User blog:San Junipero/Genesis Games



Hey guys welcome to my inagural Hunger Games, it's long overdue that I write one off these so here it is!

The Genesis games will be set in an alternative universe outside the events of Hunger Games, where Snow didn't rise to leadership but the Games have continued throughout the succession. They havent changed in iteration majorly.

Rules

 * Two tributes each initially, reservations will normally be 3 days
 * Tributes will be from Districts 1-14 + Capitol (But not District 0)
 * I have the right to reject any tribute that I don't fancy, tributes I'm looking for are to be well written and plausible (no robotic arms or magic, demons, ect) - Just a personal preference please don't feel put off it's just to have an element off consistensy. I do enjoy those elements in other games :)
 * Tributes may die, strong tributes may die before weaker ones its just the nature off the games.
 * Winner off the games will receive a reservation in my next project, which If it happens, is something you guys don't want to miss, trust me ;)
 * Be aware that I live in Scotland and therefore my timing is different, deadlines will be slightly loose-er to accomodate this but try to stick to the deadline.
 * Keep active, I wont be updating every day but will be checking and asking questions so make sure u dont miss anything/announcements
 * Tributes that have good advice will do better
 * As the first impression off my games I can guarantee they will not be cancelled, these games are to give an idea off my writing and generate interest for my next project (but its early days so dont expect much info for now)
 * Pre-Games will be important part off these games.

Arena
Users will go into these games as blind as their tributes as to the arena, traps, mutts will all be revealed as story goes on, to keep you guys in suspense.

Tribute Template
Will accept tribute links but try to, ensure each tribute follows this template;

Real life and Lunaii please!

Name:

District:

Age:

Gender:

Weapon:

Personality:

Backstory:

Appearance:

Strengths

Weaknesses:

Fear(s):

Reasons for Winning:

Token (optional):

'Something I like and look for in tributes is some District relevance, if a non District 4 tribute can swim, how did they learn?'' If a career (Capitol, 1, 2, 4, 14) opts out off the careers, give them motivation. Each district is unique and try to incorporate it into the character :) '''

'''For the purposes of this games I will be using the concept of  District 14 as a career district, responsible for creations off the Mutts, situated in islands off the coast of America. Tributes from here will have been raised in a pro-capitol enviroment, as gamemakers and peacekeepers specialising in mutt control roles.'''

'''I won't be including District 0. Unless demand is high.'''

'''Anyone writing a tribute from scratch for these new games will have a longer reservation. I encourage new characters and new stories! If you have atribute you havent used before that fits these games, why not!'''

Alliances
Careers: Jack Wang (CM), Stanci Wonders (1F), Luxus Winhaven (1M), Genevieve Azarling (2F), Slayton Bacchus (2M), Mack Waterbourne (4M), Adelle Searling (4F), Skylar Knights (6F) Zack Winnings (14M), Zenechka Kuznetsov (14F)

Anti-Careers: Anthony Sharpclaw (0M), Emmalynn Reigel (3F), Karne Osmont (7M), Shane Roels (11M), Canary Ash (12F), Skagen Vintergarde (13M)

Mixed Alliance: Aurora Clyo (CF), Nero Shock (3M), Elia Donsown (7F), Octavian Silvercrest (12M)

Cecil & Frederick: Cecil Thayer (5M), Frederick Coy (10M)

Loner: Nova Deimos (0F), Britney Munroe (5F), Perry Blitz (6M), Weaver Tecida (8M) Arlen Variland (9M), 'Nylah Nicole (9F),' Kelci Tecida (8F), Anabelle Clark (10F)

Looking for Alliance: Noelle Nicolette (11F), Zoey Proasheck (13F)

Octavian Silvercrest (12M)
It’s cold. Snow clings to the scorched buildings giving the square a perfect untouched quality. It’s almost tranquil, the silence amidst the white setting, but the snow will melt and the scars off a district at war with itself will never heal. District 12 has become a battleground for Peacekeepers and Rebel extremists, with the innocents those who lose the most. Obediently I fall into roped area amongst the other males, the extra perimeter of Peacekeepers suggests they were anticipating trouble; but they didn’t need to bother, there is no opposition as we are herded with unfriendly hands like cattle into our areas, I now stand in place amongst the other male tributes. Younger kids huddle together for warmth, some bundled together so much that peacekeepers are stepping in to force them apart. The older kids are different, each stands apart in submission. One boy looks near death, barely propping himself up. There’s no point looking to the others for support, 12 has long since lost its sense of unity, that was the case long before I took it upon myself to protect the weak and vulnerable. The only thing unifying us now is the cold that bites our exposed faces and hands. I try to make my way over to the sick boy but I’m met with resistance, a wall off bodies prevent me reaching him and as claustrophobia sets in, it would resort to a fight, with my experience it would be one I’d win but not here, not today, not in full view off the peacekeeper, and I resign myself to staying In the same position. The boy nearest me stands with bleak eyes staring into the distance. I regard the onlookers at the edge off the square, black faces prominent against the light snowfall, their weary soot marked faces wearing identical faces off defeat. No, there won’t be any trouble today.

As the square fills up the work off the peacekeepers to split us seems in vain, the square doesn’t have enough room for even the reduced populace of the district. If the bombs and fire fights in the streets, or starvation didn’t kill you, this eternal winter will. They say there used to be a warmer time, but not since the war, where the rebels rose up for a second rebellion. We burned, all the outlying districts, and now the result of a 100 year old war, leaves us in almost constant darkness and cold. A nuclear winter. We can venture out on the days the sky isn’t thick enough with soot to block the sky, but the peacekeepers watch our every move and patrol the streets. Only at night, wrapped in a black hood, with my father bow can I really be free, and I sacrifice this time to protect those that need it. A night shared with those who seek to capitalize on the weak and vulnerable, and until recently, the bloodshed off the rebels, and the swift retaliation off the peacekeepers. During the day I only venture out when I need to, enough to keep the peacekeepers from asking questions about my father. He’s somewhere in the midst of the crowd right now, another face in a sea off a populace that’s seen so much pain and loss. If he could he wouldn’t be here, he’d retreat back into his memories. He’s never been the same since Mum died; living out the years after the intruder killed his wife in an almost catatonic state of despair. He rarely ever leaves the house or speaks, yet here he is, an onlooker who could lose another family member. But reaping attendance is mandatory, my father’s cautious enough not to cross the peacekeepers.

The entrance off Mayor Rooker brings my attention back to the centre stage, his arrival at the foot off the Justice Building, coinciding with that off his right hand and Head Peacekeeper, Themis, a large and cruel man who looms at the edge off the stage, his cold dead eyes cast over us with enimity. I have nothing but for contempt for a man like Pyrite, a old vulture, gaunt and pale, who let peacekeepers militarise the district and is rewarded by the capitol with regular gifts for appeasing them at the expense of those who Pyrite orders Themis to arrest to meet his quota. Even with my considerable skill, I haven’t been able to prevent their arrests or the bloody retaliation of the rebel cell. They are joined by a third man, who’s eccentric appearance, of bright blond shock slicked back hair, clashes with the muted scene in front of him. I can only assume this is our new capitol envoy, a plump and peculiar man, normally any symbol off the corruption and the injustice off the capitol, I would regard coldly, but his undercut makes him look so absurdly like a cockatoo that compared to the other two, he is positively harmless. The mayor leers over the podium to address the crowd, his speech tells off the pitiful resistance off our ancestors, the prosperity and generosity off our Capitol overlords and a declaration to put an end to off a the brutal acts of terrorism upon the law keepers of our small but proud district. “These are the acts off cowards who seek to destabilise the constitution and take over, these heinous acts will be met with swift justice!” he screeches. There’s not a man here who wouldn’t want to kill Rooker, but with Themis supporting him he is untouchable, besides we all know he’s just the capitol’s puppet. His outburst brings to an end his rant, there is no need to list our victors, our only victors in the last century were arrested and killed years ago as part of Rooker’s ‘offerings’ to the capitol to secure his position, a word of capitol opposition was all that was needed, that was supposed to be a message, the strongest off us couldn’t stand up to the capitol. It’s another disadvantage we hold in the games against the other districts, for there are no mentors to 12. The escort seems almost embarrassed by the outburst, and there is no malice when he regards us, nor faux gleefulness. He seems mindful off the tension and suffering off the district and seems more intelligent that I gave him credit for. “To those of you who do not know me, I am Ambrosia Gladwyn, and I shall be taking over escorting duties for this hunger games” he’s formal but his voice drops sympathically, as he finishes with “Good luck people off 12”, and I decide cautiously to like him. He crosses the podium to the glass bowl with the girl’s names and there is a collective wave off dread, only the wind can be heard clawing at the faces off the crowd as he draws a name from the ball. He clears his throat and his voice carries in the wind, barely audible above a whisper “Canary Ash”.

At first the selection is met with no reply, the name Ash carries too great a meaning here, and then the anguished scream off a woman in the background pierces the silence. It’s the cry off a woman who has already lost family, and recently. The ranks off the females is broken by a beautiful olive skinned girl, with hair as black as the coal off our district, she looks to be only a couple of years younger than me. The crowd parts way for her and looks on with sympathy and relief. The sick boy is no longer standing up and lies propped up in the bed off snow his face filled with torment, whoever this girl is, he knows her. She strides up confidently to the stage with no emotion passing her face, only defiance. The girl – Canary, takes her place upon the stage, her posture matching her calm expression. Back straight and eyes ahead, she could pass off for another peacekeeper. I’ve seen that calm exterior before, in myself. My thoughts are interrupted by Ambrose, who seems caught off guard by her composure, “I..Any volunteers?”   Nobody moves, nobody wants to risk their life, not when they cling to it so desperately. The call goes unanswered but Canary, remains expressionless, unfazed. A look off anguish passes over the sick boy who is now holding his side, I can tell from the clouds off condensation his breathing has become irregular and he is struggling to rise. I decide that’s enough and begin to push my way towards him when Ambrose interrupts. ''“Now for the male tribute!”. ''I stop dead in my tracks and all eyes follow mine to the podium. There is no delay, no strung out reveal, Ambrose simply reaches into the pull and pulls slip off paper, his voice is louder and there is no mistake to it this time, because its mine.

My breathe catches in my chest and now I am that sick boy. I force my legs to move as I now push my way in the opposite direction, to the steps off the podium. Then my confidence returns and I press on, I won’t appear weak, not in front off the rest off Panem, I won’t be written off. I reach the podium and take my place. Once again, Ambrose’s call for volunteers goes unanswered. I shake hands with Canary, her beauty far greater up close, her charcoal hair framing the expression she now wears; her look is calculating and our handshake brief. The way the carries herself, I’m certain that like me there is more to this girl than meets the eye. Now with this opportunity to survey the crowd I look across the square for my father, but the snow is falling thicker now obscuring my view. I manage to make him out through the faces, he is a shell of the man he used to be with few words but no words are needed, for the look of despair he gives me breaks my heart. He lost his wife and now he thinks he’s losing his son, but I won’t die in that arena, my father needs me, the people of 12 need me, I will need to convince him off that, before we say goodbye. I await Rooker to read the Treaty of Treason and the Capitol Anthem to signal the end of the reaping but neither comes. I look with confusion to Ambrose but the look of panic across his face is almost comical if it wasn’t so concerning, whatever the delay is he wasn’t informed. Ambrose turns to Rooker for explanation, but he just shrugs him off and motions with his hand. Immediately the Peacekeepers close the gap in front off the stage and draw their weapons.

I instinctively reach for my quiver, but I have no bow, I like the rest off 12 am powerless, a wave off dread and apprehension goes through me greater than what I felt at reaping. The crowd backs away in confusion and fear and Rooker takes the stage again this time with their full attention. The film crew stand, their posts unattended whatever this is this is for District 12’s benefit and not Panems. “''Let me make it clear for you all today, transgressions will be met with retribution, and the penalty for treason is death!”. ''The next flick off his hand brings a man bound and hooded, dragged out the Justice Building by peacekeepers. Their pristine white armour flecked with blood. The man’s heels trail a path though the snow to Rooker’s feet where he is laid on his knees. Themis steps forward and rips the hood from his head and whoever it is he’s unrecognisable. His hair hangs untied, in wisps caked in blood, his face is beat almost blue and one eye is swollen shut. Through the blood the only recognisable feature are his eyes, striking vibrant. Canary stiffens beside me.''“Behold! The leader off your rebellion!” ''Rooker’s skeletal features move manically with his excitement. Canary makes a move towards Rooker but peacekeepers restrain both off us and block our path. There’s nothing jovial in Ambrose’s appearance now as he tries to shield our view instinctively. “Don’t look children” He cries desperately as beads of sweat roll down his brow. Rooker continues his fatal tirade'' “Citizens of 12, See what happens to criminals!”. ''Then Themis himself presses his pistol to the back of the man’s head. “From the Ashes of Panem” cackles Rooker. The man has only time to turn towards us, his one good eye sparkling in our direction. Then Themis pulls the trigger.

The man falls to the stage now marked in blood. Canary cries out with rage and flings herself at Themis trying to claw at his eyes, and that cuts off Rooker’s laughter, and the old man retreats behind his guard. The peacekeeper nearest makes a move towards her and I tackle him to the ground. Themis regains control with cold effiency and strikes Canary across the face, and we are both cuffed by the guards as Ambrose’s pleads fall on deaf ears. My bound hands sting with the cold. The heavy snowfall now a shroud over the dead rebel. Under orders we are escorted under armed guard to the train. There are no goodbyes and no camera crews waiting for us. As we are bundled onto our train I turn to Canary. Themis has badly marked her face but she remains defiant, her eyes full off hot tears. Themis punch opened a cut above her eye and blood now flows down her face stopping where it meets a medallion around her neck indented with “Truth, Peace & Freedom”. I meet her amber gaze and I’m met with a fierce determination that matches mine and I know she will not go down without a fight. I tear my gaze my away from her and back to District Twelve for one last time and think off charcoal hair, one glowing topaz eye and snow stained with crimson.

 Train Ride

Elia Donsown (7F)
I’m still struggling to hold down my food, when I feel the scars etched on the surface of Cane’s remaining hand as he places his palm lightly against my exposed back. It signals the end off supper. The wealth and status off my parents meant I didn’t go hungry but the decadence and quantity of the Capitol food, is something even they could never afford. We won’t be sent to die on an empty stomach. I give the boy from my district, a reassuring smile, but he doesn’t return it, simply rising from his place as I do under indication from Cane, who dismisses the escort. Obediently I let him lead the pair off us down a narrow corridor, into a separate compartment, where the recap off the reaping will await us. A distasteful highlight reel off the kids we will be thrown into an arena with. Cane leans against the wall and assumes a sentinel position, his firm gaze on the incoming broadcast. I take my place opposite the screen with the boy from my district joining me.

   I take this opportunity to study my district partner, Karne, who sits silently, watching the screen unblinking through his copper red hair as the Capitol theme fills the cabin. You could be mistaken for thinking him and Cane could be related, in appearance both are strong, solid and intimidating. Even their demeanours are that off men who speak only when necessarily. Similarities between the two run right down to the network off scars than run over their faces. To Cane they are a signature off his time in the Hunger Games, but Karne? What life did he live back home to wear such injuries. I feel a swell off pity for my enigmatic partner. ''Who is this boy? friend or foe?'' Until I know his past, he is dangerous. I can’t let my pity or intrigue get the better off me. And how can I hope to hold any favour with our mentor when they parallel each other. I try to focus on the task at hand.

The anthem and arrival off the omnipresent Cicero King signals the start off the show. There’s a youthful energy about him as he introduces the reaping. But I can’t think off the reaping, not when I know I will see her. I can only think of her, of my Jully. The feeling off our bodies intertwined, of her lips upon my own, off her fear as they called her name, and her eyes, her hazel eyes. I should give though to my parents but they pushed me away in their ignorance and elitist attitude. And I can’t forgive them for separating us, for stolen moments, robbed by them and the reaping. I think of our last embrace in the justice building off 7, of everything that was left unsaid. “Careers”, the gruff voice off Cane, snaps my attention back to the screen and to the tributes from the Capitol, District 1 and 2, with the Capitol-loyalist 4 and 14 still to go. Each career classically good looking and powerful. Each capable killers.

The remainder of the reapings flash by in an incomprehensible blur, each tribute ushering another spell of juvenile enthusiasm from Cicero. I try to concentrate on my competition but my thoughts always run back to her or to that career pack. I struggle to try and remember the other tributes but can only recall the tributes from District 3, a boy with a lopsided grin, and small blonde girl, who can’t be more than 13. And curiously a blind boy, helped onto the stage in District 5. I brace myself for the moment I’ve been dreading. Then they reach District 7 and I see my square and the peacekeepers that line the pens like a legion off watchful Cane’s. This is my home but I feel like I’m watching someone else, when the slip off paper is clawed from its bowl, I still expect a stranger to answer the call. Then I see her, innocent and vulnerable in a dress off pastel pink, blonde hair trailing like a veil signifying her death in the games. I watch the girl I love on the screen memorised, committing the scene to memory, till my scream fills the reaping and I volunteer in her place. I think off my pain watching her take to the stage, when my heart threatened to burst, but anger takes its place. Fury at my parents who kept us apart and at the Capitol for trying to take her from me. I cast her from the back off my mind; I can’t think off her, I have to be strong. But seeing her hasn’t left me broken as I dreaded, but with a fierce determination. I study the tributes with intent now. A weak tearful boy from District   9,   A brute from District 11 and a confident pair from 12 whose transmission seems to have difficulties and cuts out early. Lastly, I make a mental note off the final tributes, most likely careers, from District 14. It cuts back to Cicero who brings the transmission to a close. I waste no time, the life has taught me the cost off time. “The careers, how do I stop them?” Now I have the attention of both Karne and Cane that was so dismissive until now. I see matching expressions of surprise appear on their normally so composed faces, at the conviction in my voice. It’s a reaction I’m all too familiar with, I’m just another privileged merchant’s daughter, but I won’t accept my fate.

Cane considers for a moment, his eyes studiously fixed on me now. “If it comes down to you and them, without allies, you’re dead” He indicates the now blank screen but his intention is clear. Cane doesn’t speak often but when he does it with deliberation. “Then I’ll find myself some allies, because I won’t die in that arena” I retort, meeting his gaze. Unexpectedly, he laughs - a kind and natural laugh of amusement at my new found resolve and smiles at me warmly, taking years off him stolen by the games. I feel a swell off pride. Karne takes this in with quiet inflection but there’s an appreciation that didn’t exist before. I’ve seen enough Games in my life time to know how important allies are. This will be my toughest challenge yet. I have to be clever and find tributes I can trust. Tomorrow I will meet the other tributes and Cane’s right, I can’t kill these people, not alone. Canary Ash (12) The rocking off the train startles me awake from the nightmare. My throat feels raw from screaming but I’m left undisturbed by the attendants. I don’t want them. Not their sympathy. All the Capitol has done for me is bring death and hardship. I wait for the trembling to pass and survey my surroundings. A thin line off light through the blind off my carriage cuts through the darkness. As my eyes adjust I realise my thrashing had caused the sheets to twist round my limbs and my body is bathed in a cold sweat. The events off the reaping earlier come back to me, but dreams off blood and death show they were never far from my mind. ''Krism and Aether. ''My cousins’ regular visits, a reminder off my failure. The guilt is ice in my guts. It could be a hundred degrees outside and I’d still be frozen on the inside. This is how I always wake, replaying it all in my mind, torturing myself with their deaths, till I feel nothing at all.

<p class="MsoNormal">   I can’t sleep; I can’t face them, not tonight. The fighter in me screams out in protest, i know I need rest before the games but ultimately fear wins out. Out there in the reaping, under the Capitols mocking invitation of death, I can stand tall and defiant, but here alone, in the dark, the nightmares reduce even my defiance to dust. Resigned to another sleepless night, I free myself from the grip off the sheets and wrap myself in a robe to warm the chill I feel inside. My medallion lies on the dresser and I secure it around my neck. The metal is cold against my chest, but I feel naked without it. It’s my last link to back home. Feeling its cold kiss on my throat is comforting, they died I remind myself, but as long as I live, their deaths won’t have been in vain. A workout will focus me so I decide to leave my room in search of an empty compartment. I don’t worry about being disturbed, the train already feels empty. Without a victor to advise us, it fell to our escort Ambrose to advise us. Whether it was because he didn’t think he could be off any use or that he was still shaken from the events off earlier, for whatever reason he left me and Octavian to our own devices retiring for the evening. Hearing activity further down the train I follow intrigued, maybe I will learn something, something I can use. Identifying the end compartment as the source, I make my way down the train. With only the sway off the train and my own padded footprints to interrupt I’m able to distinguish a thudding noise coming from inside. I take a breath and compose myself, but what I find takes me from surprise. The compartment was drenched in darkness with just the dim light off the hallway and an overturned lantern. It looked like the place had been torn apart, furniture lay in pieces around what was left off the room. At the centre off the destruction, I see him, my district partner.

<p class="MsoNormal">   He stood with his back to me, upper body exposed, through the dim light I could make out scars on his clearly defined muscles. I hadn’t payed much attention to him before, but there was more to this boy than meets the eye and that made him dangerous. Hadn’t he tackled that peacekeeper at the reaping? Well he had my attention now, I studied him with curiosity and apprehension, and attraction, I’ll admit there was a little off that, but I push it aside. There is no room for that not where we are going. Sweat trickled down his back, free flowing like condensation on a window pane, it beaded on his forehead and dripped from his chin as he turned to face me. His hand raised to his face and to he wiped his dark hair from his eyes, blue and now fixed on me at the doorway. “Couldn’t sleep?” I measure my response, trying to gain control off the situation. interupo “Something, like that” I murmur. His mouth twitches slightly in amusement as he crossed the room towards me. I watch him move, there was something of the warrior in him combined with gentleness. “What can I do for you?” he asks with a grin. He seems unfazed to have been interrupted and I don’t like that. “I’m here to train” I say flatly. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” he says, his voice soft now ''“I don’t thin-”. “I need a challenge and from the looks of things so do you, unless you want to continue beating furniture” ''I cut him off dryly. I cast aside my robe, wearing just my undershirt and shorts now and crossed over to the centre off the compartment. Octavian moved across from me his foot sliding back, his hands rising to guard his face. ''“No pulling punches, you want to train, that means learning to take a hit, you can’t take it, you stay down, it’s off”. “Oh I can take it''” I say, a smile spreading across my face. I felt the familiar pounding off my heart as I prepared myself for a fight. His brows furrowed in understanding but I didn’t give him time to react, my leg snapped out and sweeped his away from him, he hit the ground hard. He didn’t hesitate, kicking back at me as he brought himself level again, forcing me to avoid his attack. He was on his feet now and I threw a punch at him but he swiped it aside, throwing a punch off his own that I barely manage to block. I make a move towards him but his voice catches me off guard. “Who did you lose?” .

<p class="MsoNormal">His question brings me up short, I hesitate before answering “''My parents...my..my...cousins, You?”. His voice is filled with pain as he responds “My mother, and in a way my father”. His fist flies out and connects with the side off my face, and I feel anger at myself for not paying attention. I throw another punch this time that lands catching him on the shoulder. ''Then I make the connection. “The way you fight, the scars...you’re him...the vigilante” He doesn’t even attempt to deny it, perhaps he knows where we are going it won’t matter, instead he replies with a counter off a different kind. ''“I’m not the only one busy at night am I? You know I almost didn’t believe it, the rumours that the rebels who make our district bleed were led by a teenage girl, but here you are”. I don’t bother lying to him either. “I do what I do for the people of twelve, just like you” ''I retort coldly. ''“No you kill people for what? Vengeance?”'' There’s no gentleness in his voice now. “I save people from the Capitol” I snap, I try to catch him off guard but he’s expecting it and lashes out with his foot but I catch it with mine, be bounces back and drives a punch into my stomach.''   “By not killing I save everyone”. ''I weave away from his next attack and bring my knee up to his face. “The peacekeepers, don’t deserve mercy” His comment enrages me, how can he say that, when I watched as peacekeepers gunned down the people I love. When I watch my brother, Cardinal waste away every day from a disease, the Capitol can cure easily but whose medicine we can never afford. Hot tears off anger accompany my strikes that he parries and replies.'' “You don’t know what they have taken from me, from us all”. ''   His next attack is weak and I easily block it and land a hit square in his chest. His breathe escaped him as he gasps in pain and he backs away his hand holding his chest. I lean away from him as we both try to catch our breath. My muscles feel like they are on fire. Wanting nothing more than to leave this room I straighten myself wiping sweat-slick hair from my eyes, pick up my robe and head to the door. Rising to block the exit his arm flies out towards me, I flinch and instinctively raise my arm to defend myself but instead his hand cups the side off my face. His face etched in sorrow as he raises mine to meet his, ''“you’re right Canary, I don’t know, I’m sorry”. ''I shake his hand away in anger and brush past him, he winces as our shoulders touch but I know it’s not from the pain. I find my voice again without looking back “Sometimes to survive you have to be prepared to kill”, and I leave the compartment. My anger at Octavian subsides when I get back to my room. I don’t hate him; I’m just lashing out. It’s the Capitol I hate. To save the people of twelve, I will kill the ones who've tainted this world. But first I have to win.

<p class="MsoNormal">This is not the time for mercy. <h2 class="MsoNormal">Chariot Rides