Festus anxiously stares at the numerous gigantic flat-screen television sets in front of him. Around him, machines beep and whir as an overhead projector clicks and spins to life. Following the lead of dozen or so other interns, he puts on his Gamemaker headset and plugs himself into the mainframe. In an instant, a flash of information downloads itself onto his screen. He sees the vitals of his assigned District tributes in the corner of his visor. They're from 4, just like the ones he'd mentored last year that got him this position in the first place. To his right, Coryo gives him a thumbs up. It's time.

The countdown timer says two minutes till start time and Festus can't help but feel his stomach churn with nervousness. He's been preparing for this moment for several months now, meticulously pouring over blueprints and clinical data to help design the Games's first actual arena. Out went the dingy old colosseum and in came their shiny new creation. Then slowly but surely, the timer hits zero and the cameras come to life, illuminating the soft and golden meadow that circles the Cornucopia under warm and beautiful rays of sunlight. Around the meadow grows a young and burgeoning forest, just thick enough to provide shade and camouflage but not enough to obscure the cameras. It's everything he's imagined and more.

Twenty-four holes in the ground start shaking as the tributes are raised up out of the ground on their pedestals. Festus can't help but break into a small grin. That part was his idea. He focuses in on his tributes, the dark-haired young boy unfortunately named Flounder and the defiant little red-headed thing named Mags. He's kept along with the parade and the interviews, and they were really something. Their stylist had gone extravagant for the first official tribute parade, putting them in beautiful mermaid costumes showing off their smooth skin and toned bodies. The girl had spit in that moron Lucretius's face during the interviews as well, earning her a laugh from the crowd. They were certainly a pair to watch.

The clock starts ticking down from 60.

—

Betsy almost trips on her way up to the pedestal. She's never been the most physically coordinated person, but she doesn't need to be in the power factory she works in back home. Back there it's just pushing one button, then another. Here though, an entirely different set of code is required. She recalls being studded with an unflattering set of wires and pieces of circuit boards, only accentuating her less-than-desirable features. She's never felt bad about them until now. Her parents have always told her that brains are more important than brawn, and while she'd normally agree with them, right now she can only think about the extremely brawny tributes from 1, 2, and 4 and how they'd promised to snap her neck with only their arms. She started crying before they'd even finished the sentence. Heavens, she's crying right now even as the pedestal raises her into the glaring sun. When she comes out of the ground, she's put off by the sight of the meadow and vast forest around her. She's so stunned that when the giant clock in the sky above them comes to life and the blaring horn announces the start of the Games, she stumbles one more time and falls off her pedestal.

The hidden landmines rush up to catch her, and then there is no more Betsy.

—

Tigris is chewing through her fingernails furiously. It's a bad habit, she knows, but she can't help it. Normally the Games are rough enough, but this year it's even worse. Coryo got her a job on the prep team for 5, and while she appreciated the pay increase greatly, she could definitely do without the violence. Even now, watching at home as poor Flux and Julia stood shivering from fear, waiting for the clock to tick down and signal the beginning of the end. She could barely stand to watch.

They'd been such quiet but polite kids, listening to her every word and answering her with pleases and thank yous. She'd helped dress them up as the sun and the moon; Flux wore a dazzling pale yellow with a shimmering collar and cuffed sleeves while Julia stunned the audience in her beautiful lunar fringes. The crowd had oohed and aahed as they'd rode down in their grand chariot, looking like mythical Gods. They've become the first tributes from 5 to gain any traction before the Games began, and Tigris couldn't be more proud. She's looked over them better than their escort ever could have, tucking them to sleep at night and drying their tears. She knows their chances are slim, but she has faith that they'll make it through. They're fighters, and that's the most important trait to have.

As the sirens sound and the Games start, she stares intently at her tributes. She's out of fingernails and starts gnawing on a cuticle, silently willing for her kids to pull through.

Flux sprints straight to the Cornucopia and gets impaled by the male tribute from 2. A few seconds later, Julia runs in the opposite direction and takes an arrow in her back, courtesy of the girl from 1. Two cannons go off. In total, they last three minutes and twenty seconds. Tigris throws the remote at the television, then storms off to her room so her Grandma won't notice the tears streaming down her face. Those poor kids never stood a chance. She locks herself in her study for the next three days, furiously weaving and sewing until she can make herself think about anything other than her tributes' faces in the sky.

—

Skylar shimmies up a tree and crouches low, hoping the rest of the tributes won't hear her. She's very familiar with climbing; her whole job back in 11 is to pluck apples, pears, and whatever else she can from the groves and orchards in the controlled environment zone. The forest is just tightly packed enough for her to skirt along the branches, hopping from tree to tree and never touching the ground. She's noticed the alliance that's formed between 1, 2, and 4, and she's hoping to avoid running into them.

The Cornucopia is fool's gold, that much is obvious. It was one of the first pieces of advice that Willow gave her — when the killing starts, run. She's not much for fighting, anyways. It makes much more sense for her to follow in the footsteps of her mentor and bide her time to strike. She's lived past the bloodbath and into the first night. Now she just needs to keep moving.

The leaves rustle behind her. She turns her head sharply to see who's following her. If it's someone she can take, she'll lunge straight at them. If it's someone she can't, she'll scramble for her life. Thankfully, it's neither. The sound must have come from a squirrel, or perhaps the wind. It's dark out, but not dark enough to where Skylar can't see how empty the space is in front of her. She turns back around and keeps moving. For her plan to work, she needs to find food and water.

A few minutes later, she hears more commotion. There's something following her. She turns back around, eyes scanning and prepared to flee, and finds herself staring directly into the eyes of an ugly, wrinkled, ape-like creature. She freezes, holding her breath, not daring to move even an inch. The creature sniffs her up and down with its bright red nose, bobbing its hairy head up and down. Its tail curls straight up, apparently displeased with whatever it smells. Skylar makes the mistake of blinking, and the creature lets out an unearthly howl before reaching forward and raking its claws through her soft, soft face. The force knocks her out of the tree and she falls onto the ground with a hefty thud. She'd scream, but the air is completely gone out of her lungs, and it is with merciful quickness that the ape sinks its fangs into her throat, tearing it out in a fleshy red mess.

A cannon sounds.

—

Marlin needs a drink. Or some glow-powder. Or some morphling, or anything to ease the pain. He's sobered up enough to arrange the alliance between his kids and Districts 1 and 2, and done his best to provide them with food and water from their ample sponsor pool, but it's all come crashing down and Flounder's lying face down in a pool of his own blood.

It was all going so well, too. The six tributes took over the Cornucopia with no casualties, stockpiled the weapons and resources, and had gone off hunting for the remaining tributes, just as planned. They'd picked off seven others, with Mags and Flounder responsible for two each. The money was rolling in and Marlin took a moment to relax before the Gamemakers made the first in many unpredictable moves and turned his entire world upside down. The alliance had just finished hunting down the boy from 12 when the ground had shook and the trees had opened up. Echoing last year's snake debacle, various creatures and beasts had crawled out of the roots, snarling and clawing at the tributes. What was he supposed to do? The worst thing he had to worry about during his Games was another tribute. Scrambling to find the appropriate sponsor gift, Marlin had watched helplessly as the giant bear with spinning circular saws for hands had sliced through Flounder, leaving him battered and eviscerated in a pile of his own gore. The alliance had splintered, running away and leaving Mags to fend for herself.

The girl is clever, thankfully. She's listened to his advice on what to do if things go haywire and she doesn't even hesitate to look over her fallen district partner as she sprints away from the monstrosities chasing her. Clutching onto her bag filled with meager supplies and her trident, she almost runs face first into the pair from 7.

Marlin swears. He grits his teeth and clenches his fist on the control center desk in front of him. To his right, Elmer looks at him warily. The other Victors don't notice, too engrossed in their own tributes, but Marlin's sweating buckets now. It can't end like this. Not after everything they've put into it. The tributes stare at each other, neither wanting to make the first move. Mags carefully raises her trident.

"Duck." The Sevens do so, and she hurls her only weapon into the throat of a massive lycanoid-type creature behind them. Marlin breathes a sigh of relief as Elmer's tributes help her recover her weapon while shaking hands and introducing themselves. He gets up and walks towards Elmer's desk, preparing to coordinate their sponsor efforts. In a few minutes, a massive parachute plops down on the ground and Mags unravels it to find an enormous meal of hickory-smoked salmon on rice. A sign to keep working together. Mags finds the nearest camera and winks, and Marlin has yet another reason to keep going.

—

Obsidian is lost, there's no doubt about it. The spiders that crawled out of the woods was one thing, but now he and Ivory have been wandering in circles for nearly an hour trying to find Euroba and Flint to no avail. Their supplies are running low and he's almost given up all hope when he hears the sound of someone calling his name. "Obsidian… Obsidian… Obsidian…"

With trepidation, the two Ones slowly begin creeping towards the source of the sound, and as they get closer, they realize something is terribly off. The sound grows louder and louder until the cries of their names are nearly deafening. The vibrations echo off the trees and into the nearby forest, alerting all other nearby tributes. Out of the bushes flies a giant monstrous bird, and Obsidian knows just enough history to be able to place it as some kind of twisted jabberjay. The creature has a nearly five foot wingspan and clutches a limp, still-breathing body in its claws. It clenches down, and blood spurts out of the beaten mass. A cannon fires.

Obsidian stands frozen in fear as Ivory hurls a spear towards the avian monster. "Do something, idiot!" she screams, as the massive jabberjay lunges towards them and snatches her up with its fearsome beak. He wants to, but he can't seem to make his muscles move. As the monster bites his District partner's neck in half, he finally wills himself to drop everything and start sprinting away in a mad dash. The only thing on his mind is putting as much distance between himself and that freak as possible, but he can still hear it moaning his name as he bobs and weaves between the forest trees.

"Obsidian… Obsidian… Obsidian…" Ivory's voice joins the chorus and he knows it means she's gone. Back in the control center, Octavian is furiously pushing buttons and making calls, trying to figure out what possibly could help. He's Obsidian's last lifeline, but it doesn't really matter in the end.

Obsidian trips on a rock. A few moments later, another cannon fires and the only part of him still alive is his voice.

—

Oakley is ready for this. There's five tributes left: him and Leafen, their District 4 ally Mags, and the two tributes from 2. He's so close to home he can almost taste it. Elmer and Mags's mentor have sent them the best weapons that sponsor money can buy at this stage of the Games, and he carries his axe over his shoulder with a certain degree of pride. The plan is simple. The Sevens and Mags will take out the tributes from 2, then turn on each other. Two short axe chops later and Oakley will be home with his Ma and Pa.

The trio reaches the Cornucopia at the center of the arena. The slew of monsters and muttations they've had to cut their way through suggests that the Gamemakers planned for this; that they've been following a path carefully laid out for them. They take long, quiet steps, careful not to disrupt the silence around them. The only noise in the air is the chirping of wayward birds. As they reach the pile of weapons that has now long been plucked through and combed over, Oakley scans the area for enemies and finds nothing. Good. He waves his allies over, and they quickly take shelter inside the Cornucopia. He takes a second to breathe before he hears it.

Thwip — an arrow shoots out from the underbrush and lands itself in Leafen's throat. She falls to her knees, hands clawing at nothing in particular, and a cannon fires. Shit. They're here.

Oakley has no time to mourn his fallen comrade as he and Mags sprint out of the small shelter they've taken. Staying in there would limit directions that the enemy could attack in, but it would also make them fish in a barrel. He cursed himself for not thinking of it. Of course there would be ranged weapons. Damnit.

The Twos are waiting outside for them. Elmer told him all about them and their little training death camp, and he's ready for what he sees. The boy is massive, definitely one of Cassius's favored brutes. He holds a broadsword in one hand, flexing his bulging muscles with a perverse grin. The girl stands a few yards to his right, bow cocked and arrow notched. She's smaller but still has some tone to her.

"Ready, Euroba?" The boy asks. The girl from 2 — Euroba, her name must be, smiles and nods.

"Let's do it," she snarls. Oakley braces himself for the bloodbath about to ensue before, to his amazement, Euroba turns and puts an arrow in the chest of her district partner, blowing him a kiss goodbye after. As the boy slumps over, Oakley feels a sharp pain in his side. He turns over to see Mags pulling a trident out of his side. It's covered in something red and glistening, and it doesn't quite occur to him in time that he's dead.

"Sorry, nothing personal" she says with an apologetic smile. Oakley falls to the ground. That bitch. She double-crossed him. When he gets up, he's going to break her pretty little face in. He just needs the energy to pick himself up. If only his head weren't so heavy…

—

"YOU TREACHEROUS LITTLE WORM, I SHOULD HAVE YOU CASTRATED AND THROWN INTO A LAKE!"

Invictus has to hold back laughter as Cassius rages at Argus, full in view of everyone to watch. It's not like there are many spectators left, just Marlin and Elmer, who is silently packing his bags, but word will get out all the same. He could've seen this coming from a mile away. Of course the girls would have a contingency plan, how else would they deal with the brute that they had sent into the arena? Flint was as big a physical threat as any of their finest recruits, but Euroba was always the smart one.

Cassius whips around, pointing an accusatory finger at Marlin. "Did you know about this?!" The fisherman chuckled, pulling his low brim hat over his head to obscure his eyes.

"If he was 4, it would be one thing, but from you guys? District pride only runs deep in your own district, brother."

Cassius swears again, louder this time, then storms out of the control center. An Avox gathers his things, then scrambles out behind him. Still chuckling, Invictus turns over to Argus, who's already back and focused on the arena. Smart boy. Even the smallest distraction could be fatal at this point in the Games. It's not like he can do much for the tribute he hand-picked anymore, though. She's already fully equipped with the finest weapons and armor that sponsor money could buy. Two tributes left. It's do or die.

—

Euroba lets loose several arrows into the air, but Mags is already on the move and they miss her by just a hair. Knowing the disadvantage she has in space, the girl from 4 is wisely trying to make this a close quarters fight. Euroba sees this and changes target – aiming for her legs, not her head. While she's emptying her quiver, she's also dashing closer and closer to the forest boundary. The trees will give her cover from the fisher-girl's nasty trident while allowing her to fire arrows at will. She sends one more flying and it catches Mags in the right knee.

As the redhead is howling in pain, Euroba reaches the edge of the thicket. She's almost ready to disappear into the woods when she hears Mags roar, then a whooshing sound through the air. She turns, refusing to believe that the trident can reach her from such a distance. She's right. The weapon whizzes through the air above her. She snorts. A complete miss, likely out of desperation. She starts slowly creeping back towards the open air, ready to finish off her target, when she hears the breaking of branches above her. She looks up and sees a swaying, moaning creature with a trident buried in its chest above her – some kind of monkey, perhaps? The fourth of a second that she takes to identify it ends up costing her, and the beast tumbles out of the tree and lands square on her chest, knocking her down. As she struggles to get up, a limping Mags makes her way towards her with great effort. Careful to not put any pressure on her right leg, she pulls the trident out of the monkey and raises it up high. Euroba starts pleading, begging for her not to end it like this. She can't die this way. Not without honor. Mags hesitates at her words, and for a moment, Euroba thinks she's going to let her go.

"There's no honor in any of this, Two."

The trident comes down and the trumpets go off.

—

Mags wanders through the halls of the Capitol's ceremonial building trying to ignore the stares and whispers of nearby socialites. Quite often one will come up to her and try to engage her in conversation, and she'll grit her teeth and play the gracious Victor like Marlin told her to do. She can't stand being there, but it's her party, and if she made it through that Games-damned Victory Tour then she can do this too.

It hadn't been easy, not in the slightest. The Districts where she hadn't killed the tributes had been hard enough, but 8, or 10, or, oh gods, 7? It was a miracle that she finished her speech without breaking into tears. Even now, she can still imagine Elmer's disappointed face, biting back words as he hands her the ceremonial plaque. And the parents? That was the worst part. Some of them held anger, some of them held barely-disguised contempt, but Oakley and Leafen's parents emitted an all-consuming wave of… nothing. A blank emptiness, where sorrow had long been replaced with numbness. They hadn't expected their kids to come back, and they hadn't. She'll make it up to them somehow, she has to. For her own sake, if nothing else.

After rounding a corner, Mags finds a relatively quiet spot to rest and sit for a moment. She takes off those ridiculous high heels that her moron stylist put her in and sits down near a window, staring at the traffic outside. It's bustling and loud, and under the pale glow of the moon looks like a different planet than District 4. A few minutes pass, and Marlin comes to join her. He's holding a drink and she supposes she should be mad, but he got her out of that hellhole and he deserves to let loose for a night. She's clearly not in the mood to talk and he can sense it, so they just sit there together in silence. Eventually, she can't take it anymore and she turns to him and asks the question.

"How am I supposed to deal with it?" She says, with tears swelling in her eyes. Marlin takes a long moment to think about his response.

"You wait. You do what they tell you to keep the people you love safe. You make small concessions to the people you owe so they know you're not a monster. You go on their shows, do their interviews, sell their merchandise, and now you come back every year to watch someone die."

He then leans in close, close enough so that she's the only one who can hear, and whispers in her ear. "And eventually, when they don't expect it, when they think they've broken you in, you hit them so hard that they never recover."

His words ring true to her ears. Over the next few years, Mags becomes one of the most popular Victors to ever grace the halls of the Capitol. Her Victory Tour is a smash hit, causing its implementation for the rest of the Games. She appears in clothing ads, is a regular guest on Late Night with Caesar Flickerman, and even kicks off the Sporting Bowl for a year. She trains countless young, beautiful things to go off and die in ritual sacrifice for the amusement of the Capitol citizens. For that, she'll never forgive herself.

When the time finally comes, she strikes. She spreads rebel messages like wildfire. She shores up 4's defenses against Capitol, trains the people to be distrusting and hostile towards their message of conformity. She pulls the other young Victors through the dark again and again, helping them fight off their demons and heal when they thought they'd never be whole again. It doesn't matter what District they're from. Unlike her mentor, she sees District pride as a unifying force, not a dividing trait, and so she brings them together.

By the time she reaches old age, the traps are set and one final plan is ready to go. She stands before the reaping platform in front of the Justice Building. She hears the escort cry out: "Annie Cresta!"

Her hair is long and silvery, faded from its crimson red. Her voice is long gone, taken away by a stroke about 4 years ago. That's okay. She doesn't need words for what she's about to do.

Mags walks up to the stage and remembers her mentor's words. To hit them so hard they never recover.

She smiles.