TW: Mentions of cannibalism and child abuse in Emery's pov.

Aida Canterra, 18

Private Sessions

She's just another distraction.

From the opposite sofa in the waiting lounge, Geneve sends Aida a smile.

Who does she think she is? She's just competition, nothing more. Last night the 'detective' girl from One tried to get Aida to open up to her, but it only backfired. It backfired because Aida is a dark abyss of information. If anyone tries to dig deep into that void then the only things they'll discover are things about themselves that they did not want to know.

If Geneve thinks she can help Aida then she's wrong. Nobody can help her, nobody needs to. She can handle every problem better if she goes at it alone... That's not to say that Geneve can't be useful; she can think that she's Aida's friend if it will help with Aida's victory.

Even so, the girl from Four and the girl from One don't break eye contact, not until the latter is called up for her session after Landon.

But as Geneve strolls past her into the gymnasium, Aida feels a familial warmth in her veins. However, this only causes her to purse her lips.

(Even the slight chance that Aida is not alone in this world, that maybe there was someone else before Geneve, is sending her mind into a whirlwind.)

Aida only knows one thing for sure: That there was a girl once in District Four, a career like Aida. This girl believed that the only way people could solve their problems was if they shared them and handled them together as a unit. However, it didn't end well for this girl - she perished in a fire, because when she let her guard down, she allowed too many people in.

Aida used to sit with that girl on the beach when the weather was good. They used to stare out into the blue, glittering ocean together.

"You're spacing out again," the girl said to her once, as Aida stared off into the distance, lost on the details of how she'd slipped up in training.

"Yeah, what else is new?" Aida replied. But as the blonde girl spoke to her, Aida's shoulders loosened up - it was the only time they did.

"Training is behind us for the day, let's just enjoy the sunset on this perfect clear day," the girl continued. "Or if ya really want, we can go another round, and I can kick your ass again." She jabbed Aida's shoulder playfully with her fist.

"You didn't kick my ass. You're just trying to get me to fight you again."

"Damn, you got me," the girl chuckled. "I'll have to change my tactics up."

Aida tried to ignore her, only giving her an irritated shake of the head. But a few seconds later, a handful of sand splattered in Aida's face, and her friend burst out laughing as Aida spat and clawed the grains of sand out of her mouth.

"Stop fooling around!"

"Hey, I wiped that frown off your face, didn't I?" The girl laughed. "Do you know what my old grandma used to say?"

"No." Aida was still wiping the last grains of sand off her lips.

"She used to say 'Lose that frown, otherwise it'll be stuck on your face forever.'"

"I don't think that's been scientifically proven."

A second handful of sand hit Aida in the face. "Okay, that's it!" Aida pushed herself up, but the girl took off faster across the beach.

"You'll have to catch me first!" She exclaimed.

That was the last time Aida remembers smiling – as she was chasing Sadie Lowlett across the beach, the fresh ocean air on her face, with the waves skimming their feet.

The memory of the name sends an icy shiver down Aida's Spine, shortly before she is called up for her session.

"Aida Canterra, District Four."

(Ever since her parents mentioned that name back in the justice building, Sadie keeps resurfacing, like an illness refusing to go away.)

But she turns that pain into anger, and her anger into determination, as she strides forward to the gymnasium.

With all the eyes of the gamemakers on her, she wastes no time in throwing all her fury at the training dummies. This time there's no Sadie Lowlett to stand in my way.

She goes immediately for the katana, her favourite weapon. She doesn't hesitate to begin hacking the training dummies to pieces. A roar erupts from her lungs as dummy heads, arms, and torsos fly all over the place. By the end of the session, the gymnasium floor is a mess – a tidy mess, as even in her rage, all of Aida's strikes were precise – but still a mess. She dismantled two dozen training dummies in just a few minutes.

Having clearly demonstrated her skills, Aida turns to face the balcony of gamemakers, and only gives them one comment - "You may need a few extra dummies for the next tribute."

Then she neatly places her katana back on the rack and begins her journey back to Four's apartment.

Soon everything will be right in the world. Aida will return to Four worthy of her parents' business. Those who let others distract them from their path will be the first to fall in the arena - Aida knows this to be true. She will not let the likes of Geneve distract her from that path.

Emery Vandermast, 18

In truth, Emery hadn't expected this to happen when he got reaped. He hasn't felt this way since he first met Ozias back in that saloon.

(Well then there was Osiris, after Ozias did what he did, but he was just a distraction.)

At first, he only saw Brizio as a gateway to get into the careers and to make Ozias double jealous, but now he's finally hoping that Brizio could be something more.

(Not love, exactly, but something on the line- a piece of genuine happiness maybe, before they're sent to their dooms.)

(He's just his type as well.

Maybe… hopefully… what Ozias should have been.)

Strangely, Brizio has been silent all morning… more than usual, anyway. He's just sitting on his own in the lounge, separate from the other careers, and staring off into space - a far cry from that confident, career leader Emery met during training.

Emery simply chalks his new friend's mood down to stress over his score. So he sits next to him and places his arm around his shoulder, leaning in flirtatiously.

"When we get to the free day, I assume you'll be taking me to the fanciest restaurant as a treat?" Emery says while fiddling with the hem of Brizio's shirt.

"Aren't you supposed to be the chef? I thought you'd be taking me out," Brizio responds, coldly.

Emery releases his shirt and pushes himself back up. "You invited me into the alliance, I thought you're supposed to be the one takin' me places."

"Well, it didn't exactly take much convincing…"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Emery drops his playful eyes. "What is it with you today? Why are you so grouchy?"

"I'd be more inclined to take you out somewhere on our free day if I knew a little more about you… what is your relation to Ozias, exactly? How do you guys know each other?" The Four boy asks, squinting his eyes.

"He's just an old associate from Ten, nothing more."

"Sure…"

Emery rolls his eyes and lets out a groan. He's just like the rest. He doesn't care about me – he's only using me to get more information about Ozias. Why does it always circle back to Ozias?

"You haven't exactly been that forthcoming yourself, Bree-zio." He intentionally mispronounces Brizio's name, which has the desired effect of ticking the career off.

"It's Bri-tzio…"

Emery has finally had enough of Brizio's standoffishness, raising his voice on his last words to Brizio. "Whatever, suit yourself." His cheeks flush red then he storms off away from Brizio, plonking himself down on a couch and crossing his arms.

He sighs a deep sigh before noticing Romulus leaning on the wall with a smirk. "What's wrong? You're in the careers now. We eagerly await your score."

Before Emery can even think of his rebuttal, the cocky Two boy has been called up for his session. Pretty soon, to Emery's relief, all the careers depart. What does Romulus know? Has he ever taken another life before? If not, then Emery is far more prepared for what's to come regardless of some arbitrary score.

He sighs, and leans back on his seat, refusing to search the room for Ozias.

(As much as he wants to.)

By the time it's his turn to showcase himself to the gamemakers, his mind is in a confused rut. So much so that as he steps out into the gymnasium he wants to yell "Damn these career boys, never again!" at the top of his lungs. But he just manages to contain himself.

The session itself starts off wonky, due to his mind being in a haze of Brizio and Ozias. But despite everything, his session goes mostly to plan. He begins by lifting some heavy logs and placing them by his feet before using an axe to hack them in half in a few swift motions. With sweat now dripping down his skin, he decides next to display what made him successful in the first place - his culinary skills.

While unfortunately, he won't be able to bake the gamemakers any human pies, he is able to gather various leaves and berries to prepare a salad for them, all while talking them through the process like he's teaching a cookery class.

Lastly, he gets his blood pumping again by blitzing through an obstacle course to display his stealth and speed.

When he gets the signal that his time is up, Emery is out of the gymnasium in the blink of an eye. He has to clear his head. To do that he needs to be in the company of the only person he can trust - himself. He'll hide in his room with a good book on his lap; fiction or nonfiction, it doesn't matter at this point.

But, it's when the Vandermast returns to his apartment that the whirlpool of insanity that is his life only deepens.

"There is a woman here. Said she wanted to speak to you," his escort, Bacchus tells him as he walks through the door.

"A woman?"

"Yeah, one of the catering staff. She said it was urgent."

Emery steps into the sitting room, puzzled. But his escort wasn't lying - standing with her back to him is a woman in a chef's attire. She is studying the collection of books on the shelves of the apartment.

Emery clears his throat. "Erm… you wanted to speak with me?" Between Brizio, the other careers, and the various capitolites, Emery's social battery is running low, so he hopes to make this quick.

But when the woman turns around, his fatigue shifts to pure shock.

"Hey, sweetie. Oh my god – you've grown so much." The older woman manages a smile, but it does nothing to calm her son. She looks almost exactly as she did the day that she left, except for a few more wrinkles.

Suddenly, Emery is twelve again. He's transported back to the last evening that he saw her. They were baking and smiling together, and everything seemed perfectly normal.

For years, he had told himself that she had died that night, that she had been swept away by a river and her body never recovered.

(At least that way she didn't abandon him to his father and brothers.)

Emery tries to speak but only faint stutters leave his mouth. He collapses down on one of the sofas so that he doesn't faint and hit his head on the floor.

"I know you must have a lot of questions for me and I'll be happy to give them. There was more that happened the night I left, there was this man you see, he called himself the Merchant-"

"Save it!" Emery barks, his bewilderment quickly turning to anger. "What are you doing here?"

Esther Vandermast pauses, surprised. The last time she'd heard her son's voice, it had been a boy's, not a man's. "I've been working as a chef for the gamemakers, preparing the food for the tributes." She attempts a smile again. "Your father would be so jealous."

But Emery gives her nothing back except a seething glare.

"When I saw your name on the tribute list, I was heartbroken, I had to come and see you… t-to put things right. I've missed you so much."Her voice breaks, and she takes a step forward, opening out her arms for a hug.

"Then why did you leave me with them? You knew what they were like!"

"I told you, there's more to the story… if you'd just let me explain. Anyway, I thought if I left, your father would get better, he'd have no choice-"

"Well, you thought wrong. I did it alone, what makes you think I need you now?" Emery stands up and calls his escort while keeping fierce eye contact with his mother. "Bacchus, can you see my guest out? We're done."

Tears start running down his mother's face as she is escorted out. "You know where to find me if you change your mind," she stutters.

Emery shakes his head and returns to his room. He slams the door behind him, then throws his pillow across the room. His mother's return into his life only created more questions rather than answers. At least he can finally be in the comfort of his own company.

Fuma Marlows, 18

Fuma knows that it's only a matter of time before they start asking about her sister. Will they have something over her? Or will they pretend to? Or will it be the Jack-Tree Killer that they question her about? They must know about her connection to the serial killer tribute of the 99th games; that prospect almost frightens her more. Fuma is well aware of how much digging they do on all the tribute's histories. They have their claws deep in everyone's lives. Fuma hasn't felt this powerless since Terrence revealed himself to be the Jack-Tree Killer during his interview.

"Jokull Askeli, District Six," The announcer signals the next tribute to come to the private sessions.

The boy from Six walks across the lounge where the twenty-six tributes are spread out. Fuma locks eyes with him momentarily. His gaze is cold and empty, and gives nothing away as to what his intentions are. Jokull Askeli is something else that is making Fuma feel powerless - in particular, his alliance with the Fourteen boy and the Eight boy, and his "pact" with Zora. What is he up to?

Fuma glances around the waiting room. It is a bright, spacious room decorated with various ornaments, including a fish tank that goes all the way to the ceiling. But inside the fish tank are no normal fish: they are muttations, and their bodies are contorted and hideous. Someone has grafted limbs, teeth, and other body parts onto their bodies – and none belong to fish.

Tributes are able to wander freely in this room, with the exception of the two alliances that got into an altercation yesterday - they are being kept on the opposite side.

Robin is over by the door, in the middle of a conversation with the Twelves; Fuma can guess where that is headed. Finally, she spots the back of Zora's dark hair; the small Six girl is sitting on her own behind the fish tank.

Fuma moves around the fish tank and sits down next to Zora. Her ally is staring vacantly at her hands, and fidgeting with them apprehensively. She looks a lot more vulnerable than she did back in training, when she was showing Fuma how to create all her potions.

"You look nervous," Fuma observes.

"I'm next."

"You'll be fine. Just show them all your knowledge about chemistry that you showed me. Besides, the scores don't count for everything, I've heard it's mainly used to decide the betting odds for The Capitol."

Zora smiles up at her. "Thanks… but it's not just that, the games are so close now."

"Just stay away from the cornucopia. Me and Robin will do the hard stuff and get you all the supplies you need, then we'll meet you at the edge."

"Thanks," Zora says again, softly.

Then there is silence. It's at that moment that it dawns on Fuma that she could be talking to her little sister right now - no, she should be talking to her little sister. She should be at home trying to find her, or at least trying to prove to her family what she already knows - that she joined Kate's rebellion. Zora isn't her sister, her real sisters are still out there, and she needs to do well to remember that.

Also, she cannot allow herself to be taken for a fool. Whatever this "pact" is, she doesn't like it. No matter how innocent Zora appears, she won't allow herself to be manipulated by the Six girl. She needs to get to the bottom of this.

Time is ticking down before Jokull's session is over. Fuma may not get the chance for a one-on-one conversation like this again before the games.

Her heart races. "Zora, there's something I've been meaning to ask you," she says, breaking the silence.

Zora looks up with soft eyes. "Yeah?"

"I-uh… it's just about this pact with your district partner… what does it mean, exactly?"

Zora's eyes divert away immediately, and she bows her head sheepishly. "I don't know… it's like I told you before - if we see each other in the arena then we don't hurt each other."

Unfortunately, Fuma isn't satisfied with that answer.

"I get that but you have to understand how it looks to me. I mean let's say me and him meet in the arena and it comes to a fight… who would you help?"

"I-I don't know… all I know is I was supposed to have a picnic with the only person that brings me comfort in the world but instead I ended up here. So, I don't know what's gonna happen." Suddenly Zora is red in the face and breathing heavily, which sends a wave of guilt through Fuma's stomach.

"Is that the person you volunteered for?"

Zora nods.

Fuma sighs. What is she doing? This girl volunteered for someone they love, just like Fuma - If that doesn't make her trustworthy, then what does?

"Zora I'm s-"

"Zora Iskra, District Six," the announcer's voice interrupts her and she feels like she's been punched in the gut.

The alchemist from Six zips away in a flash, and Fuma rubs her face in frustration. She feels like she's been punched in the gut. She never meant to upset her, but as far as she's concerned, everyone is a danger, even Zora.

(She'll never be convinced otherwise, not since Terrence infected her life and destroyed it.

He was so convincing - from the gifts, which turned out to be from his victims - to the fake smiles and hugs.)

Footsteps to her right. Robin is standing over her with the pair from Twelve by his side. The boy is tall, well-built, and with dark hair and eyes like many miners from District Twelve. The girl on the other hand is far less typical-looking. She is pale, and her eyes are almost dead - in a way that reminds Fuma of a ghost.

Robin gestures to the boy. "Dario here has experience swinging a pickaxe." Then he gestures to the girl. "Lilac is also pretty handy with a shovel… she was a gravedigger, back in Twelve."

"Before you say it, I am one of the living tributes, not the dead ones. I would know, I'm a mortician," Lilac deadpans. Her tone is so monotone, that Fuma isn't entirely sure if she's being serious or not.

"Oh no… I wasn't going to say that, don't worry," Fuma stammers.

Likely sensing that his district partner is unsure of the Twelves, Robin takes a seat next to Fuma. "I noticed our alliance was one of the smaller ones, and I thought we could do with some additional support," he whispers.

Fuma knows he's right - smaller alliances and loners do get picked off. But, can she really afford to trust two extra people? Two more people that could be another Terrence? Another Jack-Tree Killer?

"Yeah I get it, strength in numbers and all! But maybe we should see what Zora thinks of it all first?" Fuma only thinks but doesn't say the next half of her sentence - If she even stays in their alliance after our last conversation.

Robin shrugs. "Ok, but Zora isn't the deciding factor in this, and frankly I'd say Dario's and Lilac's skills will come in more useful to us than Zora's in the arena… and that's if she even makes it out of the bloodbath."

Fuma sighs. She won't abandon Zora, because she wouldn't abandon her sisters. And if she did abandon Zora, would her sisters even look at her the same?

Morton Moreno, 18

As the tributes filter out to complete their private sessions, Ren paces up and down like a criminal awaiting trial; whenever they've been judged on anything in the past, it's never gone well. But a sparkle lights up in their eye when they realise they're about to be judged on the one thing they're probably best at… causing pain.

Ren stops and turns back to his two allies, who are loitering in the corner of the room. Not long after, Jokull departs to begin his session.

Ozias motions with his head for Ren to join him now that the Six boy has left, and Ren obliges.

"So… what do you think about him?" Ren asks, leaning on the wall next to his ally. Their eyes follow Jokull as he leaves the waiting lounge.

"I can't get a read on his intentions. I don't like it," Ozias answers. "There ain't many people that I can't read."

"Not like us. We have the same goals," Ren says. All Ozias gives him in response is a faint, half-hearted nod of agreement, and a feeling of dissatisfaction crawls over him.

(There are few things Ren hates more than dissatisfaction.)

Even as they're talking, Ozias's gaze continually drifts to the boy from Ten, who is now sitting on his own as all the careers have completed their sessions. Is this his only purpose? To get revenge on that boy? Is that the only reason they're targeting the careers? Ren sincerely hopes not - he doesn't give a damn about whatever happened between Ozias and the Ten boy. No, Ren thought that they were after something far more gratifying - a raucous applause from The Capitol as they supplant the careers as the true threats of the games, as they are remembered and praised for ages to come for their deeds in the arena.

(Ozias will help, but everyone will be talking about Ren. They won't be passed over for any other tribute - not even Ozias.)

Gradually, the room empties of more tributes until at last, Ren's name is called up. "Morton Moreno, District Eight."

Ren shudders internally; they may as well have just cursed at him in front of everyone by referring to him by his full name. But they stride out to complete their session holding their head high. His veins pump with excitement that he hasn't felt since his last night at the dental practice. Once a rumored murderer hiding in the rat tunnels, soon to be a name cheered by the entire country. Turns out, his parents passing him up for the promotion was the best thing that ever happened to them.

To hell with Baize's "plan." They can't wait for the interviews. He's going to let them all know exactly who he is right now. Nobody is in charge of Ren's destiny but themself.

They step out into the new empty hall of the gymnasium. The sounds of his footsteps bounce between the dull walls.

Ren turns his gaze up to the gamemakers as they observe him nonchalantly. Then his eyes glimmer, and he moves towards the weapons rack and the dummies.

There is a wide range of weapons for them to choose from. A sly smile forms over Ren's gritted teeth at all the instruments they have at their disposal. But of all the variety and the nearly endless possibilities of slaughter, one particular piece of equipment shines out to Ren above all the others - a pair of shining, serrated, metal hooks. They are calling to him like a Pied Piper to a horde of rats.

Ren clears their throat and then grips the two hooks in either hand. They step towards the training dummy with his side to the gamemakers, allowing him to talk to them whilst demonstrating on the dummy. "You're probably wondering why I selected the hooks and not a simple knife," he says in a musing tone. "It's true, a blade on a knife is far more efficient. You can get the job done in a matter of seconds." He begins to gently trace the hooks across the torso of the dummy whilst continuing his monologue. "But that is how boring people think. Wouldn't it be far more intriguing for the audience if the blades got stuck? Don't you want the districts to suffer?"

Ren's eyes become fixed with concentration as a painter fixed on their painting. He slashes on the dummy just below where the ribs would be. "You're probably wondering 'Why not go for the throat?' But if I did that, then I'd get no screams." They turn back to the gamemakers, who are in a mix of bemused and stunned silence. "Everything is subjective," Ren continues. "To some, a scream is a cry for help but to me, a scream is a round of applause. It's… approval for a good day's work."

(To Ren, that approval is fundamental to existence - akin to food, water, and shelter.)

"Now, it hasn't escaped my notice that a pair of hooks would be at a slight disadvantage against say… an axe, or a career wielding a huge sword. But…" they face the dummy again and begin wildly slicing at the face, neck, and chest. "If an anesthetic was placed in my hand then it would only take a little over 100 micrograms to render the victim completely unconscious." He phrases the last part of his monologue as a plea to the gamemakers to give him an anesthetic in the arena - his favourite toy.

They know the Capitol wants to see the districts suffer, and they need to show the gamemakers that they can dish out more suffering to the districts than the Capitol could ever hope to.

(That is why Ren is sure they'll give him whatever he desires in the games.)

The dentist turns back to the dummy one last time. "Of course, knocked out by some kind of general anesthetic or even chloroform, somebody would miss out on all the agony. But don't worry, I have thought ahead."

He then proceeds to demonstrate which arteries he would sever on the dummy in order to ensure a slow but inevitable death, adding with a grin, "If not from the injury itself then from infection."

"Time's up." That's the only reciprocation Ren gets for their display, and it's only an automated voice. It matters not, Ren thinks. He knows he probably talked more than he was supposed to, but it was the only chance he'd get to talk to the gamemakers directly. Combined with his interview, he knows they'll start treating him as a serious contender; not just to win but to torment the districts.

Then when Ren returns to Eight as a victor, immune from conviction for Shayna's murder, they may consider letting their parents lick their boots, after they've apologised for not giving Ren what was rightfully his.

(Not that he'd want or need it anymore.)

Glad I finally got this chapter out! Hope you're all enjoying. 3 more chapters until games begin!