The Ultimate Sacrifice (The 107th Hunger Games) [Fan Fiction]

3. Class Is In Session

3. Class Is In Session

Once I had left the Justice Building and headed for the car, I felt alone. I was on my own at this point. The tributes—even Bane—I couldn't trust any of them. I was in for me and me alone. If I had to, I'd learn to fake people out, make them believe I trusted them. Deception could get me far in the Games.

The car was watched as we got driven to the Tribute Train. I looked out the window, watching children go on with their lives, chasing each other, their parents scolding them for it. How I remembered when I was younger. In time, everyone grew up, whether they wanted to or not. That was life. If children managed to survive seven years of not getting reaped, then they could live a full life.

I knew I would live a full life, but I had to win the Games first.

Some adults and children snuck a peek at the car. Everybody inside the car was quiet, even Bane. I expected him to be droning on excitedly about how the Hunger Games was going to be a fun experience for him. Our escort was sandwiched between us. I could hear her nails hit each other as she twiddled her thumbs. Nobody seemed to be close to a nervous breakdown. I concealed my excitement inside.

Once the car came to a halt, four Peacekeepers escorted Bane and me both to the ramp of the Tribute Train. Cameras were once again locked on us. I walked in, pretending to not notice them. Once the ramp was pulled in and the door shut, the train got moving, onto District 2. There were twelve other stops we had to endure. This ride would be ridiculously long.

Bane and I sat in a small cabin room in the train. He was curious about the room, looking at the furniture and all. The Capitol's furniture was more whacky than the furniture in District 1. We were more luxurious, with fluffy couches or leather chairs, or fuzzy rugs. The table legs and chair legs would be lit up with gems of all sorts, from sapphires to diamonds, or from emeralds to rubies. Our specialty should have been gems rather than luxury in general.

As the train huffed its way to 2, I sat near the window, admiring the scenery outside of 1. Being away from my house was an experience alone; being outside of my home district was a huge experience.

"Do we have one mentor or two?" Bane's voice was distant.

"Hmm?" I asked, tuning in fully to him. This was the first time we actually spoke to each other.

"How many victors are still alive, do you know?"

"Not really."

"I hope it's someone who can really help us."

"I would think they would be, they've won a Hunger Games, and being a mentor is their job," I said smartly. Already, Bane seemed like an idiot. Past victors were sucked into helping train future tributes. That was the downside—to many—to being a victor of the Games. You never heard about too many victors who liked training future tributes.

A door slid open, pulling my attention away from the window. It wasn't our escort, so he had to be our mentor. I saw nobody behind him. Lucky him, he trains both of us. If there were two mentors, they'd either train the tributes together or take one to train alone.

He looked at least ten years older than Bane, so he couldn't have won his Hunger Games long ago. His black hair looked groomed and gelled, like some pretty boy model—something I expected Bane to do with his hair. His brown eyes found us. He looked overdue for a shaving too: he had lots of whiskers, making him look older than he really was.