Chapter 8 - The Goodbye Sessions

Cruel Intentions


Iskra Amani

15

~ District 12 Tribute ~


"Dammit! Shit!"

Iskra Amani smashed her fist against the coffee table in complete irritation, frustration coursing through her body to the point that she couldn't contain her anger any longer. She gnashed her teeth together as her eyes fixated on the havoc she had caused to the table, having knocked over a vase of flowers and spilling water everywhere as a result of her pounding fist. In her continued fury, she began to stomp on the flowers that had fallen on the carpet, timing her stampeding steps with every word she spat.

"Why. Did. It. Have. To. Be. Him!?"

With her final stomp, Iskra managed to seperate the trodden rose she had targeted from its stem, before realising her energy had depleted significantly, subsequently collapsing back onto the couch behind her. Still possessed by an incontrollable mountain of fury, she let out a deep sigh, closing her eyes as she reflected on the events that had subsided not even fifteen minutes ago.

She was going to the Hunger Games, that was a fact. However, of all of the people that she could be entering the games with - it was that kid!? Jet Rushen, the boy that had witnessed her vandalising Mallory's home… the boy that knew exactly what her true character was. This was not the predicament she foresaw herself being in by any means, the odds were truly immeasurable and yet - they played out that way nevertheless.

This is bad, Iskra thought to herself, trying to calm herself down as she now needed to rethink everything. Jet was quite possibly the worst person she could've been paired with, he knew of what she was like and could easily get in the way of her achieving the strategy that she was intending on taking. It would be easy for him to expose her, to turn others against her if they knew what she was capable of doing to them. Everything could go out the window in a matter of moments if Jet was to get in her way, and prevent her from attempting exactly what she desired to do.

No, no, it's okay - I can still salvage this, Iskra reassured herself, as she leaned forward, contemplating how she could turn this wrench in her plans into an advantage. There was one thing that she still had going for her that would be able to silence Jet, one crucial thing that she couldn't have been more thankful for attaining.

Iskra reached up to her shirt collar, before pulling it down slightly and running her fingers over the bite mark she had forced Jet to give her. It had begun to heal at this point, but it was still a deep wound, fresh from only a week ago. The remnants would always be there, the scar embedded into her flesh as a constant deterrent hanging over Jet's head. She still was able to blackmail him, threaten him to remain quiet about her or she'd reveal to all that he had pushed himself upon her.

Did Iskra feel bad about the blackmail she had forced upon Jet? Perhaps slightly, it wasn't really his fault that he was there in the wrong place at the wrong time. He had actually seemed like a fairly decent person to Iskra in all honesty, and probably didn't deserve this happening to him at all.

But at the end of the day, he was an obstruction in her path, an obstacle that she'd have to dispose of now that he was her District Partner. Jet himself had been horrified to learn he was going to the games with Iskra, having hurled the contents of his stomach all over the reaping stage the moment he made eye contact with her. Iskra would have found it amusing, if she hadn't been so infuriated that it was he who was going to be entering the games with her.

Instead, she had been barely clinging to her composure, forcing the bubbling rage back down within her to remain as stoic as possible, as she stood upon that stage beside District 12's newest Escort - a studious woman named Calliope Clearwater, who herself was only fresh to the position of Escort at nineteen years-old.

It had taken everything in Iskra to hold her tongue until she was finally hidden in the confines of the room that she was now stationed at within the Justice Building, where she had let loose her overwhelming anger on the unsuspecting coffee table.

With her head in her hands, Iskra slowly massaged her scalp as her thoughts whirled throughout her mind at a thousand miles an hour, trying to make sense of her new predicament and how to properly traverse it. Now more than ever, she was kicking herself for having been caught trying to frame Camille Stoneworth that night. Had she known it would've lead to this fiasco - she'd have never even set foot on the property of the Maynard Family.

But no, the temptations were too high, Iskra criticised herself, her lack of self-control finally biting her in the ass. The secret that she had been harbouring about Mallory sleeping with Camille's boyfriend was quite the spicy one, one she knew was certain to wreak havoc the moment it came out. She had been sitting on it for a few weeks, the juicy gossip eating away at her as she yearned for nothing more than to spill it to the world and watch as the chaos ensued.

Naturally, this was not something that could simply be slipped into casual conversation for it to brew and flare up through the grapevine. No, the revelation had to be spectacular, abrupt, completely unexpected and out of left field. Those were the best kind of bombshells, the type that got Iskra completely giddy as she cackled from the sidelines, watching people turn on each other at a moments notice.

So she had opted for the vandalism; to instantly rope Camille in as the main suspect and watch as the two sides of the conflict turned against one another in the most devastating way possible. But of course, the rest unfolded the way that it did; Jet causing the downfall of Iskra's firecracker of an exposé.

To this day, Camille was still blissfully unaware of Mallory's treacherous behaviour - Iskra simply didn't have enough time to pull off another stunt like that. Instead, her attention was now placed somewhere far more important, somewhere where she'd be able to cause maximum destruction in the most spectacular way possible.

The Hunger Games.

Iskra's head was suddenly forced to perk up, as the door to the room slammed open abruptly, causing her to be met with the panicked face of her mother - Ghislaine Amani - as well as her perplexed older sister - Lea Amani. Iskra stared at both of them silently, her face as blank as it could be, as her mother stormed in, tears welling in her eyes as she flashed Iskra a puzzled look.

"Hello mother," Iskra sighed, knowing she now had to deal with the repercussion of her actions. Ghislaine placed her hands on her hips, almost staring at Iskra with an accusatory expression. As she opened her mouth to speak, her lips began to quiver, her stern façade quickly deteriorating as she tried to lecture Iskra.

"…Why?" Was all that her mother was able to utter, a sob following as she struggled to retain her composure. "Why would you volunteer?"

Ah yes, the elephant in the room. Iskra supposed she should've expected to have to deal with this after volunteering for the games. Of course, Iskra's recent habit of not thinking about how her actions could negatively impact her later on had struck once again. Really, it seemed as if she was on a losing streak.

The question was a valid one however - why would Iskra volunteer to enter the Hunger Games off of her own accord? The explanation was simple really, at least in Iskra's mind it was, although she doubted either her mother or Lea would be able to understand her rationale. The honest answer - Iskra had simply wanted to.

Ever since Iskra could remember, she had always been the incarnation of chaos from the shadows. Even when she was young, Iskra had been a troublemaker, a real thorn in people's side through the actions she'd commit. It started off small when she was younger, for instance; breaking someone's toy and watching in glee as other kids turned against one another when they blamed innocent people as the culprit. Or perhaps whispering secrets about other people that would spread and completely change the perception of those kids in the eyes of others.

They were always stupid lies like someone shitting their pants at school, or fake crushes that would humiliate a person for a day or two and be quite easily forgotten - nothing too drastic for the amateur she was at the time. The point was, Iskra not only loved being the unsuspecting bystander that was the true culprit of these manipulations, but she thrived on it.

As time went by however, and as she grew older, such trivial rumours were no longer bringing her the same satisfaction. She needed more humiliation, more conflict, more chaos, all inflicted by herself from behind the scenes. She grew more daring with her rumours, more scandalous, more… personal. She needed real secrets to spread, real gossip that would tarnish reputations, destroy friendships, and stoke enemies from nothing - all while she sat on the side, as the dependable, yet forgettable girl who had no enemies of her own.

It worked for several years, with Iskra being able to conjure up hatred and tension between many of her peers for her own entertainment. However, once again, she had become bored. Just like a drug, she was always chasing that dopamine rush, that little bit more chaos to satiate her cruel desires that came as a result of once again getting away with manifesting discord between others.

In Iskra's eyes, she had done all she really could within District 12. She had no other aspirations, no other real ambitions, she was quite simply wallowing in the mediocrity of her life in the Seam. But in the back of her mind, there had always been one opportunity she hadn't sought out yet, one escape that she could seek to take her rumour mongering to the next level, and become an even greater harbinger of chaos.

The Hunger Games were that opportunity. She didn't care for her life in District 12, she simply wanted a bit of excitement, to chase that same energy rush she'd been able to achieve the years that had now passed. She could picture it now; learning the other tributes deepest, most darkest secrets and revealing them to all, turning tributes against each other through sheer manipulation to the point they'd target and kill one another all because of her doing. It would be her greatest achievement yet, and if she did it well enough; she could even win just by becoming that forgotten tribute in the background, whilst everyone else targeted one another due to the feuds she'd have concocted herself.

It wasn't foolproof of course, Iskra fully expected the worst to happen in regards to her own demise, although it was certainly not what she'd be aiming for. However at this point, she simply didn't care. She wanted out of this mundane district, and this aimless direction that she was headed. She needed this new purpose, and although she could've waited until she was eighteen - she felt as if she couldn't prolong it any further. It was calling for her, and she was willing to embrace the opportunity with open arms.

"You wouldn't understand even if I tried to explain," Iskra finally responded, as she leaned back into the couch with her arms folded, and a leg swung over the other.

"Are you insane Iskra!? You're going to die!" Lea cried out, bewildered by Iskra's nonchalance at the situation.

"Gee, thanks for the faith guys," Iskra scoffed, as her mother looked as if she was about to tear her own hair out.

"This isn't a joke! What could possibly possess you to think this was a good idea!?" Ghislaine croaked, before burying her face in her hands. "Oh dear… I knew you were troubled, but… this is beyond what I ever expected from you."

Iskra stared at her sobbing mother for a moment, before her eyes drifted to the floor, her lips sealing as she frowned at the older woman's words. There was nothing that she could say to even dispute her mothers opinion, it was a reinforced one that had been developed for years.

As much as Iskra would've liked, she wasn't entirely the unknown girl who liked to stir up trouble from afar, because until Jet had learned of her true nature, there was at least one other person who knew of what Iskra was really like.

Her mother had known from the earliest of days, catching her in lies and witnessing the antagonistic actions that Iskra would participate in, all whilst Iskra herself was certain she was doing so in secrecy. It's how she learned to be so good at getting away with causing mayhem; trying to avoid her own mother from finding out what new devious plot Iskra was orchestrating.

Like the sensible mother she was, Ghislaine did her best to try and discipline Iskra, teaching her what she was doing to others was wrong, and that she needed to behave and make some genuine friends. Perhaps at times she fooled her mother into thinking she was making progress, but in actuality - she was just getting better at covering it up.

Iskra figured she couldn't blame her mother for feeling the way she did in that moment. Just when she thought her daughter was growing out of her impulsive and nefarious ways - she goes and volunteers for the Hunger Games. She must've felt somewhat blindsided by the turn of events, perhaps even a failure as a mother and a parent.

Lea on the other hand, was incredulous in the moment. Iskra and her were certainly not close, and rarely interacted with one another outside of menial conversation when they shared a room. It's not that they hated one another by any means, Iskra supposed the word that could describe their relationship the best was 'obligatory'.

Even so, Iskra was mildly surprised by how concerned Lea appeared to be about her volunteering. She hadn't figured her older sister cared enough about her to be affected, unless perhaps she was more worried about the influence the decision would have on their mother.

"It's my choice Mom, I'm not being ripped from your arms against my will," Iskra explained quietly, her composure strangely unemotional in comparison to what she would've expected from herself. "If anything, it's a good thing for District 12. I'm only a nuisance back here."

"What are you talking about? How could you be a nuisance? You're a teenage girl that's still in school!" Lea spluttered in exasperation, clearly unaware of the true sinister nature behind Iskra's very existence.

"You wouldn't understand Lea," Iskra responded, smiling sadly at her sister. "I'm not a good person."

"Don't be ridiculous," Lea cried out, shaking her head in bewilderment. "None of this makes sense!"

"It's not meant to," Iskra argued, her words followed by a dismissive shrug. "And I'll use it to my advantage."

"Advantage?" Lea scoffed, rolling her eyes as she folded her arms. "What advantage? You've already volunteered, that in itself will mark an interest in you from other tributes. That doesn't simply go unnoticed."

"That may be true," Iskra agreed, before she stared back ambiguously at her sister. "But they'll be quick to forget about me. By the end of my stay in the Capitol, I'll be willing to bet they've even forgotten my name… they'll be too focused on each other."

"That's a stupid strategy Iskra," Lea groaned, putting her face into her palm. "When does that ever work? Other tributes will just see an easy kill and go for it, they're not going to bypass you just because you don't look like a threat. Careers aim for heavy kill tallies as well, you'll just be another number to them!"

"For the bloodbath - sure," Iskra admitted, waving her off dismissively. "But I don't intend to linger at the bloodbath. They'll have to find me after that, and who do you think they'll be prioritising first?"

Lea studied Iskra's face for a moment, before producing a relenting sigh, shaking her head sadly.

"What's the use in me saying any of this? The damage is done already," Lea muttered softly.

"That's right," Iskra replied, leaning back once more as the previously agitated Lea began to defuse. "So I'd appreciate it if you didn't use these final moments to scold me."

The two women stared at Iskra in disbelief, as if they didn't recognise the girl that sat before them to the one they had known all their lives - which in all honesty, was a pretty accurate assessment. After a few wordless moments, Iskra's mother stepped forward, before bending down to give Iskra a shaky hug farewell.

"I-I don't even know how to process this," Ghislaine whispered, as she stroked Iskra's back. "Please just… listen to your Mentor, don't do anything more stupid than this."

"Sure," Iskra responded monotonously, sparing her mother the details of her plans. Following the embrace, it was Lea's turn next, who also wordlessly leaned down to hug Iskra for what could be the last time. Iskra was admittedly taken aback by how tightly Lea squeezed her, as if she was clutching on for dear life, knowing that her dear little sister was about to be taken away from her.

"I know we've never been close, but… I've always cared for you Iskra," Lea muttered hoarsely, causing Iskra's eyebrows to raise in surprise. "Maybe I should have been there for you more, if that were the case - perhaps this would've never happened."

Initially, Iskra brushed off the words, thinking them to be absurd. Lea didn't define her, just because she didn't ever show her approval of her. It didn't mean anything to Iskra, it's not as if her behaviour stemmed from the indifference Lea showed her all her life in a desire to fill that void with her own sense of independence… at least Iskra didn't think so. She had never really considered the idea.

However, in an effort to alleviate some of the tension, Iskra gave Lea a reassuring pat on the back, before releasing her from the embrace with a blank expression.

"Don't blame yourself for my actions Lea, they'll only haunt you. All of this is on me, it always has been," Iskra insisted, as the doors to the room swung open, to allow a pair of Peacekeeper's entry in order to escort the two women out. Both Ghislaine and Lea flashed Iskra defeated expressions as they were guided out of the room, leaving Iskra in her solitude once more to think over her situation again.

The two Amani girls were the only visitors that Iskra had been expecting, she wasn't particularly close to anyone else, and her father was long out of the picture, leaving Iskra under the impression that all she had to do now was sit and wait for Jet's goodbyes to conclude.

To Iskra's surprise however, she was greeted with a quiet knock on the door, a knock that she knew the Peacekeepers would not be audacious enough to provide her, given they had a habit of busting through doors.

"Who is iiiiiit?" Iskra sang in a rather bored tone, her eyes not even focused on the doors as she studied the bottom of her fist for any bruising from her rampage against the coffee table. Her ears picked up the quiet sound of a door opening, as somebody peered past the door that she could see in her peripheral's.

Iskra lazily looked over at her new guest, before her eyebrows raised in surprise. She was met with the face of a girl her age, with long, white blonde locks and curious hazel eyes. As soon as her eyes met the girls, the blonde in question pushed the door open all of the way, revealing her petite form and rather extravagant dress for the average District 12 citizen. That of course, would be because the girl was no average District 12 citizen, but rather one of the most well-known teenagers within the entire district - the Mayor's daughter, Mallory Maynard.

"Oh?" Iskra uttered, sitting up slightly with her interest piqued. "I certainly wasn't expecting you as a visitor."

Mallory silently made her way into the room, before standing some distance from Iskra in the middle of the room. The girl studied Iskra for a moment, before finally speaking up.

"I just finished saying goodbye to Jet, I figured I'd also pay you a visit," Mallory explained, the soft voice of the girl reflecting that same self-righteous tone that Mallory had always possessed. As far as everyone knew, Mallory had always been the perfect girl; an A+ student, a considerate person, and generally personable to anyone she met, even to those from the Seam such as Iskra.

Iskra had always hated Mallory for that, she came across as so fake and superficial, considering Iskra was abundantly aware of the dark secrets Mallory held beneath the surface. Watching the girl act all innocent and kind made her want to vomit - despite Iskra acting the exact same way on a regular basis.

As far as Mallory was aware however, the two had always been acquaintances at school, occasionally sharing classes, and with Iskra floating between social circles as that girl who had no real friends, but everyone seemed to like - Mallory's circle being one of them.

Iskra had been so frustrated that she wasn't able to pull off that exposé she had carried out, just knowing that Mallory would remain the angel everyone thought she was, with her dirty laundry remaining in the basket, rather than being hung out for the district to see. She supposed that it was time to make peace with it now, she'd never get another opportunity, and Iskra imagined that if she were to win the Hunger Games, such a trivial matter would be so far beneath her that she wouldn't ever need to breathe in Mallory's direction again.

However, for the time being, here she was, directly in front of her with a concerned frown on her face.

"Jet huh? I didn't think you were friends," Iskra chuckled, as she tilted her head at Mallory. Mallory giggled in response, before shaking her head.

"I wouldn't say friends, but he was helping out around my house with the garden, so we spoke occasionally," Mallory explained, as Iskra feigned ignorance at something she was well aware of.

"He was doing gardening work for your father? How sweet!" Iskra mocked with a fake tone of praise. The sarcastic words went right over Mallory's head, as she nodded in confirmation.

"Yeah," Mallory sighed, with a sad smile creeping up on her face. "He certainly didn't deserve to be reaped for the games."

"It is an unfortunate set of circumstances," Iskra agreed, in more ways than Mallory could've possibly known. Upon her words, Mallory looked at Iskra with interest, as she dragged a chair over for herself and sat down across from her.

"But you however… you volunteered? I can't figure out why you'd want to do that," Mallory frowned, showing concern to Iskra that was certainly not warranted.

"I did," Iskra smirked, as she tossed one leg over the other. "I had my reasons."

"You seem really content with that decision," Mallory commented, as she analysed Iskra's body language. "You're not nervous? Scared?"

"Scared? I'm excited!" Iskra exclaimed with a cackle. "I finally get the opportunity to put my skills to the test, on a mass scale that I've never been able to fathom before."

"Skills… as in fighting skills? Have you been training or something?" Mallory questioned, evidently confused by Iskra's ambiguous wording. Iskra laughed in response, throwing her head back in amusement as Mallory continued to frown at her.

"Oh sweet Mallory, you have it all wrong," Iskra smiled at her, a devilish look appearing in her eyes. "I'm not going to be fighting anyone - they'll all be doing the fighting for me."

Upon hearing Iskra's words, Mallory appeared to shift in her chair uncomfortably, growing increasingly unnerved by Iskra's uncharacteristic behaviour from what she likely knew Iskra to be like.

"You seem different… I haven't seen this side of you before," Mallory said softly, her eyes flickering between Iskra and the floor as she seemingly tried to make sense of Iskra's unfamiliar demeanour.

"Mallory, I can assure you - you've never seen the real side of me before," Iskra grinned at her, continuing to freak the poor girl out. Mallory glanced at Iskra for a few moments, before coughing into her fist uncomfortably, and standing up in an awkward fashion.

"I-I see. Well um… I better be off then, and uh… good luck?" Mallory spoke up, appearing unsure of how to approach this new side of Iskra she was witnessing.

"Thank you, and much obliged," Iskra waved her off, as the girl spun around and began to make a beeline for the door. "Oh, and Mallory?"

The Mayor's daughter stopped suddenly in her tracks, before she turned back slowly, nervously placing her eyes back on Iskra's.

"Um, yes?" Mallory responded hesitantly, her hand already on the door knob. Iskra looked at her for a moment, before smiling sinisterly at her.

"I'd stop messing around with Camille's boyfriend if I were you," Iskra said casually, as she innocently placed both hands on her propped up knee. "You never really know how secrets like that can… get out."

Mallory's eyes widened in horror at Iskra, as her mouth opened in complete and utter shock.

"Wha-?" Mallory stammered, her own surprise cutting off her words. "How did you…"

"Bye bye Mallory," Iskra cooed, as she waved her fingers teasingly, causing the stunned, prissy blonde, to robotically open the door and stagger out of Iskra's view.

That was strangely enjoyable, Iskra thought to herself as a satisfied smile creeped onto her face. It's not so often that I get to directly confront someone about their scandalous secret.

Iskra may not have been able to spread the rumour she had wanted about Mallory, however it was equally as satisfying knowing she had struck the fear of god into her, that her inner most intimate secrets could come back to haunt her at anytime. Now the spoilt brat would never be able to live comfortably, not knowing how Iskra had found out that information, nor how far it had spread.

As she basked in her glee, a third knock interrupted her thoughts, causing Iskra's face to fall in annoyance.

Who the hell is it this time? She thought with frustration, as she leaned forward with her eyes narrowed at the door.

"Yes!?" She called out impatiently, causing the door to swing open to show an entourage of Peacekeepers - surprisingly having had the consideration to knock this time - as well as Jet standing behind them, swaying slightly with an expression that made it look as if he was about to be sick again all over the carpet.

"Aww Jet! Still feeling sick?" Iskra teased, as Jet flashed her a glowering expression.

"Screw you Iskra," he mumbled, clutching onto his stomach. Clearly, the boy still wasn't a fan of her, which was fair enough considering the circumstances.

"I'd watch your tongue if I were you," Iskra sang, as she softly tapped the spot near her neck where Jet's teeth marks still lingered. Jet glared at her for a moment, before silently lowering his eyes.

"Iskra Amani," one of the masked Peacekeeper's at the front interrupted Iskra's taunts. "We have come to collect you, the time to say goodbyes is now over. We will be heading for the train."

"Oh goodie," Iskra piped up, as she stood to her feet and strode across the room, trampling the already flattened rose once more.

"Now the real fun begins."


Cairo Bronte

18

~ District 1 Tribute ~


The room was engulfed once more in silence, as Cairo Bronte watched the door to the luxurious Justice Building room shut softly, his one - and likely only - visitor now departing him for what could be good. Cairo hadn't really expected anyone to visit him, in fact he couldn't think of a single other person who'd want to other than the one visitor he had in fact received. Then again, did the visitor really count when it was only a trainer from the Academy who had invested time into building Cairo into who he was?

Cairo sighed, sinking back into the lush couch as he tapped his fingers patiently against the arm of the cushiony furniture. Mulling over the thoughts in his head, he supposed it did count, it did mean something to him considering his usual circumstances. The trainer in question was a man by the name of Jimmy Burberry, a kindhearted and courteous man who had taken Cairo under his wing from the get-go.

Jimmy was the primary coach for strength and conditioning at the Academy; a commonly misused facet of the District 1 Career Academy as most of the other students liked to focus on refining their weaponry fighting styles. Beauty and elegance were always praised in District 1, so a fluent and mesmerising ability to wield a weapon with an almost artistic eloquence was what most of the students predominantly focused on.

Not Cairo though, he had never been skilled with a sword or a spear, or accurate with a bow or throwing knives. Cairo, had always relied on the one thing he had inherited that gave him a fighting chance as a Career prospect; his raw brute strength. Most others in One considered strength alone to be unsightly and detrimental, reminiscent of Neanderthalic tendencies where one had to rely on primitive methods of fighting rather than sophisticated tools of the modern age. However, Cairo was determined to prove otherwise. It was the best thing he had going for him.

It had only been Jimmy who had seen things through Cairo's eyes, hence the man had done all he could to build up Cairo's power, and refine his ability to take others down without getting hurt in the process. The two had certainly bonded over time, which had made Jimmy's visit all the more meaningful, as the man was the closest thing that Cairo had ever had to a father-figure.

Of course, he didn't expect his real father to visit him before he set off for the games, nor his mother, or even his older brother. As far as Cairo was concerned, he had never had a real family before, a loving family that cared for his well-being and supported his ambitions.

Cairo clenched his fist as he thought about his family, feeling nothing but detest for the lot of them. Throughout his entire life, he had wanted nothing more than their approval, their attention, just any semblance of care. However, as time had gone on, and Cairo had grown older, he came to realise that his family were nothing more than some of the most despicable people he had ever come across.

He had suffered all of his life from the loneliness and abuse that his neglectful family had conditioned upon him. Cairo knew he wasn't the most optimal image of an upper class District 1 citizen; that had been the case since the moment he was born. Nevertheless, did that give his family the right, to outright dismiss him as a person just because he didn't fall under their outrageous expectations?

From the moment he was born, Cairo had always been considered to be second-rate, whilst his father - Dallad Bronte - was a tall, handsome, respected man who had built up his own legacy for success. His mother - Ebony Bronte - was an alluring and stunning trophy wife who had never had to work a day in her life, and even his older brother - Casper Bronte - was the prodigal son that Dallad had always wanted, a spitting image of his fathers younger self, who did nothing but suck up to his parents and bully Cairo frequently.

Whilst the three of them had always been accepted by upper-society in District 1 thanks to Dallad's thriving business with the aptly named Bronte Jewellery Company, Cairo himself had never quite fit into that picture, for a multitude of unfortunate reasons. Cairo would be the first to admit, he had always been a bit of a pushover, perhaps due to how he had been raised. He wasn't sociable, cunning, charming, or even proactive. He had always let the way people treated him get to his head, and as a result had developed an admittedly poor sense of self-confidence.

Cairo glanced over to the mirror on the far side of the wall, spotting his reflection sitting down with a rather somber expression on his face. Then there was his appearance as well, another damning aspect of himself that people turned their nose up at. Whilst District 1 as a whole always put beauty and appearance on a pedestal, Cairo had unfortunately never had the privilege to be amongst those that were glorified for their genetic jackpot.

As Cairo stared at his reflection, he studied his appearance, noting all of the features that were particularly non-desirable within District 1 society; curly brown hair as opposed to the aryan blonde commonly associated with District 1. A full, round face with chubbier cheeks than he would've liked. Dark bushy eyebrows that looked thick and unkempt - no matter how much he trimmed them - and finally a stocky body with a rather unflattering height of 5'8", a height that many considered… underwhelming. He had a boyish look to him, rather than manly, which Cairo quite often couldn't help but feel insecure about.

Overall, Cairo did not fit the usual aesthetic expectations of a District 1 Career - and he knew it. In his opinion, his one redeeming quality were his emerald green eyes, that stuck out strikingly against his light brown skin, skin he had inherited from a multitude of different ethnicities from far back, that Cairo himself couldn't even even begin to track down for the life of him. He knew appearance shouldn't matter, he had always been the black sheep of his family because of it, and by that point he figured he should've been used to it. However naturally, when Cairo was granted the opportunity to volunteer for the Hunger Games, people being outraged was an understatement by any means.

None of them knew who he was, yet they were all judging him based on his physical appearance alone, all because he wasn't handsome, desirable… a true representation of the 'beauty' of District 1. His family, other students at the Academy, and especially the public of District 1, all shunning him because he didn't fit their ideal image.

"I'll prove them all wrong," Cairo mumbled to himself, feeling a great level of resentment growing within him. "I'll silence them forever."

Wow, way to make yourself sound unhinged, he criticised himself, immediately after the thoughts swept his mind. Cairo couldn't allow himself to be influenced by such dark vengeance, it would do him no favours when it came to the arena. He knew he had to take the virtuous route, keeping his mind clear and simply focusing on the task at hand. That was who he was, not some mindless juggernaut that let his emotions and insecurities get the better of him. That's exactly what Jimmy had taught him to do, and precisely what he had relayed to him moments before he had left the room.

Besides, karma is already getting the best of some people, he reassured himself, smiling as he imagined the dramas his family were facing right at that moment. The truth was, there was a chance his parents may have come to visit him before he left - if only to see him being being taken off of their plate with their own eyes - however as it stood, they too were facing dire circumstances that took their already waning attention away from Cairo himself.

The two Bronte parents were facing severe legal troubles due to their shady tactics in regards to their business, and had already been arrested close to a year ago, only for Casper to bail them out. Embezzlement, money laundering, even sabotaging their competition, they had finally been exposed for all of it - and Cairo couldn't have been happier.

Whilst the Bronte family had suffered considerable reputational damage, Cairo's reputation had always been negatively received. He wondered how it must feel for them to have finally been put on his level. Regardless, it served them right, they absolutely had it coming as far as he was concerned. Sometimes, he really only did need to be patient for karma to catch up.

In the current moment however, Cairo simply needed to be patient for something else entirely, which would be for Mavis to finish her goodbye session. He didn't know much about the girl, although she was one of the few people that also used the strength and conditioning station within the Academy. Cairo knew of the St. Clair name, as it came from a fairly prominent District 1 family that had done business with his own parents occasionally. However, Cairo knew she had inherited the name from her apparent partner - Otherland St. Clair - a man who had distanced himself from his family over the past few years for reasons nobody knew.

Cairo found it quite surprising that Mavis had managed to snag herself the son of quite a prestigious family; as far as he could tell, she didn't come from a particularly high class background herself, and such inter-class relationships were extremely uncommon within District 1. Perhaps it was wise to be cautious of the girl if she was able to work her way up from nothing, there was no saying how easily she could manipulate other tributes, and by extension her fellow Career allies.

Otherwise, Cairo certainly had no specific qualms with Mavis. She hadn't appeared fazed at all by his selection as this years volunteer, unlike many of the other outraged students whose names were overlooked. In fact, Mavis herself was rather different from the traditional District 1 tribute that the Academy pushed forward - perhaps the two of them had more in common than Cairo initially thought?

Despite the subtle hope for that to be the case, Cairo was still rather nervous about how he and Mavis would get along in the Capitol, when they were to gather with the rest of the Careers. He certainly didn't want to be her best friend by any means, but for her to develop a dislike for him would be less than ideal. The one thing he knew for sure about Mavis, was that the two of them shared a similar fighting style, that would be sure to turn into a fight of attrition if the two were to ever clash.

Unlike most other District 1 Academy Students, Mavis - similarly to Cairo - was also a prolific hand-to-hand fighter, opting to brawl with her own two fists rather than weaponry that Cairo had learned how to counter. There was no saying what level of martial arts or skilled footwork Mavis knew in comparison to Cairo, but there was a clear distinction between the two; whilst Cairo was mostly all power and strength, Mavis was fast and full of dexterity.

The best I can hope for is indifference between the two of us, Cairo thought to himself, desiring a platonically amicable dynamic between himself and his District Partner, as was the case for the rest of the Careers. Although the other Careers would have no idea about his background, and how shunned and outcast he had been for his entire life, he was certain his boyish and non-threatening appearance alone would be sure to raise some eyebrows amongst his future allies.

They would almost definitely question if Cairo was the best that District 1 could produce for this year, and doubt his abilities until he was able to show them at training. Fortunately, Cairo was prepared for this outcome, it's not as if he wanted to become the leader of the pack this year. As long as he proved himself enough to be granted refuge within their ranks, that was all that mattered.

"Cairo Bronte," a deep voice suddenly called out from beyond the doors, causing Cairo's head to perk up in surprise. "You have a visitor."

I do? Cairo questioned, as the doors slowly swung open, causing Cairo's eyes to almost pop out of their sockets. He was met with the tall figure of his older brother Casper, who casually strolled in, his eyes fixated directly onto Cairo's.

"Casper?" Cairo uttered, as his brother dragged over a seat from the nearby table, proceeding to plant it on the ground from the other side of the coffee table that was stationed in front of Cairo's couch. "I… wasn't expecting you."

"Why would that be?" Casper questioned, his hazel eyes peering at Cairo inquisitively. "Because Mom and Dad made you think that?"

"Well… yeah that," Cairo responded, his lips firmly held in a frown. "And because you hate me."

Casper watched Cairo for a few moments, before laughing comically, as he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and brought his hands together.

"I suppose you're right, at least historically," Casper accepted, as he tilted his head at Cairo. "But that feeling was always mutual, right?"

"Only because you made it so, I had no reason to hate you aside from the way you treated me," Cairo responded rather bluntly, causing the smile on Casper's face to falter slightly. The two remained silent for a moment, letting the tense atmosphere wash over the both of them, until Casper finally clicked his teeth.

"I understand, and… I take full responsibility for that," Casper murmured, almost painfully. Cairo eyed his older brother with suspicion, taken aback by his rather forthcoming attitude. Never had Casper taken responsibility for his own wrong doings before, in fact Cairo didn't even believe he knew the meaning of 'accountability'. So what was this shtick?

"Why are you here?" Cairo asked him, wanting to cut to the chase. Casper's previously chirpy demeanour quickly deteriorated, as a guilt-ridden frown overwhelmed his face, his eyes barely able to lock onto Cairo.

"To make amends," Casper sighed, almost begrudgingly. Cairo stared at him in stunned silence for a few moments, before coughing into his fist in surprise.

"You… you want to make amends?" Cairo asked flatly, emphasising his identification that it was his petulant, asshole of a brother that was initiating this. Casper remained quiet momentarily, appearing to be trying to find the words he needed to get his message across.

"I've had a lot of time to reflect ever since our parents landed in hot water," Casper explained apprehensively, his eyes now completely unable to linger on Cairo. "They haven't experienced hardships like that before, hell - I haven't either. The social rejection, the unwarranted isolation; it all made me realise exactly what we've been putting you through… when we can hardly handle it when it's dealt to us."

Casper paused for a moment, which allowed Cairo a brief point to chime in.

"Hold on - unwarranted? I'm sorry, but our parents have earned every single consequence for what they did," Cairo pointed out, as Casper stared at him. For a moment, Cairo thought his brother would retaliate for criticising their parents, as he always had done from the time they were children. However, this time he nodded his head, appearing to accept Cairo's words.

"You're right, they do, and perhaps I do as well for going along with everything," Casper relented, sighing regretfully at his own actions. "The point is - you never did anything to earn that isolation either, and you've had to put up with it all your life."

"Yeah," Cairo agreed through gritted teeth. "I have."

"And yet, you've still made something of yourself, you've been resilient enough to become a volunteer of all things - that's not even something I could have done," Casper laughed, almost in disbelief. "You know Mom and Dad only ever sent you to the Academy because they didn't want to have to deal with you at home. And look what you've been able to do - you should've seen the looks on their faces when they found out you'd be volunteering."

As much as the words cut deep, Cairo did have some sort of idea that this was the true reasoning as to why his parents even funded his way through to the Academy. With that being said though, he couldn't deny that the realisation for his parents that Cairo was given the opportunity to be a tribute whilst they were suffering their fall from grace would've been priceless to watch.

"That is pretty funny to picture," Cairo admitted, a small smile growing on his face, as he grew more comfortable with Casper's light-hearted approach. Casper laughed alongside him for a little while, before lowering his head with a sad smile.

"In all honesty, I've grown to admire what you've been able to achieve Cairo," Casper revealed, before he stuck out his hand for the first handshake he had ever offered Cairo. "I wanted to make things right - well as good as I can make them - before you leave. So good luck."

Cairo looked at Casper's hand with perplexity, still bewildered by the whole situation that he never could've imagined in his wildest dreams. However, despite all of the resentment he had grown for his brother over the years, he knew he had to be the bigger person, and truly embrace forgiveness. With that thought, he firmly grasped his brothers hand, as the pair shook their arms as a sign of mutual respect.

"Thanks Casper, I appreciate the visit," Cairo spoke up sincerely, as his brother began to head towards the door. Casper paused for a moment, before looking back at Cairo for one final time.

"Well hopefully it's the first of many," Cairo grinned, before turning back to the door. "Visiting the Victor's Village doesn't sound too bad."

With those final words, Casper exited the room, leaving Cairo with a strange sense of validation, a feeling he had only ever felt when he was named as District 1's male volunteer. Never in a million years had he thought his bully of an older brother would show him any amount of praise, yet not only had he visited Cairo before he was shipped off to the Capitol - but he had even told him he admired what he has been able to make of himself. Surely it meant that Cairo was on the right path… he had to be.

Just as Cairo sat back down on the couch, he received another knock on the door.

Again? Cairo thought to himself in confusion.

"Cairo Bronte, you have one more visitor," the same deep voice from before boomed from outside of the room. Cairo's forehead furrowed in confusion, as he tried to figure out who it could be. The Peacekeeper said 'visitor', as in singular, it couldn't be his parents then. He had no other friends or acquaintances, so who on earth was deciding to pay him a visit?

As the door swung open, Cairo's face fell as his eyes locked on to the mystery person, a wave of familiarity washing over him as he immediately recognised who had come to visit him. Limping forward, with a solemn expression on his face, was a boy who Cairo could only label as one thing - his bully, Othello Fortune.

At his time at the Academy, Cairo had come across a lot of people that didn't like him, or who found it easy to pick on him. However, the worst of the lot had always been a boy named Othello. He was one of the best fighters at the Academy, a real arrogant prick who had harassed Cairo ever since he joined the Academy as a young boy. Othello was popular amongst the other students, a pretty boy with shining blue eyes and hair so brightly blonde that it was almost an opal white.

Othello was always one of the most prestigious students of the Academy, and was considered to be one of the best contenders to volunteer for this year. That was of course, until it was just him and Cairo left in the round robin tournament that would determine the strongest candidate of the lot. Othello of course, was widely touted as being the future volunteer prospect, and was undefeated going into their final spar. Cairo on the other hand, had fought tooth and nail to get to that position, considering his fighting style was rather unorthodox.

Most believed Othello was going to demolish Cairo, however, thanks to the many years of abuse and taunts that Othello had thrown Cairo's way, the brewing determination combined with Othello's complete underestimation of Cairo allowed him to devastate Othello in their fight, winning the right to volunteer in the eyes of the Academy Board.

Thanks to that, Othello was left battered and bruised, with his injuries still healing in the current moment as he ominously limped forward with a look of indisputable hatred in his eyes. Cairo immediately felt his guard going up, as his muscles tensed in readiness purely based on the hateful look that Othello flashed him with. Last he had heard about Othello, the boy was still in hospital recovering from their fight, although they must have let him out to be able to attend the Reaping.

So why on earth has he come here? Cairo questioned, as he watched Othello's face grimace with his every movement due to the pain he must've been experiencing.

"Othello… what are you doing here?" Cairo questioned quietly, as the Peacekeepers outside of the room closed the doors behind his adversary. Othello finally came to a stop, as he continued to stare at Cairo with resentment.

"Oh nothing," Othello hissed, his voice rather hoarse in comparison to how he usually sounded. "I just wanted to see off my friend."

The tone in which Othello said "friend" instantly made Cairo's skin crawl, leading his already suspicious perspective to shift into a much more alarmed one.

"We both know that's not true, you despise me. I'm guessing you lied to the Peacekeepers?" Cairo debunked Othello's lie, causing the boy to smile sinisterly at him.

"Of course, because there's no way in hell I should be the one visiting someone before they go to the Capitol," Othello sneered, as he eyed Cairo with malice. "It should be me in your position, you're not worthy to represent District 1."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," Cairo responded softly, putting a hand on his own chest. "I quite literally won fair and square, does that not make me worthy?"

"You're a cheat!" Othello roared, flecks of spit firing from his mouth as he began to grow heated. "I don't know how you did it, but there is no conceivable way you should've beaten me! You really think you're gonna get far with strength alone!?"

Cairo watched as Othello heaved his breaths, growing more fired up with every word he spat as the crazed look in his eyes only continued to deepen. He didn't know what to tell the boy, he was clearly disillusioned by his own defeat, to the point that he couldn't even comprehend that he had been bested despite his own arrogant perception of himself.

"Look at the state you're in, you can hardly walk straight," Cairo pointed out, as he stood up calmly. "If I was able to do that to you - a spear wielder - with nothing but a shield and my own two fists, then I think it says a lot."

"Shut up!" Othello bellowed, the glare coming from his eyes now reaching dangerous levels. "It's all I've ever worked for; being a future tribute. It's the only thing I've ever wanted, and it was you of all people that took that away from me."

"Look I'm sorry Othello," Cairo spoke up, wanting to defuse the situation as much as he could. "But all of us at the Academy worked for that opportunity, it could only ever go to two of us in our age bracket."

"Yeah…" Othello hissed, as he lifted his head, his eyes locking onto Cairo. "And it should've been me!"

With those words, Othello pounced forward, closing the distance between the two of them, as Cairo raised his hands up defensively. He felt the air leave his lungs as Othello collided into him, knocking Cairo back on to the couch with a thud as the boy began to wail down hit after hit on Cairo. Cairo grit his teeth in pain as he fended off the hits, most of them connecting with his arms, with only the odd one or two managing to surpass his blocking and connect with his face. Despite this however, Cairo noticed the hits lacked power, although he was uncertain of if this was due to the conditioning he had experienced during his training, or because Othello was simply too injured to conjure enough strength to do serious damage.

"Take it! Take it you bastard!" Othello roared, as he appeared to continue to give everything he had with his punches. However, once Cairo had recollected his thoughts, he decided to take action.

As another punch came spiralling down at his face, Cairo grabbed Othello's wrist, pushing it to the side and throwing the boy off balance. This gave Cairo the opportunity to dive at the boys midsection, slamming into Othello and dragging the boy down to the carpet, whilst eliciting a distinctive "ooft" from the out-of-control boy.

Cairo heard the wind being knocked from Othello's body as the two landed on the floor, with the bully producing a yelp of pain that was likely produced from one of his existing injuries. Despite this however, Othello attempted to make a quick recovery, continuing to tussle with Cairo on the ground for control of the situation.

Cairo couldn't help but find that despite the excellent fighter that Othello usually was, his injuries were simply holding him back too much. He was slower, weaker, and undisciplined with his rage induced attack. It didn't take much for Cairo to be able to restrain the boy, grappling with him until he held him in submission pose that sapped all of the remaining energy Othello likely had.

Othello weakly clawed at the carpet, trying to get out from underneath Cairo as Cairo himself used his rather heavy weight to keep him pinned down to the ground. The helpless grunts Othello made were pitiful, and before too long, he felt the boy ceasing his struggle, as he breathed deeply in an effort catch his breath.

"You… coward," Othello laughed maniacally, his tone of voice weak as he remained pressed under the weight of Cairo. "You call this… a fight? You won't even… punch me back?"

"I have no reason to," Cairo responded, his tone serious as he looked down at Othello's head from beneath him. "You just attacked a tribute; there's nothing more that I could do to you that they won't."

"They?" Othello questioned, before the doors to the room swung open. The Peacekeeper audience that Cairo was greeted with were overcome with a demeanour of surprise, as they were met with the sight of Cairo idly sitting on the back of Othello; his elbows rested on both knees and his thumb raised to his nostril as he wiped away the trailing blood that came as a result of one of Othello's wayward strikes. He couldn't see the expressions of the Peacekeepers under their masks, but judging by their apprehensive body language - it must've been quite the sight to be greeted with.

"You might want to give a better background check to who visits your tributes from now on," Cairo softly advised the Peacekeepers, causing two of them to march in and stand either side of the two boys.

"Cairo Bronte, stand up please," one of them commanded, prompting Cairo to get to his feet, and allowing them to lean down and apprehend the battered Othello.

"Othello Fortune, you are under arrest for the assault of a protected tribute," the other Peacekeeper spoke up, as the two of them lifted Othello up from the armpits.

"But he attacked me!" Othello protested, spitting his words with every bit of contempt he had.

"Are you delusional? Or just incredibly stupid?" A voice called out from the doorway, causing both Cairo and Othello to look up at the entrance to the room. Cairo was met with the figure of Mavis St. Clair, who stood with her hands on her hips, and a glare on her face, still decked out in the black wedding dress she had attended the Reaping in - for reasons Cairo couldn't understand for the life of him.

"What?" Othello responded, sounding stunned by Mavis's sudden intervention. Mavis used the ensuing silence to stride forward, before pointing towards a ceiling corner of the room.

"They have cameras in here y'know? They'll get the whole story within five minutes from now," she taunted him, before tilting her head. "Besides, who's more likely to attack who? A volunteer tribute who has no time to waste on the likes of rejects such as yourself? Or a disgruntled man child who can't come to terms that he didn't get his way?"

Othello stared at Mavis silently for a few moments, before trying to break free from the Peacekeepers to make a charge at her. The two District 1 tributes watched in fascination as Othello was slammed to the floor once more, with several more Peacekeepers rushing forward to restrain the deranged boy as he was dragged from the room, shouting expletives and curses at both Mavis and Cairo.

Cairo sighed with relief that the ordeal was over, as the remaining few Peacekeepers began to guide the District Partners out of the room, and down the hallway. As the two walked, Cairo's eyes glanced over at Mavis, whose stony expression remained fixated on the path ahead of her.

"Hey, uh… thanks for sticking up for me there," Cairo spoke up softly, wanting to express his gratitude. Mavis looked at him momentarily, her expression not shifting in the slightest, before she turned back away from him.

"Don't get it twisted, this doesn't make us friends Cairo," Mavis responded flatly, causing Cairo's appreciation to falter slightly. "We're merely allies, nothing more."

"Oh," Cairo uttered, quickly coming to understand the dynamic between himself and Mavis. "Okay then, got it."

She was ice cold, that was a certainty. But at least she didn't seem to hate him, that had to count for something, right?

I guess indifference it is, Cairo thought to himself, as he walked alongside Mavis.

"Can I ask you one question though?" Cairo spoke up, flinching slightly as he noticed a flare of annoyance emerge in Mavis's gaze.

"What?" She snapped bluntly, likely wanting to end their discussion where she had left it.

"What's with the wedding dress?" Cairo inquired, causing Mavis's expression to soften.

"Oh," Mavis muttered, as she lowered her eyes slightly, with a sad but subtle smile arising on her face. "I got married this morning."

I see, Cairo connected the dots in his head. So she made it offical with Otherland, that's… nice.

Cairo couldn't help but feel a sense of confusion, having thought that Mavis was already married to Otherland considering she had been using his surname for the last few years. Had she really just had her name changed far earlier than necessary? Or had she been… shielding her real surname? Either way, Cairo didn't think it was called for to bring up, instead opting to present his support.

"Congratulations," Cairo responded, keeping it short as that was what Mavis appeared to prefer. Mavis didn't respond to Cairo's sentiment however, as her mind appeared to be occupied, her eyes looking to be deep in thought.

Ice cold, but perhaps a heart of gold? Cairo wondered to himself, as the two continued on their way. If that was the case, Mavis could be an exceptionally dangerous person to come up against. After all, who would be more desperate at the end of the day? Someone with nothing to fight for - or a person with everything to lose?


Mally Trax

14

~ District 6 Tribute ~


Sobs filled the room, echoing in it's emptiness as Mally Trax remained with her face firmly planted within her palms. The sniffles and wails spilled from her nose and mouth respectively, unable to be controlled as her body continued to react to her new unwanted reality. Truthfully, Mally's fate hadn't quite sunk into her mind yet, with her thoughts a whirlpool of excuses and bargaining, trying to reason with herself that there had to be some kind of mistake.

However, the underlying reality was there, and it made her body react all the same, the state of acceptance it was in seemingly miles in front of Mally's own rational thoughts. Her body had already concluded that this was happening, she really was going to the Hunger Games, and there was nothing she could do but cry her sorrows to their fullest extent. Nothing was going to change, no matter how much she wanted it to.

"How can this happen to me?" She heaved, her words full of cracks and shakes as she continued to weep hysterically. "What have I done to deserve this?"

It was the only thought she could really conjure in the moment, the only words she could string together from between her fingers. It was a redundant question, she knew what she had done and who she was as a person had no influence on her being chosen for the games. But all the same, she couldn't help but want to blame it on something other than herself; someone else had to be responsible for this, and she wanted them to suffer for it.

"Isadora…" Mally spat, her tone a low gurgle as she projected the words through gritted teeth. "You bitch, this is all your fault!"

Isadora Springthorpe - the District 6 Escort who had fatefully selected Mally's name from that glass bowl. There was nobody else to blame other than her. It was her physical action of selecting Mally's name that got her into this mess. Mally didn't care if Isadora couldn't have know which name she was choosing, it was hers that was chosen at the end of the day and it had been Isadora that had done it.

Mally wanted to hurt her, she wanted to punish her, she was probably capable of doing so as well. Although Mally was only fourteen, Isadora herself was a very small woman, with a petite frame and a shorter height than Mally herself. If she wanted to, she probably could inflict all of her rage and anguish upon the stuck-up Escort.

However, she knew she couldn't lay a finger on Isadora. The consequences would be harsh for attacking an Escort - probably worse than what they would be if she were to harm another tribute before the games. All she could do, was seethe and wallow in self-pity.

Other than Isadora, she had other problems that she now needed to face, the Hunger Games only being the overarching issue that all her problems stemmed from. For one, she would no doubt be one of the youngest tributes entering the arena, perhaps the youngest tribute. It wasn't too often that twelve or thirteen year-olds were Reaped for the games, considering how few times their names were in the bowls in comparison to the older eligible teenagers. She was already at an immediate disadvantage.

Within her age group, Mally had always been the top dog in her school. She was the one everyone feared, the person that would make sure nobody stepped out of line, or went against her wishes. She had always known how to get her way, and had always had plenty of brain dead idiots around her that followed her every whim. Admittedly, Mally knew she was a bully; a person that lacked compassion and care for everyone around her other than herself. But that had always suited her fine, she had no qualms with the way she was, and never felt an inherent need to change.

However, the position she had now been put in was exceptionally difficult. She was going to be amongst much older kids, some of which who could even be considered adults - and she was expected to be able to compete with them? How could she intimidate a Career Tribute? And manipulate them to do her own bidding? They wouldn't even give her the time of day.

Especially not after that Reaping performance, Mally thought to herself, groaning out of regret. Mally had frozen half way to the stage, not being able to take another step as her body absolutely refused to move. The Peacekeepers had to literally drag her to the stage, as she cried and kicked hysterically, openly showing all of Panem just how helpless she was.

She had came across as a petulant child - albeit there may have been some truth to that - however she could've masked it considerably better if she hadn't been so damn emotional. Now she was a joke; everyone in her grade had seen her cry like a baby, all of the other tributes would witness her pitiful display and mark her as an instant bloodbath tribute, and now - she was left with no legs to stand on.

Then there was the issue of her District Partner, Zion Whitlock. If matters weren't bad enough with Zion being much older, leagues superior in physical aptitude, and likely far wiser than Mally herself - the real kick in the guts was the fact that Zion was the younger brother of a previous District 6 Victor; the infamous Caleb Whitlock. He already had shared genetics of a current Victor - how on earth could she possibly compare to that!?

She didn't know all that much about Zion himself, as she was only really aware of Caleb due to his status as a Victor. If he was anything like Caleb, there was certainly no way she stood a chance against him, considering how ruthless his older brother had been. Even the Careers were in for some strife if Zion Whitlock lived up to his brothers reputation; it was truly a terrifying thought.

I'm so screwed, I'm so screwed, I'm so screwed, the words flowed through her mind, as she rocked back and forth, completely petrified of what was to come. As she curled up on the couch, with her knees to her chest, she yearned for the comforting touch of someone to console her. There was an unmistakable lack of visitors that had come to see Mally off, although it was nothing outside of what she would've expected.

Being such a bully to the other kids in her grade, she knew none of them would be sad to see her go, or would even bother to say goodbye as she waited in pained silence. Additionally, she didn't expect to see her parents make an appearance either, in fact, she wondered if they had even been notified about her selection yet.

Mally's parents - Guild and Harper Trax - were always permitted to have no obligation to attend the Reaping, as the two both worked in the operations centre of the train station, in preparation for the departures of the bullet trains from the district. As Mally sat alone in her Justice Building room, they were likely undergoing preparations in that very moment. She had never been close with her parents before, in fact they had been admittedly rather neglectful to Mally throughout her entire life. She had been the unplanned, unwanted child that the two were forced to put up with, leaving very little attention going her way. In fact, Mally believed that this was a small part of what made her such an attention seeking menace amongst her grade at school, after all - how could she be ignored when others were forced to deal with her?

Her parents however, she hardly saw them these days, as they worked long hours at the train station, whilst she remained alone at home. Even her two older bothers - Depot and Railey Trax - were old enough to have moved out, leaving Mally on her own to look out for herself. She wasn't expecting a visit from those two either, she had never been close with her brothers, and would be lucky to see them a few times a year. As far as she knew, both had joined the Peacekeeper Syndicate, and likely were confined to their duties in the current moment. In fact, she had heard that Railey had been recruited to serve in District 8 to try and help quell the gang violence there; he may have not even been within District 6 at all at the current point.

The only person Mally had to rely on, was Mally herself… and that now extended into the Hunger Games. Despite how awful she felt in the moment, she had to start thinking of a plan, or some sort of strategy that would keep her alive. She had a little fighting experience - albeit it was mostly punishing other defenceless kids when they did something to aggravate her - so she doubted that experience would hold up against trained Careers or brutish tributes that doubled her size. The only chance she stood in a fight, was against someone of a similar stature to herself, however she still risked suffering injuries from engaging with anyone in combat. Fighting was simply out of the question.

Hiding. That was a potential strategy, and one that suited her sufficiently. She knew it would get her far, but only if she had the right resources for it… which she would need to get from the Bloodbath. She doubted she'd have many sponsors supporting her after that Reaping display, and especially not when they'd most definitely be favouring Zion, so she would either have to be sneaky, or resourceful later on.

Hiding however certainly came at a price. When the Gamemakers would inevitably draw the remaining tributes together, she'd be forced out into the open, where she'd be easy pickings for those that remained. She also had no idea what kind of arena Head Gamemaker Aegis Harrow was cooking up; a flat wasteland or something along those lines would be terrible for hiding.

That left one other option for Mally to undertake - deception. She could continue the weak tribute act, make other tributes write her off as if she were nothing, and then find a way to kill them off from a distance, or indirectly. Perhaps she could learn trapping during the training sessions, or think of ways to poison her adversaries so that she remained unnoticed and forgotten. It would be tricky to pull off, with the only real success stories coming from that strategy being from incredibly intelligent and strategical tributes - both of which Mally was not.

A fourth option… could there be a fourth option? Surely there had to be, it couldn't come down to only those three strategies - what was she missing?

Mally didn't get much time to think more in depth about it, as she was quickly distracted by a sudden knock on the door.

"Hm?" Mally murmured, taken aback by the sudden noise, and proceeding to clutch her knees tighter to her chest.

"Mally Trax, you have a couple of visitors," a gruff voice projected through the door, before said door swung open to reveal two familiar faces. A couple of boys strolled in, their eyes set on Mally as she watched them from her defeated sitting position as she remained slumped on the couch.

"Oh… it's you two," Mally sighed flatly, not particularly moved by the fact that the two boys had come to visit her. They were none other than the only two people she could consider 'friends' - if that's what their relationship could be called - two boys from her grade at school that followed her around like lost puppies, and in their own way acting as Mally's enforcers whenever someone decided to cross her.

The first of the two was a boy named Charcoal, who was about as intelligent as an amoeba, but followed Mally's every whim without question. He was by no means the sharpest tool in the shed, but in comparison to many other kids Mally's age, Charcoal was one of the biggest she had come across. It was quite easy for her to manipulate Charcoal into being reliant on her, the boy would follow anyone with any ounce of a brain cell, and fortunately for her - she had gotten in early.

Vort - the second boy - on the other hand, Mally knew to be much more switched on than Charcoal. Normally, he wasn't someone she knew she'd be able to wrap around her finger through the usual methods, as the boy could be just as sinister as her when he wanted to be. The main difference, was that Vort had seemingly developed some sort of infatuation with Mally, that made him follow her regardless of rationale. Mally couldn't figure out if it was a pure admiration for who she was as a person, or if Vort generated his own submissive satisfaction of being belittled and dragged around by her at every turn. Either way, it had always worked out in Mally's favour, so who was she not to take advantage of Vort's loyalty?

"How are you feeling Mally," Charcoal questioned, genuine concern in his voice as well as a level of naïveté. Mally glared at him for a moment, allowing the silence to speak for itself until Charcoal began to shift his large frame uncomfortably.

"How the hell do you think I'm feeling?" Mally snapped, anger igniting within her.

"Terribly I'd say," Vort spoke up, as he motioned towards her. "You certainly look it right now."

"The hell is that supposed to mean?" Mally spat, her usual dominance over the two beginning to take over her composure once more.

"Have you looked at yourself?" Vort inquired, as he pointed over at the mirror that rested against the wall, causing Mally's eyes to wander over to her reflection. She was met with the image of herself curled up on the couch, clutching her knees to her chest with her freckled face now red and puffy from the crying. The whites of her eyes were clearly bloodshot, with tear trails still staining her cheeks and reflecting a shine from the rooms lighting. Her long brown hair - once straightened for the Reaping - was now disheveled and frizzy from the anguish she had been through. She looked weak, pitiful… pathetic.

"Aaagh!" She screamed in outrage, as she leapt to her feet and grabbed the decorative vase that was resting on the coffee table, before hauling it at the smooth mirror, causing a distinctive crashing sound of breaking glass and leaving the reflective surface fractured and shattered. As she heaved her frustrated breaths and the shards of mirror continued to collapse to the ground, both boys fell silent, clearly panic-stricken by the sudden outburst from Mally.

"I can't believe it…" she whispered, as she sank back into the couch, her fingers scratching her hair as she she shook in disbelief. "Everyone has seen me like that now, I'm a complete joke."

"Relax Mally, it's a very common reaction for tributes to have when they've been reaped - especially younger tributes like yourself," Vort reassured her, as she rocked back and forth. "I honestly don't believe they'll think much of it."

"But it's not who I am! It's humiliating!" Mally argued, staring lividly at Vort, as Charcoal stared awkwardly at the ground, clearly not having the mental capacity to contribute in comforting her. The dumb boy knew that he was better off not talking at all, rather than angering Mally further.

"Exactly, you had a moment of weakness is all; everyone does," Vort pointed out, as Mally stubbornly refused to accept his wisdom. "Now you can subvert expectations, do your thing under the radar whilst the big threats focus on one another."

"My thing?" Mally questioned him, tilting her head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Vort blinked at Mally for a moment, before chuckling to himself and folding his arms, as if the answer was obvious.

"Tell me Mally, in our schools hierarchy, where exactly did you start?" Vort prodded her, causing Mally to reflect on her history. Where had she started? What even was that question? She had started as nothing; a nobody, invisible to everyone, just as she was with her own parents. Nobody had even batted an eye at Mally when she was younger, she was completely ignored and isolated, with nothing even remotely significant about her to change that.

She had hated it. She hated being overlooked, she hated being that one throwaway person that nobody gave a damn about. But it's not as if she could make people like her, she couldn't cause people to care for her no matter what she did. All she could do was the opposite.

If she couldn't get people to pay attention to her out of respect, then she'd have to do it out of spite, out of fear, out of making others despise her. And that's just what she did.

She began by being more antagonistic, by being more hostile, by being a person that people knew would cause them trouble whenever they crossed her. For every little interaction Mally would have with others, she'd make a big deal of otherwise insignificant and trivial conundrums, blowing things out proportion to the point that others would fear doing anything around her that she didn't like. Mally grew a reputation, and she continued to hunger for that feeling of dominance, where people were walking on eggshells around her with their every move.

People knew not to cross her, especially when she started getting physical. At that age, most kids were more or less not very confrontational, and certainly weren't prepared to handle Mally's unorthodox behaviour. By the time Mally and her fellow students were hitting their teen years, the stigma surrounding Mally had stuck, and her entitled behaviour only grew from there. She had all of their attention at that point, and Mally had grown power-hungry to the point that she abused her reputation to its fullest.

The question was, where was Vort going with this? How did that possibly correlate with the position she was now in?

Are you telling me I can work my way up from nothing?" Mally inquired, rolling her eyes at Vort. "I don't think that can apply here, not with tributes that are much older than me."

"That's not exactly what I mean," Vort informed her, shaking his head at her words. "Let me ask you, what are we to you?"

What are Vort and Charcoal to Mally? Well the answer is quite simple there - lackeys. Followers that would do everything she says without question, with an undying loyalty despite how terribly she treats them. That's when the light bulb went off in Mally's head, the idea that Vort was alluding to potentially gracing her mind.

Vort was a special case as to why he followed Mally, but in terms of Charcoal, the lumbering boy was an idiot that would probably die for her if she commanded him to. He served no other purpose in life other than following Mally, with zero prospects, no ambitions, and a complete and utter reliance on her.

"Right… I think I might understand where you're getting at," Mally murmured, as Vort smiled wickedly.

"Exactly," he grinned, as his eyes fixated on Mally. "Apply that to the games, and you might not even have to lift a finger."

"Um… sorry but I don't understand," Charcoal spoke up, scratching his head in confusion.

"You don't need to," Mally responded bluntly, shutting Charcoal up in an instant, which only further reminded her of how much power she had over him.

So that's the solution huh? Mally smirked to herself, as she contemplated her position. Previously, Mally had only come up with three potential strategies that she could utilise, all of which had their pros and cons that she'd have been forced to juggle. However, there may have been a fourth option all along, by doing what she does best.

Subjugation - finding either a stupid tribute that she could manipulate like she had done with Charcoal, or a weak-willed, and disposable tribute that she could intimidate to do exactly as she says, and indirectly act as her own personal meat-shield. It's what she was infamous for, getting others to do her bidding whilst she sat on the sidelines comfortably. If she could find either a younger tribute, or one that lacked purpose and self-confidence, she could possibly force them into following her, and unknowingly acting as the blockade between her and any potential threat.

She had seen tributes in previous games that were used as pawns by their "allies", only to be thrown to the wolves the moment their supposed ally needed a quick escape. These poor tributes were always manipulated into thinking they were reliant on their ally, dependant on them, yet were unaware that they were simply there to be a future sacrifice.

What she needed, was her own Vort or Charcoal in these games; a tribute who would do everything she wanted.

There were a couple ways that she could approach a strategy like that. She could be incessant and dominant to a tribute she knew she could beat. Just because she was going to be one of the youngest, it didn't mean she'd be the smallest and weakest. Or yet, she could go for the heartstrings, and target an older, and more sympathetic tribute who has a soft spot for the younger kids and would protect Mally and her "innocence".

Mally didn't know how she felt about the latter option, it wasn't in her nature to act helpless and needy - she always took what she wanted with shameless tact. However, with the way she had reacted to being reaped, the setup was certainly there for that deception if she wanted to proceed with it. She definitely had a few options to consider, but regardless the opportunity remained clear; she might be able to get carried to the endgame without even getting her hands bloodied.

As Mally's thoughts whirred over the possibilities, she was quickly distracted by a soft sniffling sound, which caused her to look up. Whilst Vort's face remained passive, she noticed Charcoal beginning to tear up, as he wiped the tears from his face, struggling to conceal how upset he was.

"Why're you crying?" Mally questioned, feeling slightly irritated by Charcoal's sudden emotional bout. "You're not the one that was just reaped for the Hunger Games."

"I know," Charcoal choked, his voice slightly wobbly as his reddened eyes met Mally's. "I'm just upset that this has happened to you. You're… my only real friend."

Mally's face couldn't help but soften at the genuine words from Charcoal, the sentiment coming as an honest surprise to Mally who had never really considered Charcoal as a friend. She had always figured it was a mutual feeling, she hadn't ever really treated him like a proper friend and was certain that their entire dynamic was parasitic. To Mally, it was surprisingly nice - albeit foreign - to see someone genuinely remorseful for her.

"Oh," she uttered, unsure of how to respond to Charcoal's sorrow. She had never needed to console anybody before, and although the position she was in was far worse than Charcoal's, Mally felt that even for her, it would be insensitive to diminish his feelings. Why would she push away someone who was so loyal to her for all these years, despite how terrible she had been to him.

"Hmmph, well I guess I'll go fuck myself then," Vort spoke up, eyeing Charcoal with disdain, apparently offended that Charcoal didn't consider him to be a real friend. She supposed she couldn't blame Vort for feeling that way too much, the two were always together by proxy of their involvement with her, she would have thought they'd at least be somewhat friends.

Before Mally could say anything to Charcoal however, the doors to the room suddenly swung open, with a few Peacekeepers striding in as their masked heads fixated on Vort and Charcoal. Mally released a sigh, knowing it was time to depart from the only two people she had ever been amicable with.

"Visitors for Mally Trax, your time is now up. Please follow us out of the room," one of the Peacekeepers commanded, as Charcoal's head hung, and Vort's folded arms dropped by his sides. He turned to Mally one last time, before flashing her a brief smile.

"Good luck Mally, I really hope you can make it home," Vort spoke up, with a sense of finality.

"So do I," Mally replied quietly, as she watched the Peacekeepers lead the two boys out of her room, leaving Mally with her solitude once more. That was it, she was now on her own - for good.

Not necessarily, Mally reminded herself, the thought of her plans billowing throughout her head once more. She didn't have to be alone, she didn't have to leave it up to fate. If she took action, she could seek out exactly what she needed, and it would all start when she watched over the Reaping Recaps. That would be her opportunity, her chance to identify the weakest tributes, that she could potential bend to her every whim.

It was only after a few more minutes, that the thoughts of her plans were cut short, as the doors were opened once more, this time without a visitor, but instead a group of Peacekeeper escorts that would likely be taking her to the train.

The train were my parents who didn't even bother to show up would be working, Mally thought to herself, a vindictive presence detectable within her inner thoughts.

"Mally Trax, please follow us. We will be departing now," a Peacekeeper spoke up, this one sounding different to the previous man who had escorted Vort and Charcoal out of the building.

"Oh joy, I can't wait," Mally snapped sarcastically, with the Peacekeepers not at all acknowledging her clear disregard for politeness. Feeling emboldened by their silence, Mally felt obliged to continue. "How does it make you all feel, hm? So casually complying with shipping a fourteen year-old girl to her likely death? I bet you feel soooo good about yourselves, assholes."

Mally shoved past one of the Peacekeepers that had come to walk by her side, not wanting to be near any of them and give them the satisfaction of making their job easier. If she was going to be forced to go to these stupid games, she wasn't going to make it easy on any of the people she had to interact with.

"Miss Trax, we request you don't be uncooperative with us for the sake of both yours and our convenience," another Peacekeeper spoke up, causing Mally to scoff.

"Or what? What more could you possibly do to me?" She waved the masked man off dismissively, before striding out of the room into the presence of another set of Peacekeepers. This time however, they were joined by another presence, who didn't happen to be decked out in white armour and a loaded firearm strapped to their back.

Mally's eyes met with her District Partners - Zion Whitlock - as he stood patiently alongside the Peacekeepers who had seemingly escorted him. The two stared at each other for a moment, as Mally tried to detect what the boy was thinking whilst her own eyes narrowed at him.

So this was the younger brother of Caleb Whitlock? If she was being honest, Mally couldn't detect much from the gaze that he looked at her with. He didn't seem as arrogant or vicious as his older brother had, and if anything he appeared strangely calm, and at peace with his fate. He looked a lot like Caleb; with his body tall, strong and tanned with sun kissed skin, his heart shaped face and strong jawline accentuated with a sharp chin. Above all, were the most distinctive features that were reminiscent of Caleb Whitlock, which Zion appeared to share; hooded, stormy grey eyes that gave a sense of mystique and intrigue, as well as light tousled hair, so white in colour that it almost looked as if it had been bleached.

Mally knew better however, if Caleb Whitlock was anything to go off of. Both brothers had the same white hair, a trait that Mally knew Caleb to have possessed from Canities Subita, otherwise known as Marie Antoinette Syndrome. Of what she knew, it was a condition that was developed due to excessive stress or trauma, to the point that the hair of a person could turn white overtime at a much earlier age.

Mally had no idea as to what sort of stresses Zion had been through during his lifetime to cause his condition to trigger, however she could surmise that it absolutely made him ten times more dangerous. She couldn't imagine what he had been through, and yet be resilient enough to overcome.

"Mally, right?" Zion spoke up to break the silence, in a surprisingly soft tone. Mally was caught off guard momentarily, before she put her walls back up and frowned at him.

"That's me," Mally responded flatly, as Zion looked her up and down. She waited for him to say something, until he finally smiled politely at her.

"You look to be doing better now. I hope we can get along," Zion offered, causing Mally to eye him suspiciously. What was this boy playing at? She had seen what his brother was capable of, she knew better than to trust this guy.

"I wouldn't bank on that," Mally sneered at him, wanting to make it abundantly clear that she wasn't going to fall for any games he might be playing. "If your brother is anything to go by, I'm not going near you, not even with a ten-foot pole."

Zion - with strangely kind eyes - looked at her for a few moments, before laughing pleasantly, not at all appearing deterred by Mally's hostility.

"That's understandable ," Zion accepted, appearing unfazed. "As you wish."

"Good," Mally huffed, as she stepped past Zion and started following the Peacekeepers that led the way. She definitely wanted to get as far away as she could from Zion, her interaction with him leaving her unsettled and confused. He wasn't at all like she had expected him to be off of a first interaction, but she still couldn't trust a word from the boys lips.

What is with that guy? Mally questioned to herself, not even knowing if she truly wanted the answer.


Storm Nyquist-Herrera

15

~ District 5 Tribute ~


"Alright, next!"

The voice of a man bellowed out from behind the door that kept Storm Nyquist-Herrera confined to his goodbye room within the Justice Building, before the door was opened to allow the current visitors that Storm had received to leave. Storm sighed as his eyes rested on the doorframe, feeling weary as yet another two people came to visit him, tears in their eyes as they marched into the room with sorrowful expressions on their face.

For the past hour, Storm had been receiving constant visitors that had left little time for him to really sit down and process his situation, half of the said visitors being people he quite honestly didn't know the names of. He knew that he was pretty popular due to being the captain of the Brexton Academy Mules rugby team… but this was simply absurd!

Who are all of these people? Do the Peacekeepers not background check the visitors their tributes receive? Storm wondered, simply exhausted by the social energy he had been having to maintain. Begrudgingly, Storm forced a pearly white smile as his tired eyes locked onto the two new visitors he had received - a pair of girls that Storm vaguely recognised as being part of the Brexton Cheerleading squad. They sobbed as they rushed over to him, embracing him tightly as they buried their tear-stained cheeks into his shirt.

Oh man… they're gonna soak my shirt, Storm groaned internally, whilst keeping up the façade.

"Heyyyy… you guys…" Storm greeted them wearily, not knowing how to address them without their names. One of the girls looked up - a raven haired girl with striking blue eyes, that were brimming with tears as she attempted to compose herself.

"Oh Storm… we're so sorry this has happened to you!" The raven haired girl croaked, as she clutched onto Storms sleeve, creasing it much to his dismay.

"I hope we're not intruding," the other girl cried out, as she pulled her dirty-blonde coloured hair from her face, and laid her soft brown eyes upon him. "It's just that Wisteria really wanted to see you off and wish you good luck."

So raven-haired girls name is Wisteria… got it, Storm took note, as Wisteria looked at the blonde girl in disbelief.

"What!? You're the one that wanted to see him Rochelle!" Wisteria protested, causing the blonde girl - who was apparently named Rochelle - to become flustered.

"It was your idea, what are you talking about?" Rochelle insisted, prompting both girls to break out in an argument. Storm sat between the two of them, looking up at the ceiling with a sigh, not at all interested in the pointless bickering between the two girls who he only vaguely knew of. Besides, he had much more important matters that he needed to consider, he didn't need a bunch of girls fawning over him at this point in time.

"Ladies, ladies," Storm spoke up calmly, as he raised his hands up to signal both Wisteria and Rochelle to cease their arguing. The two looked at him, both embarrassed that they had seemingly forgotten their reasoning for being there, was directly in front of them. "My time left here isn't very long, so I'd appreciate it, if it wasn't spent fighting over something so trivial. I'm glad you took the time to come and see me, it means a lot."

Not particularly, the whole cheerleading team has visited at this point, Storm thought to himself, despite continuing with the lie.

"Now - Wisteria… Rochelle… thanks for coming, I'll do my best to make it home to the both of you," Storm promised, flashing them the same charming grin he has had to do the same with for every person that had visited him so far. The two girls looked at him with wide eyes for a moment, before they began bursting into tears again, forcing Storm into another aggressive hug that lasted until the Peacekeepers entered the room, needing to pry the two of them off of Storm until they were finally led out of the building.

Storm let out a long sigh of relief, as he pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation, hoping that was the last of the visitors - at least the ones he wasn't too familiar with. It was absurd to Storm that so many people were allowed entry to say goodbye to a tribute, he never thought that the Peacekeepers would allow something like that. He supposed they weren't used to getting a line of people waiting to see one of the tributes, as Storm's situation was far more unique than most other tributes would be.

To put it as humbly as he could, Storm was somewhat of a mini-celebrity within the younger scene of District 5, having been known as one of the most athletic and talented teenagers when it came to playing sports. He was very adaptive with the sports that he applied himself to, being apart of many teams and local tournaments across a variety of different games.

Of the two most populous schools in the district - Brexton Academy being Storm's school, and Harding Institute being their rivals - most teens in the district attended either one, leading to a distinctive feud between the two schools, that always led to exciting clashes between the two campuses whenever they did partake in sporting events.

This especially translated over to their most competitive rivalry - their rugby games - in which Storm had propelled himself all the way to the role of captaincy, after inheriting it from their former team captain, a graduated senior named Tyler Stratton. Ever since then, Storm had risen to prominence, labelled as the best player the team had seen in decades, and amassing hundreds of fans that would attended the games just for the sole purpose of watching him.

Storm himself - he knew he was good, he knew he was influential, but he hadn't expected so many nameless people to care enough to visit him now. It almost felt hollow to him, the lack of emotional connection to any of these people, despite him appearing to mean the world to them.

He couldn't help but sigh as he leaned forward, putting his fingers together as he finally had a quiet moment to consider his situation. Although Storm loved playing all sorts of games, and was inherently competitive at heart… the Hunger Games certainly wasn't at the top of his list for something he'd want to partake in.

It's not as if he considered his odds to be terrible - sure he'd be up against trained killers from the Career Districts, but he knew he wouldn't be an easy beat. Storm was confident in himself, and very athletic despite his height not quite having reached its full potential yet. From his years of playing sports, he was nimble, tough, strong, and possessed a body of as peak physical fitness that he could reach at his age.

He was relatively good looking as well - as conceited as that may sound - with a symmetrical face of tanned skin thanks to his Latino heritage, a smattering of freckles dotting his cheeks, dark and wavy brown hair that he kept neatly trimmed, steely grey eyes bordering on blue, and pearly white teeth that many considered one of his most charming qualities, on the odd occasion that he flashed a smile.

Whenever he was tight-lipped, many thought of him as looking rather serious and almost brooding, which he hoped would help when the other tributes tried to get a read on him in the future. He supposed that overall, he was certainly better placed to compete over the average boy his age, granted he would've stood a much better chance if he were older and fully developed.

I can't allow myself to think like that though, Storm reminded himself, shaking his head at the negativity. No, he had to keep a positive outlook. He was used to performing under pressure, and even if the pressure was his life being cut short, he knew he'd be able to overcome it. He knew he had skills that would translate effectively to the Hunger Games, even if they weren't as refined as the Careers.

Wrestling, boxing, javelin, fencing - he had dabbled in all of it, and he knew he had the capability to excel. How different was throwing a spear to throwing a javelin? Deflecting sword strikes to evading in fencing? Sure, they were certainly different, but not too far apart to the point that he could refine his skills during training to suit his new situation.

Although Storm felt a sense of comfort and reassurance as he contemplated what advantages he may have, those thoughts were quickly disrupted as he began to hear raised voices coming from outside. As his head perked up, he tried to decipher the muffled words that were coming from beyond the door, hearing a desperate tone from what sounded like a woman screaming.

"Why are you stopping us!? Let us in!"

"I'm sorry ma'am, however the number of people wanting to see the tribute has been far greater than expected. We're on a tight time schedule and have to cut things off here."

"This is outrageous! How can you allow such a thing?"

"We promise you, we had no foresight into how long this process would take."

"And you didn't think to listen to us when we requested to see him first?"

"He was already being visited at that point ma'am, it's only fair that you wait in line like everybody else."

"But we are his family!"

Storms breath halted for a moment, his chest fluttering as he realised his family were finally there to see him, despite the chaos of the waiting people outside. He had longed for the faces of his loved ones, to the point that he wasn't even sure they'd ever get through to him.

Wait… did they say they were cutting off visitors?

Storm raced towards the door, before flinging it open so strongly that it could've come off the hinges. He was met with the view of a blockade of Peacekeepers, obstructing access to his waiting family, all of which had worried expressions on their faces. He saw his mother first - Catalina Herrera - who was the only one getting up in the Peacekeepers masked faces, as his father - Milo Nyquist- attempted to hold her back despite the urgency on his face.

Storm also noticed the panicked expression of Sorria Nyquist-Herrera - affectionately nicknamed Sora - his twin sister who looked absolutely grief-stricken by the set of events that had occurred that day. As the group were in the midst of their altercation, it appears as if the loud bang of the door crashing open had stopped them in their tracks, as every person in the hallway turned their eyes to Storm, who stood wide-eyed and relieved to see them.

Turning his attention to the Peacekeepers, Storm put his hands together pleadingly, his face expressing a multitude of emotions that he wasn't sure would sway the usually emotionless masked men.

"Please… I've put up with visitors I don't even know for the past hour," Storm spoke up, his begging tone loud and clear. "Just let me see my family, and then we can go."

The silence that followed was palpable, as Storm silently prayed that the Peacekeepers would be reasonable. It was a simple request really, and considering he hadn't had a say in who they'd allowed to come visit him so far, Storm thought that it was at least worth a shot, despite how immovable the Peacekeepers usually were.

As the silence continued, and just as Storm thought that his request was about to be denied, an audible sigh could be heard by one of the Peacekeepers, as their masked face drooped begrudgingly.

"You have five minutes. That's it," the masked man insisted, as a gleeful smile sprung upon Storm's face.

"Thank you," he breathed, feeling relieved as the Peacekeepers stepped aside to allow passage for his three family members. As the three silently made their way into the room, Storm caught a glimpse of the still lengthy line of people that appeared disappointed that they didn't get to say goodbye to their star captain. However, the two people at the front of the line were the people that caught his eye the most.

"Those two as well," Storm spoke up, just as the group of Peacekeepers were about to start dispersing the line of people.

"Are they family?" The same Peacekeeper questioned him sternly, doubt detectable in his tone as Storm held his ground.

"… Yes, they're… cousins," Storm lied, as his eyes gazed upon the two people that watched him in surprise.

"Fine, as long as that's it," the Peacekeeper relented, as he motioned for the two to follow Storm's family. Storm stepped aside as he watched the two people awkwardly enter the room, the first of which being one of his best friends - Alyssa Nelson. Alyssa was a girl that Storm had always clicked with, despite her being a rival student at Harding Institute. The two had met due to the pair excelling in the sporting scene that the pair mostly remained confined to, with a friendly rivalry growing between them from the moment Storm had laid his eyes on Alyssa.

Admittedly, Storm had developed feelings for Alyssa over the years, their competitiveness against one another only adding the spark to their already contentious dynamic. If Storm was being honest, Alyssa was the prettiest girl he had ever seen, with her long flowing blonde hair, and her feisty honey brown eyes - although of course he may have been a little biased.

The second person who happened to be standing alongside Alyssa, was Storm's teammate, one of his closest friends, and the Vice Captain for the Brexton Academy Mules - Yaris Grayson. In actuality, Storm couldn't believe Yaris was even there, considering Yaris had just had his girlfriend Sorrel be reaped alongside Storm. The two were certainly good friends, but Storm imagined his priorities would surely be with his girlfriend.

As soon as the doors closed, Storm trudged over to the couch, before slouching into it and landing with a resounding thud as he sank into the cushions. The other occupants of the room surrounded Storm wordlessly, with his father pacing back and forth, his mother taking a seat next to him, Sora sitting on a chair as she dragged her knees to her chest in solemn shock, and his two friends standing off to the side, allowing his family to get the prime positions nearby.

About ten wordless seconds passed, until someone finally broke the silence.

"Thanks for allowing us to come in too," Yaris thanked Storm, as Storm flashed a half-hearted smile in return.

"Anything for my friends… I've had enough of everyone else for today," Storm responded, trying to sound cheerful. "I assume you've already seen Sorrel?"

"I did," Yaris confirmed, his voice taking on a more grave tone as his eyes cast downwards. "I figured I'd pay you a visit too… then I got held up in the line."

"I'm sorry about that…" Storm sighed, clicking his teeth and he rubbed his face incredulously.

"It's no matter, just a small detour," Yaris shrugged.

"How's she doing?" Storm inquired, curious as to how his District Partner was getting on. The poor girl had been brave going up to the stage, but it was apparent to anyone that she was scared to her core. She had looked as if she was about to burst into tears at any moment, and it certainly didn't help that all of her younger siblings were crying out for her as she robotically walked to the Reaping stage.

"About as well as you'd expect," Yaris muttered truthfully. "She's inconsolable."

"That… sucks," Storm admitted, at a loss for words. Although he was the one who was reaped, it was without a doubt that Yaris had certainly copped quite the brutal awakening when two people that were close to him had been reaped. It was a different kind of tragedy to Storm's, but a tragedy nevertheless.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be taking up your time," Yaris spoke up, acknowledging Storm's family as they continued to come to terms with his new ordeal.

"Oh honey, it's okay," Catalina spoke up, Storm's mother speaking with a soothing tone quite the opposite of which she was arguing to the Peacekeepers with.

"In all honesty, I don't even know what to say," Storm's father joined in, continuing his pacing as he folded his arms anxiously. "I'm just… shattered."

"I can't believe this… why did this happen?" Sora squeaked from behind her knees, her eyes reddening as she attempted to stifle her tears. Storm felt a knot in his stomach, seeing his loved ones in this state due to his own misfortune. There was nothing he could do about it not a single damn thing - and it killed him inside.

Alyssa was next to chime in, but not vocally as the others had. The blonde girl stood up, before closing the few steps between herself and Storm and proceeding to dive on top of him, strangling him with a tight hug that nothing could've prepared him for. Storm sat stunned for a moment, before instinctively stroking her back, as he felt Alyssa's tears begin to stain his shirt.

I guess it was already soaked from Wisteria and Rochelle earlier, Storm thought with acceptance, as he affectionately played with Alyssa's hair.

"I can't imagine a world without you in it," Alyssa croaked, her voice stifled by the crook of Storm's shoulder, as she raised her eyes and nose off of his body.

"Hey…" Storm spoke up weakly, his voice cracking as he attempted to speak with a lighthearted tone. "You guys are all acting as if I'm gone already. I think I have a pretty good shot at winning this."

"Don't joke about this Storm," Sora sniffled, wiping her nose with a tissue.

"Joke?" Storm almost laughed. "You think I'm going to go down without a fight?"

"This isn't a game of rugby, this is a game of death," Sora scolded him, as she sat up and huffed.

Storm restrained a smile from appearing on his face, knowing that Sora always looked at things from a logical lens. She was a lot smarter than he was; already in the process of pursuing a career in engineering whilst Storm himself put all of his cards on his love for playing sports. It was easy to surmise that the Hunger Games were far more complex and dangerous than a simple ball game, but what Sora didn't take into account, was the complex facets that made the Hunger Games - a game.

Physical aptitude, strategy, rivalries, allies, sponsorships, generating excitement for the people watching at home; all things, that Storm specialised in. He may have been going up against older competition, but that hadn't stopped him before. He knew how to draw attention, he knew how to please a crowd… the only real difference was that the stakes were far higher.

What was unbeknownst to the people in the room other than Storm himself, was that he had a plan brewing, a plan that would catapult him right into the limelight, and would attract all Capitol eyes to him by the time he was entering the arena. It was certainly a dangerous one that he had in mind, one that could certainly be detrimental should he not play his cards right. However, what was a little risk without the reward?

"I get that you're upset Sora, but what do you want me to do? Wallow in self-pity? Give up entirely?" Storm questioned his sister, who's face quickly fell as she considered his words.

"No… of course not. It's just-"

"Sora, please," his mother interjected, as Sora's lips closed, her eyes casting downwards shamefully. Catalina sighed, before looking once more at her son, Storm returning her gaze with an appreciative expression.

"Now Storm, I know you have faith in yourself, but this also was not your choice… you can only be so prepared for something like this," Catalina continued, trying to tip-toe around the gargantuan odds that Storm faced.

"We've lived through a lot of Hunger Games son," Milo spoke up, his tone cautious, as if to try and not demotivate Storm's determination. "And we know from what we've seen, there are factors you need to account for that you'd never have even thought of."

"Do you have a plan, Storm?" Alyssa croaked hoarsely, finally raising her head from his shoulder. Storm looked around at all of them, before nodding with a reassuring smile.

"I have a few things up my sleeve," Storm promised them, reflecting over the few strategies he had been able to conjure thus far. "Whatever I have to do to win - I will. Nothing will stop me."

The room fell silent upon his words, the implication that Storm was willing to do anything and everything to get home - no matter how sinister it was - hanging thick in the air like the smell of burning garbage. It was an unpleasant insinuation, but a necessary one nevertheless. If he had the opposite attitude, who knows what could hold him back. However, Storm was a winner, a competitor; victory was in his blood.

"I'm sorry to interrupt everyone, but our time is almost up," Yaris spoke up, his eyes locked directly onto the clock on the wall, ticking down every second before Storm was ripped away from his family. Storm sighed, not wanting to depart from them so soon, but knowing it was an inevitability that he must embrace, especially if he was hoping to look forward rather than backwards. He couldn't allow his determination to be swayed by emotions, it was the key to keeping a clear head and remaining focused on the task at hand, just as he had learned in every game or sport he had ever played.

"I suppose this is it," his father sighed, as he approached Storm from the position he had been pacing in.

"Please Storm, just… play it safe," his mother pleaded, as she leaned forward and took him in an embrace. As his father, and then Sora joined in, Storm couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at his mothers words. Safe… it simply wasn't possible to play the Hunger Games 'safe'. Nothing good came out of the Hunger Games without putting one's life on the line, very few people had ever won from simply sitting back and letting everybody else doing the dirty work for them. Only extenuating circumstances could make that happen, and considering the new Head Gamemaker likely wanted to make his mark, the odds of someone winning by fading into the background were miniscule.

Besides… the plans that Storm had were the complete opposite of safe. If anything, he was going to be putting himself into great danger, in the name of pushing himself into the limelight. No person was ever remembered for their ability to live cautiously, it was those that brought about controversy and notoriety, that were at the top of the history books. For that, Storm needed to be in the firing line, to keep the audience in suspense for his own well-being by the position he intended to put himself in.

Storm's plan - was to be the target.

It sounded crazy, it sounded suicidal in fact, however Storm knew it could work, and he knew how to play into it. The thing that really got the Capitol crowd going wasn't some throwaway kill in the Bloodbath, or some tribute dying to dehydration. It was a good old-fashioned feud, a rivalry, a battle - between two enemies, that would leave them sitting on the edge of their seats.

Storm had seen plenty of it in sporting matches alone; big rivalries between opposing teams where everyone's eyes would be watching to see who came out on top, between too talented competitors from opposing teams that normally had a grudge that persisted off the field. It brewed factions on either side - even between spectators - and kept people invested as they anticipated the climax of the contention between the two parties they were watching.

This could easily apply to the Hunger Games too, there had been countless instances of tributes becoming mortal enemies with one another, and going head to head in some of the most exciting clashes of their games. These were the types of tributes - other than the Careers of course - that Capitol viewers wanted to see, the type that people would sponsor as they decided which side to pick. Furthermore, the Gamemakers were more inclined to keep around tributes that had a grudge against each other, avoiding throwing traps and mutts at them so that the two could ultimately tussle it out in a glorious showdown. It was the type of dynamic Storm thrived in; the trash talking, the butting heads, and that vindicating feeling propelling through him as he proved himself to be superior.

If Storm could spark a feud with another tribute, he was certain he'd be able to draw attention from the audience to himself, and possibly even the support of those that were interested in seeing the outcome of an unresolved altercation. Of course the downside could be catastrophic if he were to piss off the wrong tribute, but if he were to target someone he knew he'd stand a good chance against, then perhaps he could even come put on top of the fight with a small cult-following in the Capitol.

It might've only been wishful thinking; delusions of grandeur that he could catapult himself to the same sort of standing that even the Career tributes had. However, Storm was determined to make it work, to prove that he could rise to the top of any contest he committed himself to. The Hunger Games were certainly not the competition he ever envisioned himself entering, but now that he had no other choice, he had to make the most of his opportunity.

However, to put his family at ease for the time being, Storm simply nodded in response, a hollow promise that he wouldn't purposefully put himself into harms way. His family had always seen how competitive he could get when participating in a game, to them it was only inevitable that he would overstep his jurisdiction.

As his parents let him go, Sora continued hugging him for a little while longer, his twin sister clutching him tightly as she silently squeezed the life out of him. They remained that way for a prolonged amount of time, with Sora clearly hesitant to let go for what could be the final time in her life.

"Please don't do anything stupid," Sora whispered, as she finally let go, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

"I'll try not to," Storm smiled weakly, his emotions beginning to get the better of him as every moment become all the more real to him. His final hug came from Alyssa, as she dove onto him once more, this time planting a lingering kiss on his cheek as her eyes stared intently at Storm's face. The two gazed at one another for a moment, before Alyssa hesitantly backed up, her goodbye somehow feeling unfinished to Storm.

"When you get back here, I'm going to kick your ass for making me feel like this," Alyssa threatened him softly, causing Storm to elicit a snort from his nostrils.

"I'd like to see you try," Storm laughed, before Yaris finally stepped forward. The two boys looked at each other, before Yaris stuck out his hand, which Storm promptly took in his own to give a firm shake to. He couldn't help but admire Yaris's composure despite the circumstances, although he felt an inherent sense of guilt forming in the pit of his stomach, knowing that if he were to ever see Yaris's face again, it would be because Sorrel would be dead.

Despite this lingering technicality, neither mentioned the overarching ultimatum, as Yaris simply nodded his head.

"I wish you luck, Storm," Yaris said quietly, as Storm averted his eyes.

"I appreciate it," Storm responded, as the doors to the room finally opened.

"Five minutes have elapsed, everybody other than Storm Nyquist-Herrera please vacate the room," one of the Peacekeepers commanded, as several entered the admittedly solemn room. Each person gave Storm a lingering glance, before they were led out single-file, not attempting to resist the Peacekeepers who had been considerate enough to let them visit Storm at all. Once the group had been led down the hallway, one of the few remaining Peacekeepers turned towards Storm.

"Storm, please follow us. It is time to depart District 5."

Sighing, Storm reluctantly stood up, as he followed the Peacekeepers out of the room, being led a few doors down until they stood outside a seemingly identical doorframe that remained closed off to the hallway. He watched as the leading Peacekeeper flung open the door, revealing a very similar room to his own on the other side, housing what appeared to be a completely distraught Sorrel Meddleham.

Storm's eyes fixated on Sorrel as she sat on the couch - although 'sat' was probably the incorrect word to use, as Sorrel's posture had sunken so low, to the point that her back rested against the cushion a person would normally sit on, whilst her lower body hung completely off of the couch, only being supported by her legs.

Her face was pink and puffy from crying, her eyes completely devoid of anything other than the deep pit of grief she must have been feeling. She barely reacted when the Peacekeepers came to collect her, as her eyes were the only part of her body that moved, glassily following the Peacekeepers as they approached her, before lowering to the floor as they lifted her up by her arms. To put it simply, she looked completely and utterly defeated - Yaris was quite spot on when he was describing the state she was in as inconsolable.

"Miss Meddleham, don't make us resort to carrying you," one of the Peacekeeper's accompanying her insisted. Reluctantly, Sorrel appeared to regain her footing, as she supported herself enough to stand on her own, dragging her feet across the floor as she wordlessly exited the room.

Storm couldn't help but catch Sorrel's eye as the two crossed paths, a small part of him feeling a fleeting form of sympathy for the poor girl. However, the feeling was exactly that - fleeting.

I know she's Yaris's girlfriend, but I can't allow myself to let her drag me down, Storm reminded himself, as he broke their connected gaze, forcing himself to turn his focus on the path ahead of him.

I'm sorry Sorrel, Storm apologised internally, opting to not even say a word of reassurance to his District Partner.

You're on your own for this.


Author's Note:

I have returned! As promised, I am trying my best to stick to these monthly chapters, and so far so good. It's been a rather hectic month admittedly, but I still have been finding time to put aside and make progress when I can. I also took a week off of work for the first time this year which was a nice refresher, and I definitely made the most of it in regards to writing this chapter! Additionally, I was a bit distracted whilst applying for a promotion at work this month, which excitingly enough, it appears I may land! Fingers crossed of course, but it's certainly looking promising!

Enough about me however, now it's time to delve into the chapter. Today we got to witness the goodbye sessions for four new tributes in the form of Iskra Amani, Cairo Bronte, Mally Trax, and Storm Nyquist-Herrera - one of which we've seen before indirectly (*cough* Iskra) - as well as a few others we've seen before on the back-end of these POV's. I'd like to thank livinginadeam0, Tyquavis, DoIReallyNeedToChooseNow, and VeryNewToThis, for Iskra, Cairo, Mally and Storm respectively. I'd also like to thank everyone who has been reviewing so far, they are always a delight to read and are big motivators for me to continue this journey. I'd love to hear all of your thoughts on these tributes, as well as anything else you may have taken away from this chapter.

Things are certainly heating up now, as we finally reach the Train Rides! I'm exceptionally excited for the next two chapters, as we will be getting a whole bunch of new tribute, mentor, and escort interactions as we transition into the Capitol phase of the story. Only eight tributes left to introduce now, and it will begin with Chapter 9 - Train Ride I. That just about summarises everything I have to say, and I look forward to reading all of your reviews!

~Reign