Happy Hunger Games

Two weeks flew by. Unlike every other Hunger Games before, the tributes were not subject to  a period of training and ally-making, to public relations and faking smiles for an insatiable audience. This Hunger Games started immediately after ushering their potential champions off the train. The children were collected and split immediately, all put in their designated starting areas and sent up to the Arena through a dark tunnel with a mennacing light at the end. Once they were all brought in to the Games, Katniss' hollow voice broke through the sky as if the God's themselves were speaking their fate.

"Welcome, Tributes. You all have been given a three-day truce. No killing. No hurting. No hazing. Anyone who breaks this rule in the three-day truce will face termination. Train and gain allies, collect resources and find your place in this world. At the end of the three days, you will hear a cannon sound. That is when blood may be shed, and the official Hunger Games will begin. Whether it be through mercy or blood, may you all bring your district pride; and may the odds be ever in your favor."

Every tribute had their heads up to the sky. When the announcement ended, dread fell upon them and a silence took over. It was not like any other game they had all seen on screens before. It was eyes cast across to others. Confusion. Fear. An odd peace, even. They had three days. Without a cornucopia to divert their gaze, without weapons to scour down and plot for, there was nothing left to do but live and wait until someone tried to change that.

"Okay. So this is it. This what we've come to?" Whitt was the first to break the silence. He had a fiery temper like his mother, and more known like his mother's sister, Johanna. "President Katniss says to kill your champion bloodline for the sake of your people and you do it. It doesn't matter if it's wrong. It doesn't matter if it's children. It's to save the fucking world while she sits in her tower and watches her own son play her sick games. Right?" His dark eyes met Cyrus'. That glance was too much.

Cyrus already knew he would be the main target. He was Katniss' son, for God's sake. They were all there because of his mother. He didn't like thinking about it - he was truly his father's son in that aspect, a big bleeding heart. However if there was one thing he learned watching Peeta, it was how to hold himself together even when it seemed impossible. He never chose to be in the Games, after all. His mother nominated him for the slaughter by her own accord. Then again, it wasn't like he would let his younger sister take the fall. Not when the fall was life or death. It wasn't that she was incapable - she could kill him on a good day. It just wasn't how he was raised.

"See if you're feeling as brave in three days, Whitt." Cyrus responded coldly. Hazel eyes connected to black abyss. "You don't get to speak for me." He took another look around the tributes. A circle of twelve. Girls and boys. Bloodthirsty and gentle alike standing side-by-side.

"I, for one, am a fan of her work. I understand her decision. And yours, Cyrus." Came an unexpected voice, feminine but fierce. A warrior like her dad. Ares had a crooked grin on her face when Cyrus acknowledged her. No one had really moved yet. All in their heads or making talk with their neighbor. It was as though the grassy lands before them were full of mines and the voice in the sky were a trick - everyone was too afraid to move in fear of setting off a chain reaction. "You're brave. I respect that and will honor it, if you allow it." Like a snake in the grass slithering up Cyrus' leg - that's how he felt when Cato's daughter talked - like he couldn't breathe quite right. His first ally in Cato's blood? He couldn't comprehend the thought of her offering, not with the way his mom has treated her dad, not with the way she left him die as he begged for a quick end. He swallowed hard at the proposition and managed a smile back, a trick he learned from his dear dad. A sweet smile with ulterior motives. "Right." Keep it simple and cryptic. Make no promises. That's what he was taught in the public eye.

Holden had never seen his mother in such histarics. She had completely lost it. Screaming, sobbing, and pulling on her own hair. His father had rushed to her side to try and calm her down. He didn't even think about how he could be chosen to fight. He didn't have a mean or violent bone in his body, but when his name was drawn in the reaping, he knew he'd have to grow a backbone. He had no combat training what-so-ever and he was too clumsy to be stealthy. He would one of the first to die, for sure. His father tried to explain how the games worked and give him advice on how to survive, but he knew it was no use.  Sometime during the two weeks between the Presidents announcement and the day of the reaping. His mother had stayed home while his dad took him out to train him a bit. He was one of three possible tributes, his mother's heart was broken, because she knew, deep down, that her son would not survive the games if he was picked. She didn't want to watch him die, she couldn't. She emptied out half the medicine cabinet and took a handful of miscellaneous pills. By the time he and his father returned home, it was too late to save her.

Holden was devastated as he was ushered away after being picked at the reaping to represent District Four. He would soon be joining his mother in the afterlife. He was rushed onto a train and taken to the capital. He was surprised when they didn't get the standard week of training and interviewing. They were simply clothed and shoved into a tube and thrust up into the arena.

While Holden was silent in his despair and didn't speak with the other tributes, Sequin, from district one was more than pissed off and voiced her opinion boldly. “I agree with Whitt. This is such bullshit. Killing off your people's children, or more like having them kill each other off, so she doesn't have to get her hands dirty, is not the way to go about helping your people.” She said. “That being said, don't think I'm going to take it easy on any one of you bitches when that canon goes off.” She agreed with Whitt, that this shouldn't be happening, that it defeated the purpose of everything the Mockingjay stood for and fought for, but that didn't mean, for a second, that she would go down without a fight. She would represent her district and her mother proudly. She turned and took off on her own to gather resources for herself to live on.