Chenille Garcia, 15, District Eight, Leo

"What are you making?"

They were on an island, one that had taken what felt like hours to find. Time was increasingly difficult to track in this arena. Above them, the sky shifted endlessly, always seeming to grow progressively darker. Chenille wasn't sure how quickly it was moving. For all she knew, she had only been in the Games for fifteen minutes. She doubted it, but it felt that uncertain, all the same.

"A desalinator." Valency said. The arena was dimmer than it was at the bloodbath, but Chenille could still make out her ally's form, attaching a series of parts to their gondola. "A person can go months without food, if they have to. But only days without water. Problem is, it's Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner out here."

"I don't think I've seen that one, sorry."

"Oh it's a poem. A guy shoots a bird and then they're stuck on the ocean. Water, water everywhere."

"But it's salt water. You can't drink any of it."

"EXACTLY!" Valency yelled with such force that Chenille actually jumped, "Except with a desalinator, you can. I've hooked it up to the gondola. So it will collect water to purify while we row."

It took Chenille a moment to fully process what Valency was saying, but when she did she felt a soft ache of realization that felt dangerously close to hope. "That's amazing," she said. Because it was. If they could collect drinkable water while navigating between different islands, that would put them at a distinct advantage over the others.

Chenille wasn't sure why she felt so surprised. Valency was one of the coolest people that she'd ever met. The girl had seen more movies than any of the other tributes, and was willing to talk to her at length. She also had an extraordinary brain, leaping from subject to subject with an enthusiasm Chenille reserved strictly for horror films. The more time went on, the more she valued Valency. She was the oldest in her family, but her relationship with the girl from Three made her wonder if this was what having an older sister was like.

But there was a very real chance that Chenille would have to see her die.

It was easier, with the other tributes. She found it simple to think of them as horror movie monsters, irredeemable shadows that picked off the unprepared. After the Bloodbath, it was difficult to even see many of the other tributes as human at all, the way they'd ruthlessly gone after each other. Even her allies felt like they might turn out to be some twist villain, three quarters of the way through the movie, when a brutal betrayal would reveal them as the true danger this whole time. The fantasies helped Chenille cope, allowed her to focus and prepare for the day where she might have to kill someone herself.

But no matter how hard she tried, she knew that Valency wasn't a villain. Thoughtless sometimes, perhaps. But Valency was kind and brave and terribly creative. She was the only person Chenille fully felt like she could trust.

Except she wasn't naive. As close as they were, if the two of them were in the final two, Valency would choose herself. Just like Chenille would.

Perhaps it would be best to think of it as a zombie scenario. For the moment Valency was a friend and ally. Chenille trusted her with her life, and suspected Valency felt likewise. But at some point, she was going to get bitten. And then?

Well. Then she wasn't Valency anymore.

"You're brilliant." Chenille said, attempting to push her previous thoughts aside.

"I am." She agreed.

"You know," A third voice said from behind them, " Talking like that is why people think you're arrogant."

Chenille turned to see Revalie walking back to the shoreline, with Eli only a few steps behind. Earlier in the day, the two of them had been sent out to search their current island, to look for any resources or good places to camp.

"People think I'm arrogant?" Valency asked, finishing her work on the desalinator.
"A few people, yeah. Particularly Frazier." Revalie continued.

"Nah. Frazier and I are best friends."

"I'm pretty sure he hates you, Val."

"But he sends me things all the time. His face is on my pajamas."

"As riveting as this all is," Eli drawled, " Perhaps we could focus on the death games we're currently in."

"Did you find anything?" Chenille asked.

"We did. Though it's probably best to show you."

Revalie volunteered to stay with the boat, so Chenille and Valency followed Eli through the center of the island. Although not particularly large, a thick forest kept their alliance from seeing too much at a time. There were a few moments when Chenille thought that she would lose Eli in the dense treeline, and she feared that the moment he turned on them was already upon her.

Thankfully, the forest opened up into a large clearing, and her temporary faith in the boy from Four was restored. On the far side of the clearing, on a blue stand with a symbol of an arrow with a line through it emblazoned onto the front, was a red and white target

"That's me!" Valency shouted, "Sagittarius. The archer. Me!"

The older girl brushed past Chenille to a nearby tree stump, snatching up a bow she hadn't noticed previously that was placed fairly purposefully on top. As Valency grasped the bow there was a clicking noise and a horizontal slit opened on the stump. An arrow fell out and the slit closed again with another 'click.'

"Oh, this reminds me of Career training." Valency said, nocking the arrow.

"Valency, wait!"

Eli's voice was loud enough for Chenille to cover her ears, but the warning came too late. The arrow flew, landing just to the left of the target.

"That's your fault." Valency said sulkily, then turned back to face the tree stump.

Nothing happened.

"I was trying to tell you to hold off for a minute." Eli said, "You only get one. Revalie and I already tried."

"So I have to go get the arrow?"
"We tried that too. Even if it hits the target, nothing happens. One shot per tribute."

"Then you really shouldn't have shouted at me. I could have hit that."

"You really should have taken your time. Or is it physically impossible for you to not do the first thing that pops into your head?"

"That's… a fair question."

Chenille tuned out their squabbling as she looked over at the target. Her allies had tried to teach her some combat skills during training, and she knew enough to realize that it wasn't a particularly difficult shot. But having only one chance was difficult. It was hard to tell whether or not Valency would have actually made the target. She couldn't help but wonder what might have happened if she had.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she felt something wooden against her palm.
'Click.'

"Go ahead, Chenille." Eli said.

"What?" she asked, "But I've only used a bow a couple times."

"We might as well try everyone." Valency said, "And it's not like you're bad or anything. Just remember to pull the bow all the way back."

"And to adjust a little bit to the right. The bow's bent."

She wondered if that was purposeful. One shot, but a bow that didn't shoot straight. A challenge that required teamwork. It was like something from one of her movies.

All of this time, she was using the logic of movies as a coping mechanism. But sitting here in a glade that was so perfect it was unnatural, she realized that to the Capitol, all of this was a movie. She knew the rules here. It was almost like at some point she had stepped through the screen at the Garcia theater and into the world of horror.

Could she win this?

Her mind wandered to a zombie film she'd seen one time. One character was teaching another to shoot, and suggested to exhale as they pulled the trigger. This wasn't a gun, but Chenille thought the principle might be similar. She pulled the bow back, aimed slightly to the right, then let out a long, steady breath.

The arrow hit the edge of the center on the target, and suddenly the ground began to tremble. Chenille stumbled, placing a hand on Valency to steady herself, as a crack opened up in the center of the clearing, revealing a staircase down to a large door.

"You did it!" Valency said, "I knew you could do it."

Nixie Slate, 18, District Two, Capricorn

Her entire life, Nixie wanted to enter the Hunger Games. It was an odd choice, even for a Two. Sure, status, honor and riches would be showered upon the winner. But actually competing in the Game was the sort of thing that people said they'd love to do, then quietly watch from the sidelines, never to follow up on the idea. 90% of the military force in Panem was made up of people from Nixie's District, and so took up 90% of the casualties when something went wrong. Her people were no strangers to loss. A Career was just another type of soldier. Another way to die for your country. It took a rare person to face that, an even rarer person to truly want it, and even rarer still to actively seek it out.

Yet Nixie had. She loved the death and the drama and the desperation. She loved seeing ordinary kids from all across Panem who found their strength in the arena, one of them rising above the rest, to become a Victor.

Mostly, she loved that in the Hunger Games, even killers could be respected, as long as they proved themselves first.

Nixie was a killer. It was the defining feature of her life, the fault line upon her world, shaping her sense of self. She remembered when she was five years old, so certain that she was strong. So proud that her mother trusted her enough to leave her with her sister. A bright child who understood what death was, but not necessarily how to avoid it.

She'd built it up in her head by this point; there must have been something wrong with her. Something deeply broken. The Games was her shot at doing something good, the only option, given how deeply twisted she was.

Perhaps that was why it was so jarring, finally being in the Games. Coming out of the Bloodbath with two deaths to her name. For years, Nixie prepared for this moment, dreamt of it even, but now that she was here…

"Nixie?"

She jumped slightly, so lost in thought that she hadn't heard Solomon approach. Had she been whispering her thoughts again? After the Bloodbath, she found that happening more and more often. Her thoughts were so forceful and contradictory that they slipped out of her mouth sometimes. Swirling, circular thoughts that didn't necessarily make any sense.

"Oh. Hello Solomon." She said, "Do you need supplies?"

It was a simple job, taking care of supplies. Simple and boring and unexciting. Most people avoided the job. Nixie had hoped it would help her get her head back on straight.

So far, it hadn't worked.

She felt like the floor was gradually tipping one direction and eventually she would slip and fall into oblivion.

"Actually, I wanted to check in on you," he said.

Solomon was a nice guy. He always had been, something Nixie thought made him a terrible choice for a Tribute. Yet there he was, checking in on her.

Everyone had been in the Bloodbath. The island outside still reeked of blood. Yet this nice guy who always ate lunch with the kids people picked on, who made a point to remember everyone in Career training's names, seemed completely unaffected.

"Why am I the only one like this?"

She hadn't meant to say that. There were times when Nixie didn't even know where she was, let alone what words she might accidentally say.

"Well, not the only one," Solomon reassured her. Even now, he was trying to comfort her. Even now, the nice guy. It made Nixie want to spit at him, "It hit us all. We're just…"

He cut himself off, and Nixie caught his eyes darting towards a nearby camera, for barely a second. She understood the meaning. They were just keeping it together for the cameras. Nixie wished she could.

"And you're not the first person to do this. A lot of Careers get a little… lost. After they kill for the first time."

"Weaklings. Not me. I'm better than this, I'm…"

The familiar word rose up but she couldn't speak it.

Because she wasn't a killer.

Well. She was, of course she was. Two kids were picked up by hovercraft because of her. It wasn't some lookalike that bashed in the Scorpio girl's head with a rock. Or decapitated the strange religious boy. That was her.

She was a killer.

Yet the title didn't seem to fit anymore. Like an old sweater from childhood you put on years later. What once felt like comfort now choked and restricted.

Last year, the boy from Nine feared he would be like his serial killer father. Only after ending someone's life did he realize that he never would be. Because that drive to kill wasn't there. The need repulsed him. It was a beautiful moment. Nixie was watching in the town square at the time and saw people in Two openly weep. She thought that the boy was a coward. Not worth anyone's time.

Now she was that boy.

"Hey. You're not weak, ok Nixie? You're not." Solomon's voice was too sympathetic. Too supportive. It struck her harder than a dagger. The last thing she ever wanted was pity.

There was a part of her that wanted to stab him. But then she thought about what it would be like to see him die.

"Flesh bloated, eyes glassy. Blood mixing with the others I've killed."

"What?"

Nixie swore. There was a needle and sutures in a first aid kit nearby. Maybe she could sew her mouth closed.

"Might save me some embarrassment," she muttered.

Solomon pretended not to hear her, which only made her even angrier. "Listen, Ally and I were going to start the first hunting wave. Hades offered to stay behind."

"And you want me to stay with him."

"No, I want you to come. Millie can see in the dark better than anyone. Between the two of them, the supplies are safe."

He wanted her to come? Even though she was a failed Career? A girl who felt such guilt over ending lives that she could barely hold herself together? Someone who learned in an instant that everything she knew about herself was a lie?

"Are you just leading me somewhere that you can quietly kill me without knowing?"

Solomon laughed. "No. Although I think Ally might try. Best be on your guard for that. I'm not giving up on you, not just yet."

His optimism was annoying, yet it was something to cling to, a distraction from the whirlwind within her mind. She held onto it with every last shred of willpower left in her.

"Fine. I'll come. But if Ally tries anything, I'll gut her."

"That's the Nixie we know and love."

Solomon smiled at her, and she tried to smile back. Because he was wrong. She wasn't the Nixie they knew.

That person was gone. And never coming back.

Trent Charr, 13, District Twelve, Cancer

By the time Trent and his allies found an island, the moon was gone. It wasn't completely dark, as the stars still sparkled with an unnatural light. He could see fireflies and a faint glow from the water itself, as well. Yet to him, it may as well be pitch black.

The Old Hob was a strange area of District Twelve. In the middle of the bombed quarter, where the Capitol destroyed the original district nearly twenty years ago, it was the closest thing to a city Twelve had. Like crops growing from volcanic ash, the refugees and political exiles forced to live in the husk of a tragedy grew stronger and more populous than ever before.

Trent lived in the middle of all that activity, in an inn that- up until recently- stayed open all day and night. If he were to stand outside of his home and look up, all he would be able to see was a sky turned hazy by lanterns. It was a rare occasion when he could see the stars. That was why the deep, moonless dark unsettled him so much.

Not that he would tell anyone. The Hunger Games was a dangerous place to be thirteen, so he refused to make it obvious. If he showed all of the fear he felt to the other tributes, they would kill him without hesitation. He could trust no one, not even his allies, so he kept his fears and his weaknesses to himself.

Suddenly, there was a deep swell of music and Trent heard the first strains of the Panemian national anthem. Shortly after, the sky exploded in light and the image of the girl from District One appeared.

That was a surprise to Trent. Despite the leader of his alliance being a One, he hadn't spent a lot of time with the girl. Yet she had always seemed fairly capable. He had assumed that she would be one of the people to make it to the end. The fact that he outlived her seemed too outrageous to be true.

The faces from other districts appeared and disappeared in quick succession. Five. Seven. Eight and Ten. People he only knew in passing. Yet he mourned them anyway. Death was cruel and sudden. He knew others dying was the only way he could survive it, but he didn't truly wish it on anyone.

"They showed them in District order." Consus said, "I was wondering whether or not they would."

"There might not be a day cycle. New moon for night, full moon for day. It might be difficult to create a solid sleep schedule." Nate said. His tone suggested that he was responding to Consus, but the topic was completely different. They spoke past each other, not truly acknowledging on another. Not acknowledging those who had passed, either.

They both made Trent angry.

"Have some respect for the dead." He snapped.

The two of them looked at him quizzically, which Trent understood. During the pregames he hadn't talked much. And he could already feel what they were thinking. Why care about the obstacles between them and survival?

But they were people still. They were people and someone loved them. He remembered when he lost his parents. How gravity itself seemed to work differently. Trent couldn't help but wonder if the loved ones of those faces felt that way now.

"He's right." BV said, "Respecting the fallen costs us nothing. And it's the right thing to do."

Trent wasn't entirely sure what had happened, but BV was different once they got into the Games. He was more sure of himself, calmer, less likely to play the clown. When the One boy had asked him to ally originally, he had only done so because it seemed sensible to join with at least Career. But now, it felt like BV was truly a leader.

He certainly looked like one. Trent's stylist had chosen to mix and match the colors. He personally was wearing a black striped shirt and a red ribbon on his hat. His other allies had similar combinations. But BV was clad entirely in red. The effect was striking, and while he wasn't sure why Trent felt like the outfit had something to do with BV's newfound confidence.

The others seemed to notice the change as well, because they both appeared cowed by his words.

"Of course." Nate said, then turned to Trent, "I'm sorry."

"It's ok." he said, and they both stared up at the sky, taking a moment of silence to honor the dead tributes.

"I'm just concerned." Nate said, after the moment ended naturally, "If there's no son, my body might not regulate its own sleep pattern. And if I don't get enough sleep…it's not good is all."

"I could keep watch, make sure you sleep well." Trent offered, "I live in an inn. I'm not sure I've ever had a regular sleep schedule."

"Can you see in this light?" Consus asked. Something about the way he said it prevented Trent from getting offended. Which was impressive. He was offended about most things nowadays. However it was difficult to get mad at Consus. The older boy was as calm and solid as a rock.

"Uh… no." Trent admitted sheepishly.

"Then I'll keep watch with you." he said, "I've seen many skies like this in Nine."

Once again Consus' straightforward kindness caught him off guard. "Thank you."

"I'm probably not as good as Consus, but I can see well enough." BV said, "We can take it in pairs. Trent, since you're used to irregular hours, could you sleep then wake back up? If so we can start with you and Consus, I'll take one shift with him as you sleep, then you and I can keep watch till morning."

Trent nodded.

"I didn't mean that I couldn't take a watch duty.' Nate said.

BV nodded and put a hand on his shoulder, "I know, but you need your rest. We all have our strengths and weaknesses. Just take extra rowing duty and we'll all be good."

Nate smiled at the ridiculousness of the compromise. It was good to know that this new BV was not without his humor.

"Thank you. All of you." Nate said, "I… you don't know how much this means to me."

Trent couldn't see well in this light, but he managed to catch the look in Nate's eye. It was the expression of someone who had been alone so long that he no longer knew how to be with others. He understood that look far too well.

But Trent was thirteen and desperately attempting to seem very grown up. So he said nothing and merely sat on the outer edge of camp to keep watch.

AN: Guess who's back, everybody! I may not be consistent but I am tenacious. And I've just come back from the 2024 Victory exchange, which has gotten me in the mood for writing HG again. If you guys are interested, please consider reading my contribution Shatter the Stars. It's in the same universe as this story, and takes place in the first mini quell, something a few of you expressed interest about. It's not necessary but it's a fun read and it's got some fun little details that may actually add some context to this fic and Desolation.

But this AN isn't an advertisement. Mostly I want to thank everyone who's still on this journey with me, and everyone who supports my writing. I love you all. And I hope you enjoyed this chapter.