Rudy Jackson, District Ten, Libra

The night before he went into the Hunger Games, Rudy had a nightmare.

It was the type of dream where real memory blended with nonsense, familiar places bleeding into one another. People he knew well, saying things that would never leave their lips in the waking world. He saw the basement again, rended in terrible detail even as the world around it shifted and blurred. Hades was there, standing next to his father.

"Demons aren't real." Hades said.

"Of course they are." His father replied, "You just need to know how to look."

His father grabbed the handle of the basement door, intricately rendered from his memory. Rudy could see the rust accumulating on the handle, and the large black letter 'D' emblazoned on the surface. He swung the door open, and the demon inside pounced. Rudy saw a glimpse of leathery wings before he was thrown to the ground.

When he woke up, he realized that at some point he'd actually rolled off of his bed entirely. A burning pain in his elbow convinced him it hadn't been a particularly gentle experience, either. Yet he didn't mind too much. Pain was fleeting and it was morning in the Capitol.

Rudy always enjoyed this hour or so of time, even when bruised and attempting to chase away the memories of his nightmare. It was quiet, and one of the few times he could be alone. Rudy was used to being alone. There were few children his age and even then his status as a seer often kept them apart. He lived most of his life in isolation, save for his parents. He enjoyed meeting new people, but the throng of people in the Capitol was incredibly overwhelming. It made the precious few hours when no one else was around him feel like home. An anchor in uncertain times.

The faint sound of someone talking on the television drifted in through the living room, barely audible but louder than the default setting at this hour. Someone must have actively turned it up loud enough to watch, which meant that he wasn't the only person awake. Curious, Rudy pulled himself off the ground and walked out into the living room.

Hades sat there on the massive couch, looking intently at the television as a brightly dressed man said something Rudy still couldn't quite hear.

While he was quite used to being alone, there was a part of him that longed for company. He saw how the other tributes seemed to form connections so easily and wished that he could do the same. But even despite finding himself in an alliance, he wasn't entirely sure any of them actually considered him a friend. A battle to the death was not a great place to learn how to socialiaze, and Rudy found himself falling behind. The closest thing he had to any type of relationship was with his sign partner Hades.

Technically, Hades had never done anything wrong to Rudy. In fact, after the incident at the parade, the career was quite kind to him. But Rudy was a stubborn sort and refused to change his initial opinion of the boy. There was something in his gut that couldn't manage to trust him, that believed there was some hidden danger. Rudy was rarely wrong about such things and learned a long time ago to trust his instincts.

Still, there was no reason not to talk to him. He didn't want to be rude. "What are you watching?" He asked.

"The news. Six people from the Harrington family have just been arrested."

"What for?"

"Blackmail, corruption, extortion, and at least one count of murder."

At some point Rudy must have walked forward because he was right by the couch now. He sat down next to Hades and looked over at the news program. "Aren't they really really rich and powerful?"

"Incredibly."

"That's rare then. Thank the lord that justice was done."

Hades looked at him quizzically, and Rudy wondered what about his response was so surprising. But the Career didn't elaborate. Instead he just nodded and focused his eyes back on the television screen. "I hope I didn't wake you up."

Rudy shook his head. "I had a nightmare."

"I suppose that's pretty typical. Given what we're about to do."

He wasn't sure why, but Rudy felt the need to tell him more. "You were in it."

That caused Hades to break his eyes from the screen and actually look at Rudy. "I was?"

He nodded.

Hades looked thoughtful, "You really believe you saw something about me at the parade, don't you?" He asked, "Something about death."

"I do."

"I wish I could reassure you. But I've started to wonder lately if the death of a few people is worth it to make the world a better place."

It was a difficult question. One that was full of sticky ethical questions Rudy wasn't sure he was really qualified to answer. "I'm not sure I should be the judge of that." He said, "And I'd be concerned about anyone willing to take on that burden."

Hades fell quiet again and the two of them watched the television until their mentors came to get them for breakfast.

Trent Charr, District Twelve, Cancer

"What are you doing?' Trent's sign partner, Millie, asked.

He didn't initially understand the question. "Eating."

"You can eat through your pockets?"

If anyone else had asked that, he would have thought they were being sarcastic. But the thing about Millie was that she was always completely genuine. It had bothered him at first, since he thought that it was childish. The two of them were some of the youngest tributes in the competition and it made Trent eternally self-conscious about his own maturity. He wanted people to take him seriously, not look at him and automatically assume that he wouldn't survive.

But none of that was Millie's fault. During their time together, he began to like and respect his fellow Twelve. She was often literal, knew almost nothing of the world, and didn't understand that she shouldn't speak every thought she had in her head. But Millie was more observant than anyone he'd ever met, and beyond everything she was truly, unmistakably good. The world would be a better place, he decided, if there were more people like Millie.

Trent looked down at the pocket in the front of his shirt, which he had in fact been filling with toast and butter packets. "Well, not exactly." He admitted, "But I thought I would save them for later."

"Do you think they will let you take it?"

"Probably not. But it's worth trying. And I think I can convince them to let me take it onto the helicopter, at least."

Millie looked at him pensively for a moment. It was always unnerving having her stare at him, as her eyes never seemed to focus quite right. As suddenly as she'd started, she shifted her gaze and started to sccoop up some hash browns into a napkin.

"Do you know where our mentors went?" Trent asked casually as they both attempted to store food they might never have the chance to eat.

"Una is still here, in her bedroom."

"Does she plan on just… staying in there?"

"I think so." Millie stopped to tie her napkin then elaborated, "I don't think she's very good at goodbyes."

Trent wasn't particularly great at saying goodbye either. When the ladies came to the Capitol building to see him off he'd been even meaner than usual. Everything just felt overwhelming and unfair to him, and he took it out on the three people who were closest to him. It wasn't their fault that they survived past his parents, or that they would probably survive him. Yet he treated them as if it was. He'd been treating them like that for some time, he realized. And now it was too late.

Perhaps it was for the best that his mentor didn't want to talk to him. It would give him fewer chances to hurt her.

"What about yours?" Trent asked, eager to shift the focus of the conversation.

"David and I said goodbye, earlier." She answered, "He told me he had to talk to one of the stylists before they went to the arena. I suspect it had something to do with his secret boyfriend."

"Again?"

Technically, neither of them knew if David was actually dating the man he kept slipping away to talk to. They only ever saw him in passing, and they always talked to each other in hushed whispers. But it was the story both of them preferred. Trent wouldn't ever admit it, but he was a bit of a romantic.

"Yeah, again." Millie said, "It must be difficult, only seeing him during the Games. Do you think you could date someone in a different district?"

"Could you?" He asked to deflect from the fact that he had no romantic experience and couldn't even imagine how distance would affect things.

Millie looked at him thoughtfully again, her not-quite-right eyes focusing and unfocusing. Eventually, she spoke, "I think so. All of this is just stories to me. Love, The Districts, the moon. Everything outside my basement feels strange. I don't think I would know the difference."

"I'm not sure love is worth it." Trent admitted, "You always lose it eventually. And it hurts."

Trent didn't live in a basement, but his life was still quite small. He heard stories from the pub's patrons, but all the locations he heard about seemed like fantasy. The bar was the only place he truly needed and his parents were his world. Except then they died, and even the only place he truly loved became a barren wasteland. He'd lost everything that day, and he didn't ever want to be put in that position again.

"The light hurts me." Millie said, "Both my skin and my eyes. But I'm still glad the sun rises."

"You don't know anything, Millie." he said and stuffed another piece of toast in his pocket.

Amber Black, District One, Gemini

Amber had spent some time building up her pain tolerance at the academy, but she never quite got the hang of needles. Every year during the reaping, at least one person laughed at her while she whimpered during the blood draw. This year, it was Lustre. He decided to repeat his performance on the helicopter when an attendant inserted a tracker into her arm.

"It's not funny." She said, though she was surprised that she could form words at all. The procedure was finished, but she was still shaking. Her eyes were still wet with tears.

"Except it is," Lustre insisted. "It's hilarious. The Knife Princess herself, one of the most feared and deadly people in our entire district, reduced to a quivering mess by a standard procedure. Look at the technician, she didn't even blink."

That was true, although judging by the woman's face Amber suspected that she might not blink if a bear charged towards her. "It's not something I can control."

If anything, Amber's reaction was better now. Her parents still told stories about what she was like as an infant during immunizations. Apparently she actually bit a doctor. Several if her father was telling the story. And during her first Reaping, she ran when she discovered they needed to take her blood. Some peacekeepers thought that she was running from the Reaping itself and spent the entire ceremony stuck in City Hall with an armed guard. Career training gave her the mental fortitude to control herself, most of the time. Yet nothing in the world could erase that cold clawing fear she felt every time she saw a needle.

"Lay off her." Carnation snapped.

"Of course you'd make a fuss. Do you have some strange quirk in your anatomy where if you don't defend Amber, you explode?"

And now her allies were fighting. Amber could set her watch by it.

"I just don't see the point of antagonizing her." Carnation said.

"Relax, she can handle it."

"You're not the one who gets to determine that."

"What a coincidence, neither are you."

"Well she's not exactly in a state to defend herself, is she?"

"Carnation Banyon, a true paragon of nobility. Remind me how you got here again?"

Enough time had passed that Amber was feeling a bit more like herself. Which was good, because if Carnation and Lustre were left by themselves much longer they might bust a hole in the helicopter.

"Lustre." She said, hating how weak her voice sounded, "How many people are in the helicopter right now?"

He looked at her quizically, then began to quickly count everyone with his eyes. This was the Lustre that qualified for One's chosen tribute. Observant, serious and deadly. She just had to remind him sometimes.

"I'd say about half the tributes, plus staff." He said, "Fifteen, sixteen."

"Half the tributes." She let the sentence hang for a minute, "So how many of them do you think are overjoyed about how transparent you've been with our weak points?"

Lustre pursed his lips but fell silent.

It was quite exhausting, making sure that Lustre stayed focused. Sometimes it felt like he was a toddler and not a boy the same age as herself. It got worse around Carnation. They all worked quite well together, and Amber knew her partner well enough to know that he secretly respected the girl. But their personalities frequently clashed, requiring Amber to mediate.

Yet this had been her life for over a year now. District One had one of the best overall survival rates in all of the Hunger Games, and it was likely because they chose their designated tributes a year in advance. Once chosen, the two tributes trained together, learning how to work together and compliment the other's skills.

Her ability to work with Lustre was one of the reasons she was chosen at all. This was something she was told by multiple trainers, so much so that she could still hear their voices. Lustre was talented, and with a proper partner beside him he could go quite far. But he also had a temper and needed to be managed. That was her role in their team, handling Lustre into becoming his best self.

Yet an innocuous comment from Lustre himself crawled into her thoughts and wouldn't let her go. The Knife Princess, he had called her. One of the deadliest people in their District. She hadn't gotten a scholarship for being able to handle people but her talent with a blade. Something she still excelled in, beating Lustre in most of their close quarters spars. Lustre could go far, it was true. But so could she. What was Lustre doing to support her?

It was a bit late for such an epiphany, she realized. Her devotion to Lustre alienated her to most other tributes. Carnation was a very strong ally, but a two person alliance could easily be overwhelmed by the larger groups. She was stuck with Lustre, and all this time she'd spent plotting someone else's victory would cost her.

But she wasn't completely resigned to sinking down with the anchor she'd attached herself to just yet. She was skilled in her own right, and she had to remember that. If she was still breathing, there was a chance. And, last she checked, she was still breathing.

For now.

BV Margenium, District One, Taurus

The entrance to the arena was a sharp contrast to the rest of the pre-games areas. Where the tribute rooms and training center were full of lavish details and cutting edge technology, the series of underground tunnels BV found himself in were strictly utilitarian, with concrete structures and brick fluorescent lighting. BV couldn't help but find it amusing, how different the Capitol was when no one was looking.

No, it was deeper than that. After all, almost no one saw the training center either. Just the tributes, Games staff and a few high ranking Capitolites. BV always knew that there was artifice to the Capitol, but he always assumed that it was a show of strength for the districts. Walking down the cold clean corridors, he realized that the Capitol was also lying to itself.

BV knew the feeling. Traveling on his own had given him some distance from his district and the expectations of his father. Away from the noise, whe was beginning to realize just how much of himself he hid away in order to maintain his image. Beneath the jokes, beneath his facade of a perfect Margenium, there was something not quite right. It was buried so deep that he didn't even know what it was. But he could feel the wrongness, like a pebble stuck in his shoe during combat. Who would notice such a thing among actual battle wounds?

Not that he would ever compare his home and his family to wounds. Of course not.

Maybe.

"There you are, Bee!" His stylist Ronan called out, saving him from his own thoughts. BV smiled despite himself. Ronan was the only one who called him Bee, and he still wasn't sure how he felt about the nickname. On one hand, it felt refreshing for someone to shave off the daunting 'fifth' in his name, neglecting the legacy he so ardently defended. But that was what made it feel so wrong, practically forbidden. Who was he if not the fifth in a long line of warriors?

"Hello, Ronan." He said, "Are the outfits ugly?"

He meant for that to come out as a joke, but the tone flattened in his mouth until it merely sounded genuine. It was difficult to act like he usually did around his stylist, who smiled at him as if he knew his secret. BV wished that the man would just tell him, if he truly did know. Instead the Capitolite just hinted and spoke in riddles, gently tapping at the subject matter and forming cracks in BV's perceptions of reality.

BV wondered what would happen when the dam broke. Would it be better than his current state, or worse?

"Not ugly at all." Ronan said, pulling out what seemed like far too many clothes for one person, "In fact there was a little kerfuffle because of their not ugliness. Apparently one color was for girls and the other for boys. But us stylists agree that they look really good mixed and matched so now it's a free for all. I thought you might want to choose. Same color, different colors. Up to you."

So that's why there were so many clothes. BV stepped over to look at the selection. The outfit comprised of black pants, a red sash, a striped shirt and a wide brimmed straw hat. While there seemed only one option for the pants and sash, the shirt came in a red or black variation and there were two hats, one with a black ribbon and one with red.

"Is this a reference to something?" BV asked, unable to determine anything about the arena from the outfit.

"I believe so. But they don't always tell us stylists everything. Sometimes they just give us the design. Do you not like it?"

"No, I think it's fine." He said. At least, he was pretty sure he was fine. It wasn't the outfits, exactly, at least he didn't think it was. Maybe something Ronan said. Another tap at the glass, daring the truth to finally break through.

"You look like you have a question for me." Ronan said, wearing that wonderful infuriating smile, "All you have to do is ask."

A lump formed in BV's throat. But then he swallowed it and asked his question.

Serena May Lenovius, District Seven

"I heard that I might find you here." A voice said behind Serena May, one that she'd heard over television sets for years but only a few times in person. She was in a break room normally set aside for Avoxes, towards the back of the third floor of the tribute center. It was one of her favorite places to be, partially because the Avoxes were good company and partially because of the view out the window. It wasn't the normal view of the skyline, but a lower perspective that showcased the iron structures that held up some of the gravity defying buildings. As a lover of architecture, she couldn't help but appreciate functional parts of a building that helped support the form.

Unable to find her translator, Serena May quickly reached over to grab a translator pad and typed in a greeting. "I'm sorry, Madame President. I didn't know you were here."

Minerva Thornewood waved her hand, casually dismissing the apology, "It's quite all right. I know I'm the one interrupting. But I've been wanting to talk to you for some time. It's quite a view, isn't it?"

The President of Panem stepped over to the window, allowing Serena May to covertly slip a playing card with an address on it under a teacup without her noticing. An Avox came and took it away.

"You like architecture?" Serena May asked. It seemed like a natural topic, neutral even, one she mostly asked about because she was looking for something to say. But she also wanted to know the answer. President Thornewood was a renowned figure across all of Panem, perhaps more than anyone else. Her image was emblazoned on fliers and coins and novelty calendars. Her speeches were often mandatory to watch, and she made a very public appearance every Hunger Games. Minerva Thornewood was an oversized presence, a large looming figure over the entire country. Serena May couldn't imagine having anything in common with her. She was just a girl from Seven, nothing special about her.

Although she supposed that was no longer true. Now she was a Victor. To most of Panem, Serena May was incredibly like the President. She shuddered at the thought.

"I do." Minerva said, "I actually considered becoming an architect when I was younger. I love the way things come together, you see. How you take small little building materials and in the right order create something amazing."

"Most people don't appreciate it like I do," Serena May said.

"It's because you have a gift. Most people focus on what's in front of them. But you always manage to see through to the truth of things. How they work, what supports are there. The difficult, dirty, important work."

"You flatter me, Madame President."

"Perhaps I do." Minerva turned around and smiled at her slightly, "I am prone to such things. When I see people who might understand."

"Understand what?"

"That the supports that exist under our country are rotten. The Capitol and the twelve districts. If we keep on like this, it will prove to be all of our undoing. Panem needs to be united. And soon."

Serena May hadn't expected to run into the President today, and certainly hadn't expected to stumble onto such an important topic. Thornewood was trying to invite her into something, something big and secret and dangerous. Her inherent curiosity wanted to hear more, wanted to listen to the woman's plans and learn more about just what was going on in her head.

But it was too easy. It felt like a trap, something Serena May had far too much experience with. In some ways, she missed being in the Games. At least there she knew who was trying to kill her and why. In the Capitol, an extended hand might very well be hiding a dagger.

"There are ears everywhere," Serena May typed, only wincing slightly at the robotic voice parroting her, "It is not safe to talk of such things. Even here."

President Thornewood smiled, and Serena May sensed that- at least for now- she was safe. "Insightful as always. If you wouldn't mind, I may call on you some time during the Games. Somewhere more private."

More private was more dangerous, but the curiosity bubbled inside of her again. "I would like that, I think."

"I'm glad. It was wonderful to talk to you, Miss Lenovius." The President said, and before Serena May could even think of how to respond, she was gone. As quickly as she'd appeared.

AN: Fair warning, this is going to be a bit of a long author's note. Partially because this is the last chapter before the bloodbath! I am really excited to be going into the Games and want to thank everybody here still reading. This story is really precious to me and I am happy to share it with all of you. So, we're going into the game soon and I thought it might be fun to ask a couple questions about your opinions and predictions. So going into the bloodbath:

Who's your favorite character? (If you can't choose you can say three to five)

Who do you think is going to win? (Not always the same)

Who will get the most kills?

What do you think the arena is?

Which two characters have your favorite interactions?

Who is your favorite Capitol plot character?

What are you looking forward to the most?

Thank you everyone for reading and I hope you enjoy!

Additional AN: So a bit back I mentioned Lucy Gray Baird, and someone in the comments wondered how people knew about her, since the records were wiped. I have an elaborate answer for that, so I thought I would mention it here. This is not required reading, just random musings and lore. So, the events of Ballad did happen, they did erase all records of the 10th Games. Except, fun fact about data is that while it's easy to lose it's also really difficult to completely eradicate. Backup logs, home recordings, B roll, some guy who didn't do his job right. These are all ways that footage can slip through the cracks, and I imagine some combination of this is why people re-discovered some reels of Lucy years down the line. In my verse, President Snow died almost directly after squashing the second rebellion. So by the 80th Games or so, there wasn't a lot of people alive who even remembered why those Games were erased in the first place. So, in this climate there's been a bit of a Lucy Gray Baird resurgence. They remember the greatest hits, such as the singing and the snakes, and consider her an important part of the evolution of Victors. The Capitol has been able to defang her games a little, making it about 'ooh the cool victor' as opposed to the greater context. And as such, people who are Really Into the Games talk about her a lot.

Whoo, wall of text no one asked for. But thanks for letting me ramble.