Forum Thread

The Hunger Games have come again. May the odds be ever in your favor.

It was early in the morning. President Snow, a small man with grey hair speckled with white and icy blue eyes, stared out from the wide window out to the rooftops of the Capitol. Given the lazy, self-interested nature of the citizens of Panem, it was no surprise that the city remained quiet and still, everyone asleep. But not Snow. He himself was wide awake. Because he had a job to do. And that job became all the more important with the Hunger Games just days away. He heard the door to his office slide open with a whisper. Short, nervous clicking heels signaled to him that his secretary, Miss Donahugh, was here. "What is it, Miss Donahugh?" Snow said softly, without turning around. Despite the fact that he did not raise his voice above a whisper, it carried through the room, sending shivers down the woman's spine. "Sir, you've received a broadcast request, on your private network. President Snow's eyes narrowed, but he did not move or raise his voice. "Who sent this broadcast request?" "It's from an unknown source, sir. Somehow someone managed to bypass your security system." President Snow pursed his lips silently and carefully. He let the silence hang in the room for a good long while before saying, "Grant access to this broadcast, Miss Donahugh, but make sure that it is played only here." "Yes sir," she said quickly, leaving the room.

Only then did Snow turn around. He walked to his desk, pulled out the chair, and sat down. He pressed a button, and a projector lowered from the ceiling to cover the wall across from him. Miss Donahugh appeared shortly, carrying a thin metal tablet. She tapped something on the screen, and the projector lit up. It displayed a man, dressed smartly in a dark red suit, surrounded by shadow. His face was masked by a cartoonish clown face, a mask decorated with white skin, large puffy red lips, bulging eyes, and a red clown nose. When the man spoke, it was in a distorted voice, dubbed over by a deep and electronic effect.

"Greetings President Snow. I trust this message finds you well. The Hunger Games are coming up, did you know? You know, I hear that the people call it the Dead Games. Because they died when the rebellion was shut down and District Thirteen was obliterated, and now they will die in more ways than one. I consider myself a merciful person, Snow, nothing like you. So I don't think it would be kind if they were to die twice. That is why I'll be selecting a handful of tributes and supporting them. Sort of like the sponsors. But they don't have to earn this. This isn't a reward. It's a source. A lifeline. Because I am quite the determined person, Mr. Snow. And I will see to it that this is the very last Hunger Game you or anyone else creates." He leaned closer to the camera, and the features of the clown mask became more apparent. "May the odds be ever in your favor, Coriolanus Snow." The camera glitched out and went dark. The screen was replaced by the image of a blank white picture, with, written in sprawling crimson letters, the words, "Mr. Phantom sends his greetings."

President Snow ended the transmission, and let the projector climb back into the ceiling. Miss Donahugh looked anxiously to her boss. "Sir?" "We shall continue on as normal, Miss Donahugh. I am not afraid of this so-called Mr. Phantom. We will continue the Hunger Games, and no one shall know of this, because Mr. Phantom will not stop us."


72 Hours until the Hunger Games

District 1-

The Reaping was beginning. Everyone was gathered in the square, milling about. However, unlike in other districts, the murmurs here were those of excitement. Everyone was staring up at the podium, waiting for the chance to shout, "I volunteer as tribute." Eventually, a man in a dark blue suit with huge, ridiculous shoulder pads that curled in odd formations, and icy white hair that stuck out from his face climbed the steps, taking a microphone. He had no eyebrows, so with his hair, the man had a look of complete shock. "Greetings, District 1. Are you ready for the Reaping?" He was met with loud and raucous cheers." He grinned, pleased at the response. "Alright, alright, let's begin, shall we?" He turned to the huge wheels that were filled with names, and said primly as he turned the crank on one of them, "Ladies First." He stopped, pulled out a slip, and the crowd waited with bated breath as he unfurled the paper, then announced, "Misa Harenger!"

District 2-

The Reaping had similar reactions in this district as to the first, everyone excited and waiting eagerly. The man who climbed the steps this time hand long orange and purple ringlets for hair, with thick purple makeup and an orange shirt. He was much more dramatic, giving a long-winded greeting that most likely, if it had gone on longer, would have started a riot purely from the district's impatience. He sighed a long and dramatic sigh. "Alright, Alright, let's begin with the female tribute." He turned the crank, reached into the bowl, and pulled out a slip, unfurling it and saying loudly, "Faith Endal!"

District 3-

This time, the mood among the crowd was much grimmer. Those of age that reached the younger spectrum in the minimum of ages clutched to their parents, or their friends, eyes fearful and wide. Those older tried to put on a brave face. Parents seemed oddly protective of their children that day, though, in truth, there was reason to be. They could lose their child to a death sentence that day. Eventually, a woman with a tall golden beehive of hair came to the podium. She seemed happy and cheerful, unaffected by the stony silence of the crowd as she talked. Eventually, she pulled two names, which she announced loudly: Teri Colbatfire and Bree Wilson.


District 4:

There was a loud and excited air as if the crowd here was just as entertained by the Hunger Games as the capital. People milled about, some even taking bets, wondering who would be chosen. A man with a green buzzcut and a rose-patterned suit climbed the podium, and he was met by a loud round of applause, people stomping their feet. He laughed, waiting for them to quiet down. He then pulled the female name first: Moraine Damodred. But after that, came the male name: Tobias Askin.


District 7:

This district was cold and quiet. You could have, as the saying goes, heard a pin drop for the lack of noise. No one moved. There was no one despicable enough to take bets. Everyone stayed completely and utterly still. Eventually, the only noise was the clicking of the black-haired woman with the curling white makeup's heels as she made her way up to the podium. She stood there for an uncomfortable minute, before trying and failing to deliver her speech. Eventually, she gave up and pulled the names: Amber Baffin and Suvansh Agarwal.


District 11:

There was a similar reaction to District 7, no emotion, no noise, no one moving at all. The darkness and sadness hung clear here, like a thick grey cloud. The man who pulled the names had a ponytail of rose-pink hair, streaked with yellow. His lips were a pale yellow, giving him an almost alien look with his pale skin. He pulled the female name first: But this one was simply marked, Lilly.

District 12:

Like most of the other districts, this one was cold and quiet. No one spoke. Everyone was fearful. But here, there were some who took bets. Some who darted among the crowd, taking money for chances on who would be picked. Who was starving enough to take tesserae, and how that would worsen their chances. The woman who pulled the names had pale white hair, that looked as if it might have passed for a wing, stiffly in place with large, over-the-top curls. She pulled two names: Akane and Jeremy.

---

Akane and Jeremy of course had their concerns. The two along with Leaf and Rue, their other two lovers, quietly sat at the table in front of the TV. In roughly a week, the week of hell would start for the chosen tributes this year. After breakfast, the four got changed and headed to the main square. Last year. This was their last year and they'd never have to go through this hell again. But they should be fine right?

Until her name was picked.

Leaf's cry of dismay as she tried to hold the brown-haired girl back as if this would keep her safe. Akane however pulled away and gave the crying woman a final hug and kiss before bravely mounting the stage. Jeremy's name was called shortly after hers. Rue had to hold the heartbroken botanist but gave Jeremy a small push and he went, both hands clenched at his sides. Jeremy joined Akane's side wordlessly, only gently gripping her fingers for support, she of course held his hand tighter in hers to give silent comfort.

It seemed the odds weren't in their favor.

---

The morning of the Reaping started off the same as the previous six years. Despite Bree's complaints, she is forced to sit on a stool while her mother works to prepare her for the Reaping. A comb tears through her hair, a hand gently holds her face in place for make-up, hands guide her into her dress. She is left standing in the mirror, her unfocused gaze staring at her reflection. Her mother half leans over her and Bree knows without knowing that she is smiling.

"You look beautiful" her mother whispers.

"Do I?" Bree asks with a chuckle. "I'll take your word for it." She straightens up slightly, hearing footsteps entering the room and coming to a stop behind them. Her father's voice later drifts into the room.

"People are beginning to gather. We should get going." Like every year, he sounded nervous. Unlike every year, Bree doesn't try to convince him not be afraid. It was almost like they all knew what was about to come.
...
Fallon sticks close to her side. She could feel the tips of his fur against her fingertips. His side would occasionally bump against her leg, a reminder to walk forwards. Her parents stick close, she could hear their quiet chatter behind her. They don't guide her, they know that she doesn't like needing help. Her eyes drift to her left peripheral, where she hears not so subtle whispers regarding her. It wasn't surprising. Ever since she had been old enough to attend the Hunger Games, people had taken an interest in her. Like every year the same question is asked amongst anyone who takes notice of her. Is it possible for a blind tribute to survive the Hunger Games?

Fallon suddenly growls and Bree has to drop a hand on his back to get him to calm down. They had approached some Peacekeepers, who guided her to an attendance station. After that, she was rather forcefully lead away to stand amongst the crowd to await her fate.

"You don't have to be scared" her father whispers in her ear. "The chances of you being chosen are-"

"Guaranteed" Bree finishes the words for him, cutting him off his lie. "They are guaranteed dad" she repeats softly. "I've gotten lucky the last few years, but I don't think I'll be so lucky this year..." If she were going to continue speaking, she no longer could, because that's when the anthem started to play on a screen above them. After a long speech, the moment they were waiting for arrived. To their astonishment, Bree's name was picked.

"No!" Her parents exclaim. A strong arm pulls her in and the familiar scent of her mother is washed around her. "Somebody have a heart!" Her mother cries out. "Please! Don't take my only daughter away!" Bree's eyes suddenly widen. Amongst her parents shouts were approaching footsteps- Peacekeepers- Fallon had started growling again.

"Mom!" Bree shouts. But she doesn't seem to hear her over her own cries so Bree is forced to wriggle out of her mother's grip, once again shouting "mom!" The silence around them was deafening. Bree lifts a hand up and allows her mother to guide it to her cheek. "Mom, it'll be okay. I'll be okay" Bree whispers. She lowers her head to the floor, the sounds of her mother's sobs was enough to shatter her heart. Both her and Fallon walk onstage. Her head continued to stay hung low, hiding her tears. It wasn't until she reached the stage, with help from a Peacekeeper, when she lifts her head up. Staring forward at nothing.

Faith doesn’t blink when she hears her name. After all, she was bound to be picked no matter what. She walked up to the stage, before looking around curiously. She didn’t really know what to do, having never learnt much “social skills” due to her running away from home at the age of 10. Perhaps that was a little young? The other tributes were all probably much older than her. She thinks to herself. She twiddled the kukri in her hand, running her finger gently along the blade, before trying out a few defensive slashes. She looked really childish, in a pretty blue “princess dress” she hadn’t grown out of, and her hair let down, and a bow in her hair. However, she seemed to be elegant enough in terms of prowess, seemingly dancing with her blade.

Teri walked up to the stage when his name was called, pulling away from his mother with a sad smile. Teri wasn’t really considered on a son-mother relationship with his mom yet, but he loved her all the same. Teri’s mom took off her ring, and handed it to Teri. Although no words were exchanged, the atmosphere around carried something
intangible— it was clear both loved each other like a true pair of mother and son, although they didn’t express it very well. Teri joined Bree on the stage, his boots click-clacking loudly. He looks down at Fallon, admiring the dog. It must belong to that girl, Bree

---

Morain was extremely annoyed. The crowd was huge! She knew if she walked in there, she would likely never come out until they dissipated.

I bet nobody will care if I slip off into the woods- after all, I'll never get called up there.

The small girl began to edge around one of the houses, heading towards the fence. The fence brought back memories. It always did. Memories of hunting through the woods, roaming the trees, and fishing in the little streams. She breathed in the sweet smell of the greenery as she popped out of the mass of milling people, and she rushed towards the metal wall. Right as she was about to get there, somebody grabbed her wrist,

"Hold it right there young lady," said a deep voice. Morain took a deep breath through her nose, as the person continued "Where do you think you're going?" It cracked at the end, and Morain knew immediately who this was, through scent and sound.

"Craig Dowl, will you please let go of me?"

Craig was a thickset boy of about 15, and he was always getting in her way. Telling on her, stealing her food, and beating her up when nobody was looking. As the two began to argue, the announcer began talking. They both ignored it, until. . .

" Morain Damodred!"

Morain froze, as did Craig. But his grip also loosened. Morain darted for the crowd, the stench of the crowd filling her sensitive nostrils. She flung herself up the steps of the stage as everyone cheered, clapping and whistling. Craig was staring at her. Morain scanned the group and spotted the only person not cheering. Her brother Daryl. He had his face in his hands, but she saw his eyes peeking through. Morain gave him a weak smile, and a small thumbs up. He turned and ran for home. Morain held back tears of her own, something she had done many times before, as a wave of sadness crashed in. She would likely never see her brother again.

"Tobias Askin!"

Morain started as she shoved the emotions into the back of her mind. Tobias? That skinny little slip of a boy? He won't survive ten minutes out there, and he knows it. Morain could tell by the look on his face that he wasn't even going to try.

---

There were plenty of eyes staring at her and Teri. Bree could practically feel their gazes. It almost made her feel naked. She never liked having so many eyes staring at her. So she was obviously overjoyed to be sent off to the Capitol to be shown off as a lamb to the slaughterhouse. She couldn't help but wonder what her fellow citizens were they thinking. Did they pity them? Or were they feeling a dark sense of satisfaction at not being chosen? Then there was the question of Teri Colbatfire, who was he? If Bree wanted to survive, she would have to get into everyone's heads. Befriend them, manipulate them. It didn't matter, the end goal was the same. She needed allies if she intended to survive.

She decides to take the safe route first: befriend him. "Hey" she says, turning to look towards where she thinks Teri is. "So... This is great isn't it?" She asks with a smirk. "One would think it would be a bit more exciting being shipped off to your death. I mean, I wasn't expecting fireworks but come on, these reactions are seriously underwhelming."

“I suppose. But I would assume they’re probably disappointed, having supported the Capitol scum all their lives. Their deepest desire probably is to be in the Games. And you’re facing me at a angle of approximately 16 degrees off, facing northeast of my right side of my body. Who’s your little friend?” Teri comments quietly.

---

"I hope for the world's sake that you're incorrect about that observation. I didn't see anybody eagerly jumping forward to volunteer for our places. Unless they take joy in watching-... defensless people sufffer" she pauses for a moment to ponder on her words. It certainly didn't seem like a stretch. "16 degrees huh? I thought I was spot on" Bree says with a chuckle.

"This-" she says while reaching a hand down to scratch her companion's ears. As if sensing it, Fallon lifts his head up to make it easier on her. "-Is Fallon. He sort of grew on me. I never wanted to adopt him, but he wouldn't stop following me around as a puppy and eventually, I gave in and adopted him." She smiles at the memory. "I'm happy that the Peacekeepers are allowing me to keep him. I suppose they aren't that heartless."

She straightens up again to continue speaking with Teri directly. "Enough about me. What's a person like you doing here? You seem intelligent. Certainly there is somebody here who would be proud to take your place? Or is there some deeper, darker thing going on here?" Bree didn't mean to pry around for dark secrets. In fact, her final question seems to slip out without thought. But she couldn't take back her words so she just goes with it.

“I hope so too. I reveal my intelligence only to those who share a hate for the capitol. If I’m wrong and accidentally reveal it to someone I wish not to, they will die, unfortunately. Fallon is a very loyal dog. My job is like a exterminator. I will weed out anyone that supports the Capitol. Just like you, I grew up in a loving family, despite not having a father. We’re not defenseless, trust me. I assume you lost your eyesight?” Teri comments

---

"You speak so daringly" Bree practically whispers the words. She chuckles and shakes her head while sweeping her hair back and out of her face. "Tell me, why do trust me enough to reveal that. What if I were a Capitol lover?" She asks. She raises a hand up, showing surrender. "I'm not" she assures, "but be mindful of revealing that. Especially when there are Careers around. Something like that could make you a target for both the Careers and Gamemakers." Her eyes soften upon hearing his question. She sighs and once again lowers her head towards the floor. "I've never had any eyesight to lose. I was born this way" she admits.

“You’re not. Forgive me, but it seems almost laughingly obvious. To me at least. Some are more hard to read. I’m not being daring, no, not intentionally. I suppose it’s just a way of life. I was brought up this way. Careers and Gamemakers? I don’t fear them, I despise them. And yes, I do practice caution. Do you think I would talk to you so openly without using this? It is an obscure, a tech device that bends sound away for a short period of time” Teri shows Bree a small, sphere shaped object. There is a hint of pride in his voice as he says “I made it myself.” He adds in a softer tone. “I’m sorry about that. I suppose it is sad not to be able to wake up and see the sunrise”

---

A new day had come upon her, a day that started like every other. Misa would come down, embrace the fragrance of her mother's cooking, and sit down at the table with her father. Oh how she wished that was the case, but instead, today was the day of the reaping. She was terrified, and she was sure her parents were too. Her family wasn't truly a career family, otherwise she would've had her wish come true, and her parents wouldn't have those puffy red eyes from a night of crying. They never trained her, they told her the truth of the capitol, and treated her with love. They didn't celebrate the reaping her brother got chosen years prior, and they wouldn't celebrate hers.

"I'm going to be ok mom..." Misa tried reassuring her mother, knowing she would feel so much more pain than her if she was chosen. She would've lost both of her children due to this cruel game the capitol conjures every year only for pure entertainment, and a reminder to how helpless they were. She would've lost them both, knowing if she had just went along with every other career family, they would've had a better chance at winning. "I can only hope so, my dear..." Was her mother's sorrow-filled reply, as she finished up a simple french braid that ran down her back. "In case I-" Misa was stopped with a finger over her lips, silencing her. "That thought is for the future, I'd rather not be burdened with those words when you are still safe with me." Her mother gave a sad smile for possibly the last time her daughter will be here to see it.

'And may the odds be ever in your favor!' Those words meant nothing to the careers, and had no effect on the tribute's odds for any of the other districts either. They were empty words, only tradition at this point. They were the last words some might hear before their death was set in stone. Of course, Misa had the same terrible fate as those who have died before her. Her name was called, and for once in a reaping in district 1, it was all silent. No one cheered for her, no one volunteered for her, it was just the echoes of her name and the footsteps she made to the stage. Misa knew she couldn't rely on a volunteer, no one wanted her fate to be altered. Most knew of her brother, and her entire family even. They were ridiculed and outcast, hated for not following the path of a career and rejecting the capitol. Her brother had made quite an uproar during his time, making a bad name for his district, leading to where Misa stood today. They wanted her dead, washing out the stain her brother had made. She had no chance in the arena, she might as well take the blows until her body gives out.

The morning of the day of the reaping, Suvansh woke up as he would every day, and did his routine as it is until he saw the date at the calendar. The day of the reaping. The day everyone dreaded in his district. While district 7 wasn't as poor as some of the other districts, it wasn't even as well to do as the first few either. People didn't starve, but didn't get any preferential treatment from the Capitol. They were beaten all the same. When he went downstairs for breakfast that day, he could almost see his parents in tears. That was a rare sight for him. They never cried. The only day he remembers them cry is the day his father lost his thumb. It set his intricacy in woodwork a LOT. He had no sibling, and there just wasn't much chance of his selection the past few years. But he was 17 now. 6 slips in the bowl had his name. So of course, he dressed up in his best, which were his only non-faded clothes, and set out for the reaping. The mood in the square was grim, and it only went grimmer for Suvansh when he heard his name being called out. Of course, his district was the district of lumbers and artists, so there was hardly anyone willing to volunteer for blood, or anyone who knew him enough to volunteer for him in pity. He had near no friends, spending the majority of his time practicing his woodwork in the jungle. The female tribute too, as he suspected, was no-one he knew.
Back in the room where the tributes were meant to meet their loved ones, of course, only his mum and dad came, in tears. It was a short and brief exchange, but the highlight of it would be his dad giving him his pendant, a small Mockingjay engraved in wood. It was beautiful. It was made by his dad before the accident with his thumb. He wore the chain around his neck, clutching the bird in his hand sharply as they were taken to the train.

---

"Obvious hm?" Bree had never felt anything towards the Capitol. Neither resentment nor love. Of course, she wished for change. But allowing herself to hate... Well, that is a steppingstone for change, but with that change would be blood. She'd rather approach an unstoppable enemy with a cool, neutral demeanor. Unclouded by emotions. If anything, she'd rather make them clouded by emtions, make them foolish and illogical. She doesn't bother telling Teri any of this though, for fear that it would turn him against her.

Bree stares directly at the device that Teri has held up for her to see. It was possible, that just for a moment, she may have tricked a few people into thinking that she could actually see. "That's amazing" Bree comments. "I've never seen anything like that before!" She smirks, trying to show Teri that she had taken no offense to his actions. "You know, I wouldn't made it smaller and much more circular. It's easier to attach wires that way and will be harder for others to notice" she adds sarcastically. In response to his final comment she says "you can't miss what you never had. Sometimes, I'm glad I can't see the world and it's darkness and destruction. But there are times where I resent myself, for it would be very convenient to have sight."

She stops talking. Both because she had nothing more to say and because it was starting to go quiet. The woman's speech must've come to a close. It would no longer be safe for the two to talk. "We can continue this discussion on the train." Her lips barely move as she whispers these words. She turns away from him and takes a deep breath. Focusing her attention on the sounds around her for clues on what will happen next.
...
Bree was lead to a private room to say goodbye to her loved ones. She sits in the cold room alone with Fallon, quietly waiting for her parents to be allowed access into the room. She could already hear their voices down the hallway. Their cries, their shouts, their desperate begging. She had never seen her parents cry, never seen them like this. It was enough to put a crack through her front. Tears slip down her cheeks as she slowly stands up to approach them once the door opens up.

Arms sweep around her and she is met with the family scent of her parents. Her mother's sweet perfume and the spiced scent of her father's after-shave. It felt like home. Suddenly, Bree is desperate to stay. She wants to shout: "Don't make me go!" Her hands start trembling, so she is forced to clench them. "I can't do this! I CAN'T DO THIS!" She swallows down a sob, which causes a shiver to run down her spine. "I don't want to die..." Bree doesn't dare speak these thoughts outloud. Her parents were already devastated. She didn't want to rub salt into their wounds.

The least she could do it hold it together for them. She sniffs and takes deep breaths. "I love you guys" she manages to choke out. "I'll do everything in my power to come back to you two" she whispers. Both her parents break down even more, their I love you's and stay strong's and I know you will's were overtaken by their sobs. It takes everything Bree has to hold it together. "I love you... I love you" she whispers over and over. She doesn't stop because it was likely that this would be the last time she would ever be able to say this to them.

She was guided into the room near the stage, the room where she said her final goodbyes to anyone who wanted to do so. She was shaking, even when she tried so hard to stop it. She still had the same, expressionless face, using that to hopefully vanish any thought she was terrified. In the room, unsurprisingly, only her parents came to see her. They had tears coming down their faces, their voices aching in desparation. "I just... I just wish you could come back home..." Her father said quietly through the tears. Misa wanted it too, but it was impossible for her. The only advantage she had was being small and pretty, her family wasn't even that well fed. Her mother gently brushed her fingers through her delicate hair, like she always did to calm Misa down. "Make us proud, ok? You... You'll be alright... I have faith..." Her mothers words brought her pain, like alcohol on a wound. Those words were meant to cure her worries, give her more hope, but they only stung. You know I won't survive, why cling on to that fantasy? She couldn't say it out loud, she didn't want to bring them pain as well. She simply nodded, fearing if she said anything, the truth she knew would slip out. She couldn't do that to them, not when she was their only child left. After a few more words with them, her father handed her a ring like no other. It was beautiful, a gold ring embedded with marvelous gems, something that's uncommon even in her district. The center piece had a ruby, and thin gold rods twirling over it to create the image of a mockingjay. Her father had somehow made this by hand, without being noticed. She was unsure if they knew how dangerous the symbol alone was in her district, but after recalling what happened years ago, it reassured her that they weren't afraid of what the capitol does. She gave a small smile at the thought while she put on the ring. It was beautiful, and fit just right. She thanked them both before she was carried away, never to see them again.

---

Faith didn’t have anybody to say goodbye to, or at least she thought. Her older brother, Philip, came to visit. He too had run away from home, not liking the rules of their family, despite living lives of “luxury” as their parents were Careers. “Be safe, okay?” Philip says, tucking a strand of her silver dipped black hair behind her ears, and retying the bow in her hair. Faith looks at him, a tear slipping down her cheek, before hardening herself, looking outwardly like a pretty spoiled princess, inwardly carrying the heart of a soldier, a warrior. Just because she was young didn’t mean that she wasn’t capable. She clasped Philip’s hand, giving it a small kiss, before curtsying, and walking out, Philip too, leaving.

Teri exchanged a silent yet tearful goodbye with his mom. Teri softly recites “Sing Swan, Spring Swan, then let’s fly Follow the pretty bird across the sky.” His mother echoes back with a smile “Call Swan, Fall Swan, then let’s rest. Tucked in the branches of your quiet nest” This quote, seemingly guided his father to a peaceful safe rest.

---

The tributes were given one last goodbye, led to rooms where they could see friends or family, anyone who came to send them off. Some of the tributes had no trouble saying goodbye to their relatives. They had a chance. Their last goodbye didn't have to be their last. Their determination was a weapon that was more deadly than any weapon that could be found in the Hunger Games arena, not waned by compassion, or humanity. The Careers were truly the most dangerous of all the tributes. But they were not the only ones. There were some that tried to make the most of the moment they had. Ones that knew, from the bottom of their hearts, or maybe from some wild instinct, that this truly was their last goodbye.
...
The first tribute train was for Misa and a sullen boy with long black hair in dreadlocks. He completely ignored Misa, despite the fact that the District One tributes were known for their allying. He seemed dead to the world, seated on one of the seats against the wall, his hazel eyes trained on the ceiling. There were long scars covering his face, but that was not an uncommon sight among the tributes. Training was a part of being in one of the Career Districts. That meant scars. That meant a rough life, ironic considering the manufacturing manner of this District. The man who had announced their names came into the main car of the train that they had been in through a side door with a great, sweeping gesture. "Hello, hello, tributes!" he said loudly. "My name is Centivere Maldon, and I will be your escort to the Hunger Games!"

He paused as if waiting for a reaction, and getting none, sighed dramatically. "Honestly, I'd expect the district one tributes to be a little more excited. You train for this your entire lives, no?" "Oh, shut up, Centivere," snapped a male voice, as a man with thin, greasy-looking blonde hair stumbled into the room. "They don't need your dramatics." Centivere looked highly offended but continued on. "And this is your...mentor, Edward Printus." "Call me Print," the man said, crossing his arms, and Centivere wilted a little. "Your mentor, Print."
...
Then was District 2. Like the first, the tributes were given their chance at last goodbyes. Whether they took it or not, was up to those who had the choice whether or not to come and see their loved ones. But when the time was up, the tributes were escorted to the train. Soon, they would begin the long train ride that took them to the Capitol. And, possibly, to their deaths. But when they entered the train, waiting for them was the man with the orange and purple ringlets. "Oh, good, you took forever," he muttered loudly, examining his nails. He was referring, obviously, to the two tributes: Faith, and a brunette boy that smirked at the man. "Anyone ever tells you you look like a freakish poodle?" "I beg your pardon?!" "Whatever. Who are you, and where's our mentor?" The Peacekeepers in the train car advanced forward, but the Capitol man held up a hand, and they stopped.

"No, no, I suppose it's alright. This is a Career, after all. Don't want to be messing him up. To answer your question, nasty little boy, my name is Marvein Otto. And your Mentor..is late. Again. Where is Carla?!" He looked around, his features exaggerated into a look of frustration. "The one and only Carla has arrived," a woman said as she entered through the door with a devilish grin, that looked out of place in the grim train car. She had a long, messy brown braid, hairs escaping it like curly rouge snakes. "Did you really think that I wouldn't show up on a day like this?" "Given your recent track record over the past few years, I would not think otherwise," the man said dryly, and the woman's smile faltered. "Yes, well, new year, isn't it? Maybe we'll keep this record and get another winner out of this district."

...
Once again, the tributes were given a chance to meet with their friends and families, their interactions tearful, heartfelt, and altogether, hiding the thought that each tribute had: Would I make it to the end of the Hunger Games? In the train car, they were met by their mentor and escort. The escort, the woman with the golden hair, introduced herself in a loud and cheerful voice as Masie Floss. She seemed quite apprehensive around Fallon, staying as far away as she could, tottering on her 8-inch plastic pink heels. The mentor was a man, tall and brutish, with a wide chest and large shoulders. His reddish-brown hair complimented the wash of freckles that covered his entire body. He did not speak but was introduced by Maisie as simply, King.

...
District Four. The two were escorted onto the train, suspiciously (though only slightly), with more time than the others. But it was for no advantage, as no one came to see Tobias Askin. But that was expected. Everyone in District Four knew of the accident. The one that completely decimated the home of the Askin family. The one that was thought to kill them all, but Tobias came out, dragging his hands through the destruction to pull himself out. But then, he disappeared. They only knew him for that. Nothing more. He was a shadow, slipping behind Moraine without comment. The man with the buzzcut introduced himself as Ananias, and their mentor, a man by the name of Reeds, short and slim, with black hair that reached his shoulders. He was quiet, yet polite.

...
With the District 7 tributes, they were given just as much time as the others, before being escorted off to their own trains. On the trains, they met their escort, officially, and their mentor. Their escort, a woman with curling white makeup and dark hair that was pinned in complicated braids, introduced herself as Margaret Greneger, though, as she said, in a high-pitched giggling voice, "You can call me Margie if you like." She had to drag out their mentor, a sallow-faced woman with bulging yellow eyes that gave her an almost anorexic look. She was called June, and it was almost painful to look at her, with her skinny frame and shaking hands. Amber, the other tribute, had short dirty blonde hair pulled into a messy bun. She avoided looking at the other tribute, simply staring down Margaret.

...
The District 12's escort was already well-known, Effie being one of the more prominent of the escorts. But, this was not discussed as they were brought onto the train car. The mentor of the two tributes was a man covered in tattoos. These tattoos seemed indestiqushable with each other, leaving not an inch of clear skin. The amount of tatoos created a mask around his eyes, making them seem much smaller than they actually were. He stood short, but with intimidating energy that filled the room. He seemed to have a surprising amount of strength for someone from District 12. "My name is Aaron," he said gruffly. "I know your names already."

---

Masie Floss's chatter was quite boring to Bree. She was much more interested in the information her mentor would provide to both her and Teri. Small talk was useless to her right now. It was doing nothing to calm her nerves. She moves her chin off her palm to raise a hand over her eyes. She brushes away a new wave of tears that were threatening to spill. She wished that she could've stayed back with her parents longer, she was no longer confident in being here.

Fallon, sensing her despair, rests his head onto her knee. She lowers her hand to pet his head. It was silly, but Bree felt a bit calmer while petting Fallon. Soon, all of her fears and worry drifts away. I'll be okay, I just have to make sure that I don't lose my head. Her attention is taken off Fallon when she hears heavy footsteps approaching them. She listens as Masie introduces the newcomer as King.

"What a silly name" Bree says with a giggle. "Alright, your majesty, cut to the chase. How are we going to survive in the arena. Is it by luck? Or is there some sort of strategy to it?" She turns towards where she last heard Masie's voice and snaps her fingers at her. "I'll need some paper and pen! I have a feeling that this'll be important to write down!"

Suvansh looked from Margaret to June, and looking at their mentor, he decided they were good as dead. "Hey Margie, hey J-June. You know, when the person who's meant to guide you through a death warrant looks like a pulp-" he started, but he shook his head. It wasn't June's fault, that he got reaped. All he knew, she didn't even wanna be hear, mentoring another pair of kids through quite certain death. He looked at Amber then, for the first time since the short glimpse he got from the reaping. He felt like introducing, but socializing wasn't his strong suit really. Then just the fact that they'll be in an arena hunting for each other not a long time later just made it worse for him. Yes, he needed allies to survive, but he couldn't approach anyone, not with the conscience in mind that he would have to betray them someday.

---

Teri doesn’t say or do much, except for tapping a square on his arm guard, a hologram popping up. “System Authentication Process Complete. Now awaiting instructions.” Teri taps out Morse code, letters appearing on the screen. He stares at Masie Floss, before a light bluish glow passes through her. He panics, and immediately taps frantically, removing the blue light. He then taps again, and a screen visible only to him alone pops up, a file labelled “Masie Floss, King” printed on it in small block letters. He then gazed at both of them, then at Bree.

Faith gestures with her hand, signing out, letters. “Can’t you speak English?” To which she lies and shakes her head, before jabbering away in rapid French, making frantic detailed gestures. She switches to Spanish, and when they still don’t understand, she switches to Russian, sighing in exasperation.

---