Dianna Barrett POV
Breakfast was tense.
All 8 of us ate in awkward silence – the 6 tributes, our stylist and our mentor, Jasmine Collins. I had come late and ended up wedged between Adele and Travis. Toby sat across from me, his eyes flitting up to greet mine every-so-often. Finally, Jasmine cleared her throat.
“So, today you won’t be training for as long as you did yesterday. For most years of the Hunger Games, training lasts for 3 days but, since this year the Capitol is holding 4 separate games, they need to cut out some time to make sure they can get the Ultimate Games started before the next year begins.”
We all nodded in unison. I looked down, barely listening, as I poked at my grilled ham and cheese sandwich. The food wasn’t doing anything to help the sick feeling in my stomach, in fact it made it worse.
“Dianna?” Toby asked. I looked up at him. His eyebrows were furrowed, his forehead creased in worry. “Are you OK?”
I shrugged. “I’m not hungry.”
Without another word, I got out of my seat and began to walk for the door. I pushed it opened and walked outside, shutting it behind me. I walked down the hallway towards the elevator, sighing inwardly as my mind filled with thoughts. What if I failed? What if I wasn’t really good at anything? Sure, there was the agility station, I was pretty good at that, but what else? What else could I do?
Nothing, that’s what.
Kaylee Usdan POV
I sat outside the training centre, paranoia filling my mind as I waited for my turn for the assessment.
“Adele Green.” The mechanical voice sounded over the speaker. Adele sat up from her seat and walked towards the door. Geez, how long till it was finally my turn? I turned my attention to the sheet pinned on the wall beside me, showing the tribute order.
DISTRICT 5:
1. Toby Haynes
2. Marc Duncan
3. Travis Bates
4. Dianna Barrett
5. Gabriella Donnelly
6. Adele Green
DISTRICT 6:
7. Fred Griffith
8. Trevor Black
9. Cedric Ramos
10. Ali Richardson
11. Iris Bush
12. Hope Surrey
DISTRICT 7:
13. Nick Ericson
14. Thomas Ellis
15. Mike Roberts
16. Acacia McCartney
17. Harriet Mains
18. Summer Clementine
DISTRICT 8:
19. Eddie Graham
20. Simon Hanson
21. Alejandro Hale
22. Yasmine Davis
23. Kaylee Usdan
24. Xenia Hale
PLEASE NOTE THAT, INSTEAD OF SHOWING SCORES, TRIBUTES IN THEIR RESPECTIVE DISTRICTS WILL BE PUT IN RANKS, RANGING FROM 1-6.
Great. I was second last. By that time, half the game makers would be too drunk to stand on their own two feet. I was screwed.
“Kaylee?” A voice behind me asked. “Are you OK?” I turned to see Ali, my ally. She sat next to me, looking at me warily. Fred and Trevor both sat next to her.
“I’m fine.” I murmured. I sighed and leaned back, resting my back against the wall. At the rate I was going, I’d be lucky to survive the bloodbath.
Nick Ericson POV
“Nick Ericson.”
I sat up and walked into the training centre, nodding at Hope as she exited. She looked like a nervous wreck. I pushed open the doors of the training centre and stalked inside, feelings of nausea already taking over. What could I do to impress the gamemakers? What could I do to stand out.
Nothing, that’s what.
I walked inside, and looked around at the centre. All of the stations had been packed away, and now there were just targets, and the weapons strewn across a table on the other side of the table. The simulations were all in the corners of the room. I looked up at the gamemakers. Most were drunk, however some were still sober. Not that I cared. I felt anger flare up in my chest. Just the fact that they were getting tipsy when they were judging a bunch of kids, which may decide whether or not they lived or died, that pissed me off. It really pissed me off.
Don’t do something stupid. My inner voice tried to reason with me, to calm down the angry part of my personality that had always been incredibly dominant. You know that they always win. Don’t fight them.
I pressed my lips together. I stood still at the door, looking from the weapons to the game makers to the simulations. Then suddenly, the whole reality of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks. We were going to be forced to watch our friends be murdered. Forced to watch as the sick minded competitors tortured the innocent ones. Forced to kill. Although I had known all along that that was what was going to happen, I hadn’t really thought about it until now. Now I realized though. The whole thing was suddenly crystal clear, and I felt an enormous amount of disgust. This whole Hunger Games bullshit was disgusting.
The games were sick. The gamemakers were sick. President Murphy was sick. I felt sick. This whole damn thing was sick.
Don’t do something stupid.
“Nick?”
My head darted up to see Dravius Flamingboul, who was looking over at me, a quizzical expression on his face. I felt disgusted just looking at his stupid face.
“Nick, you have 10 minutes.” Dravius said. Then, he sat down again, and began to chat to the gamemaker next to him. I walked to the centre of the room, preparing to go grab a weapon, but then I stopped. Why should I? They didn’t care. At the end of the day I would just be another dead body lying on the ground. I would just be another victim of these games.
You know that they always win.
No. Not this time.
I remained motionless facing the gamemakers, my arms crossed over my chest and my eyes narrowed dangerously. Dravius was the first one to notice I hadn’t moved in a few minutes. He looked over at me, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Nick,” he said tiredly, “show us your training.”
“No.” I outright declared. I felt a sliver of fear break through my demeanor as Dravius glared threateningly at me.
“Oh, you’re not, are you?” His softly spoke tone was more of a challenge than a question.
“Nope.” I deadpanned. Dravius arched an eyebrow at me.
“Well Nick, you have to do something. Otherwise you’ll get a 0 in training, you’ll be placed last in the rankings, and you will most likely be targeted at the bloodbath.”
“I don’t give a shit.”
Dravius had risen from his chair at this point. His fingers were curled over the edge of the glass railing, his eyes narrowed to the point where they merely looked like slivers.
“Show us your training.” He snarled. “Now.”
I stared him down, my lip beginning to curl in disdain. “No. Fuck you and fuck these games.”
“NOW!” Dravius roared. “SHOW US OR BE EXECUTED! WE CAN GET AN AVOX TO REPLACE YOU FOR ALL I CARE!”
I took a deep breath, feeling red hot rage begin to spike in my veins. Dravius’ eyes were wild and psychotic, like he was out for blood. My whole body stiffened, then I abruptly turned on my heel and marched towards the stations. Dravius relaxed and sat back down, thinking the whole confrontation was over. Oh, how wrong he was.
I felt the rage bursting from my ears as I reached the mannequins. I violently grabbed one and began to drag it to the paint station. I dropped the mannequin and began to mix the paint, anger filling my whole body.
I’ll show that little shit. I thought angrily. I’ll show him.
Red paint sloshed over the side of the can as I violently ripped off the lid. I pulled out a container and dumped in the contents of the red can. I added some blue and green, mixing it up with my finger until I got the colour of blood. The perfect shade of blood.
I took my container of paint and my mannequin, and dragged it to the targets. I violently tied the mannequin to the target, tightening it until the mannequin was secured firmly. I tossed the paint container onto the table next to me, not caring that I was spilling paint everywhere, and grabbed the closest weapon to me. I smeared the blood-like paint all over the sword, then I roared and swung the sword in an arc towards the mannequin. It ripped through the material, creating a visible cut in the mannequin, and leaving behind a red streak of paint. It looked like a massive gash. Good.
I repeated the process several times, cutting viciously at the mannequin. I actually chopped off one of the arms at one point, but I barely noticed. I tossed my sword to the side and dabbled my fingers in the red paint, putting more of the paint into the fake wounds on the dummy. I made sure to leave the face clear, though. What I was putting there was a special little treat for Dravius. Finally, the mannequin looked pretty bloodied up and torn and shredded. I dipped my fingers in the paint once more, then began to write something on the face of the dummy. As Dravius and the gamemakers saw what I was writing, their faces went slack. I heard a smash of porcelain as someone dropped their mug of coffee. I finished off the sentence by underlining the final 3 words, then stepped backwards, flicking the red paint off my hands. I looked over at the mannequin, satisfied with my work.
The body was cut and painted the same eerie shade as blood. One of the arms was missing from the mannequin, and the wounds I had created had dug deep into the dummy. It looked like it had been massacred. Then, my eyes travelled to the head. Scrawled angrily on the mannequins face, written in red paint, were the words;
PRESIDENT MURPHY ROTS IN HELL
I turned back to the gamemakers. They all looked shell shocked, staring blankly at the mannequin pinned to the target. I ripped the mannequins from its restraints, and dragged it to the very centre of the room. I tossed it to the floor, making sure the writing on the forehead was face up, just so that the gamemakers could drink in Every. Single. Word.
Dravius was speechless. His eyes were wide and horrified, a gloved hand held over his gaping mouth. His fellow gamemakers didn’t look much better. Dravius made eye contact with me, and his gaze flashed murderously.
“I believe my time is up?” I snarled. When I was met by silence, I turned on my heel, kicked the mannequin lying on the floor one last time, and then stalked angrily from the room.
Thomas Ellis POV
As Nick entered the training centre, I felt queasy feelings begin to take over. I was next. Feelings of nausea filled me, crushing all positive thoughts and feelings into the dust.
“You alright?” Summer asked me gently. She rested her hand on my arm.
“No.” I said honestly. I shook my head as if to emphasize my point. “No, I’m not alright. I’m freaking terrified.”
Summer pressed her lips together and rested a head on my shoulder. Her fingers stroked up and down my arm, dancing tantalizingly across my skin. She looked down at the floor, biting her lip, then she looked up at me again.
“They don’t like me, Thomas.” She murmured. “Dianna and Toby. I can tell, they are so open and talkative around you but as soon as they have to talk to me they are silent.” She shook her head. “Have I done something?”
“No, Summer,” I reassured her, pulling her into a hug. She shivered as I held her. “You haven’t done anything.”
“Thomas Ellis.” The voice from the speaker sounded. Nick stalked from the training center, and surprised me by marching right into the elevator, a stormy expression on his face. He practically punched the up button, and I watched as the elevator doors shut, his murderous expression hidden by the doors. I got up, after squeezing Summer’s hand for encouragement, and walked through the doors. I immediately saw the cause of Nick’s anger – and the game makers too. As the doors closed behind me, I walked over to the center of the room, a sick feeling broiling in my stomach. An avox was dragging away a mannequin that looked to have been madly stabbed at. Red, blue and green paint was splattered across the ground, and in a small tub was a mixture of them which almost perfectly looked like blood. On the mannequin there were slashes of the paint where the sword had cut, and scrawled angrily right across the face, so obvious that it would take a complete moron to overlook it, were the words ‘PRESIDENT MURPHY ROTS IN HELL’.
Yikes.
Dravius looked flustered as the mannequin was carried away, his eyes never once leaving the battered up doll. His eyes slid over to me, and he jumped slightly.
“Oh, oh, umm… Thomas Ellis! You have 10 minutes.” He declared, his tone skittish. I gave him a small nod, and turned to look at the weapons, trying to ignore the blood-like paint splattered on the ground. What to do, what to do. I was complete rubbish at most of the weapons. The only weapon that I had been half decent at was a fighting stick and, let’s be honest here; I was hardly going to whack someone to death with a stick. It was less of a weapon, and more of a glorified play sword that you used to play with as kids. I took the fighting stick anyway – I believe the correct term was fighting staff – and walked over to the mannequins. I brought my arms back, and then lunged forward. The staff smashed into the side of the dummy, and I watched, satisfied, as a large dent appeared in the side. What I lacked in technique, I made up for in physical strength. Well, sort of.
I spent the next few minutes parrying and attacking with the staff, then decided that I had to do something else. At the rate I was going, I was going to end up at the bottom of the ranks. I tossed the staff to the side, and then walked over to the hand to hand combat area. They had set up a robotic dummy, so that it would move and attack like my opponent would. I stepped up to the area and immediately brought my hands up to my face, defending my head from attacks. A beep sounded through the air, and then the robot lunged forward. That was the thing about this simulation – the robot always beeped before making a move. It alerted me that it was going to attack, an advantage I certainly wouldn’t have in the arena.
I ducked out of the way as the robot’s fist went flying over my head. I craned my neck upwards and my arm snaked upwards, roughly grabbing onto the arm of the robot. Taking advantage of my strength, I grabbed onto the robots arm with both my hands then flung the robot over my head, smashing it into the ground. It flailed in my grip, the arm I wasn’t holding jerking violently and ripping at my hands. I let go of its arm and darted backwards, prepared for another attack.
Beep.
The robot darted forward once more. I stepped forward, ready to throw a punch or two its way, but the robot suddenly side stepped just before crashing into me. I looked around wildly for a few seconds, searching for the robot, but then I felt a sudden pain in my lower back and knew that I had been hit. I groaned and grabbed my back, feeling fiery pain dance up my spine. I gritted my teeth, pushing through the pain, and swung my legs around behind me, knocking the robot off its feet. It fell to the ground, a resounding ‘clunk’ sounding throughout the air. I whirled around to face my opponent and stepped back a few paces, so that I was far away from the robot. It crawled to its feet, its movements considerably slower. It charged for me once more, but it wasn’t as fast this time. I surged forward and spear tackled the robot, knocking it straight to the ground. It writhed beneath me, but I grabbed onto its neck. Although it wasn’t real, and it couldn’t really breathe, the gamemakers had created it to react almost exactly like a real life opponent would. I felt the robot become weaker beneath me, wriggling around for a few moments, before it finally went still. The lights that they used as eyes flickered gently, and then went out completely.
“Thank you Thomas, you’re time is up.”
My head darted upwards to see the game makers. They all looked quite interested, surprisingly. I stood up and walked from the room, my thoughts working in overdrive. I had just killed the robot. The other tributes in the arena would act just like that. If I could kill the robot, I could probably kill them. I could probably get to the Ultimate Games if I could manage to kill the others like I killed that robot. I could.
So why did I feel so guilty?