Lin Shuangyue

There's not much about the train that she hasn't already seen. The room is slightly smaller than her room back home, but Shuangyue flops down on the bed and closes her eyes. This morning was exciting but draining, and she appreciates the time she gets to herself. She doesn't have long, she knows; lunch will be served soon, and then she and CL will undoubtedly have to go over tactics.

Oh, and she'll have to meet her stylist too. Being the closest district to the Capitol -- other than 1, of course -- has its advantages, and Shuangyue will likely be rested and ready before anyone else. The thought brings a smile to her face. Just more and more advantages, huh?

"We're eating."

The knock on her door startles her, and Shuangyue hardly has time to push herself up before CL comes in. "Well," she says with a smile, hands on her hips. "Little Warrior Princess is already slacking off, I see."

Shuangyue snickers and hops to her feet, moving towards the door. She knows that CL isn't mad; she's always pushed an agenda of alternating between training and resting, though Shuangyue never really followed it (she did end up paying the price, though).

"So, what do you think?" CL asks when Shuangyue's halfway through her lamb stew. "Exceeds expectations?"

Shuangyue shrugs, preoccupied with her food. "I mean, it's about the same as home."

Immediately, CL's face hardens, and she sets down her glass. It wasn't a harsh motion, but Shuangyue winces and stops eating. She's mad, at the very least pissed.

"What do you think about the Hunger Games?" she asks, and Shuangyue considers her words carefully. This is clearly a test, and Shuangyue had better pass it. She thinks hard.

"I think..." She hesitates, and CL raises an eyebrow. "It's a highly-competitive race where losing means paying the ultimate price."

The words have barely left her lips when she sees her mentor shaking her head. "No," CL says, standing up. "It's not a race. It's not a game. You've been prepped and brainwashed into believing that as long as you go all out, this is just a game where you can't possibly lose." She paces agitatedly. "Now that you're in the Games, you must understand that losing means the loss of everything you've ever known. You will die, you will never see your family again, you will the rest of your would-be life rotting in a black box under the dirt."

Awkward silence. Shuangyue's stomach gurgles. CL lets out an annoyed huff and leaves the room. That's that, then. She turns back to her food.

Hwang Hyunjin

Hyunjin is no stranger to luxury. He grew up in District 1, after all, so the furnishings of the train are completely familiar to him. In fact, he thinks his own room might be more luxurious, but it's whatever, he'll only have to be here for a few hours anyway.

He lies down across the bed, closing his eyes with a small sigh. If he focuses, he can almost feel a faint throb in his ankle. It's familiar and painful, not only physically but mostly mentally. He missed out on his chance last year, and the disappointment from his parents was real.

'Just take care of yourself,' they'd said. Sunggyu was nice enough to visit him the first few days, but after that, he disappeared to mentor the tribute who was chosen. The dude ended up dying on the last day, and Hyunjin remembers biting back a scream of frustration but also feeling secretly happy. Now, he doesn't have to pretend anymore. It's his chance to show the country how great District 1 is, and it'll be his glory.

He can't help but chuckle, rolling onto his back. Yeah, he'll show them. He'll show his parents he can do it. He'll show them. Hyunjin reaches for the remote control and turns on the TV. There's still a while before they reach the Capitol. Maybe he'll watch whichever Reaping is streaming right now.

"...from District 10. Let's take a look."

Hyunjin has never seen District 10 before. It looks shabby, the stage thrown up in a hurry, the people poorly dressed. He wrinkles his nose as the mentor steps onto stage. She looks like a boy, with her hair cropped close to her head, and it doesn't suit her at all. Girls are supposed to have long hair, or at least hair down to their chins. He sniffs.

"Oh, here we go, the tribute from District 10..." The announcer, Sojin, seems to hold her breath as the mentor - someone called Amber - reaches into the glass ball. "And it's..."

Liu Renyu. The camera zooms in on a short girl with a bob. Her face seems passive, but her eyes betray her shock. Hyunjin can't help but snicker. Like a deer caught in headlights, he thinks, even though he's not quite sure what the phrase means. She's pretty cute, he'll give her that, but it doesn't seem like she can fight. Oh well, all the better for him.

The train begins to slow down, and Hyunjin leaves the TV, lazily walking over to the window. The station is packed with people, reporters and fans and of course, government officials, all here to welcome him to their home. Hyunjin pushes the window open and leans out, giving a small wave and a smirk. The crowd screams, and Hyunjin can't help the giddiness rising in his heart.

Oh, yeah. This is definitely going to be his year.

Kim Seokjin

"No worries, it'll be a while before we get there, so you can go ahead and rest." Jungmin leaves, closing the door behind him, and Seokjin is left at a loss for what to do. The train compartment is bigger than some of the houses in his village, and he's not sure what to do first. Rest, on the clean white bed with fluffy covers? Shower, in the sparkling bathroom laid with tiles? Eat, on the sturdy table made of some exotic purple wood?

He's almost afraid to touch anything for fear of ruining it. But then the thought strikes him that he's going to die in a few weeks anyway, so he might as well enjoy the luxuries while he can. With the thought in mind, Seokjin sits down on the bed - carefully - and runs his palms over the smooth sheets.

This bed could fit his entire family. The mattress is springy but firm, providing support for his back. His mother would benefit from this, he thinks absently. No more creaking joints, no more aching muscles. Seokjin can't help but wonder if he can request to send his family some of the accomodations.

He doubts it. He's not here for a vacation; he's here to die.

The brutality of the truth hits Seokjin all at once, and he feels like he's going to suffocate. He can't breathe, gasps for air, and stumbles to the bathroom, taps buttons in the shower until a torrent of water rains down on him. The warm water sliding down his back soothes him, and slowly, slowly, his breath comes back to him. Seokjin's stomach heaves, though he hasn't eaten in a while, and he groans out loud, dropping to his knees.

He's still wearing his clothes, the rough brown fabric made from hemp, and for some reason, he doesn't want to take them off. His last piece of home, he knows, because he doesn't have a token. He wonders if he can wear the shirt into the arena, but he doubts it. The tributes all have to wear the same outfit on the first day.

Seokjin kneels until his knees begin to hurt. Then, hauling himself to his feet, he strips off his clothes. Might as well clean himself up, now that he's drenched. He doesn't know how to work the control panel, though, and ends up with some sort of gel body wash instead of soap. It smells good enough, but not like the raw lye of District 11.

It doesn't smell like home, and now, neither does he.

The realization hurts a little, and Seokjin dries himself with a towel, foregoing the fancy technological pad he finds just outside the shower. He knows, deep inside, that there's very little chance he'll make it back home, and reminds himself that he'd better get used to being a dog of the Capitol. That's all we're good for anyway.

His parents' faces flash across his vision, and Seokjin suddenly wishes that he was closer to them. Growing up, he'd never appreciated the hard work they'd put in to make life even slightly better for him. Now that he knows, he'll never get to see them again, not even to thank them.

Zhou Linghua

"When will I meet my stylist?"

Taeyeon pauses in the middle of a bite. She looks quizzically at Linghua, swallows, and says, "Not until we arrive. So, ten hours?" She tilts her head, a small, unreadable smile on her face. "So eager?"

Linghua's hands tremble, but she grips onto her fork tightly, determined to not let it show. "Might as well get it over with," she says shortly. Taeyeon chuckles, shaking her head, and returns to her meal.

"We got a fighter this year, huh..." she murmurs, seemingly to herself. "Your brother would be proud, girl."

There it is again, the sharp pain in her chest. When Linghua can breathe again, her voice comes out sharp. "You didn't even mentor him." She sounds accusing, but Taeyeon doesn't seem offended.

"No," she admits, "but my partner did. I watched him develop. He had a good chance of winning, I believe. His death..." She looks up suddenly, into Linghua's eyes. "It was a fluke," she says slowly. "Or so I believe."

There must be a hidden meaning behind her words, but Linghua doesn't understand. "What do you mean?" Her eyes sting, and she blinks hard to keep the tears away. "What do you mean it was a fluke? He died on purpose?"

Taeyeon shakes her head. "No. I meant something else." She stands up, dinner left half-unfinished. "When you're done, you can go ahead and sleep. Or, I don't know, do whatever you want. Just don't sleep too late."

Linghua wants to protest, wants to ask what Taeyeon actually meant, but the woman disappears out the dining car before she can even open . Disgusted, Linghua has no appetite anymore, and she stomps back to her room. ", , !" she screams, tears streaming down her face. "I hate this, I hate this, I hate it!"

The pain of losing Tianlong remains fresh in her heart, tearing her apart again and again, and Linghua falls to her knees, clutching her chest as the memories, both good and bad, rush into her mind like it was the first time she heard the news. Her brother, laughing, teaching her to hunt, grabbing her hands in his own, his shocked face on the big screen, his determined one as he shoots down his first tribute, his bloodstained hair as he falls to the ground.

Too much, too much. She's not ready for this, not ready to lose him again, not ready to lose herself too.

Kim Namjoon

He doesn't know what's worse, the fact that he had to personally say goodbye to his sister or that he'll never be there for her again. He settles on both and resolves to never think of it again. What's done is done, what's over is over, and his most important priority is surviving. 

Well, as long as he can, anyway. He's not particularly athletic, but Namjoon distinctly remembers one year where the arena was a thriving mass of electricity. Not surprisingly, the winner that year was from District 3. He can only hope that it happens again this year, because it's the only way he'll even have a chance to win. District 3 is not a career district, and he won't have a natural advantage over his opponents.

The only thing he has going for him is his brain. He'd better be able to put it to use, or else he wouldn't know what to tell Jisun, how he'd explain a terribly pathetic death on the very first day.

His mentor is called Kim Jongwoon, but apparently, everyone in the Capitol knows him by the name Yesung. Namjoon isn't going to question it, but so far, they haven't exchanged any words aside from the obligatory introductions. He hopes that it's because Yesung is introverted, but it feels like the man has given up mentoring tributes.

Namjoon hopes not. He's not very talkative, but he's willing to do anything to survive. Now, he clears his throat.

"So, I'm just wondering how your Games were. I don't think I was old enough to remember them."

Yesung looks up from his phone, fixing Namjoon with a distant gaze. "They weren't great," he says after a while. "Siberian weather, or something. Most people died of hypothermia."

He doesn't seem to want to elaborate, and Namjoon can only nod. "That's unfortunate. Did... how did you win?"

Yesung's eyebrow twitches, and he sighs from his nose. "I dug myself a hole in the ground, kept as warm as I could. Had good sponsors. Killed someone and then everything else..."

Namjoon feels like he knows what happened to the tribute he killed, and he stops him quickly. "Ah, I see, I see." But the awkward silence is so awkward, and Namjoon can't help the next words that come out of his mouth. "I bet it felt terrible."

A cold scoff forces its way out of his mentor's mouth. "Kid, you ever eaten meat before? Felt exactly the same."

Liu Renyu

"Well, you have to admit, the food's pretty good."

Amber keeps up a steady stream of chatter throughout dinner, not seeming to mind Renyu's silence. All Renyu does is nod along, and Amber transitions from topic to topic with ease, ranting about the weather to her pet dogs at home to the plush velvet of the carpet, and Renyu can't help but wonder if this is her way of coping with the memories.

Trauma affects everyone differently. Her parents closed themselves off, she bottled everything inside, and Amber seems to distract herself. Renyu can't help but scoff lightly; after this year's Games, Amber will have another wound in her memories. Another kid she couldn't save, another Liu sister--

"Did you know my sister?" she interrupts, and Amber breaks off her tirade about her clothes. "Liu Renying."

Amber flinches as if shot. The look in her eyes reminds Renyu of a wounded animal attempting to flee. It takes a few seconds for her to get the words out, but she says, quietly, "Yes." Then, choked, "She was my first mentee."

The words strike Renyu in pain as well. Renying wasn't that much older than her, and clearly, Amber isn't either. She must have only been victor for a year or two when she mentored Renying. To watch her first mentee die in such a horrible way... Renyu doesn't even want to think about it.

"I'm going to save you, though." Amber's voice is shaky, but she seems to be trying to sound cheerful. "Don't worry, Renyu. I'll do my best, and we'll-- we'll make it, this time, you have to believe me."

Renyu doesn't believe her. Not because she doesn't trust Amber, but because she knows she doesn't have it in her to win. But all she can do is nod, force a smile, and choke down the salty tears flowing down . "Of course," she manages, shovelling food into . The rice is tasteless, mushy and plain against her palate, but Renyu eats and eats until she can't take anymore.

The past haunts everyone, and Renyu thought she was alone in her grief. But, as she lies in her big soft bed, she can't help but wonder how many people hurt like her.

htrijsreikofd finally whacked out something decent... i promise yall, i will finish this story if it kills me in the end. i will.