Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I've pretty much always known that, if I had the chance, I'd be a tribute in the Hunger Games. Not everyone is lucky enough to be a successful volunteer, and even fewer are lucky enough to win their Games. I know that I can do it.

When I first learned about the Hunger Games, when I first understood, I wanted nothing to do with it. I would've happily stayed in my playroom, dragging my dolls through their dollhouse and decorating their faces with washable paints.

I was six and my parents threw a party for the first day of the Hunger Games. Usually, I was sent upstairs to play while my nanny watched the Games on a smaller TV, but since I was starting school, my parents wanted me on display.

I got to wear a new dress and everything. Some of my classmates were there, and I was sure to show them all about what I was doing with my dolls.

When Caesar Flickerman finished the announcements and chatter that he does before every first day, all the adults gasped and looked up at the screen. That made the rest of us look up, too.

My parents had bought a brand new television set specifically for this occasion. It was practically the size of the wall it was mounted on, which made viewing the arena seem real.

It was one of those shiny ones, the kind where the challenge is not only fighting off the other tributes, but also finding food. Everything is too smooth, in fact, it's all plastic, just like my dolls. But I didn’t know about any of that, yet. I just knew that it was gorgeous. I had already imagined arranging my beloved dolls in a circle like the tributes were.

And then the killing started. When you’re six years old, everyone older than twelve is practically an adult. That didn’t make it any less scary for me to see half of the tributes launch into action, scrambling for weapons, clawing each other away. The blood slowly sinking into the sand was something the Gamemakers focused on after it was all over. I think that was the image that made it stick for me.

I was familiar with the fact that, in my home district, District 1, and in District 2 and District 4, it was almost entirely volunteers that got sent into the arena, unlike the poor people in the other districts, who just got randomly selected.

That hadn’t ever made sense to me, that people would rather take their chances going in as a normal teenager when they could have spent time training. But after I saw that blood, I understood, just a little, why someone would want to avoid the arena.

That all changed when I was about eight years old. My parents brought me along to a dinner party at Palladium Barker's house. She was the latest victor from District 1, and she had so many things. It was the first time I had been in a house in the Victor’s Village, and it was when I started realizing some of the benefits of surviving the Hunger Games.

Everyone was crowding around to talk to her, even people from the Capitol. It was like everyone wanted to be her friend. Like I said, when you’re that young, teenagers are all practically adults. Palladium was double my age, and she had the eyes of every single person in the room.

She had clinked the top of her glass, probably some kind of crystal, with her fork. It made a delicate sound that nevertheless silenced the room.

"Thank you all for coming!" Palladium said, a wide grin on her face, "Thank you for celebrating my survival, and the sacrifice of the twenty-three young people, including my district partner."

Palladium’s shiny blond hair bounced and shimmered as she made a gesture. The Brooks family, who had lost their son, stepped up.

It was clear that they had been mourning, but they still turned up bedazzled in the gems that came from the factory that Mr. Brooks managed.

"Mr. Brooks, Mrs. Brooks," Palladium said, taking one of their hands as she spoke, "I understand your grief. In the days leading up to the arena, Oro and I became closer than ever. His death motivated me to keep fighting."

The Brookses wiped away a few tears and murmured some words to Palladium. She squeezed their hands one more time each, wiped a tear from her own eye, and turned back to the crowd.

"I could not have made it without the support from my district,” Palladium finished, "Thank you all! And enjoy the food."

She was so confident, and beautiful. I didn’t know this at the time, but her entire campaign during the pre-Games phase was based around the same gratitude she showed during the party.

I tugged at my mother’s skirt. "Can I say hello? She’s really…awesome."

My father brightened up considerably, "Thinking of being a tribute now?"

"Maybe," I muttered shyly. I had no idea what kind of training was involved, but I’d heard it was a lot. Some of my friends had older siblings that were in training, and they barely saw them.

My parents brought me up front while she was talking with her own family, including Panache, who was a few years older than I was and known as a little bit of a bully. I was nervous, of course. What kid wouldn’t be? The hero of the district, plus if I messed it up, it would be spread around school forever. And I might get knocked over on the playground on top of that.

Thankfully my parents did most of the talking. They even introduced me, and Palladium shook my hand.

"Lustre wants to be a tribute," my mother said proudly.

I saw a brief flash of hurt cross Palladium’s eyes before she turned to me. I thought it was all over, then.

"You can do whatever you set your mind to," Palladium said.

I grinned, "Thank you!"

I don’t remember much after that, since the party started blending together with the ones my parents would throw over any old occasion.

And then I saw her Victory Tour on our television. It was legendary. Palladium smiled and waved, and just like she had been with the Brooks family, she was so gracious to the families of all the tributes she'd killed, she even offered them bracelets from her own family's heirloom vaults. It was the most dedicated thing I'd ever seen. You could just tell how much she cared, even though she'd been the victor in the end. But it's like my parents always tell me: there can only be one victor. It's not Palladium's fault that she was just better than the other tributes.

Sometimes I would feel sorry for the districts who didn’t have training programs. But I always made myself feel a little better about it when I saw a District 10 tribute jam an axe through somebody’s head or something like that. Those districts got training on the job. Meanwhile, if you sent the average District 1 kid into the arena, the most he would be able to do would be to recite some facts about gemstones or the other luxuries we produce here. I can see how it got started: our training programs even out the odds. 

Despite the technology available to the Wellforge family, I'm my parents’ only child. That meant that, when my parents started putting me in weapons training, it was only the best of the best for me. I'd spend about an hour on normal schoolwork--the kind of thing that they give to the kids who won't end up going to the Hunger Games--and then it was weapons, poisons, and the talent that my mother decided would be mine to demonstrate before all of Panem: my voice.

"After all," my mother would say if I ever complained about the use of singing lessons in an athletic competition, "You want sponsors to like you, don't you? And think, after you get through the Games, you'll be able to put on wonderful parties, and you'll be the talk of Victor's Village."

That would usually shut me up. Before training, I had never thought of my voice as anything special. Sure, I sang in the school choir, but so did anybody who preferred not to get their hands dirty learning how delicate fabrics or intricate metalwork was made.

My voice teacher always insisted that I keep my hair up and stand a certain way while I performed. My father always suggested cutting my hair short, so there would be less to grab in the arena, but my voice teacher thought it gave me a unique look.

It wasn’t like my hair was a special color. It was the same blonde as a lot of girls my age, not nearly as shiny as Palladium’s was. Another difference to Palladium's hair was that it was very straight, which meant I had to spend hours if I wanted it to curl. Not that I ever had hours to spend if I wanted to get any free time in.

The life of a Career Tribute hopeful is very busy.

It was also kind of lonely; the only lessons I ever had with other people were the kinds that involved direct fighting: wrestling, which was definitely not my style, and fencing, which was another flashy skill I always doubted.

My fencing partner was the son of the coach, a boy named Mohs. I could have practiced with other Career hopefuls, but I always had Mohs because my mother thought it was better if I practiced against someone who had been working at it their whole life.

It took me two years to even occasionally beat Mohs, who had apparently been fencing since he was three years old. I can’t imagine what kind of thing you train a three year old to do, but whatever it was certainly helped Mohs, which helped his dad to correct my mistakes when I lunged too rapidly or doubted myself.

Almost everything in District 1 is about age. Adults wanting to look younger, potential tributes counting the days until they might volunteer. In terms of Career hopefuls, I was middle of the pack. When I did meet the others, some of them said their parents pushed them to it from the time they were younger, while others started later, at ten or even eleven. Most coaches didn’t really like taking on older potentials.

I could see why. The stats almost always favoured longer training times, since the tributes could gain a variety of skills. My parents showed me some graphs, but I mostly forgot about them. I just need the odds to be in my favor, I don’t need to know what everyone else’s are.

My favorite lesson of all was studying the past Games, or at least the ones we had access to. The oldest Games are more or less lost to time, but there's stories that people tell about the fact that a tribute from District 1 was one of the very first Hunger Games victors--and that we won twice before some of the other districts had the chance to win once. They're not as helpful to study, because the arena and the Gamemakers have changed so much since then. Even looking back at arenas from the twenty-seventh Hunger Games makes me marvel at the way the Capitol is always changing to keep tributes on their feet.

That's why the recent Games are so important. Watching them can be a bit repetitive, but my father knows some people in the Capitol that were willing to part with tapes containing never before seen footage, the kind of stuff they only show on special channels in the Capitol. Some of it is useless, like the tributes sleeping peacefully. But the part that my father points out? The little interactions between packs of Careers.

A lot of people, including some of the other Career hopefuls, believe that all you need to know about in order to win is how other people will fight, or how certain districts train their tributes. I've learned that there are a lot of little details in the social game. People pick who will stay with them as an ally, and who will die first, based off of the smallest things.

The District 2 tribute who won a couple of years ago is the best example of this: she made a key connection with the girl from District 4 pretty much right after the Bloodbath when she offered her some canned fish that was popular in District 4 or something. The fish isn't what was important: the way that she remembered that it meant something to the District 4 girl meant that the girl was loyal to her for the entire Games. Their truce lasted until the end, and the girl from District 2 only won because she was better at distance combat.

It's something I've considered. It's not like you can learn everything from these tapes, and I'm a suspicious person by nature. That's good, and bad. If you're too suspicious, you can't make good allies. Not suspicious enough and you end up with a knife in your back, like District 1's tribute from those Games.

It’s what I’m thinking about while I stand with the other fifteen year old girls. Some of them I remember from training or house parties, others I haven’t seen at all. Even though everyone knows that the tributes will be volunteers, everyone still shows up. They have to. It’s one of those silly Capitol laws.

Even the twelve and thirteen year olds are waiting, though almost every single tribute that goes to the games from our district is older. That’s mostly because of the volume of volunteers who are fourteen or older.

My parents asked me if I wanted to volunteer starting when I was fourteen. It was a tough decision. Delay too long, for example, wait until I was eighteen, and it wasn’t guaranteed that I would go to the Games. If I went too early, then I might not be prepared.

Fifteen was the number I decided on. I watch as our escort digs her hand through the bowl to pick out the girl’s name. This is another silly Capitol rule that doesn’t matter.

Technically anybody could be picked, and if you’re one of the ones who want to volunteer, you’re lucky because you get a little priority. For some reason, though, it seems like the names are usually from poorer families, the ones that don’t have the money to train their children to be tributes.

The escort calls out a name I don’t recognize. My hand soars into the air, along with several others. The Peacekeepers let us walk to the front, right up to the girl who was called.

Her hair is blonde, like mine, but she has curls that don’t appear to take as much time as mine do. Effortless, almost like Palladium's, but without the shine that must come from a hair product that the victor uses. I’m almost jealous.

”Would you like to participate in the Hunger Games, dear?” The escort asks.

She shakes her head vigorously. Those curls bounce around her face.

”Then you may return to your seat,” the escort says.

The girl runs back, almost tripping over her own feet to end up back among the thirteen year olds.

”And how many volunteers do we have?” The escort asks, turning to a Peacekeeper beside her. He whispers a number in her ear. “Twenty-nine!”

The escort waves her hand over us. The cameras turn to us. I straighten up—this is the first time sponsors might be seeing me. I have to make a good first impression.

”You can follow my dear friend here to the selection room,” the escort points at a Peacekeeper. I get the feeling that she isn’t his dear friend. I doubt that she knows his name. I certainly don’t. Peacekeepers tend to fade into the background.

I line up with the others and take a seat in the selection room. Twenty-nine isn’t a small number, but it’s not the largest we’ve ever had. Sometimes we get closer to forty, and one year we even got fifty!

The selection process is an open secret. All of us have some kind of idea of what goes on, because those that aren’t chosen like to complain.

The known part is that we’ve all been watched in the public gyms for our prowess. It’s hard not to be under Peacekeeper eyes when they keep an eye out on all the weapons, just in case any of us get the idea to do a revolution or something stupid like that.

The unknown part is what they were watching for. Sometimes people seem like a lock, and then they don’t get in, and sometimes someone seems completely unqualified and they get in almost immediately. And besides, once people end up here, they tend to keep quiet. Maybe they're hoping for an advantage the next time they have a chance to volunteer.

We all have to write our names down. The Peacekeepers match them with the pictures on file from our school, then arrange us first by age, then alphabetically. This takes a while, long enough that I thought the boys would be sent in after us, but they haven’t yet.

It’s only after the last girl sits down that the boys file in. There’s less of them, and they’re led by Mohs. I guess he decided that he wanted to be a tribute, after all. A Peacekeeper pulls the first girl aside into a different room. I hope it's not that she's been selected. After all this time and training, it just comes down to the oldest girl whose name comes first alphabetically? I know it's not true, since we've had tributes of varying ages and names, but part of me feels my heart sinking into my stomach. Will I have to wait another year? There's nothing guaranteeing that I become a tribute.

I watch as the boys undergo the same process that we did. I try not to make eye contact with any of them just yet. Some of them could be pretty brutal when it came to training, and I didn't want it to show who I wanted to come along with me. That was another thing that could be tricky to balance. The other tributes will be looking at you and your district partner like you're the same person, at least, at first. The Capitol always expects that district partners will be loyal to each other. If I went out there in front of our escort and they put me next to a real jerk? I don't know if I'd be able to put on my game face and smile for the cameras. Then I'd have to spend more time making a good first impression for the Capitol.

Meanwhile, the girls are being pulled out and into other rooms by various Peacekeepers. It seems like it's alphabetical again, which puts me as a disadvantage thanks to my last name. I try not to get too nervous.

Finally, the Peacekeepers pull me into that separate room. I walk with my head held high. How else am I supposed to act? Not like any of those outer district tributes, cowering. I'm here because I want to be.

They sit me down in front of a camera, then fill out various sheets before finally turning to me. "Would you be able to state your name and age, please?"

"Lustre Wellforge," I say, "Fifteen."

They look down at a piece of paper, and then one says to another, "Call him in."

Call who in? I look towards the door, wondering if this is the part of the process that nobody talks about. My father, maybe? He wouldn't have a choice whether I go to the Games or not if I was pulled from the bowl of names, but because I volunteered maybe they want his input about his only child being sent into the arena. My father has always supported the Peacekeepers, after all.

But it's not him. Instead, a well-dressed man enters. I can immediately identify him as Capitol. I've heard over and over again that some of the other Districts think that we dress similarly to them, but I know there's something different. It doesn't make the most sense, but the Capitol is usually more outrageous, at least in terms of colors. On the other hand, because we're the luxury district, people want to show off what they have, or what their families have been involved in making.

This man is definitely Capitol, and he practically confirms it when he tucks his long hair behind his ears and I see they're pointed--it was a Capitol trend a while back. I guess that this man either liked the look enough to keep it, or didn't like the feeling of the surgery, because money is definitely not an issue for him.

"Lustre Wellforge?" he says, looking down at a tablet.

"That's correct," I say.

"I'm Cimber Prattle," he smiles at me. His teeth are a brilliant white.

"Nice to meet you," I say, but the question is obvious in my voice. Who is he?

"You're on our shortlist," he explains, "I'm one of the Gamemakers. As you can tell from all of that--" he gestures to the door I walked through, where I know many more potential tributes wait "--District One is usually not an issue when it comes to volunteers or tributes going willingly. But we do want the tributes chosen to truly represent the district. You understand, it's the spirit of the Games, after all."

He gives me another blinding smile.

I get it. Everyone's heard the story of the reasons behind the Hunger Games. The Districts rebelled, the Capitol won, and now we all have to remember it. We pay the price for what our ancestors did. It's been especially poignant during the Quarter Quells. I wish I was born just a few years earlier--then I might have had the chance to participate in the 50th Hunger Games.

I probably could've won.

"That's...great to hear. You must have good taste." I say, because I know as well as anybody that flattery can work wonders at getting what you want.

He lets out a laugh, "We'll just need you to look into this camera and answer a few questions. We're not looking for someone specific, so just be yourself."

I smile and wave at the camera. The District One girls always look glamorous, so I can't help but think that my looks will play a part in this.

Cimber steps in front of the camera, holding a piece of paper that I can't read. "Alright. Lustre Wellforge, fifteen."

He steps back behind it, and in a clear voice, asks, "When did you start preparing for the Hunger Games?"

"I was eight years old," I say confidently, "My main inspiration was Palladium Barker. I mean, her spirit after her Games totally inspired me. So my parents put me in Career Tribute classes, so I'd have a chance to win like she did. Though of course I'd want to put my own spin on it."

Cimber nods, and the camera operator writes something down.

"What makes you think you're better than any of the older potential tributes?" Cimber asks.

"Well, if they were really good enough, they'd have gone by now, either they would have been picked by this process or they waited, which would be a bad strategy if you actually want to play in the Games," I state, "Everyone knows you start trying before your last year. I know that some of them out there are only going because they think they can do it this time because they would be the oldest tribute out there. I want to go because I know that I'm one of the best."

I take the opportunity to turn directly into the camera, looking at the operator, "You can check the records. I've beaten some of these girls in wrestling three or four times over."

Cimber laughs at this and elbows the camera operator. Hopefully my confidence is a sign that I'm ready for the Games even though I'm one of the younger volunteers.

"Just one more question, Lustre," Cimber says, his face growing serious, "What do you think you have to offer sponsors of the Hunger Games?"

I consider it for a second, "I'm never boring. I've always done my best during my training, and that includes my singing lessons. Besides that, I think I'm pretty good with cameras--if I was in the Games, everyone would be watching to see if I could win."

Cimber nods one last time, "Alright, thank you Lustre. You can rejoin your peers, now."

"Thank you," I say. And then I leave the room, hoping that I've done well. I know I still have another few chances, but it's exactly as I've just answered. If I end up going in the last possible year, it'll look like I haven't been trying. I'm already trying to think of ways that I can spin it while they call the next two girls into the room.

On the boys' side, it looks like they've gone halfway through. I know what they're feeling, and I'm a little sympathetic for some of them, even though as I watch there's a little roughhousing between two seated right next to each other.

The last girl arrives back at her seat. She looks as nervous as I did when I came out of the interview room.

"Thank you, girls!" one of the Peacekeepers announces from the front of the room, "The decision will be out shortly."

This was always my favorite part to watch on TV before I was reaping age myself. All the potential Career tributes filed out of the room and onto the stage, and our escort walked down the line until she got to the chosen tributes.

This time, I am one of the girls. I stand beside the other girls, the boys waiting on the other end of the stage in the same position. I hold my breath as the escort makes her way past the other girls, watch as the dreams of the oldest girls are crushed as she passes them. The closer she gets to me, the more anxious I get.

She stops in between me and the girl standing directly next to me. I look into her eyes, and she grabs my hand and pulled me to the front of the stage. Then she does a similar walk down the line of male tributes, and pulls Mohs out to stand next to me. I guess he must have interviewed well, too.

The escort holds our hands up, victorious, and calls out, "Ladies and gentlemen! Our District 1 tributes, Lustre Wellforge and Mohs Reedleaf!"

Chapter Text

I've been raised alongside Career tributes, but that doesn't make me one of them. Most people look into District 1 and see the flawless teeth and rippling muscles that they've come to expect from our tributes. I have to admit that I was pretty much the same. When you're forced to watch the Hunger Games, year after year, seeing the same kind of tribute from District 1 over and over again? Well, you get used to the idea that all of us are like that. I know it can't be true that all the kids from District 12 are coal-covered, malnourished weaklings, but that's who ends up going to the Games.

The thing that most people don't know or consider is that there's a divide in District 1. It's between kids who are devoting their lives to being tributes, and kids who aren't. Money is a factor, but it isn't always the deciding point. Poor or lesser known families might push one of their kids towards becoming a tribute to pay for food or gain prestige, while wealthy families can rest on their piles of money knowing that there's a fifteen year old out there who would probably be willing to cut his own arm off so that "darling Timothy" doesn't have to risk his life in the Games. Still, if you have the money, you might as well prep your kid in case they do end up in the Games.

That's where my dad comes in. Mondy Reedleaf is the premiere swordsman in all of District 1. Or at least, that's what all the advertising says. I've been watching teenagers attempt to stab each other since before I can remember, and I've been fencing for just as long. Still, I can count on one hand the number of our tributes that have won the Games, and I wouldn't even need the whole hand. It's partially because my dad can only take on so many students at a time, and partially because they don't offer a lot of swords in the Games. When they do, it tends to be the heavier ones.

Take, for example, Panache Barker. His older sister trained with us and won. Three years ago, he was in the Quarter Quell. There was some excellent swordsmanship, according to my father, but he still lost because one of the District 12 girls took him out with a blow gun or something. I tried to look away. Panache was a bully, that was certain, but I'd spent some time with him, training. I wasn't sure he deserved to die just because he got a big head about his family name. Then again, none of the other 47 tributes deserved death, either.

That's why I find it hard to believe that pretty much every single person that comes into my dad's office is willing to risk everything for a pretty slim chance. Yeah, they could mess with the odds a little by training with my dad or any of the dozens of tribute trainer businesses that exist in District 1, but sometimes that means nothing when they walk into the arena and find out there's nothing there made of metal, or that they needed to have learned how to climb trees when they spent years focusing on identifying poisons.

Sometimes I wonder what their parents think. They're the ones who are sending their kids into this stuff, making them feel confident. And for what? More respect on the family name, or an extra couple thousand? Anybody who can pay my dad doesn't need to take tessarae, and they're certainly not hurting for money the way that some of the kids I knew before I started spending all of my time at my dad's business were.

The only skill that I've worked on is swordsmanship, and that's not really a choice. My dad's always wanted someone to follow in his footsteps, and when my older brother joined our mom's brother in the gem polishing business, his attention turned to me.

"If you can hold a sword, you can help out the family business," was the way that it was pitched to me when I was only nine years old. And as it turned out, I was doing a lot more than holding a sword. At first, I was in classes with tribute-trainees who were my age. Then I was leading the classes, or sparring against tribute-trainees who might actually have a shot at making it into the Hunger Games.

You learn to get used to it. Learn to get used to the way that, for some of us, our lives have to revolve around violence. All the potential tributes start blurring together, and you push yourself not to get attached to any of them. My dad's students don't care about me, and he's tried to make it so that I don't care about them.

Honestly, I doubt that most of them even remember my name.

Alexander was different. From the moment I met him, he was intent not only on learning to be the best, but on being my friend. He reached out to me even when our training was over asking if I wanted to come to a party that his parents were throwing.

I thought about turning it down, in case it was something where I was set up. Meant to be teased or mocked for the entertainment of the potential tributes. But he seemed so enthusiastic about me coming, and it was a day when I was allowed to leave early from my dad's office. I didn't see the harm in showing up to support Alexander, if that was what he wanted.

My clothes weren't as nice as the ones the potential tributes and their families would have worn, but they were something. We lived in a district full of luxuries, and sometimes I think I was the only one who realized it. Not that I ever had much of a chance to speak to others like me, whose parents were involved in the business of training tributes. My dad was always intensely competitive, even when it came to things like poison identification classes and even dance lessons.

Not that I ever asked him for either of those things. Sometimes I wondered what the regular kids did, if they existed. Surely it wasn't a spectrum of two options, one where some kids' parents paid for them to learn to fight while others taught them. But even though I'd seen the poorer kids in the district being reaped before all the volunteering mess happened, I never spoke to them.

I was nervous entering Alexander's house, first because my name had to be checked off of a list by the security by the doors, and second because when I saw him standing alongside his parents, he looked more than a little intimidating. It was almost like I could see the type of tribute that he would be.

"Mohs!" Alexander practically lit up when he saw me. It was like a switch had been flipped and he went back to being the boy I knew from fencing classes. I smile back, because what else are you supposed to do? I can see his parents' faces wrinkling in confusion when they look at me, and I immediately get the sense that they have no idea that he's invited me. Most of me wants to run away, but I decide to stick it out. For Alexander.

There are a lot of people at this party. More than would ever show up to anything I threw. And yet, I find that, for the most part, the ones who are my age are normal. Surprisingly so. The way that most of the kids my age are trained for murder, you'd expect that they were all sociopaths. Sometimes I feel a little like I've lost my mind when my stomach drops at the merest mention of death, while everyone else turns a blind eye to it.

As it turns out, no one here, at least, none of the people who train under my father, hate me. Some of them, more than just Alexander, think I'm pretty cool, even if I'm in such a radically different situation to them. Maybe it's not so radically different, after all.

At the end, I'm even invited to other social gatherings, but of course it's unlikely that I'll be able to go to anything. My dad's always been particular about how I spend my free time, and hanging out with potential tributes is just a way to invite problems.

Alexander's acceptance, I think, is why I end up being such a fool.

Of course, if the escort hadn't picked my name out of the bowl, I'm not sure what I would have done. Maybe I wouldn't have been as brave, or maybe I would've been sent to sit back down in favor of the more traditional tributes from District 1, the ones that everyone sees coming and immediately thinks run.

The things is, even as I join the boys in the selection process, a part of me wants to step down. Wants to change my mind, and say, "oops, pick someone else." The only problem is that I can see the others. I know their weaknesses, at least when it comes to swordsmanship, and I'm not sure if any of them are ready.

Do I think I have a chance? No. I don't have nearly the amount of training that they do, but I at least feel like I'm not walking into the Games thinking they'll be handed to me on a platter. I say as much when the Gamemaker, or whoever he is, calls me into the room and asks me a bunch of questions.

I'm not sure if they like it. Maybe they think they can spin me into someone more interesting than the other tributes, or maybe there is some kind of sick advantage for having your name pulled from the bowl instead of volunteering. It's also entirely possible that the tributes from the other districts don't have enough story to tell, at least in their opinion. Especially the ones that don't get any volunteers.

It doesn't surprise me to stand beside Lustre while the escort announces our names, but it doesn't make me any happier. Especially since the people I'm doing this for are more than likely to hate me forever for taking away their chance at glory.

My whole family is there to see me off, but my dad's the only one to speak to me. We're being watched, and he's always been private so he doesn't say much. But I can tell that he's furious that I didn't just take the out that was offered to me in the first place.

"I'll miss you," is the only thing that I can think to say to him.

He just shakes his head and pulls me into a hug. I know I'm almost certainly never going to see him again, and it stings. But there's only so much time before Lustre and I have to take our ride to the Capitol.

The training areas aren't that different from the ones back home, but I try not to say that. Our mentor, Palladium Barker, has decided to put all of her focus into Lustre, which leaves me to fend for myself. I'm not sure if it's typical for mentors to do that, but if it is, I can see why I'd be the one to get the short end of the stick. Maybe Panache would've lived if my dad had trained him a little better.

She does give me one piece of advice, if you could call it that, and it's to stay as far away from Lustre as possible. And when I see my district partner pouncing on various targets, I can see why. Lustre doesn't hesitate. I'm specialized in just one thing, and pretty much everyone already knows it. It's kind of what I've been using to show that I won't be entirely useless during the Games.

Lustre claims Districts 2 and 4, or rather, Palladium pushes her to do so. That's fine with me--I know what to look for in terms of power. And I think District 10's got it this year.

Their two tributes are cousins, Tanner and Helena. Neither one trusts me at first, and I can see why they'd hesitate. For all they know, I'm exactly like the District 1 tributes that have been in the Games since before I can remember. And sure, sometimes someone outside of the Career districts makes it into the alliance, but never like this.

The thing that hammers it in for them is a mistake, honestly. Palladium and I had argued about my strategy. It was one of the only mentor-tribute meetings that we'd had, and it didn't go well, to say the least. What can I say? I was angry.

I pushed past a few tributes on my way to the training room and knocked Lustre over. In that split second, I could have helped her up--it would've been what I'd done at home. I was older than her, and when we'd practiced I'd done it dozens of times. But I could feel the eyes on me and hear Palladium's words echoing in my head, that Lustre would be better off without me.

So I turned and walked away. I immediately wondered if it was the wrong thing to do, but it wasn't like I could go back and undo it. The tributes from District 2 were already surrounding her, getting on her good side while I certainly ended up on her bad side.

But District 10 saw it as an opportunity. They watched me stab a training dummy, first from afar, and then approaching closer. Tanner spoke first.

"Doesn't seem like you're makin' friends with those other Careers," he says.

"I told you I wasn't," I replied. I tried to keep my attention on the dummy. The social game was never my strong suit, not the thing that I was trained in. Every time I catch Tanner or Helena's eyes, I can only see my dad's disappointment. It doesn't exactly make for the most trustworthy look.

"We got something going with District 5," Helena says, jerking her head to the side where the two tributes from the power and utilities district are teaching themselves camouflage, "You want in?"

"Sure," I say in my most convincing voice. Helena and Tanner exchange a look. It'll have to do.

I might just have a chance at winning these Games.

Chapter Text

It's my moment, I can feel it. I'll step off of my platform when I'm ready, grab any of the possible weapons from the cornucopia, and kill anybody who messes with me or my allies. That's the perk of being a Career tribute, I guess. I already know that both District 2 and District 4 want to work with me, although they only agreed to it if I said that Mohs wouldn't be joining us.

I get it. He probably wouldn't be able to keep up. But I said that I didn't want him dead, either. Not unless we had to. Mohs was nice and all, but he wasn't a Career. Demanding that he stay with me would probably hurt the social parts of my game, and that's the one part that I've been working on since I stepped off of the train in the Capitol and met the other tributes.

After I was selected as District 1's female tribute, I found out that he'd been picked from the boys. Probably because his name had actually been drawn from the bowl, and I heard that the Capitol eats that up, or at least the people in charge of filming the Reaping.

I tried to be nice. He didn't, so it was not a huge loss to know that he wasn't going to be my ally. He wanted to come to the Games, otherwise he definitely wouldn't have been picked from all of the other potential tributes. And all that without his lack of training! Well, mostly lack of training. He's still better than me with a sword.

I rolled my eyes just to think about it. But I step off the platform with everyone else and tear off to the Cornucopia, ignoring everyone around me, only giving others enough attention to elbow anybody out of my way.

The Arena had a desolate city theme, which is more than a little scary, since I know the buildings wouldn't actually go up that high, which means they're fake. The Arena was always closed in, and almost always had a height limit, even if it wasn't shown. It was something about the Capitol's worries about district interference. As if any of the districts could wreck the Arena's barrier.

A tall building would probably be a good place to hold up in, once things got down to the wire. Only a few entrances, and I could figure it out pretty quickly. At the same time, I could see how it might be a good idea to avoid anything with breakable windows. Hurtling to my death isn't the way I want to go. But I try not to think about that. I need to have a winner's mentality.

I come face to face with the District 2 girl--Vanilla. She grins at me, and I smile back, because right there in the cornucopia were my favorite weapons: swords. That was how she and I had become so close in the first place. We'd been training partners before the Games started. My mentor, Palladium herself, recommended her to me.

Vanilla was there first, so she takes first pick, and I grab second.

"C'mon!" I shout, weaving around a District 9 boy who was trying to grab a pack of something. Vanilla shoves him out of the way and snatches the pack up, threatening him with her sword when he comes closer. She even takes a swing at him, but he's smart enough to take off running instead of staying around to die.

We hide in an alleyway to take stock of what was happening and count cannon shots. Ten. That was almost half of the competition, gone already. When Vanilla opened the pack, food practically spilled out. We'd be set for a while, it seemed. Which is good. In some arenas, you had to hunt for your food. I wasn't sure where we were supposed to get it here. Scavenge through the buildings, maybe? A peak into a window didn't offer much hope in that scenario, as the kitchens look just as destroyed as everything else does around here.

I look out of the alleyway, in case somebody had tailed us. I don't know what happened to the tributes from Four or to Vanilla's district partner, Lane. I could only speculate as to which of the tributes were gone. I would put money on Twelve, since they had both seemed sickly just standing in the training room, and District 6's boy was only twelve. I wasn't sure he could run fast enough to escape.

Maybe if his family had put some time into training him he'd have had better odds.

Only one of the tributes from Four, Maria, makes it to us, and Lane is close behind her. Lane didn't grab any supplies, but I recognize that Maria has some non-perishable mush. Or maybe that's just what she's willing to share with us, for now.

"We need to set up a camp," I say, "An alleyway isn't good enough."

"Well, duh," Lane says, "But what makes one of these buildings better than another?"

"We'll check a few of them out," Vanilla suggests, "With a group this big, no one will be able to take us down."

I know we're not the only alliance in the Games, but we're definitely the most set up to win.

We walk through a few buildings and decide to double back into one of the ones in the middle. The windows are mostly boarded up, which gives us a little advantage as we hunker down for the night, since exploring took longer than we thought. I'd always thought that arenas had to be at least a little natural. I wish I'd prepared more for these scenarios.

The first thing we discover is that it gets cold. Really cold. I shiver as I stare out a crack in the window to see who's dead already. One tribute each from Three, Four, Five, Six, Nine, and Eleven, and both from Seven and Twelve. Maybe everyone else was too fast--or maybe we should've gone out to hunt any stragglers. There are enough of us. I do like the confidence that a clear base gives us.

Vanilla and Lane are dividing up some of the food while Maria stands guard by one of the doors. We could make a fire inside the building, but that risks burning it down or setting off a sprinkler system. The best thing we can do at this point is find a room with no windows and huddle together there, but it's not a great start.

"We should put some defenses into play," I say, because without the windows, we have no idea if anyone is coming for us.

"Tomorrow," Lane whines, "I'll stand watch and wake someone up when I get tired or if someone's coming."

I open my mouth to start to criticize him. The whole point of having some sort of defense is that we can't see who's coming into the room since there's only one door. Then I remember more of my social training: I want to be on everyone's good side so they have less reason to kill me first after the other tributes are all dead. And Lane is already one of those people that thinks he has to be in charge.

"Alright," I say instead, "I'll try and think of what we could use while I'm drifting off."

The one thing that nobody ended up with in the bags we grabbed from the Cornucopia was a blanket, which leaves us all in pretty bad shape even in the full body jumpsuits we're all wearing. I curl up around my own bag, not because I think Maria, Lane, or Vanilla would steal it from me, but because if I hold it over my body I can imagine one of the blankets from back home is tucked over me instead of the bag.

As I'm drifting off, I hear one cannon bang. We all sit up, startled, but when we realize that it's not one of us, we relax. Probably somebody couldn't figure out the cold, or died from injuries that they got during the Cornucopia. Maybe some of the other tributes were fighting over space. Whatever the cause, it's just one less person to compete with us, which means I'm one step closer to winning the Games and bringing home the glory--and money--that go along with that.

The night otherwise passes by uneventfully, and when I wake up in the morning the first thing I do is start setting traps. Maria helps me out, and we use a combination of nails and old building materials to make a variety of ways to keep us safe.

My favorite is probably the one that we've rigged near the window. It's simple, but hopefully effective. If someone stands in the right spot, or maybe the wrong spot, it pushes them out of it. Definitely a few broken bones, if not immediate death.

"Are you done with all of that?" Vanilla asks, looking at the work that Maria and I have done.

"Yeah," I say, "Here's what you should do."

It would be kind of bad for my Games if one of my allies died to one of my traps. I explain every detail to Vanilla, Lane, and Maria, and when I'm done Maria adds in a few ways to make sure they don't get caught by the traps that she's built.

It might be overkill, but every Career tribute knows that a good defense can make or break your Games, especially if you have a lot of good food that the other tributes might want to steal.

In the end, it doesn't take too much time, which leaves plenty of daylight for us to find the other tributes before things start getting more dangerous. Who knows what kind of Mutts could be living in this desolate city?

I grab my sword. Maria is the only one of us with a weapon that can be used at a distance, but I know that with the four of us have a much better shot than anyone else. Usually there's some signs of tributes. People leave behind traces of themselves, especially when they're injured. Vanilla hoots in delight when she finds blood--an injured target isn't exactly the most honorable, but it's the Hunger Games. The only goal is survival. As long as you're not too much of a jerk, people seem to forget that most victors have killed at least one person.

We follow the trail. The atmosphere of our group changes, almost entirely different to what it was before. Now, we're tense, quiet, looking at each other and around us like one of the other tributes will jump out at any moment. If we're lucky, we'll catch them sleeping, but the sun, or at least the artificial light posing as it, has been up for a few hours now. It's just as warm as it was yesterday.

And we see them. The female tributes from District 6 and 8. They spot us at the same moment, and immediately take off running. It was the girl from Eight that was bleeding, and she's slower than her friend, limping. Someone must have cut her yesterday. I nod at Maria and we run after her together, leaving Lane and Vanilla to get the tribute from Six.

Maria's throwing stars, her weapon of choice, come in handy. She told me while we were training that she needed a way to stand out from the other tributes, and the throwing stars certainly do that. I think I'd cut myself even looking at them, but whatever Maria did, she earned a 9. And I can see why. The stars find their way to their target like she's magnetic, burying themselves into her shoulder. She goes down, and I'm there with my sword.

This will be my first kill. I don't want to savor it--there's no time, and besides, it looks tacky in the replays--but I want to keep this moment. Imagine the before and after. I bring my sword down, through her heart.

There's a lot more blood than I thought there would be, but we hear the bang of a cannon--she's dead.

"Let's get back to Two," Maria says. I doubt that Lane and Vanilla would be having trouble with a tribute from a non-Career district, even an uninjured one, but four against one is a lot better for the odds than two against one. I jog with Maria, but we can hear Lane, Vanilla, and the girl from Six shouting and grunting. I frown. It shouldn't be that hard.

Then I see why it's taking them so long. Lane is theatrically holding one hand behind his back while he swings the other closed fist at the girl's face. I'd forgotten that he didn't have a weapon. Vanilla is doing her best, but it's hard to corner someone out in these streets, where we don't know anything. Clearly the girl has some idea of what's going on, because she's avoiding all the dead-ends and alleyways like she's got them memorized.

When Maria and I pop up, her face falls. I can see all the fight leaving her body even as Vanilla makes the key move and cuts right into her neck. She falls to the ground, blood spurting out, and Vanilla stands by to make sure she doesn't get up until we hear it. Bang.

We've done it. Almost into the top 10, which means I might need to start thinking about what comes next. It's a shame that Mohs didn't want to team up, because district partners are usually a little more trustworthy than allies from outside. But I know I can trust Vanilla, at least for now. Lane, a little less so. He's not as predictable, which makes me nervous.

I wonder if they're thinking about it, too. I decide to change the subject before anyone else can bring it up.

"We should see what they had," I say. It also gives time for the drones to take the bodies away. They're already a little gross.

Everyone agrees. Lane reaches the first backpack and dumps it out, revealing a couple of blankets and some water. We split the water--running really does make you thirsty--and he carries the blankets. The other girl, the one from Eight, didn't have any supplies, which means we're back to hunting.

"We should split up," Vanilla says, "Lustre, I'll go with you. Lane, you and Maria can take those blankets back to our base. And see if anyone got caught in the traps."

It's not a terrible idea, but splitting up does make me a little nervous. I'll just have to be on my guard. Maria and Lane look at each other, but they nod.

When they leave, Vanilla and I wander. We try to mix silence and conversation. I'm trying to pull sympathy, both from her and from the viewers. Maybe one of my sponsors will send a little more water, or she'll let me live until a few more tributes are dead.

The ground wobbles underneath my feet, and it's not just the mild dehydration. It feels like a miniature earthquake. Vanilla and I look at each other, and turn around, expecting to see some kind of stampede. Instead, a building just a dozen feet to our side goes down. It was one of the smaller ones, but it's something we didn't even consider checking for.

I stare at the pile of rubble that was once a five story building. Earthquake protection? Now that I think about it, these buildings don't look the most stable. This is probably how they want to get us all together, so that we can fight for the most entertainment.

I'm about to mention as much to Vanilla when I feel a sharp pain through my side. I look down to see Vanilla's sword through my middle. I can't fault her for it--it's an excellent move, at least in terms of getting competition out of the way. I fumble for my own sword, but the way I'm injured, she's able to bat it aside like it's a training weapon.

I gasp for air, feeling it leaving my lungs. She pulls her sword out, and I hold my wound. I didn't think it would hurt this much. I've been injured in practice before, but never anything so...mortal.

Oh. I had at least wanted to make the top 10.

"Sorry," Vanilla says, though I can't tell if she actually means it. I'm more focused on grabbing at my wound, applying pressure. My sides are too weak. I drop to the ground. She turns away before I'm dead. I clench my teeth. She should at least look at me while I'm dying. I hear another cannon shot--not me, not yet. I can still feel my heart beating, sending the blood out of my body as quickly as it can. Maria? I should have stuck with her. She wasn't nearly as confident as Vanilla was. Or maybe she and Lane found someone on their way back to our base.

It seems that I'm top 10 after all.

I hum a song to myself, though I'm not sure the sound leaves my head. At least I'll have one thing going for me. My vision fades. I wish I could hear myself. I wish Vanilla would sing to me, or say something, so that I wouldn't be totally alone.

Another bang, right after the other one. There's been a lot of that today.

"Who do you think that was?" I turn to Tanner, Helena, and Cat, the girl from District 5.

"Oh, Mohs is worried about his girlfriend," Cat sing-songs a little at me. I make a face in disgust--practiced, just like Palladium would've wanted, even if I am a little worried about Lustre. She's younger than me, but she's also got infinitely more training.

"Another building probably just tipped over," I say instead. We're all a little spooked from the first time it happened. We heard the crash from a few blocks away. It's the reason that the four of us have ended up outside even when we know it's going to get dark soon, and bring that cold back. None of us are from districts or families that specialize in building things, which means all the building are equally likely to tip over on us. It's not like we can shake them and see if they wobble. Still, we'll have to try our luck or risk freezing. Maybe they'll be safe during the night.

We're at least still good on food. The building we were in had stocked kitchens, and we took as much as we could carry. It was Tanner's idea to move to another one--he thinks they'll only knock over the ones with anything good in them, which means we just have to find the worst building out there and we'll be fine.

We're on the way to the next building, exploring to see if there are any valuables, when Cat stumbles over something, then lets out a shriek. It's something so completely unlike her that my blood freezes.

"What happened?" I ask.

"A rat," she shakes her head, "Eugh."

I'm about to suggest that maybe we should stay here, if Tanner's idea is correct. Then, more rats come, practically spilling into the room.

"Run!" I yell.

The buildings are tall, but the elevators don't work, which means we're sprinting down stairs as fast as we possibly can, trying to avoid tripping. I've never seen a rat in person, except for the one they made us dissect in biology class, but I know they aren't supposed to be this big. And they're definitely not supposed to have teeth this sharp. I have to tear one off of my leg, and it takes a decent chunk out of me.

When we get outside, I realize we're not even safe there. The rats are everywhere, pouring out of windows, scampering, fighting with each other and any of us that they can get their teeth into. I hear my allies scream in pain when the rats sink their teeth into them. We're throwing rats off of ourselves, off of each other, but there doesn't seem to be a way to keep them off of us.

Tanner's head is swiveling frantically, his hands swatting at the rats. He's flailing around, almost  He's the tallest of us, so I thought maybe he'd have an advantage, but the rats seem fixed on him. Then I realize.

"It's the food!" I point to the backpack that Tanner's been carrying around. The rest of us have some smaller morsels in our backpacks, but Tanner's carrying the most. I practically rip my pockets open and toss the food inside away, hoping to distract the rats. And the ones that were concentrated on me do seem to run in that direction.

I hear a cannon bang. My head whips around to Tanner, but he's still fighting, at least for now. Somebody else, then. We're not alone. I kick rats out of my way as I run to Tanner's side. Cat and Helena are there, too. They've thrown their food away, but they're further off from him. I'm not sure that he's heard me.

"Tanner!" I yell, "Throw the backpack away! Throw it away!"

He's too frantic. I'm not going to make it in time--I can see blood spurting from his arms, going too fast. I make it to him and wrestle the backpack away. It's full of rats. I shudder and throw it as far away from us as I can. The rats run after it. I focus on Tanner.

I've never been good at the whole medical aspect. The most I've done is put ice packs on bruised arms and legs after practice swords have hit them, and even then I felt a little out of my depth. But even I can see that it doesn't look too good for Tanner.

He's turned grey, the warmth leaving his skin. Helena shoves me aside so she can grab her cousin's hand.

"They're all gone now, Tanner," Helena says, "C'mon, they're all gone now."

But there's nothing we can do. Tanner lets out his last, shaky breath, and the cannon goes off.

Helena throws herself into Cat's arms.

Cat strokes a hand through Helena's curly hair. I just stand there, in shock. It's one thing to think about all of this, to know that most of the people I know would kill to be in this position. I can't get it through my head.

We stand there for a while, even watching the drone pick up Tanner's body. Probably making excellent targets, but none of us want to go back inside the building. Or any of the other ones. Who knows what the Gamemakers will throw at us next?

The cold eventually forces us inside. Cat is fuming, and Helena is still distraught. I don't think I can say anything to make her feel better. How would I feel if it was my little cousin lying there?

The faces run across the sky, showing us who we've lost--Lustre stands out, but one of her allies, the girl from Four, is gone, too. District 6 and District 8 are both done, now. We almost break seeing Tanner's face, and then the last District 11 tribute shows up on the sky.

And then that's it. Seven of us left, in only two days.

Cat wrinkles her nose at the building we've picked. She opens her mouth a few times before she eventually speaks.

"I don't think all of these buildings are real," she says.

"What?" I ask.

She clenches her hands in fists while she thinks of a way to describe her idea. "Arenas can't be that big. They have about a year to build them and plan them, and that's gotta take a lot of work. And they don't get tons of space."

Cat looks into the camera in the corner hesitantly. If anyone from the power district could figure it out, I don't think that the Capitol would really care if she told us. But maybe it's more than that.

"The tallest ones in the distance--those are obviously holograms. But I think some of them go right up to the top of the arena," Cat says. Then, she points out the window, "You see how they're taller in the center? And you know how the projections are slightly curved? I think the arena's like...like some kind of dome, maybe electric. If we could get in there, get something metal...we could--"

Cat glances at the camera again, "Well, it would be a pretty good weapon, I think."

It's not where she was intending to go with this plan, but it's still something. And maybe I can work out whatever it is that she was really trying to do. I nod. I think Helena does, too, but she's been so shaky that it's hard to tell.

"In daylight," I agree.

"Daylight," Cat confirms.

The next morning, we wake up and check all of our wounds. Nothing looks infected, at least not yet. I'm not sure how clean the rat Mutts were, but I imagine that several tributes dying of the plague does not make for interesting viewing back in the Capitol. We make our way out of the building and back into the light outside. Helena lets the sunlight on her body for a while, breathing a sigh of relief. I can't stop imagining things crawling, checking to make sure that nothing is following us. I've almost forgotten about the Career tributes, or rather, the tributes from District 2.

On the way over, we hear a cannon shot. None of the buildings has crumbled, so we assume it was just one of the Careers killing somebody else. It's odd how that can become so mundane. We're down to six, now.

We reach the center, see the empty Cornucopia. But we don't find anyone else which is a plus. Cat picks out a building, and we go in.

Or we try to. Helena shakes her head the second the walls are around her and runs out, swatting at her arms for invisible rat Mutts.

"I'm sorry," she says, and I can tell she means it. "I just...I can't do it. I don't want to see those things again."

"That's okay," I say before Cat can try and convince her, "How about you stand lookout out here, and shout if anyone comes looking? Then you can go hide."

Helena nods her head quickly, her hands clenching into determined fists.

Cat and I take the stairs.

"It would've been better to have her with us," Cat says, "In case we need the extra hands."

"Did you see her?" I shake my head, "She wouldn't have been able to help, anyways."

Cat sighs. We make it up and out onto the roof.

"Duck," Cat says.

She picks up a loose bit of rubble and chucks it straight up, then covers her head. It goes rocketing back towards the ground faster than she threw it.

"Our own little cannon," Cat says with a wry grin.

"You can figure out how to aim?"

"I can do a little better," Cat says. She drags me downstairs, and starts collecting various metals. She winds them together as I watch, confused. I didn't pay enough attention in my science classes for this. She finishes her rod with rubber torn from the edges of the windows and doors.

When she leads us back up, I'm not quite sure what it is she plans to do. She reaches up, but even standing on top of a pile of rubble, she can't reach it.

But I can.

"Let me try," I say, reaching out for the rod, "Or at least tell me what I can do to help."

Cat hands it over, "You don't have to keep it there. I have this theory that if you can wedge it in enough, we'll have electricity. Which, y'know, is pretty useful."

I whistle, "I'll say."

I take my turn standing on the rubble, but just as I reach up, the ground starts to shake underneath my feet. My eyes shoot to Cat.

"Run!" she shouts. I fling the rod aside and the two of us rush down the stairs. I can hear Helena shrieking below us, but even if this had been one of the shorter buildings, there's still no way for us to make it to the ground in time. Not without seriously injuring ourselves. Still, I force my feet to keep moving, to keep rushing down the stairs like I have a chance even as the rubble moves around us. I can't give up. It's not what my dad would want.

"Stay away, Helena!" Cat shouts out of a broken window to where Helena is standing down below, "Get away from the building!"

I pull her down with me. It's no use. I squeeze her hand.

"I'm sorry," Cat's eyes are wide, "It's my fault. It's all my fault."

I shake my head, "Not your fault."

The building crashes down around us.

My wife collapses into my arms, wailing. We had allowed ourselves some hope. That maybe Mohs would have a chance out there, especially once he made those friends of his. But I should have known.

Even as the living relatives of a--a deceased tribute, we are forced to watch the Games. I try not to focus on them too much, but I can't help but pour all my hopes into the girl from District 10. She's survived, the last of that little group, and she's strong--if she was in District 1, I think she would've made an excellent Career. I want to believe that she's not entirely broken, even if she is alone now.

The next few deaths seem to go by quickly--but maybe it's because I'm constantly pulled away by friends checking in with me, with my wife, with my living sons. The same day that my son died, District 2's girl, alone now that her partner has finally died from those rat bites, tracks down the last tribute from District 9. The cameras cut to the District 3 tribute. I haven't been paying attention to him, since he's been on his own since the beginning. My son squeezes my hand just a second before I realize where he is: the building that the Careers set all those traps in on day one.

Lustre and the girl from Four did their job. He spots most of them--recognizing technology is an advantage more of the Careers should strive towards--but he misses just one. It sends him out the window. I look away as he falls, suffers, and is finally killed by Vanilla. That leaves her and Helena.

I suspect that the Gamemakers do this on purpose, though as a tribute trainer, I'm not officially allowed to speculate. They enjoy a confrontation. Not that Vanilla needs any more of a push. That girl starts to seek out Helena before the boy from Three is even taken by the drones.

I can't figure out who has more of an advantage. Helena still refuses to go indoors, but she must have a sponsor looking upon her favorably, because a sleeping bag drops down from the sky. She's able to burrow down into it at night, while Vanilla is forced back inside even with the blankets she and the other Careers gathered before their deaths. Vanilla is actively seeking that confrontation, and Helena's weapons of choice are still the pieces of rubble that she finds around her.

In the end, it's close. It always is--both tributes want to live, as anyone would, and it's closer than ever when there are only two left. Helena succeeds by a hair, knocking out Vanilla with a well-thrown rock and then bashing her head in, screaming the whole time until the cannon goes off. They take Vanilla's body, and take Helena to surgery.

I'm not sure who's really won.

Chapter Text

There are dozens of people comforting me for the loss of my son. I can't be sure what to say to them. Even when Helena comes by on her Victory Tour, I am unable to feel anything except a crushing despair. 

I consider closing my business. My wife's family has made enough, and I could sell many things to keep us afloat. My other children, my living children, deserve to spend more time with their father. But I hesitate. How can I stop doing what I have done for so long? Do I know how to do anything else?

The choice is, ultimately, made for me. But not how I would expect. It's a visit from a victor from District 5, Faraday. She's a cousin of the girl my son was allies with--and a rebel. I should have known. Or warned him that some people were just more dangerous to be around than others. Those of us who've lived long enough can see it, the Capitol playing with those it should be done with. Those people fighting back where they can--often through the children.

Is it really all that different from what I've already been doing? Children must be taught to fight. And I can teach them. It starts off slow. An old man downsizing his clientele, taking up some hobbies on the weekends. I send videos to Helena so that she'll be able to teach the children of the district what I know when she ends up as a mentor. I take information where only I can go--I've gained the Capitol's trust. They killed my son. Now I'm going to use it.

There are more attempts at rebellion after Cat and Mohs'. Not one of them works, but every time, I want to believe that we are getting closer. We will always fight. There is always hope in my mind that one day, this will all be over. I may not be there to see it--my joints creak more and more with every passing year, and if we ever do start fighting, I don't have a chance against guns. But I know we'll win one day. We simply have to--it's what I've always told my students.

The 75th Hunger Games, the Third Quarter Quell. Faraday has been working with me for more than two decades, and I'll see her fight. Helena is off the hook, a different victor from her district goes.

I know the plan. And I can only hope that this time, the Mockingjay will lead us into a better world.