"We'll walk into War"

Part one | Part two | Part three (will hopefully be up soon!)

Title: "the barracks"

Word Count: 6,063

Author's Notes: Whoops, I was a week late getting this up :| Sorry about that

~o~O~o~

The training centre is bigger than in other years – or, so they've been told – but that doesn't stop the stifling heat that emanates from almost fifty young, tense and nervous bodies. Zatanna can feel the wet breath of every other tribute hanging in the air, and her eyes continue to dance around the room, overwhelmed by the amount of people here – the amount of kids – all soon to be dead.

She's not a fool; she knows that there's no chance that she's going to get out of this alive. The imposing figures of just the Careers are enough to whittle down her chances, let alone every other tribute she's up against.

Even if she did have a chance at winning, she's not even sure of what she would be going home to; whether her father and Billy are even still alive or not.

(No. She can't think like that. They're alive. They have to be.)

"Are you planning on going anywhere?" Zatanna jumps and turns around to meet warm brown eyes and dark skin. She glances around and notes that everyone else has peeled off, moving to the different training stations, while she's remained planted in place.

"S-sorry," Zatanna murmurs, ducking her head and stepping to the side. The girl who has spoken to her holds up a hand.

"No, no! I wasn't saying it because you were in my way; I just thought it might be helpful to you if you were actually going to the stations instead of just standing here looking at the floor. That's all." The girl smiles at her and moves to walk past, but before she strides off, she swings her head back to face Zatanna. "Have you ever learnt rope-knotting before?" Zatanna shakes her head. "Well, come on. You're not going to get very far if you don't know how to tie a rope." The girl walks over to one of the stations, and, after a moment of wondering what has just happened, Zatanna tentatively follows her.

The Beetle becomes even noisier once training begins, ordering Jaime to different stations – all the weapon stations – insisting over and over and over again, that Jaime 'must be willing to eliminate all targets'. Jaime's so occupied with trying to tell the Beetle to just shut up, that he doesn't notice his feet leading him straight to the spear station, and the group of Careers standing at it; strong arms propelling sharp spears into dummies, and the burst of laughter that erupts from the group as they watch the vain attempts of other tributes at their own stations. Jaime's head jerks up just in time for it to bump into the broad back of one Career, who turns and looks down incredulously at the District Twelve boy, while the rest of the gathered Careers laugh.

"Looks like you've found yourself a new buddy, Con," snarls a tall, pale guy, who nudges 'Con' as Jaime stumbles backwards, holding his hands up in surrender.

"It's a pity we can't start the Games right now." This time, the comment has come from a girl, who looks especially intimidating with red hair swept over one eye, and half her head shaved and tattooed with the image of a skull. It's apparent that she, and the blond-haired twins with multiple zig-zags and patterns shaved into their skulls, are from District One. The first district has always shown that flair and love for outrageous and fiendish-looking styles, being influenced by the Capitol over the years.

"S-sorry," Jaime stammers up to the boy he walked into, who's continuing to stare at him indifferently. Jaime steps to back away as the rest of the group advance towards him.

"Come on kid…don't be scared. We're not gonna bite you – yet." The Beetle is growing louder in his head – they are enemies! Hostiles. Kill them! – and Jaime shakes his head to try and rid it of the scratchy voice. He takes another step backwards, tripping and landing straight on his ass, while the Beetle continues to bristle furiously inside him. Kill them now! Seize the spears in their hands and use them to eliminate the target! Do it! Do it !

"No!" He's clutching his head and squeezing his eyes shut. The Careers stop walking towards him and look at each other in confusion. "I won't do it. I won't do it. I'm never going to do it so stop trying to make me! Just shut up!"

Something must click inside one of the minds of the Careers, because he straightens up and begins laughing. He's one of the blond twins – the boy – and he holds his hand to his stomach as he doubles over. "He's from District Twelve all right," he gasps between chuckles. "Everyone knows they breed the weird ones." His laughter infects the other Careers, and they stand there and mock Jaime as he continues to keep his head ducked between his knees, his cheeks heating up in embarrassment.

"What's wrong, kid?" The blond Career spits towards Jaime. "Y'got scared lil' voices in your head?" No, no, no – much worse – Jaime wants to warn him, but continues to keep his head down and listen to the taunts aimed towards him.

"Leave him alone." Jaime pokes his head up a little to see another tribute standing off to the side of him, frowning at the Careers. He recognizes her as the auburn haired beauty from District Nine, and the small boy standing behind her as also a District Nine tribute. "Don't you have anything better to do than taunt some poor boy? It's bad enough that he's already stuck here like the rest of us." For a moment it looks like the Careers are about to turn onto her, but her statement has caught the attention of the boy Jaime had originally bumped into, the one the others called 'Con', who surprisingly, had stayed back where he originally was while the others were busy intimidating Jaime. "She's right guys," he says, moving to turn around. "He's not worth our time.

"Just leave him."

"Don't touch that." Artemis hears the warning clearly through the noise of the rowdy Careers and the grunts and clang of steel-on-steel and weapons sparring. Her hand freezes above the plant she's currently studying; bright green with few broad leaves and an unusual shaped bulb – just two extended halves with zig-zag filaments on the edges.

She glances up and draws her hand away, meeting the eyes of a boy with the reddest, messiest hair she's ever seen. He breaks off a long, thick stick from a nearby tree and, holding one end, gently taps the bulb of the plant in front of her with the other end.

The two halves snap shut so quickly and fiercely that Artemis flinches; not completely noticeable, but still enough to make her scowl at herself. The end of the stick that touched the plant is now a pile of splinters, and Artemis can hear crunching noises from inside the now closed bulb. The boy drops the rest of the stick and looks back toward Artemis.

"They'll chomp a finger right off," he says, "maybe even a hand, depending on how big one is."

Artemis eyes the plant, backing away ever so slightly, before raising an eyebrow and facing the boy. "How'd you know that would happen?"

The boy grimaces at the plant. "I helped make it."

"What?"

"Well, not that one, but the first lot of the species and the whole creation for it. I was…there for that." He shrugs. "It's what we do down in District Five. We…" he lets out a sigh, "make…things."

"Science and mutation," Artemis mutters.

"Yeah."

They fall into silence and Artemis turns back to studying the plant, making sure not to try and touch anything this time. She's waiting for the boy to leave, but he doesn't; instead, he continues to stand in the same spot, his attention being drawn to something off to the right. Not that she should care, Artemis turns her gaze to the same spot he's looking at – the District Four couple at the blades station who inspect and try out the different type of knives and daggers, their fingers continuing to brush against the backs of each other's hands. It's really no secret that they are together.

This District Five boy must really love to talk, because he winces at the couple and mutters, "That's really dumb." Artemis doesn't say anything; doesn't give any sign that she wants to know why he said that, but he explains himself anyway. "I don't get why they would both volunteer so they were in the same games together," he says. "If they became the final two, one of them is going to have to kill the other, if not, then they're going to have to watch each other die." Funny-looking, red eyebrows are drawn down into a frown of bewilderment, and almost disgust. "One of the girls from my district – Karen – her boyfriend tried to volunteer so he could be in the games with her as well. Luckily he wasn't able to, because that would be awful."

His voice drops down to a breath, so that Artemis isn't sure whether she's supposed hear him as he stabs the toe of his boot into the floor and murmurs: "Not that this shit is awful enough already. We've all been thrown here to die, just because they want an exciting show."

She doesn't want to agree with him; agreeing with him would cause a tie of alliance, a weak spot in the armour, and she doesn't need that.

But over the past few days, the words of this boy – this boy who helped make a plant and has red hair that could stand out in any environment – have been the only thing that has made any real sense to her.

It's a taxing task, trying to remain focused on what is in front of him. More difficult than he had previously imagined it to be. It doesn't help that the objects of his distractions happen to be in the station next to him; weighing knives and drifting their fingers over the other, while he tries for the umpteenth time to fix this snare just right so it will work.

Kaldur shakes his head and turns his body so it's harder to see them. He can't deny that part of the reason for his voluntary submission into the Games was the fact that both Garth and Tula were also in the Games. He may be able to deny some things, but he can't deny that. He can't deny that his heart is still caught between the ache and longing for someone he thought may end up his, and the loyalty towards the best friend – his best friend – that she chose. And he can't deny that up until now, his heart has been foolishly hanging onto the hope that one day, things will change.

The snare snaps back up to it's original form, stirring Kaldur from his stupor as it narrowly avoids hitting him in the face. He lets out a startled noise that gains the attention of the ginger-headed boy his age that is also at the snares station – expertly twisting and pulling branches as he creates his own, flawless snare. Kaldur is certain he's one of the tributes from District Ten, and the skill that the young man has just demonstrated confirms this idea; District Ten are renowned for their citizen's hunting prowess.

"Watch it, there," the young man grunts, nodding towards the spot where Kaldur's own trap had been established, until it had busted, of course. Kaldur merely nods and directs his attention back to the snare, figuring the conversation is over.

"You're the one that volunteered for that girl, aren't you?" Kaldur freezes, wondering if he is really that transparent. Did he really volunteer just for Tula? Is that what everyone thinks? Is that what he did?

"How did you…?"

"It was in the replays," the ginger boy frowns in confusion. "Everyone saw it. I thought the peacekeepers were going to sedate that girl all the way here, and then you stood up."

Kaldur relaxes a little. He's talking about Lori – the girl he actually volunteered for – not Tula. "I felt…" he chokes out. "I felt I had to."

The other young man scoffs, standing up and brushing his hands against his legs. "Yeah, well – you're crazy." Kaldur shoots him a look of perplexity. "Anyone who gets up to volunteer is damn crazy," the District Ten boy adds, before walking away and leaving Kaldur staring down at the snare.

It's not like Roy was trying to follow his mentor and father around; not completely. However, he certainly wasn't expecting to end up eavesdropping on a hushed conversation between Ollie and the mentor of District Three – he knows that much – as he presses his back up against the wall and tilts his head for a better hearing position. The pair speak in a simple, short and cut pattern. Minimal wording and straight to the point, without being conspicuous to those who walk down the halls past them.

"Would've been nice if we knew about this earlier," Roy hears Ollie's gruff voice mumble, replied to by a hard, cold and hollow-sounding voice that echoes from the other man's mouth.

"We tried to get a message to you. We were unable to get through." Roy's eyebrows are drawn down into a confused frown. What are they talking about? What should they have been told earlier?

"Yeah, yeah." Roy can just imagine that Ollie is rolling his eyes. "Look, are you sure it's going to work? Because if it doesn't, you're going to be pretty damn screwed, Bruce."

"If all the steps are completely properly and quickly, then it should work. It's up to them what will happen." Them? Who's them? Are they talking about the tributes?

"Yeah? And you think they'll be able to manage it?"

It goes quiet, and Roy leans his head closer, straining to hear as their voices grow quieter.

"The four of them have been training for this for months. They can do this."

Ollie's reply is dubious. "If you say so."

"What about your tributes? Do you believe that they will support the motion?" Roy leans even closer.

"Oh yeah. Most of them will be on board for sure. I know at least two of them wouldn't hesitate to take up an opportunity to give the Capitol a punch to the face." Roy smiles grimly. He knows Ollie is talking about him and Artemis. He had made a similar comment towards them during the opening ceremony ("Look, I know you two aren't at all pleased about having to stand anywhere near each other, but just pretend you're both going up there to kick President Savage in the face, and keep those smiles on, alright?").

"And are you going to tell them?" With the District Three mentor's last query, Roy nods to himself, feeling that with no doubt Ollie is going to say yes. Yes, he will tell them. He will.

"No." Roy freezes, his eyes widening, his chest filling with anger. "No, they don't need to know this. If it comes down to it, they'll be able to figure it out – but I'm not going to tell them and add even more on their plate."

"Fair enough." Roy turns and bolts away, seething with outrage and betrayal. Why wouldn't Ollie want to tell them? Why wouldn't Ollie want to at least tell him?

He's silent throughout dinner that night, watching Ollie keenly as he continues to act like nothing has changed. As soon as he's had his fill, he retires for the night, claiming he wants to be as fresh as possible for another day of training tomorrow.

As he lies on top of the soft, floral-smelling mattress, his fingers twitch for a bow – his bow. His body aches to be out in the forest hunting, just like he would do every morning; following the creek downstream, being sure to stay upwind of his prey.

It's only as his head fills with images of the forest, shooting down a roe buck, that it finally sinks into him.

Come a few days time, he probably won't hunt ever again.

Cassie trains separately from the other Careers; holding her head high, determined to do this all on her own. Because she can do it all on her own. She can. Others may think she's not capable – blonde, fourteen, smiling and giggling at everything she does successfully – but she knows she is. She knows she's strong. She knows she's fast. She may not have the years of training under her belt like the rest of her top-District counterparts, but she has still trained. She has still prepared for this – just a little…unorthodoxly compared to others. She volunteered for a reason, and she's determined to show everyone else that reason.

So, as she lassoes a thick tree stump and pulls it towards her, the sliced bottom of it grating on the tiles of the training centre, she smiles and eyes the stump triumphantly. She knows she can do this.

Her name is Raquel, the girl tells Zatanna. She's from District Six, with their extensive factories and loud machinery and – of late – the growing whispers of rebel activity within the walls of the district. The last topic of course, neither of them dare to bring up. It rides under as an unspoken agreement; a joint knowledge, that the fabled rebellion is something that is happening, sometime when everyone will least expect it.

Raquel asks Zatanna about her home life, after running through all the various aspects about her own, and Zatanna surprises herself with the words that slide out over her lips. She tells Raquel about everything, from her school, to her and her father's favourite thing to do on her birthday – from the crazy storms they get during the spring, to Billy's grin whenever he climbs a tree, pretending to be an adventurer. She tells Raquel about the huge bookcase in their house, and the enormous collection of books her father has collected from various places over the years. She tells her about Billy's talent for sneaking into places – from the old candy store in the main street, to the government building on the Reaping day.

She doesn't realize how much her mouth is actually running off when a hand softly squeezes her wrist. Her voice stops in its retelling of Reaping day, and how she watched peacekeepers drag her father and Billy and away, and she realizes that the arm Raquel is holding is shaking, and a few traitorous tears have slipped out from the corners of her eyes.

She hasn't spoken about what happened in the government building to any of the other tributes from her district, to her mentor or escort; it has been her own secret worry, running around in her head while everyone else has been concerned about their survival and how they're going to try and win the games.

She had no idea how much it has all built up.

"Hey," Raquel says, her hand still around the other girl's wrist, "I can't really give you anything definite, but…I don't think they would be dead. They're not really any use to the peacekeepers dead, and they didn't do anything crazily wrong. I think they'll be fine" She offers Zatanna a smile, who returns it weakly.

"But you know," Raquel adds, "if you win this, you'll be able to find out for sure. You'll be able to go back home to them."

Zatanna shakes her head. "I'm not going to win," she whispers.

"Don't count yourself out that quickly, Zee. I know I won't be" Raquel shrugs. "If you want something enough, it's pretty easy to get it."

By the time the Careers are at the weapons stations for the third time that day, Conner rolls his eyes and branches off from them, telling Cameron he's going to check out other stuff as he walks away to the nearest non-weapon station – the camouflage station.

The young boy that is already there, finding some amount of glee in smearing mud and clay over his arms and face, immediately shifts to the other side of the table when he sees Conner walking over. Conner tries to ignore the wide green eyes that are watching him intently as he works, clumsily splatting some mud onto his skin and trying to work it into some form of disguise. After a while however, with the boy still staring at him, Conner sighs and swings his head to face the kid, who jumps a little in his seat and looks away from Conner quicky.

"What?" Conner says, mud slipping through his fingers.

The auburn haired boy ducks his head. "Nothing," he mumbles, and Conner rolls his eyes and shifts back to face the dirt, mud, twigs, leaves and various other things in front of him. How is it he is supposed to make camouflage out of this again?

"Hey Gar." Conner freezes as the recognizable voice floats over his shoulder, the District Nine girl who had told him and the other Careers off yesterday following it. She crouches down next to the boy and he speaks to her about the camouflage work he has done, and how he could hide up in a tree and no-one would be able to see him with it. The girl, whom Conner hears Gar call Megan, congratulates him softly and gives him a soft smile as together they work at cleaning the mud off Gar's arms.

Conner looks away, feeling as if he is intruding if he watches anymore. He continues to try and work at putting the same camouflage on his arms as Gar had done, beginning to get frustrated as he tries to understand how the twelve year old had done it.

"That was a horrible thing you did yesterday." Conner stops and glances to his right and Megan who is staring at him with an expression of disgust. Gar is standing behind her, flicking a concerned glance between the two.

Conner looks back down at the table. "I didn't do anything," he mutters.

"Exactly. You should've. Just because you're from one of the Career districts, doesn't mean you have to play along with their horrible games." She gives him one last frown before resting a hand on the shoulder of the boy behind her. "Come on, Gar," she says softly, turning on her heel to walk away.

Gar continues to flick his gaze between Conner and the retreating Megan, before taking a step to also walk away. Before he does, however, he stops and glances back at Conner.

"You need to thicken it up more," he says, "the mud. Also, add some leaves and sticks and stuff to it. It'll look more like the real ground that way."

Conner regards the boy, and sends him small, tight smile, watching as the ghost of one flickers over Gar's face before turns away and dashes after Megan.

They've had it drilled into them over and over. The importance of the final day of training. The moment when they wow the gamemakers for their final training score. The moment when they need to pull out the best they've got.

As the mentor of District Four, Orin, was speaking to them one last time before they went to the training arena, putting emphasis on the fact that they need to show the gamemakers something great, Tula, Kaldur and Garth had all nodded in firm assent; each of them sure of what they were going to pull out.

La'gaan nodded as well of course, but his gesture was nowhere near as definite as the others. His head had loosely bobbed forward and back again, and he didn't have the same resolve behind it as his fellow tributes did.

If he wants to be completely honest with himself, he has no idea what he's going to do in order to get a high score.

But really, it can't be that hard. Can it? The gamemakers toss those scores around all the time without a second though.

He'll nail it – once he figures out what he's going to do.

Kaldur is the first to be called in, his face the picture of complete calm and contentment as he walks through the doors. The others wait in complete silence, seconds clicking over slowly as they're sitting on the bench. La'gann makes the mistake of watching the clock while he is waiting, and while it feels like an hour before Kaldur returns from the room, nodding at them as he passes, it has, in reality, only been five minutes or so.

Tula goes next, and it's another "feeling-like-an-hour-long" five minutes until La'gaan is finally called up. Sometime during the last five minutes, he had begun bouncing his leg up and down, and he stills it before he pushes himself up and walks through the doors from where Tula had just come.

The gamemakers are gathered around, drinking wine and laughing as he steps in. They seem to be talking about various topics while La'gaan moves to the centre of the room; he thinks he hears two men talking about what Tula had just shown them: "Some very fine talent there." "Oh, yes. And she moves with such grace."

La'gaan clears his throat, the sound echoing through the metal room, and for a moment the attention is turned to him. "Alright, 'Lagan'," one near the centre says. "Let's see what you got for us."

"La'gaan," he hisses to himself, moving toward the large throwing dollies. He breathes in, tenses up his muscles, making himself bigger, and picks up one of the dollies, heaving and throwing it with a shout, the metal clanging on the ground a reasonable distance away.

La'gaan looks up to the stand to see the reaction. In place of the impressed expressions he was expecting, he is confronted with bored eyes and lips turned down into frowns. They stare at him expectantly, waiting for something more, but after a while of silence and stillness, the one in the centre, apparently the Head Gamemaker, looks down at the clipboard in his lap. "You may go now, Lagan."

His jaw clenches and he ducks his burning face as he walks out, not missing the new whispers of conversation now darting between the gamemakers: "Wasn't he one that volunteered?" "You'd expect something more impressive, wouldn't you?"

A booming laugh. "Tell me about it. I think somebody should be back at minnow school."

The lights are bright in his face and the stage feels full of noise as he grits his teeth and forces a smile towards the massive crowd. "I've always looked up to Ollie," he says, answering the question of games interviewer Cat Grant. "He's been a great mentor, and a great father. And of course, it doesn't hurt that he's one of the more notable victors of the Games." His last comment gets a murmur of laughter from the crowd and Cat.

"And," he glances to the side so he's looking straight into one of the cameras that are projecting the interview around the country "he's always shown that he trusts me. Always. He's never kept anything from me. Having him as a mentor is really great in that sense."

"Well, hopefully you've taken note of all his tips," Cat says, way too cheerfully, looking at the meaning lying underneath her words. "Ladies and gentlemen, Roy Harper!" Roy stands and nods to the crowd before walking off the stage.

Artemis is standing just outside the wings as he walks out, looking at him skeptically. "What the hell was all that sap about?" She asks, just loud enough so Roy can hear her over Cat Grant announcing Cissie King-Jones to come onto stage.

Roy ignores her, walking past her and standing wait in front of one of the TVs hung on the wall. Artemis follows him, not pushing on the question, but still staring at him, expecting an answer.

She gets one when Ollie rounds the corridor quickly and walks straight up to Roy. He quickly glances around the area and faces Roy with an expression of concern. "How much do you know?" he asks in a low voice.

"More than what you cared to tell me." Roy replies. Artemis is glancing between the two in confusion. Cissie's voice is heard through the speakers.

"What's going on?" Artemis asks, but has apparently turned invisible some point between now and ten seconds ago.

"Look, I didn't want to concern you kids with it," Ollie rubs a hand across his eyes. "You've got enough to worry about already without adding this on top of it."

"So what?" Roy is almost ready to raise his voice, but stops himself as he thinks about the attention that will bring. Instead, he speaks in a yelled whisper. "You thought it would just be better to leave us in the dark? With no clue as to what you mentors are planning?"

"Roy, it's not like tha-"

"Hey!" Dark fingers snap between their faces, right in front of their eyes, and they both glance down to see dark grey eyes blazing in anger. "Anyone want to tell me what the hell is going on?" Artemis hisses, glaring up at them. "What should you have told us about, Ollie? What's this 'plan' you're talking about?"

Ollie glances around swiftly and grabs the arms of both of them, pulling them into a small enclave, hidden from anyone who would casually walk past without a second glance. "Alright," he whispers, "but you two can't mention any of this again, got it?" He receives two nods in return; one solemn, one confused. "District Three is planning to begin the rebellion during this years games," he says, "other districts, like Five and Six, are also in on the plan." At the mention of District Five, short images of plants that bite you and untamed red hair flash through Artemis' head. She shakes them off.

"Okay, that's great," she deadpans, "but it's not exactly going to affect us. We're already heading off to hell tomorrow."

"No, you don't understand," Ollie whispers. "The District Three tributes will be launching the rebellion from inside the arena. During the games. They've all received training and have figured out a way to sabotage and escape from the arena. The hope is that they can achieve that as early as possible, so they can get more tributes out alive."

"Is there anything we'll be able to help with?" Roy asks.

Ollie shakes his head. "The best you can do is try to survive until it happens. If you catch up with any of Three's tributes, and they need you to lend a hand, do it. But really, all you can do is keep yourselves – and each other ," he gives a pointed look towards the both of them, " – alive.

"Can you guys do that?" He asks, receiving two nods in return as, in the background, Cissie is dismissed off stage. "Good. I'm glad I can finally get you two to agree on something."

The conversation is rapid and hushed Dick pulls on the clothes that have been set out for him. "There are multiple balls with different qualities sewed into the hem of your jacket," his 'stylist' whispers. "You'll know which one does what. There is about 50 feet of wire in the waistband of your pants, and various connectors in your jacket sleeves. The detachments on the soles of your boots have instruments measuring electricity quality and conductivity, as well as other measurements, and a way to get to the ideal coordinates to pull this off correctly. I…I think that's all the important stuff. Bette, Barbara and Tim all have the same equipment."

"We'll work it out," Dick murmurs, sending a quick grin to the man in front of him. "Wish us luck."

"The entire district, as well some others, will all be wishing you luck." Dick steps into the glass tube to take him up to the arena. The door slides shut with a hiss and the platform begins to lift.

"Let's hope we don't let them down," Dick mutters, as the darkness from underground opens up into a green field, fresh and cool air, and the tension of forty-eight bodies ready to be launched into the single living hell.

The arena. The second Quarter Quell. The fiftieth annual Hunger Games.

Fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven, fifty-six…

As her eyes adjust to the dim light of the cloudy-skied arena, Zatanna looks around; not at her opponents, not at the Cornucopia, but for one of the many cameras that are pointed down onto them, ready to broadcast their entire ordeal to every civilian in the nation. If she finds one, maybe she'll be able to look straight into it; see through it whether her father and Billy are okay, and find some way to tell them, 'I'll be safe. I'll try to make it home. I promise.'

…fifty-one, fifty, forty-nine

Her legs are twitching with excitement and anxiety, and it takes all the willpower she can muster not to bound off the platform and begin the Games. Bright eyes dart around the arena, and Cassie not-so patiently waits for the beginning siren.

…forty-four, forty-three, forty-two…

The air is wet. At least there'll be no trouble finding water. It's also cold; through her jacket Artemis can already feel the cool, wet atmosphere bringing goosebumps up on her arms – that's going to be a problem at night time, especially with the wet ground, which is also going to make it difficult to start a fire. Artemis gazes around the forest surrounding them; mostly evergreen, glints of water drops hanging off of leaves. The Cornucopia is surrounded by the broken stone walls of a building ruin, and Artemis has no doubt that she's going to find more of those around the arena.

She bends forward and prepares herself for the dash off the starting platform and onto the slick grass. She can work with this.

...thirty-six, thirty-five, thirty-four, thirty-three…

Gar wants to dart off this platform and run as fast as he possibly can. He wants to keep running until he finds the edge of the arena, and keep on running after that, all the way back to District Nine, never tiring, never slowing, never stopping.

He remains rooted where he stands.

…twenty-eight, twenty-seven…

La'gaan tries to focus on the Cornucopia and work out a plan of attack, but his eyes keep catching on the figures of his fellow District Four competitors. Garth and Tula are placed on platforms not so far away from each other, and are seemingly communicating with each other as the clock ticks on. Kaldur is further away – on the other side of the clearing – looking calm and focused as he always does; like this is nothing to him.

La'gaan's fists close and tighten. He'll show them. He'll show them all.

…twenty-one, twenty, nineteen, eighteen…

The Beetle muttering away in his head, it's scratchy voice demanding that he run straight for the Cornucopia, pick up as many weapons as he can, and kill anyone who gets in his way. It's all Jaime can do to not clutch his head and scream at it to shut the hell up and just go away.

"Ignore it," he whispers through clenched teeth. "Ignore it."

...twelve, eleven, ten, nine…

Kaldur keeps his face passive and focussed, but his gaze keeps drifting towards Tula and Garth. He has some odd and completely outrageous hope that maybe it will get better after this, maybe he'll finally be able to stop pining after Tula, and this pain in his heart will finally ebb away.

But there is only one thing he can be certain of; his pain is going to end after this, one way or another.

…five, four, three…

Dick is close enough to Barbara to be able to send a nod her way, and receive one in return. Whilst both Tim and Bette are not as close, he knows they've got the plan firmly inserted in their heads. They have the necessary provisions hidden in their clothes, and the words of their mentor ringing in their ears.

…two…

This is the moment where everything will change.

…one.

The games are about to begin. Who are you rooting for? ;) -Annica