Ryubami Yoruha

Her mentor's name is Nam Jihyun. She was 19 when she won her Games. Through keeping up a weak and soft appearance, no one took her seriously until the last few days, when she'd shown her true side as a ruthless killer. And the Capitol had scoffed at her for being so weak.

"That's all you need to do," she says as the film ends. "I know you don't have much experience, but we're going to train you. In the meantime, you need to keep up your peaceful image."

"But won't they know?" Yoruha takes a sip of water. "I mean, you're my mentor and all."

Jihyun shrugs. "Maybe, maybe not. It's not every day we get a shrine maiden as a tribute."

The conversation drops, and Jihyun returns to her room. "By the way," she says at the door. "We'll be going underwater in a few minutes. You might want to look out the window."

Yoruha appreciates it, but there's really nothing she hasn't already seen before. Corals, boulders, groups of fish. As someone who grew up in a fishing family, Yoruha has been underwater long enough to recognize most species of fish. Instead of looking out the window, she digs through the box of films, searching for more Games to watch.

The films are labelled with the year and arena, resulting in documentary-like titles such as 'The 25th Annual Hunger Games: No Man's Island.'

It sounds interesting enough, and soon, Yoruha watches as twenty-four 12-to-18 year old children are reaped and sent away to the Capitol. 'A reminder that this is how the Games work across the sea in Panem,' the announcer says, looking into the camera gravely. 'This is a reminder of the mercy that Greater Asia has on our children.'

Barbaric. Brutal. A 13-year-old boy from District 11 breaks down during the interviews. A 15-year-old girl from District 7 smiles curtly and promises to do her best. A 17-year-old girl from District 1 seems absent, not quite like the usual career tributes. The only 12-year-old, a small boy from District 9, only answers 'yes' or 'no' in a small voice.

It's disgusting, watching ten children die on the first day. The career tributes team up immediately, though it's clear that they treat the District 1 girl as more of a follower than an actual part of their group. Still, she seems to be skilled in strategizing attacks. In fact, most of the victims from then on were only possible because of her.

There's nothing remarkable about the proceedings, and Yoruha fast-fowards to the end. To her surprise, the District 1 girl did not win. Instead, the victor is the boy from District 2, who murdered everyone in a frenzy. The District 1 girl couldn't run away fast enough.

Yoruha turns off the TV and decides to sleep on the sofa tonight. The image of the District 1 girl, a knife hurtling into her back, lodging between her shoulder blades as she tries to flee, won't leave her mind. She just hopes she won't die like that.

Yang Feitong

The day has been surprisingly good. Hyesung is easy to get along with, and Feitong feels relaxed in his presence. He doesn't give off the vibe of a cold-blooded killer, nor of a jaded, tired victor. He just seems like a normal middle-aged man. Actually, he feels like more of an uncle than a mentor.

"You can ask me anything you want right now," he says now, leaning back in his chair. Dinner has just finished, and Feitong is just tired. He wants to go to sleep already, but he also wants to hold off as long as he can so he won't have to wake up the next day knowing that this is real.

He still doesn't know which Games Hyesung is from, so he asks. "It should be the 28th?" he asks, because he's not quite sure. "How did you win?"

"It was the 29th." Hyesung's quiet for a long moment, looking down at the wine swirling in his glass. Dark red, ruby, glistening in the dim light of the chandelier. "I used the electric fence surrounding the arena to my advantage."

The 29th Games... Feitong actually does remember those, but barely. "The... Elysian Meadows?"

"The very one." Hyesung downs the wine in a single gulp. "Beautiful place, all grass and grains with a few mountains in the distance. No trees at all, but a few caves in the ground. The first few days, no one realized what was wrong, but then it hit us."

It was a brutal year. Feitong remembers the bodies writhing in agony as the sun beat down on them. There was no water. At least, not in plain sight, and most people died on the third day, of dehydration. Needless to say, it was not a fun year, and the ones who survived did so mostly through eating the grass, though it was later found out that the vegetation was poisonous in large doses.

"I found out that there was water in the underground caves," Hyesung goes on. "Not much, but enough to last a few days."

After the mass deaths, the Gamemakers decided to unleash the animals. Carnivorous rabbits and swarms upon swarms of locusts. They destroyed the vegetation and took out a few tributes as well, but by this point, the surviving tributes had all found out about the underground caves. From then on, it was just a matter of controlling the water source.

Unfortunately, the Gamemakers drained the water after that. "It became clear that there was definitely another source of water." Hyesung plucks a grape and offers the bowl to Feitong. He refuses. "One so obvious that in was in front of our faces, but we were all just looking right past it."

"The flowers." Feitong remembers the shocking development. The camera, following Hyesung, had picked up on the exact moment he plucked a flower and, out of desperation, tilted the nectar into his mouth. Lo and behold, what followed was a full cup of water. Unfortunately, the other tributes had figured it out too, so then it was just a battle of the brawns. "How did you kill them?"

"I told you, the fence."

It was on the outskirts of the arena, a buzzing electric fence, but the buzz of power was faint enough so that only someone extremely familiar with electricity would be able to tell. The way Hyesung won was amazingly choreographed. The gift he received, the only one he received, was the key. It was a metallic lasso, with one end like a hook. The only thing he needed to do was lasso the opponent and throw the hook end into the fence.

The District 4 girl fried like a piece of chicken.

Wong Kahei

Chorong seems to hate talking to other people and spends the entirety of their time on the train in her room. It's not like Kahei really mind, but she sort of wants to get to know her mentor better. After all, this is the woman who's supposed to be keeping her alive.

But she supposes it would be too much for right now. After all, they both need to rest after a long day. Kahei steps into her room, mindlessly digging through the closet for something to take into the shower. No underwear? Oh, wait, it's in the dresser, which is across the room.

She finds a pair of plain white underwear and a simple t-shirt. She doesn't recognize the logo on it, something that says FOB in a weird slashing font. But it's soft and it's not like she's going to be wearing it for long. Just the night.

The shower offers little comfort. There are, however, many more options than there are at home. The water temperature doesn't range from hot to cold; instead, there a keypad where Kahei can enter in a specific temperature, down to the second decimal place. For kicks, and because she doesn't really know what temperature she likes, she puts in 80.56.

It's a good temperature, though a bit hot, but Kahei doesn't mind. She needs to enjoy the luxury of hot showers while she can. Without shutting off the water, she steps up to another control panel and types in a command for soap. Strawberry-scented body gel drops out of a small device on the shower wall, and she notices a loofah hanging there as well.

She doesn't want to leave the shower. Instead, she wants to stand there forever, letting the scalding water pour over her body, closed off from the world. But that's not possible, and after her skin is squeaky clean, she steps out. Blowdryers evaporate all the water on her skin and in her hair, and then Kahei picks a moisturizing lotion that will hopefully keep her skin feeling soft.

Because in the arena, there will be no such lotions, and she isn't ready to face the horrors of the Hunger Games just yet. She'll deal with that when they actually get to the Capitol. But today, tonight, she wants to spoil herself. When else will she get a chance to?

Tomorrow, she'll meet her stylist, who will no doubt find everything wrong with her. The scars on her legs from running through the bushes. The malnourishment from growing up poor in District 6. But it's okay, because though she doesn't know her stylist, she had no doubt that they'll spin her into a princess.

It's her only chance of getting sponsors, and she puts her entire faith into it.

Lee Hwanhee

"You have faith in me?"

It's the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard. Him, the eventual victor? Hwanhee nearly chokes on his steak.

But Jaejoong only nods and continues eating. "You have the spirit, boy. I know you don't want to die." He peers at Hwanhee over his wire-rimmed glasses. "Do you?"

"No!" Hwanhee takes a sip of water in an attempt to calm himself. "B-but..."

Jaejoong smiles. "You'll be fine. You've got a nice face, the Capitol will love you. Now tell me, what do you think should be your strategy in the arena?"

"Already?"

"No harm." Jaejoon gestures for the staff to take away his plate, leaving him with only a glass of wine in hand. "No worries, nothing will faze me."

Hwanhee believes it. He'll bet Jaejoong's seen everything by this point. "I mean... I know my way around fields."

"Large, open spaces." Jaejoong nods. "Okay, that's not bad. Weapons? Skills? What do you do in the fields all day? Wheat only or any plains?"

This is too much. Hwanhee tries to pick apart the questions one by one. "I can... use a scythe? Any knife, I guess. I don't really have any skills, unless you count not getting sunburnt. All I do is cut wheat and harvest it. And any plains works."

From the look on his mentor's face, Hwanhee can tell that Jaejoong had expected more. "Well," he finally says, "that's a start. How's your physical strength? Stamina?"

Truthfully, Hwanhee's not the most physical person ever. Jaejoong raises an eyebrow. "You'll have to build up stamina, then. Pretty hard to do given the timeframe, but we have to try." He blows out a breath. "And you need to learn how to use long-range weapons. You do know your edible plants?"

That he does, and Jaejoong nods in satisfaction. "Good, good. You'll be fine, trust me. Get some rest now."

Rest? Is he kidding? Hwanhee's mind whirls with all the proceedings of the day. He's barely an adult, can't even own land back home, and the government is sending him off to die in some remote part of the country? And his mentor is trying to help him prepare already but Hwanhee really just wants to escape back home, but if he did that, his entire village would die.

No, he doesn't want that. He can't over his entire village, especially his brother. Hwanhee crawls into bed, not even bothering to take off his clothes. The mattress is soft, springy but firm, much more comfortable than the straw stuffing back home, and the covers are light but warm. Probably goose down, something that they could only dream of in District 9.

A wave of exhaustion hits him, and before he knows it, he's out like a match in the wind.

Zhang Chunhua

The food's good, that much she'll admit. The food's good, and she can't stop hiding rolls in her clothes. It seems that Solji's noticed and just hasn't said anything, but Chunhua sees the spark of pity in her eyes. Well, she must understand, coming from such a poor district as 8, where no one is ever full. She must remember what it's like to starve, to survive on a quarter of a piece of bread.

"You don't need to hide the food," Solji finally says, putting down her fork. "If you want, I'll send some food back to your family."

That must be illegal, but Chunhua can't stop herself from nodding, giving Mrs. Lu's address. "Make sure to address it to Zhang Xian, please."

Solji makes a note, typing something into her phone, and turns her attention back to Chunhua. Her gaze makes Chunhua uncomfortable, and she quickly takes another bite of potatoes. They're roasted, perfectly balanced between firm and mushy. The skin breaks easily under her teeth, splitting open with a pop, reminding her - faintly - of a gunshot.

The potato feels sticky in , and she swallows with difficulty. Solji lets out a breath and leans forward, beckoning all the staff out of the train compartment. "I've heard of you, Miss Zhang," she whispers, eyes half-lidded. Chunhua freezes, her fork stuck in another tiny potato.

"What do you mean?" Her voice comes out cold and harsh. "For losing my parents? Lots of people know me for that."

Solji laughs, a small huff that makes her eyes turn up at the corners, and her long hair swings forward. Brown on red, the very opposite of both her parents' deaths. Red on brown. Brown on red. "No," she says, still chuckling a bit. "You are quite known in the underground for resisting the government, my dear."

Chunhua shouts, pushing herself backwards in an effort to get away from Solji. Instead, her chair tips over, and she falls onto her back. Solji's by her side immediately, helping her up and rubbing her back. "Oh, hun, I didn't mean anything bad. How else would you think I'd know about you?"

"Y-you..." Chunhua struggles to her her breath back. "You're with them too?"

Solji laughs and then becomes serious. "The only reason I brought this up was because I don't want you to think about the resistance at all during the arena, okay?"

"Why not?" Chunhua asks automatically, even though she already knows the answer. "So I can focus on getting back alive?"

Solji nods and slides open the door. "Go to sleep, girl. We have only a short time to prepare you."

Kim Jinhwan

Zhang Yixing is a mystery, Jinhwan decides. He decides this after seeing his mentor refuse wine at dinner but then downing a whole bottle of vodka afterwards, and without getting drunk. Then, he watches Yixing produce a pack of cigarettes from inside his jeans and lights one, inhaling sharply and sighing in relief. Jinhwan supposes it's a long-time habit. After all, it's not like many people are sober in District 7.

"So, lumber boy," Yixing says, beckoning him out onto the balcony. "What do you feel about all this?"

The night sky is dark, and there is no moon in the sky. Below the train tracks, there is a myriad of city lights. District 8? 5? 6? Jinhwan shakes his head, the wind whipping through his hair. "I don't know," he admits, gripping so tightly onto the railing that his hand hurts. "I'm scared."

Yixing lets out a laugh, sharp and barking, unlike his sweet appearance. "Me too, boy! I thought I would die there, alone, rotting and decomposed."

"But you didn't. Lucky."

Yixing huffs, dropping the cigarette into the void below. "Lucky indeed. You know, they said I won by cheating, when all I did was hide away until everyone else finished each other off. But is that really cheating? No, it's not. It's survival. All is fair in love and war -- have you heard that? Ah, well, it was an old phrase, somewhere back when Greater Asia was still many countries. All is fair in love and war, and we can't expect anyone to play by the rules when all we want to do is live?"

He takes a long breath. "You'll know soon, the fear coursing through your veins as every little noise beside you makes you jump a foot into the air, the cold distrust flowing in your blood as other tributes suggest teaming up. You'll know, the terrible, terrible sensation of blood between your fingers as you're forced to kill others for your own benefit. Survival. They were just children..."

Now he knows that Yixing is drunk. Jinhwan can't pretend that his mentor's words haven't shaken him to the core, but at the same time, he grew up seeing it, and he knew what he would be getting into when he was reaped. Really, he knew it as soon as he was able to comprehend such violence. He slings Yixing's arm around his shoulders and carries him back inside.

"No, don't leave me!" Yixing gasps as Jinhwan places him on the couch. "Baekhyun!"

Jinhwan pauses. Wait, Baekhyun? The name sounds familiar, and he runs through his memories of Yixing's Games. Byun Baekhyun, District 10, a cheerful boy who just seemed too good for all the evil of the Games. He'd started pulling allies immediately, going specifically for the quiet loners, like Yixing. Jinhwan remembers them teaming up, grounding each other in the lack of gravity, pressed against each other for warmth, until Baekhyun had grown tired of Yixing's reluctance to move.

It turned out that Byun Baekhyun could kill mercilessly, and was also killed mercilessly, right as Yixing emerged from his place of hiding, ready to make a move.

Ah. Jinhwan thinks he understands now. But unlike Yixing, no one will want to team up with Jinhwan, and he'll die alone, with no one to hold his hand, no one to shed tears over his wounds, no one to run their fingers through his hair.

But he thinks it's better that way.

and i oop- guess who's back? ish? sort of? why is it that i only write when i have a bunch of million things going on??? also you'll notice that some characters here are just a little underrepresented but that's not because i hate them, it's because i was hella blocked when i was working on them and i swear everyone will have their place (before they get killed uwu).