eyebrow. "I am too."

It took every ounce of will in him to keep himself from making pleading eyes as they stared at each other. He regretted what he'd done, but he wasn't going to stoop that low. She blinked rapidly, and he felt his heart pounding faster. Maybe… things could be fixed.

She wiped her eyes and looked away. "May the odds be ever in your favor, Navarro."

His heart sank as she disappeared into her room.


11:19 PM
Less Than 11 Hours until the Hunger Games

Though the threat of the Hunger Games loomed over Electra's head, much larger than the power plants around her mother's convenience store ever had, she felt oddly at peace as she waited in bed for sleep to overtake her sleepy eyes.

Her mind swirled with the moments she'd had with Ace and Ada earlier in the night. Though they'd been awkward together when they'd first met in training, something had changed somewhere along the line. They were more than just teammates to her now, other tributes she'd joined for the sake of a game plan. They were her friends. She felt at ease around them.

She smiled. It made no sense, but she allowed it anyway.

Rationally, she knew there was no practical reason for her to be at peace, not when death was the most likely outcome for her over the next few days, not when Ada's plan was fully contingent on the cooperation of the Gamemakers, not when she'd opened up herself to a world of hurt by daring to befriend another tribute.

Everything she'd said on the last day of training was a mistake too. Verbalizing her hatred of the Capitol—and in the middle of training, no less. She might as well have waved a sign saying "Gamemakers, please kill me." She'd held it in for years, hadn't she? Couldn't she have kept her mouth shut a little while longer?

Yet for reasons she could not comprehend, she felt no regret. She couldn't deduce it to be true, but she just felt that moment had been the beginning of the ice breaking, when their haphazardly thrown-together group finally became one.

Perhaps… some vulnerability could be good.


11:34 PM
Less Than 11 Hours until the Hunger Games

Kiran sat at the edge of his bed in his dark room, staring out the windows at the distant mountains, whose silhouettes were black against the starry night sky. He was simply glad to be away from people. People were confusing. They made him feel confused.

Maybe he should've done his interview differently. He'd considered telling Jovian about his stories—it'd been nice chatting with Alva earlier in the day—but he'd felt the audience's eyes on him, poking and probing at him, and he'd seized up. No way was he going to look dumb in front of that many people.

Even so, he couldn't help but wonder if it would've been better for him to just let his little hobby out of the bag. Perhaps he'd be rated higher than he was currently—number twenty-two, right below the little girl from Eleven. He grit his teeth and tightened his fists, but he couldn't convince himself that he was anything but pathetic.

He wished he hadn't been snarky towards Azolla. She'd been the first one to figure him out, but she'd shown genuine interest in his work, even when he vehemently denied its existence.

He wished he hadn't pushed Ellis away.

If he hadn't, maybe he wouldn't be going into the Arena scared and alone, clinging onto the last fragments of his shattered persona for security. Now it was too late to change anything. He squeezed his eyes shut and hoped for the best.


11:49
About 10 Hours until the Hunger Games

Laforza tossed and turned in bed. She was normally a sound sleeper—she'd slept through gunfire and gang violence outside her window back in Six; there was no reason for her to lie awake now. Begrudgingly, she cracked open her eyes and found Capitol light streaming through her window in multicolored patchwork all over her floor. She snarled at it, as if she could somehow scare it off. Just as she expected, nothing happened.

With a groan, she rolled out of bed and closed the curtains, clothing her once again in darkness, just as she deserved. She fell back in bed with thoughts of the Games clouding her mind. She couldn't wait for them to start. All these years, she'd held it in, stuffing down that need to give someone a good beating, whether it was her boss or a Peacekeeper or some worthless druggie in the street.

Virginia probably didn't feel the same way. Laforza didn't know why she kept the girl around. Her ally was weak, even if the girl always tried to put on a brave face. No amount of forced resolve could hide the strain that inevitably appeared whenever the topic of killing came up.

Of course the Eight girl would struggle. She had been spoiled all her life, born into a family where her primary worry was the color palette of her clothes instead of where her next meal would come from. The girl actually had a family. Imagine that—loving parents! Everything about her should've been something that ticked Laforza off, yet her company was nice, somehow.

Perhaps Laforza herself would've ended up like Virginia if the accident never happened years and years ago. She didn't have many memories of life with her parents, nor did she think of them often, but the dusty remnants were happy ones. They were good people, until the cruel world blew them to bits.

As she drifted off to sleep, she wondered if they were watching her from above. She mumbled an apology, just in case they were. They wouldn't like what she was about to do tomorrow.


11:51 PM
About 10 Hours until the Hunger Games

Thomas laid on his side, watching the way the moonlight filtered through the silk curtains. He smiled when a lone cloud temporarily hovered over the moon. It obscured some of the light, but it brought a rippling shadow across the pattern in the process, creating a dappled effect.

Gently, he reached out his hand, as if he could hold the moonlight and let it run through his fingers. He didn't dare move too fast. He knew physics didn't work like that, but it almost felt like everything could disappear in an instant if he disturbed it.

He winced almost instinctively. He almost expected to see Laforza sneer, to hear a harsh word from her about how dumb and worthless he was. That was all she'd said to him for the past few days, at least. She'd found his love of aesthetics ridiculous.

In some way, it was. Aesthetics wouldn't be able to save him from another tribute's blade; they wouldn't help him with survival. But life wasn't all about survival, was it? He refused to believe it was. It was the beauty of the world that made life valuable, the sweetness of loved ones that made life worth living. None of those were particularly helpful in survival, yet they held so much meaning.

It didn't matter if others found his preoccupation with aesthetics stupid. He'd hold on to it, even to the very end.


12:03 AM
Less Than 10 Hours until the Hunger Games

Liat wondered if she'd made a mistake.

She rolled over in bed and stared at the opposite wall. She'd been so confident in herself, in this choice she'd made of her own accord, but after last night… she wasn't sure. She'd tried to congratulate Clarke on her interview when the girl returned, only to receive a glare and a cold shoulder.

Maybe she wasn't ever meant to leave the Star Alliance. Most of them were fantastic people, right? She'd hadn't given herself enough time to acclimate. Why had she spent so much time worrying about not being "one of them" when none of them had ever singled her out as different? She almost wished she hadn't been so stuck in her head, driven by her emotions to an extreme decision that would come back to bite her later.

She thought back to that moment when she'd said goodbye to Ilithyia and Nevaeh. She remembered the feeling of freedom, the relief of a burden rolled off her back. She treasured Clarke's eventual smile of acceptance, however torn it was at the moment.

None of that changed the fact that her decision was likely a bad one, from purely an analytical perspective. She'd done well in math; she understood the way probabilities worked—and her choice had cut her odds of victory in half.

Still, she would regret nothing.


12:23 AM
Less Than 10 Hours until the Hunger Games

Despite the sword hanging above his neck, Adair laid in bed with his head on his arms, a content smile upon his lips. He'd never been more comfortable in all his life. Someone weaker might've found the pressure of the Games paralyzing, but he found the thrill of the competition to be invigorating.

So what if the stakes were high? That only made the game all more interesting. He'd cheated death more than a handful times in the past, and he was confident he could do it again.

The Hunger Games were naught but another chapter in his story. In past pages, he'd fought both outlaws and in-laws, run from lawless men and law enforcement, conned the filthy rich and those covered in filth. He'd built himself up from rags to riches and established himself as king of his own little world, a world he steadily expanded.

Perhaps it was a tad arrogant to consider himself invincible, but he figured it was a title well-deserved. Not once had he met one his equal, one able to best him. Whether by brute force or furtive ploy, he'd always come out on top.

For once, he might have a real challenge. This could even be fun.


1:03 AM
Less Than 9 Hours until the Hunger Games

Virginia sat in the living room, mindlessly stirring her cup of chamomile tea. The television blared some random Capitol show, the first one that'd popped up when she turned the screen on. Her wide, bleary eyes blankly reflected the colorful mess unfolding before her, but not one bit of it reached her mind.

She wasn't ready.

When she'd said goodbye to Laforza after the interviews, the last thing the Six girl said to her was to "watch out—I won't hesitate to stab." It was old news. The two of them had discussed it freely from the day they allied. This was just business, nothing else. The moment their alliance became less profitable, all bets were off, with no guarantees.

Her stomach had flipped. She had ignored it.

This was all for survival, after all. Avoiding death seemed like a perfectly satisfactory motivation, even for the killing of her innocent peers, gathered here from across Panem. Perhaps they weren't innocent—they'd kill her if she didn't kill them first, after all—but was it right to call them guilty when their only crime was something the Capitol had committed? She knew what the answer was. It was clear as day, easier than any chemistry test she'd ever taken. She'd known it this whole time, too, but she'd ignored it every time.

No matter what the Capitol said, murder was still wrong. It was reasonable, maybe even justifiable, but still wrong.

Would she kill tomorrow? Probably. If the past week had taught her anything about herself, it was that her need to survive often overwhelmed the sweet whisper in the back of her head. She'd swing, and she'd fight, and she'd murder, just like the trainer and Laforza had taught her to do. She'd slit throats and stab backs and slice kids open. She didn't want to die. She had to survive, to prove the odds wrong, to prove Jakob wrong, to show everyone that she wasn't a pushover though she'd always done her best to be a good student, a good daughter, a good citizen.

She hated it. She hoped it wouldn't break her.

A gentle voice broke through her thoughts, accompanied by a dry chuckle.

"Didn't I tell you Capitol television wasn't any good?"


1:09 AM
Less Than 9 Hours until the Hunger Games

Ellis glanced at the television. It was Madame Othella again. This show seemed innocent enough compared to the Hunger Games, but it still sucked. Though if the goal was brain-numbing, he could attest to its effectiveness.

"Yeah, it's terrible," Virginia conceded. She sounded distant; her lips barely moved. "What are you doing up? You need rest for tomorrow."

He cracked a weary smile. "Your 'older sister' is showing. I could ask you the same question."

"Couldn't sleep."

"Me neither." He rubbed his tired eyes. He felt as if he might fall asleep any moment, yet the closing of his eyes brought in gruesome images of the Games and he found himself wide awake again. "Mind if I watch with you?"

Up to this point, she'd mostly kept her distance from him, but she nodded this time, scooting over to make room for him on the couch. Neither of them spoke, but they didn't need to. Madame Othella's high-pitched blabbering could fill in the gaps. At least to him, it was nice just to have someone's company, just to not be alone.

Virginia spoke again. "How do you feel about tomorrow?"

"Terrified. What else?"

"For sure."

"I keep thinking that this can't be it, if that makes sense," he said, half to himself, half to no one in particular. "That there's gotta be more than just living and dying."

The corner of her lip curled up. "But isn't that everything?"

"I'm not making any sense."

She sighed. "If I'm going to kill because I want to live and I don't want to die… What else is there?"

"That's what I'm figuring out."

"Maybe you're right." She slumped, just a little bit. "Dying would be terrible… but living doesn't seem worth it either."

He raised an eyebrow. "I thought you wanted to live."

"Yeah, but…" She swallowed and turned to him, sorrow in her eyes. "I don't want to kill, Ellis."

"I don't either."

She fell back against the cushions, defeated. "Great. So we're both going to die."

He wanted to argue with that, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. The odds were just stacked too high against them. It might as well be wishful thinking—though he personally didn't mind a little wishful thinking if it made someone's day a little brighter. So he did the next best thing he knew to do.

"Would you like a hug?" he asked.

She peered at him. A lump went down her throat. When she spoke again, her voice was soft, innocent, the voice of a scared girl far in over her head. "That would be great."

He opened his arms. She shuffled over, and he pulled her in for a hug. At first, her body felt stiff against his, but she gradually relaxed and threw an arm around him too.

Tomorrow, they'd be permanently separated. He'd be alone again in the Arena; she'd be hunting with Laforza. But this was nice. In the moment, the Games seemed so far away, barely relevant to the relief he felt right now.

At least, that was the last thought on his mind before he drifted off to sleep.


1:32 AM
Less Than 9 Hours until the Hunger Games

It'd been hours since the interviews, yet Clarke's heart still felt choked up in her throat as she sat motionless on the couch, clutching a cushion to her chest. The clock read half past one. She should be asleep, but she'd tried and tried and now she'd given up.

Her mind ran and re-ran the moment over and over, the moment when Liat had proclaimed to the whole nation that she had a girlfriend back home, one she desperately loved and would do anything to return to.

Liat had a girlfriend. She was taken.

Somehow, that made Clarke mad. Her hair bristled and her blood boiled, yet the unwelcome physical sensations only spurred her anger. She had no right to be mad! These were the Hunger Games, after all. She hadn't come to find a girlfriend! She had one goal and one goal only—to live, if only so that she could join the ranks of those that had gone before her and continue their fight against the Capitol's tyrannical regime. Nowhere in that goal was there any room for a stupid crush on one of her competitors—and a trained girl from District Seven at that!

She was getting soft.

The signs had been there all along. She'd let herself chat Liat up; she'd allowed her emotions to talk her into a friendship that should never have happened. Now she was soft. Even the obnoxious Six girl had called her out on her weakness during lunch on the second day.

It was time to change that.

In the Arena, she'd have to kill without hesitation, no matter who she ran into, even if it was the little Eleven girl. She had a mission in life, and she wouldn't let her emotions hold her back from it.

As for Liat… she'd run with their alliance for now and figure it out later. She hoped she'd figure it out soon. It would eat her from the inside-out otherwise.


1:39 AM
About 8 Hours until the Hunger Games

Mati woke up hungry.

It was still early, far too early for him to be up. He needed rest—dang it!—but now his inability to eat dinner last night from nervousness was coming back to bite him. Or rather, he needed a bite.

Rubbing his eyes, he wandered down the hall, only to find the lights already on. The dining room was half-illuminated by light spilling from the living room, where Clarke laid curled up on the couch around a fluffy pillow. Her eyes squeezed shut with tear stains all over her wet cheeks.

Though he braced for impact, he couldn't bring himself to ignore her. If he were to die in the morning, he didn't want to do so with any broken bridges. The tornado years ago had snatched away any hope of him fixing relationships with the traumas of his childhood, but he had a chance this time. He wasn't going to waste it.

"Are you… okay?"

Her eyes snapped open. "Obviously."

Considering how their last interaction was a screaming match—it hadn't been much of a match because she'd done all the screaming—this was already infinitely better. Trembling, he took a seat, close enough to chat but also far enough in case he needed to get out quickly.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"You wouldn't understand." She glared at him. "You must be so happy to be here, since you adore the Capitol and all."

He bristled. "I never said—"

"You support the Peacekeepers, don't you? You're just as bad as the whole lot of 'em."

Maybe this whole conversation was a mistake. Hadn't Rusk told him to forget Clarke and move on? He felt a sudden need to run, but he grit his teeth and forced himself to stay put.

She scoffed at his silence. "See? Even you know you're wrong."

It'd been a long time since Mati felt a desire to yell at someone, but it rushed up so quickly inside it caught him by surprise. Blame him for caring! Was the girl trying to push him over the edge?

"Look, Clarke…" He spoke softly; any louder and he'd escalate the mess. "I know I can't change your mind, and you can't change mine—"

"Is that a challenge?"

"…No." He tried his best to smile. "I just hope you're doing okay. I know you've been through a lot and that's why we disagree on a lot… But you've survived this far, so I'm confident you'll keep surviving."

"Of course I will. How am I gonna win if I don't survive?" She smirked, but she looked oddly pleased. At the very least, the sharp edge to her voice had dulled.

The atmosphere settled. He'd said enough; it was time for him to go.

As he started to leave, her voice came after him. "Don't die too fast, will ya?"

He offered her a grin. "I'll do my best."


5:31 AM
Less Than 5 Hours until the Hunger Games

Nevaeh didn't want to get out of bed this morning, though she could hear her escort's voice coming down the hall and see the sky begin to lighten through the window, casting grey light into her pretty pink room. It wasn't like her to be this way. She'd always been more of the type to wake with a start, ready to tackle whatever challenge the day threw at her. But that wasn't her today, and she knew why.

When she'd volunteered for the Games, she'd known what she was getting herself into, agreeing to the terms only for her Papá's sake, but meeting Ilithyia had seemed like the best thing that could've happened to her. She'd embraced the support and offered her own in return, all the while ignoring the fact that in the end, they'd still have to fight each other to the death.

Now the support was gone, and only now did she realize how much she'd come to rely on it.

She propped herself up on her elbow and stretched, trying to force down the worry that bubbled up in her gut. It was her fault for getting so close with the girl. Hadn't she known coming in that the differences were too large? District Two and District Ten—one sent its kids off as a celebration of its blind loyalty; the other protected its young as one large, collective family.

With that in mind, she would continue to hope that Ilithyia meant no harm, that they could be friends, but until she knew for sure, she'd keep an eye out. For her own sake. For Sos' sake. For the sake of District Ten.


5:36 AM
Less Than 5 Hours until the Hunger Games

Sostonio had been up long before daybreak. He watched the sun rise from the balcony, sipping from a mug of coffee mixed with a splash of mint and ginger extract. It wasn't quite the same as Mamá's, but it would have to do for now to calm his upset stomach.

As the morning rays fell on his face, it felt as if he should be out and about the farm, doing the morning chores before heading back in for a hearty home-cooked breakfast, not trying to gather himself before he entered hell on earth.

Maybe he did feel a little anger towards the original designated volunteer for not fulfilling his responsibility, but by no means did Sos regret his decision to volunteer. He wasn't a stranger to picking up the work where others had failed, and he wasn't going to let the Capitol take little Snot away just because someone was too chicken.

Still, he wasn't ready for this.

He hadn't ever thought too much about the Capitol since they barely existed in his corner of District Ten before, but his blood roiled the longer he stayed in this repulsive place. Everything about it was wrong, from its extravagant wastefulness to its egotistical residents to its celebration of ritual murder—and all while they talked about how compassionate they were to sponsor tributes! He found it hard to believe these self-proclaimed "moral" Capitolites had any shred of morality at all.

Would he kill?

He wished he could say that he wouldn't, but he didn't know for sure. He'd try his best to avoid it if possible, though given his alliance… it wasn't likely. Sooner or later, he'd be faced with the choice.

He hoped he would make the right choice.


5:45 AM
About 4 Hours until the Hunger Games

Iggy trembled. She curled up in the corner of a couch in the living room, a beautiful place decorated with vibrant greenery draped from the walls to the ceilings to the cute coffee table, but she couldn't stop shaking. She couldn't eat, though she'd tried to stomach some pancakes earlier. Miss Tati would be calling for them to leave any moment now.

"Remember," their mentor Ramb said. He was an elderly man, having won decades ago, but the genuine heart burning from his eyes never dimmed. "Don't go in, no matter what they tempt you with. Especially you, Iggy."

She nodded. "I won't go in."

Scythe, across from her, didn't respond. He met eyes with Ramb.

The mentor sighed. "I know you have your plan with the Threes, but… be careful, Scythe."

"I will."

She hoped Mati and Thomas were doing well. She wanted to find them and give them hugs; it'd help them feel better, but it'd also help her feel better. Maybe even Ellis, too. She hadn't talked with him much after the first day, since he'd gone to chat with the Five boy and she'd found Mati. She hadn't seen Ellis and Five boy together much, though, so it must not have worked out. Poor Ellis. The Five boy wasn't very nice anyway.

She immediately felt bad for thinking that, but she wasn't quite sure what to think anymore. So she pulled her legs in further and hoped Nature would give her peace.


5:52 AM
About 4 Hours until the Hunger Games

As Scythe leaned back on the sofa, he figured that things could be worse than they were.

Not that things weren't terrible. As if it hadn't been enough to be pulled here for a deathmatch, the bastard District Four guy had attacked him in training—and oh, how he wanted that boy gone.

Still, things could've been worse. At the very least, he had a team with a plan, and as stupid as it was, he almost trusted them. Almost. They were decent people.

Ramb offered Iggy hot chocolate, and she slowly emerged from her cocoon, cradling the mug in her unsteady hands. After a few sips, she shakily picked a cookie off the table. It appeared that the pull of food was still too much for her to resist, even on the morning of the Hunger Games. She was just so innocent.

No, Scythe was not attached. He didn't care about her. She was just another tribute to him, someone that had to die in order for him to like. Her age didn't change a thing.

Yet when she asked for another cookie, he brought one over on instinct. He smiled as she relished in the comfort of hot chocolate, even if it still disgusted him that the Capitol would mock them with a lavish life that was so close yet so far. He wished so hard that she'd escape the bloodbath tomorrow alive—not just that, he hoped she'd make it out without seeing any of the carnage, which would undoubtedly traumatize her. Their mentor Ramb had advised her to avoid the Cornucopia. Scythe hoped she'd listen; he needed her to just listen and stay out of trouble because she was far too precious for this world.

That's when it struck him. The worst thing had happened. Scythe was attached. He'd been an idiot and gotten himself attached.

And the Games were just about to start.


6:58 AM
About 3 Hours until the Hunger Games

Zirconia ambled around the edge of the hexagonal room in the hovercraft. Everything was some shade of silver, from the floor to the walls to the ceiling—all drab silver! For a while, the windows had provided her some relief with its view of first the Capitol from overhead and then the open sky, but the windows had turned opaque about half an hour ago and now they were also stupid silvery grey.

It felt like a cage.

She tried one of the doors again for the millionth time. Nope, it was still locked, and her stylist still glanced at her unamused. If only Zeph were here! For the past few years, she'd spent nearly every waking moment either at home or with him, and now she was neither of those. She might not ever be home again, and she'd have to fight through the Cornucopia to get to Zeph.

The thought left her restless. She kicked at a door, earning a look of disapproval from her stylist. She didn't care. She never needed his approval in the first place.

The stylist stood up abruptly. "C'mon."

His voice was tightly controlled—he was probably sick of her. She'd made sure of that. She crossed her arms. "What?"

"We're here."


9:24 AM
About 30 Minutes until the Hunger Games

Zeph paced along a wall of his room in the Stockyard, already dressed and ready. The sturdy hiking boots on his feet clop, clop, clopped on the tile floor; a loose zipper on the side of his cargo pants clacked against the wall. He crossed his arms, clad in a light-tan long sleeve that drooped loosely on his skin, but they sat uncomfortably against the hiking vest over his chest, with its zippers and pockets. He tugged at the bandana around his neck.

His stylist had told him to brace for hot, dry weather, but that was it. He'd refused her when she offered food. He needed to be moving, to be doing, to be making preparations to improve his and Zirconia's situation. He hated how all he could do was pace, waiting for doom to come to him.

The Capitol afforded him no other options.

He wondered if Zirconia was on the other side of that wall; he hoped she wasn't getting herself into trouble. She'd have to keep herself controlled until they reunited at the Cornucopia, hopefully both alive.

He worried for Clarke and Liat. The two had sat in uncomfortable silence after their interviews. Hopefully, they'd stick to their plan at the Cornucopia and stave off major issues until further down the road, but if things ever fell apart, he'd grab Zirconia and go, no matter how much she protested.

That would come whenever it came. For now, all he could do was wait.


9:50 AM
10 Minutes until the Hunger Games

Though Rusk had been to the Mentor Center every time he was in the Capitol, it never got any easier for him. To start, reporters flooded the lobby, snapping pictures of victors and sponsors and anyone important in hopes of digging up details on the mentors' plans. He pushed his way though. His eyes never once left the mahogany double doors for fear he might make eye contact, which apparently was consent to be interviewed here in the Capitol.

Once inside, cool wind spilling from vents sent a chill down his spine. The Mentor Center was like a circular atrium, almost a crater, of sorts, with a railed balcony ringing its upper circumference. Doors along the balcony offered quiet rooms for tired mentors to rest. At four equidistant points around the circular balcony, the handrails gave way to sleek stairs down to the pit of the crater.

At the center of the lower level, a ring of twelve desks circled a holographic representation of the Arena, above which hanging screens showed the official games footage currently blasting for every home across Panem. The Arena model was currently blank, as Launch hadn't initiated yet, but in just a few minutes, it'd appear in all its technological glory, displaying every tribute's location and status, just like the one Gamemakers had.

One major difference. Gamemakers had control over what happened there. Mentors could only watch helplessly.

Rusk settled in his seat next to Matza, who gave him a supportive pat on the back.

"It doesn't matter what the kids say," she whispered. "We're in this together. District Nine always has to be."

He nodded gratefully.

Almost on the opposite side of the ring, Avisa caught his eye, Myrddin at her side. Rusk smiled. She gave him a shaky thumbs up. What a relief to have sorted things out with her!

Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for the pair from Ten, whose table sat to the left of the Nines. He made the mistake of glancing over and met eyes with Darah, who stared back momentarily before hurriedly looking away. He wished he'd taken his chances to talk with her. Maybe he wouldn't be sitting awkwardly six feet away from her now.

He'd figure it out later; right now, his primary responsibility was to Mati, as long as the boy could make it out of the Bloodbath alive. Rusk worried for the kid. Mati had a tendency to let other people's business weigh him down, not unlike Rusk itself.

The holographic timer began its three-minute countdown to launch. He sucked in a deep breath, folded his hands, and braced himself for the violence about to unfold, although watching it never got any easier for him.

Let the 240th Hunger Games begin.


A/N Here we are! Launch! It's been such a wild journey, but we're here and the Games are starting and I'm so stinkin' excited (and in pain, but we don't talk about that). As of now, the Meme Competition is officially closed! All the memes are up on the blog, along with the winners, who each get a sponsor gift! Congratulations! All the rest of y'all get spoilers too, so DM me about those.

Oh, didn't I mention there was an announcement that was coming out with this chapter? Well, I apologize, for it was a little misdirection. The announcement is…

The Bloodbath is here. The chapter is dropping about half an hour after this one.

(Yes, I'd still love to know y'all's thoughts)