District 1 Male: Flame Phoenix Pirkas

I walked through the doorway as the intercom in the previous room directed me to. Annoying intercoms....I don't get to ask the dame thing questions, I just have to obey. I don't like having to obey! "Whatever nothing I can do about it'" I tell myself.

With a huff, I ran my hand threw my volcanic hair as I walked in.

I expected to see a big room. Game makers up in the stands overhead staring down at us with prying eyes. Dummies and other objects to be attacked covering the room spacious room. And a big wall covered with weapons of varying sizes and shapes with a table next to it containing more of the weapons we may choose to show off our talents.

Instead though I find myself in something slightly strange.Not that I really care. Why should I? I'm ready for anything they,or anyone else for that matter, can throw at me.

I look around hoping there might be something useful. Seeing the shine of a blade gleaming from the fluorescent lights overhead, in one of the bookcases, I smirk and quickly pull it out. What luck!

I walk forward wielding my weapon not really paying attention to the towering walls of books around me or looking for any other escape than forward.

For almost what felt like an hour of walking which in reality was more or less 10 minutes I come to a fork in the road. The 1 direction to travel changes to 3.

One going forward, one to the left, one to the right.

Almost instinctively I guess I go to the left. I didn't really think about it, I just felt pulled in that direction. The path turns much darker as I travels on making it harder to see, so I walk with my hand against the bookcase so I won't trip and fall flat on my ass.

After some more minutes of aimless walking I see something in the ever darkening path that stops me.A tale like scrap of thick paper dotted with different words I can't see clearly enough to read moving along the floor. I followed the paper along its path to a growing mass of paper following it up to more paper skin until I finally recognize what it is. A monster shaped somewhat like a man made of entirely ripped out book paper!

The shape of it is slightly similar to that of a human, but not exactly the same.

The dim light reveals to me in its hands is a long sharp blade. It raised it up in a fighting stance signaling it wants a fight...well my dear, if a fight is what you want a fight is what you'll get.

I looked at the beast like creature in front of me and raised my sword into a fighting stance matching him. I felt the desire to fight take over and I was ready for anything he would throw at me.

Advancing,Advancing. We raised our swords in common fighting stance and a moment later we were off. The beasts charged at me with his sword clucked tightly in his hand upheld, going to his fore swing and then followed it with a back swing. I dodged the first and met the second with with my heavy blade. The weight of the thing sent my opponent's blade back, back, back...but not enough to make him drop it from his hands.

Striking. This arching shot sliced the fabric of my shirt at the midsection. It missed the flesh behind it by mere centimeters. "Dude that was my Favorite shirt!"

The man like creature staggered. I swung. My blade missed, though not close enough to eat fabric. The creature dodged and I had to admit it was impressive, but that only made me madder!

Swing,Swing,Swing. The first two missed badly, but the third, a back swing off the one before it, found flesh. The heavy blade ate through the creature's paper flesh. The fighter dropped to his knees, tried to stand up, and dropped again.

I smirked wilding my blade one last time swinging it in a fore swing motion taking off the beast's head.It fell to the floor, blood spilling everywhere as I walked off down the path. "Now that's what you call a good fight. "

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District 2 Male: Ares Finn

Ares sits on the far side of the room, waiting for his name to be called. Every tribute would receive a chance today to show their skills and by the end of the night every tribute will be given a score. This score will help decide where you stand in terms of sponsors. Ares knew this and he also knew that he needed them. It was stupid, but inevitable. District One's private training sessions flew by and soon Ares name was floating around the room. He stands on his feet and walks to the door in confident strides. Ares walks through and the door shuts behind him.

Immidiently, Ares could feel something off like a bad thing was about to happen. Book cases tower over him, hilts of weapons ready to be wielded, stick out between the books. Something told him to grab a weapon, so that's what he plans to do. Ares looks around the weapons, his eyes finally finding one of his favorite. The ax. He grabs it from the shelf, holds it in his hands. It is lighter than a normal ax and more balanced making it great for throwing. With a tight grip, he walks into the only opening. He follows the winding path of the maze until there is a fork in the road. Left, right, and straight. Three choices that seem completely normal, but Ares knows better than to believe anything in the capital could ever be normal.

It was instinct that told Area to go left, that this path is where he belongs. He walks it too for a few moments before he comes to the opening. Had he finished? Was this all there was to test the tributes, but the others had been in here for at least fifteen minutes. Ares felt as though he had been in here for no more than ten. His answer came quickly, when a figure stepped out of the shadows. Not a human, but a human look alike that was made of..... Made of paper? Ares' grip on the ax tightened as he watched the strange creation raise a sword. Each slip of paper had writing on it, swirling to give the paper human limbs.

The creature attacks with no hesitation and Ares realizes that this is not going to be easy. They attack and counter attack with Ares blocking everything the creature throws at him. That lasts for a good five minutes, before Ares grows bored of the game, and does something new. Not knowing if it would hurt the paper creature. Ares kicks out its knees and forces it to the ground. Kicking it's sword away. Using his strength to get the upper hand, he places one arm on the neck forcing it to stay down. The paper thing struggles for a few moments before it settles into one place. Thinking he had finally won, outsmarting the thing, Ares stands. He was happy until something tackles him to the floor. They roll and land the paper creature on top. Ares ax just out of reach.

The paper creature begins to choke Ares, his air supply limited, he knows his only way out of this is to get ahold of his ax. He moves his arm, trying to get his hands to close around the hilt, instead his fingers just brush the metal. Ares could feel his body having troubles, the fingers of the paper creature closing tighter around his throat.

Ares eyes go wide when he realizes that his ax is not the only way to kill someone. Recalling one of District Twos most famous Victor, Enobaria, who is known for ripping out a tributes throat with her teeth. No more would he reach for the ax instead, he brings his hand to the papers face and rips his nails across the surface. A dark pulsing red liquid pours from the wound, confusing Ares more, but he doesn't question it.

With the paper creature stunned, Ares kicks the creature as hard as he can in the chest. Red blood drips down Ares cheek from where the blood landed on his forehead. He rolls, grabs his ax, and stands up in a defensive position. The creatures paper lips curl into a malicious grin; Ares smirks and pulls back his arm. Deep breath in, deep breath out, and the ax is launched into the air. Burying itself deep into the creatures neck, not all the way through, but close enough.

His breathing was heavy and Ares could feel his muscles ready to begin again. To fight some more. Start another round and Ares hates it. With just the training, Ares has become a killing machine. He knows he should embrace his inner murder, this is the Hunger Games, but that side of him is not something you can just reverse. You can't go from murderer to normal. The path of murder, of a career, is a one way street. You can't come back. "You may leave." The game maker says, and with that Ares walks away. He nods and walks out of the room. Ares had showed them who he really is. A killer.

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District 6 Female: Ashlyn Roxen 

"Ashlyn Roxen? You may now enter the room." The speaker boomed above me. I stood up from the chair and entered the room. What stood in front of me was breathtaking. Shelves, tall as giants, towered over me as I strode unsurely. In between the books, I could see various handles of weapons sticking out.

"Well better to be safe than sorry," I mumbled to myself as my hand reached out towards the handle of what I presumed was a knife. My hand felt the smooth, cold metal. Strangely, the handle was my just my hand size.

"A maze, life or death; I'm afraid this is Maze Runner all over again." I sighed dramatically yet softly, the words spoken as but a whisper. There wasn't a need to anger the Gamemakers right before the Games started. The memory of watching the Maze Runner was clearly etched into my brain. After all it was the one my mom and I watched before we walked home. Before her... death. At this reminder I gently stroked the pearl bracelet, my only memory left of her.

I came upon three pathways, each looking the same with endless paths of bookshelves yet different at the same time. Sighing again, I decided to go towards the left one. Even with my training in sensing things there was no sure possibility on what lurked down that path. My knife gripped tightly by my hand, my feet slowly crept forward. Inch by inch I moved onwards.

"Don't worry Kenly, deep breaths. The Gamemakers are just testing you." I chided myself. The maze like path of shelves turned as I walked on. Right into the front of.... I honestly don't know. I raised my eyebrows at the creature/person whatever and showed it my knives. It was completely paper. Long, strips of white paper formed body shapes, resulting in the shape of a human.

This is their challenge? I thought to myself. This was too easy. No Gamemaker would let the tributes fight a paper man. When I remembered my grandfather's words.

"Looks can be deceiving. Do not judge one's skill of battle by what they look like. This is often the reason and cause for tribute's deaths. Do not forget."

So instead of scoffing like an arrogant person, I took a deep breath, spread my legs out to shoulder width, and bent my knees slightly, knives in their rightful position. One of the first things my grandfather taught me. The paper man in front of me did not react, but simply grabs ahold of a gleaming sword to its left. That's when my eyes suddenly zoom in to find the paper wasn't just any paper, they were from various famous books. Like Romeo and Juliet or Hamilton. Hmm, classics. Not bad.

In a flash the paper man seemed to glide towards me and just in the knick of time my knife reached up and met his sword. Both weapons, but especially his, glinted and shimmered in the artificial light above us. The paper man broke the contact and thrusted towards my heart. My body twisted around and quickly getting behind him, struck a blow into his left shoulder blade. My gut to this day, this moment, opposed killing.

For goodness sake Ashlyn! It's made of PAPER. Technically you're going to kill, you're just going to cut paper apart like you did since PRESCHOOL. My mind screamed at me. Just when I least expect it, red, hot sticky blood gushes out from the wound as the paper man turns to me. He slowly lifted his sword, trying to also get a hit on me when my arm reacted on his own. It struck the knife right into the middle of his chest.

This time prepared, I jumped out just before the blood splattered all over everything within a foot away from the paper man. Suddenly exhausted, I dropped the bloody knife, and collapsed on the cold floor, already feeling sadness on the tributes I'm pretty sure I had to kill sooner or later.

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District 7 Female: Aspen Kinsley

There was no larger regret than watching her sister die for Aspen Kinsley.

Ever since the fateful night of her sister's death, Aspen had been haunted in her dreams by the ghost of her beloved sibling. Everyday, she wished that she had fallen asleep before the event that changed her life. Yet, she couldn't change the past. She would have to live with the fact that she had disobeyed her parent's requests by watching every second of the night, memorizing every little detail.

Aspen remembered how the night birds had not sung, and how a silence had fallen over the arena. The branches of the trees had been weaved together in a natural way, and they had swayed the wind which had blown like a soft summer breeze. Her sister's ally had added just a few drops of poison into her sister's water. She had given her ally all of her trust, and she had drank the poisoned water. That was her only mistake.

The memory of how her sister had fallen to the ground with the grace of a soaring dove was implanted in Aspen's mind. She remembered how her eyes had fluttered to a close. She had not screamed, for she knew not of her ally's betrayal. She would never know, for she had already fallen prey to a deep sleep, one from which she would never awaken.

In death, her sister's appearance had been so beautiful, as Aspen recalled. Her golden-brown hair had been spread out underneath her, shimmering like the molten gold of the rising sun's morning glow. The light of the moon had been slanted, catching the perfect angle to create a crown of shimmering silver above her hair. It was a crown for the fallen queen, the one who would never see the beauty of light again.

Her sister was the sole reason of Aspen's greatest fear. While Aspen was afraid of deep water, heights, and failure, her worst fear hurt her so much more. Just by its mention, she would feel the pangs of pain at her heart. Just by its presence, she would feel herself breaking. It brought back all the memories, the ones she wished to never see again. Others would call it frivolous, but to Aspen, it was not. It plagued her mind with darkness, dulling her senses as it gave her a reason to feel afraid. Even though it was so powerful, it was simply one word.

Silence.

So, when the waiting room became quiet, all sounds abolished, Aspen struggled to stay focused. She was already feeling the effects of her fear, the one thing that could hurt her so much. Her heart's pace had quickened, and its sound had increased. Her breathing became shallow as she tried to focus on the goal at hand. Her training session was only minutes away, and here she was suffering from a ridiculous little fear.

"Aspen Kinsley, District Seven. Please report for your private training session," a robotic voice spoke clearly through a speaker. Aspen rose to her feet, biting her lip by habit in anxiety. The blood welled at her tiny wound, and she could feel its bitter taste on her tongue. It spread out through her mouth, and she was forced to swallow it, grimacing at the metallic taste. Closing her eyes, Aspen inhaled air, letting the oxygen gush into her mouth like how the winds in Seven had rushed through the air every breezy afternoon. As her eyelids lifted to reveal her vibrant orange eyes, she stepped forward.

She told herself that she was ready, but she couldn't bring herself to believe her own words.

The metal handle of the door felt cold under Aspen's sweaty palm. She ran her fingers along its surface, letting them flow freely like blades ice. Gripping it, she twisted the handle by the slightest as she pushed on the door with the rest of her tiny figure. The door opened, as it revealed an array of dingy lights. Aspen could only tremble in a mixture of anxiety and fear as she entered the dimly lit room.

If it was the lack of brightness, or the lack of sound, Aspen did not know what bothered her. Perhaps it was a mixture of the two. Yet, she put all that behind her as she glanced around the room. She was looking for everything there was supposed to be, but the room lacked the objects her mentor had told her about. Instead, it was set up in a completely different way; a way that Aspen seemed to like.

Bookcases towered on either side of her, crammed with a number of books. They were color-coded, the bindings the only difference. At the far end, Aspen could see books crimson red in colors, while in another place she saw a pastel lavender. Each shelf had too many books to count, many more than Aspen could ever dream of reading. This was her dreamland, a place filled with only of books. Aspen walked to her right, dragging her fingers across the numerous bindings. She found her fingers landing on a book whose binding was yellow; like that of a blossoming buttercup. Even in the dim lighting it sparkled, glowing as bright as the sun and the stars combined. It was almost as it if it was a solid block of shimmering gold, for it held no words or other pictures on its cover. The shelves were filled with an infinite amount of words and books, and that meant there was a lot of knowledge.

Knowledge is power. The words were caught inside of Aspen's throat, and she longed to hold the books in her hand, flipping through each page to read it all. She was hungry for words and knowledge, or perhaps she was hungry for power. She didn't know, and that was what scared her most.

Aspen tried to hide all her cravings in the back of her mind, where they could not bother her. There was work to be done, and she needed to stay focused for her training session. Out of the corner of her eye, Aspen noticed a tiny sliver of silver in caught in between two books. It was indeed a small weapon, a tiny knife perfect for her. Her hand flew to the handle as she pulled it out, her eyes raking the shining silver blade hungrily.

A thirst for blood stirred inside of her. It had arisen after the boy from One had threatened her in training. All she wanted was to prove him and everyone else who thought lowly of her wrong. She was not weak; she could fight. He had shaken something inside of her, bringing it out. It burned bright, and it had become a fire that could not stop blazing.

The thoughts of killing another tribute scared Aspen. Before, the idea of taking a life was insane. She couldn't murder someone who had an entire family, an entire life, which had been left behind. How could she have thought that killing was the only way? How had the thoughts even sparked inside of her? Fear poked at Aspen because she knew the truth.

The Games were already changing her, and they hadn't even began.

Aspen hated herself. She didn't like what the Gamemakers had already done to her by throwing her into this mess. She was already having thoughts of murder, and she was being taught the very opposites of the beliefs she had grown up with. She couldn't let the Gamemakers change her more; she couldn't let herself change. She would need to keep a hold on herself; she needed to make sure that she couldn't be controlled.

To learn, someone needed to make mistakes. When someone made mistakes, they were given a punishment to make sure that they learned, and that they didn't make the same mistakes again. Aspen deserved a punishment for all the murderous thoughts that clouded her mind. She glanced at the knife in her hand, and she wanted to drop it. But she didn't.

A punishment...

Aspen didn't stop herself as her instincts took over. The thought of a punishment became reality. She dragged the blade across one of her wrists, letting the cold metal sink into her skin. It felt good, but wrong at the same time. But she deserved it, didn't she? The blood swelled, and she wanted more; she was hungry for more. There was no pain; it was all just numb, and somehow making her feel so much more powerful. No, she had to stop herself. Aspen forced herself to throw the knife. The blade clattered upon hitting the ground, and the sound echoed.

Looking into the blade of the knife she had thrown, Aspen caught sight of her reflection. She saw eyes lacking joy and warmth. She saw only of cold hunger and lust for blood. She saw her brother and sister fighting. She saw the Gamemakers and her mentor. She saw it all. She no longer feared death; she welcomed it with open arms.

It was too late to go back to being the girl she was before for Aspen. She hated herself for what she had become, but any thoughts of the past just brought more hatred. But she had made her choice. All Aspen wanted was to see more blood. It brought her happiness and bittersweet joy. Bending down to pick up the knife, she made her decision. There was no going back now. She had chosen her path, and she would stick to it until the very end no matter what.

With a small, sadistic smile on her face, Aspen trudged forward. Where the bookshelves split into three paths, she didn't even look up. Instead, she walked to the path on her left without a thought, repelling all the light inside of the room as she consumed the darkness. It brought her all that she could have wanted, and she fed off of it for her energy. It gave her strength to continue, because it gave her the same feeling as the sight of blood- power.

Power was beautiful; it showed Aspen what she could really do.

Only moments after turning left, Aspen found something blocking her. Papers were loosely strung to each other to build body parts, all of it swirling together in a soft manner to create the shape of a figure. Words decorated the paper, and it didn't take Aspen much intelligence to figure out that the body was made of books. Her eyes caught on the delicate fingers of the figure's right hand, which were curled around the hilt of a sword. The silver blade shone threateningly, catching all of the light in the room.

Aspen's eyes narrowed as she tightened the grip on her knife's handle. The figure in front of her seemed to be a test created by the Gamemakers to test her worth. The figure looked weak and easy to beat, and even though it was probably a trick of the eye, Aspen didn't let herself think.

It was too late for intelligence.

Charging forward with her knife, Aspen relied on her newly learned skills on weapons. She had chosen to pick up the knife, and therefore she had chosen to use her knife rather than her intellectuality. The figure dodged her quickly, and Aspen was left with nothing to slice but air. She growled as she turned around. She would not be looked at like a fool. She would prove them all wrong.

This time, the figure charged at her. It jumped, gaining on her as it cut the space between them in half as each second passed by. She held her knife to the side as she swiftly jumped to the her right. The edge of her blade just grazed the arm of the figure, but it was enough to cause arm. Blood spilled out of the room, it's crimson red color staining the pages of the numerous books which had created it.

That was what it was after all; it was just a character from a book. Literally.

Aspen smiled at her own joke, but her grin only grew wider as the blood gushed from the wound she had created. It made her feel more awake, and just the sight of it gave her more energy. While the figure was still groaning, she lunged at it once more. Yet, to her disappointment, the figure was bluffing. With great speed, it threw its sword forward, grazing Aspen thigh as she tried to avoid the blade.

The pain spread through Aspen as quick as lightning. She grimaced, before glaring at the figure. She had never found glaring to make her feel so... good. The advantage that the figure had gotten on Aspen was all she needed to feel the power and energy surging inside of her. Mustering up as much strength and accuracy as she could, Aspen raised her knife. She released it, watching it soar through the air and find home in the figure's stomach. She smiled as the body of books collapsed, and how the blood gushed out of it, forming a pool around the paper. The paper was soaking in blood, and it submerged itself inside of it, as if it was bathing in it. Aspen wanted to join it because she knew it would give her so much power.

Her fear of silence mattered no more. Power was all that she cared about; all that she wanted.

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District 7 Male: Theo Easton 

It was well known throughout the twenty four of us that I, Theo Easton, might have stood a chance in the games. Not to sound arrogant, but I had strength and hunting knowledge - I was pretty cool. Among the tributes that remained in the waiting area, I was the only one standing. My name had been called, I was summoned to what rumours called the 'private session'. I was to perform for the Gamemakers, to present them with my capabilities, or so I had heard. With long strides, I made my way towards the far end of the room, yanking open one of the doors, letting myself through. The tributes had been called in in district order, I, being from Seven, still had to make my way through a significant amount of people, each with a desire to win the games, each with a desire to kill me.

The feeling was unsettling, of course, the knowledge that everybody in the room wants you dead. I wasn't fond of the idea of killing, but I had a home to return to, and I was going to try, I had told myself.

As I walked through the door, I noticed that the room I had entered was very small. I was quite a large person, tall and lean, I filled quite a lot of space in the room. It felt claustrophobic, a feeling I detested, and so I peered down the corridor for a way out. Book shelves lined the walls. I wasn't much of a reader, in fact, I hated reading. Given a book, I probably wouldn't be able to comprehend most of the words on the page, most people thought I was a bit thick. Nevertheless, I ventured through the hallway, feeling along the shelves with trailing fingers.

When I walked I swung my arms, I held my chin high. I wanted to be able to see everything, but unfortunately, I could only see books. Pages and pages and pages, that's all there was. That was, until I stumbled upon something poking out from between two books. It was silver in colour, smooth looking. I reached out, my veins unusually prominent in my hands from adrenaline, and clutched my hand around the metal. Cold against my skin, my lips twitched into a smile, I recognised the feel. It was a blade, and as I drew my hand away, it was confirmed. A small scratch, not enough to bleed, was left on the inner of my palm. I grabbed onto the blade, feeling it sink into my skin, drawing blood, and pulled it out from between the books. The knife had a fabric handle, and I held onto it with my left hand, while wiping my bloody right on my trousers. Blood didn't bother me, I often cut my hands when up in the trees, I had thick skin.

With the knife in hand, I started strolling through the corridor, a lot calmer now equipped with a weapon. However, I took it as a message from the Gamemakers - there was going to be something that I had to fight.

I approached a junction, three ways. Without much hesitation, I chose to go right. My father had told me that to get out of a maze you had to be consistent, he told me to always turn right. He was quite good at navigation, and I took his word for it, heading down the right lane and holding onto my knife a little tighter. The woods had taught me to always be alert. My senses were tuned into all my surroundings, anything could come at me from any angle. I pushed myself against the book shelf, walking cautiously down the alley, checking over my shoulder, above my head and ahead of me every so often.

A figure came into view. This was my opponent. As I got closer, I saw how it was made of paper - swirls of book pages intertwined with each other to form a person, it was like a skeleton. Somehow, the figure was able to move and walk around, it looked strong too. I held my knife out, not speaking, waiting for the figure to make the first move.

Nothing happened.

The figure didn't move at all, just stared at me with a slightly demonic smile. Perhaps this wasn't my opponent. I attempted to slip past it, ducking underneath it's outstretched arm. The figure extremely quick to cut me off, shoving a fist of balled up paper into my abdomen, I went hurtling backwards, landing on the floor with a thud. Reaching for my knife, I was quick to my feet, bouncing over to the figure again, ready for its next attack. The figure could morph itself, it could fight me with as much strength as I could to it. As I neared, I threw my knife at it, and lodged it into a page covering where its heart would be. Blood, human blood, began seeping through the book page, dripping onto the floor. But the figure ripped the knife out of its chest, and grabbed a book from the shelf beside it. Tearing out a book page, the figure healed its wound with a new piece of paper. This thing was unstoppable.

Had I reached for my knife again, the figure would overpower me, I knew how to fight. I grabbed a selection of heavy books from the shelf, and started chucking them at the figure. It stumbled back, becoming injured by my assault. When it got back far enough, I reached for my knife.

Leaping onto its neck, I curled my body around the paper figure, stabbing my knife into a paper slip on its scalp. The blood spluttered from the wound when I drew my knife out, and started colouring the rest of the paper strips that constructed its body. Though, the wound wasn't enough to destroy it, and the figure used its limbs to whack me off of its body.

I fell to the ground.

The figure climbed over me, and I squeezed onto its wrists as it tried to pin me down. It smashed its head against my face, I howled in pain, the impact stunning my entire being. Bucking my hips, I lifted the figure high enough to wriggle out from underneath, and came back down again with my elbow in its back. Wielding my knife, I started repeatably stabbing the paper in the back. With every punch, blood poured out of its wounds onto my hands, it oozed out onto my clothes and soaked me down. The figure was too weakened to fight back, but I was relentless in my attack. My vision was clouded by red, I continued to bury my knife into the paper, even though the body was destroyed.

With my hands, I ripped the figure apart. Limb by limb, I dismembered the figure, hearing the crack of bones as it came apart. My body was shaking, and as I stood up, my vision cleared.

The sight made me vomit. Bile rose from the back of my throat, the acidity staining my throat and teeth, and the contents of my stomach spluttered out and dribbled down from my lip. I wiped it away with the back of my palm, spreading the blood of the figure all over my face. Tears were resting on my waterlines, I had lost control. My emotions were running high, and although it was over, I couldn't handle it.

Sucking it up, I shoved my foot into the remnants of the body, storming off down the corridor, knocking off a selection of books on my way. I had killed the figure, but with it, I killed a part of my sanity. 

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District 8 Male: Syne Nighes 

The sound of fluttering papers made Syne feel as if he should be relaxing. Instead, his muscles remained taut and tense. The bookshelves towered as high as his eye could see. It felt as if he was inside a library more than a training room.

It hadn't been what he was expecting.

The bookshelves were positioned to form hallways. There were so many it soon became a maze, one that he feared he would never escape from.

Up ahead, the hallway veered sharply to the left. As Syne followed, it led to a place where it opened up into a medium-sized room. On the right side of the room was a sword leaning against a stand, point upward. It glinted off the lights from the chandelier hanging in the center of the room. The room itself had two small tables seated for four—one in the center of the room, and then one on the left side.

Syne reached out to grasp the sword, lifting it off the stand. Books fell from a shelf behind him, making Syne turn around, sword at the ready. Papers fluttered off the shelves all around the room, zipping past him. The paper rolled through the air, twisting and curving until it formed a shape.

Keeping his hands clenching the sword's hilt, Syne peered closer at it, trying to figure out what it was... or how any of this was possible. As he stared at it longer, it seemed to form legs and arms, until the thing looked completely humanoid, except for one small fact:

It was made completely from paper.

Lifting its hands, it darted across the room, yanking out a sword from in-between shelves. Several books fell to the floor as it charged toward Syne.

He brought his sword up, blocking its attack just before it hit him. Without stopping, it continued the movement, striking toward his chest.

Syne jumped backward, but his back slammed against one of the chairs. Gasping for air, he had an instantaneous idea. He grabbed the chair and slammed it against the figure. It reeled back several steps as the chair shattered in half. Several pieces rained down on it, but none of them penetrated the paper.

Right. Paper is tough, which is something most people don't realize, Syne thought. The figure charged toward him again. He ducked underneath its sword and rolled across the table, landing smoothly on his feet on the other side.

Now that they were temporarily separated, Syne had time to think. The figure started toward him again, raising its sword in preparation.

The sword was resting against the shelves. None of the rest were like that, Syne thought to himself.

The figure brought its sword toward his chest from left to right. Syne held his own directly in front of him so that the blade was flat. He slammed it against the figure's head, but it did nothing to stop it.

Maybe it was left there for a reason. I'm not strong enough to penetrate this paper on my own.

Backing up, Syne kicked out as hard as he could. The table flipped over, slamming against the figure. Though it was unharmed, it stopped it from following him.

That gave Syne the time he needed.

He dashed over to where the stand was, and placed the sword back on top of it. Turning around, he darted away from it and held his hands out in front of him.

I've always been a better streetfighter, anyway, Syne thought with a shrug.

The figure dropped its sword and then charged toward him. Syne punched up beneath its jaw before jamming his knee into its stomach. Though the paper was tough, it didn't hurt like it would have had the figure been a real human. Syne thought it was odd that his knuckles weren't in pain from the blows.

The figure front-kicked Syne's chest. Despite that hitting the paper himself hadn't hurt him, when it kicked him, it caused pain to explode in his chest. He gasped for air and doubled over, struggling to breathe.

The figure didn't stop there. It punched his jaw once, then twice, before knife-handing Syne's neck.

Syne gagged and backed away several feet.

Images threatened to surface in his mind, images of his uncle relentlessly beating on him...

Syne shoved the images away, focusing on the fight. Even though that part of his past was one that often haunted him, one thing Syne never did was allow it to interfere with him when he was fighting.

Shifting his weight to his right foot, Syne threw his left one out in a turning kick to the figure's face. The figure reeled back for a moment, but immediately punched Syne's chest three times.

Syne collapsed to the ground, gasping for air once again. Air... Panic seized a hold of him as fear slithered through his veins. His lungs burned, screaming for air—but none came.

Syne coughed, wheezing, and covered his mouth with his right hand. What he saw when he pulled it away froze him to the core.

Inside the palm of his hand was a small circle of blood.

Syne wiped it on his pants, trying to ignore the voice of fear and panic in the back of his mind. This is the third time that's happened since you were Reaped... You have the disease, just like your parents did, a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

"No!" Even though Syne couldn't speak, he screamed the word. It resonated inside his thoughts, struggling for control of his raging, panicked emotions.

The timing has to be perfect, Syne thought, focusing on the fight once again.

The figure charged toward him. Syne raised his hands, shifting his feet into a defensive stance.

Just as it prepared to tackle him, Syne rolled his feet just enough so that the figure's weight was thrown off. The momentum it had forced it up and over Syne's shoulder.

He threw it backward, slamming it onto the sword. The force of the blow combined with the momentum was enough to allow the sword to pierce it threw its heart, killing it.

Syne collapsed onto the ground, panting. Despite that he'd won, he couldn't help but feel as if he'd lost. He glanced back at his palm, eyeing the speared blood. Dread oozed through him and one thought had his entire body quaking with fear.

You're dying.

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District 12 Male: Marcus Silverhand 

Hair rose on the back of Marcus's neck as he entered the evaluation hall. Unease washing over him like a title wave as he took in the sight before him.

The evalution hall was not what he had expected in the slightest. He remembered how in previous games some of the tributes had described it as being barren and grey. But what met Marcus's eye's was far from that. Before him stood the last thing he had expected: bookshelves. Not empty bookshelves, but bookshelves filled with books of all shapes and colors, standing out in in the dim light like uncarved jewels.

Marcus felt a lump rise in his throat, unconsciously grabbing the small rabbit's foot that hung around his neck. Why in Panem where there book's here? Shouldn't there be weapons? Haligraph to face?

Marcus felt a little bit of his hope crumble as a realization hit him. He had expected something typical for therese games. To be thrown into some arena with a forest, a few scary mutts and to be smited by some mighty cerier wielding an axe bigger then his head. But now as Marcus looked around at the book's he realized that these games were going to be much different than any games he had seen.

Fighting the lump in his throat Marcus took a step forward, the heavy rich smell of books making him want to take a deep breath and never let it out. Marcus had never been the reading type, he wasn't good at it, and with taking care of his siblings and working in the mines he had never found time. But right then and there Marcus had an overwhelming urge to get his hands on one of the books.

Marcus blinked, and with that his wonder was gone, and he was faced with why he was here, and what he was supposed to do.

Marcus looked around, what was he supposed to do? Wasn't this an evaluation? The uneasiness returned, they couldn't just expect him to read? What were they playing at? What horrible fate awaited him between the bookshelves?

Marcus began to walk down the hallway of books, scanning the shelves, and running a finger down some of the colorful book spines. As he walked a sudden feeling washed over him, the feeling that he was being watched. Marcus whipped around, his teeth clenched so hard his jaw hurt.

But the hallway of bookcases behind him was empty.

Suddenly feeling uncomfortably warm Marcus continued down the hallway, the small rabbits foot still clutched in his hand.

The book cases suddenly dropped away, and Marcus froze, finding himself at the crossroads of three different paths through the book cases. One to the left, one to the right and one straight ahead.

Marcus swallowed. The crossroads, a place notorious for good and bad luck, his mom had said.

Back in district 12 he would always choose the route without a crossroad when he walked to the mines, even if it took him an extra ten minutes.

Breath held Marcus scanned the empty book lined hallways. He could see nothing, but more than ever he felt like he was being watched, maybe it was just him being paranoid again, but he doubted it. If he had to choose a direction to walk he would turn around and walk right back through the door he had come through and all the way back to 12. But somehow he didn't think that was an option.

Standing as tall as he could Marcus wavered, unsure of which way to go. It shouldn't have been such a big deal just choose a way marcus, he thought to himself, but he couldn't shake the feeling that his decision mattered.

Marcus pushed past his hesitation, and in a wild heartbeat chose his path and turned right.

Marcus started to run, his weary feelings making him on edge, he wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.

He ran down another book lined hallway, breath quickening with each step. He was just about to turn down another hallway when he spotted something white fly up from a still bookshelf, something white, like the wing of an owl, Marcus's heart plummeted. He flung himself back, his heart beating a drum roll in his ears as he crouched down to the floor, mouth going dry.

Not now, not an owl. In his head Marcus relived the last few times he had seen an owl. He remembered the owl perched on his window sill the day his mother had died, he remembered looking out of his window to see the peacekeepers coming for his dad and seeing the grey form of an owl swoop down over their white helmeted heads. Then Marcus remembered the day of the reaping, and the owl that had it had flown over the heads of the waiting children. It was then that he had know he was a dead man. But how could the gamemakers have known about the owl? They couldn't. Could they?

Slowly, Marcus turned his head. His body rigid as he moved forward. It couldn't be an owl, he must have imagined it. Marcus began to peer around the bookshelf, bracing himself to face his omen of bad luck. But just as Marcus was about to look he heard a whisper.

Marcus stood, his brain going into overdrive. First an owl, and now the whispering. To marcus that whispering meant one thing and one thing only, that he as in the presence of a ghost. Marcus swallowed, reminding himself that he was safe. He had his mother's rabbit's foot. It would protect him from any ghost.

Marcus gathered his bravery, then he leapt into between the bookshelves. Rabbit's foot in hand. Ready to face whatever thing from hell awaited him.

As Marcus lept he realize that there was nothing there, the hallway was empty. Confusion wrinkled Marcus's brow.

Then as he watched the silent and still bookshelves something began to happen.

Fluttering pieces of paper peeled away from books, as slow and steady as if they were being blown by wind in slow motion. Marcus watched in horror as the paper's began to speed up, gathering in the middle of the bookshelves in a cyclone of flying papers.

With one final gust of wind the pieces of paper flew together, creating the unmistakable figure of a being.

The figure towered over Marcus, it's skin and limbs nothing but bits of paper molded into the rough shape of a human. That's when Marcus saw the paper weapon in its hand swinging right at him. Marcus leapt back, to stunned to cry out, and to slow to dodge the swing, the paper sword sliced across Marcus's arm. Leaving behind fiery white pain and scarlet blood dripping from his arm.

Marcus didn't wait for the second blow. He turned on his heel and dashed down the hallway like wild fire was at his heels.

What was this thing? Some ghost made out of paper? Marcus thought of the different ways to get rid of the being, they said that salting and burning the bones killed a spirit but there was no way this thing had bones. He could trap it in a salt circle, but he didn't have enough time. And besides, he had no salt. What was he supposed to fight this ghost with?

No sooner had the thought touched his mind then his eye caught the flash of metal between two heavy dark blue books, the unmistakable glint of a sword.

Marcus didn't stop running, he looked around, spotting more weapons between the bookshelves.A mace, a crossbow, something that looked like a chain whip. Marcus ran past them all. There were things to fight wth i here, but weapons wouldn't help him, or would they? Weapons didn't hurt ghosts, but this was no ordinary ghost. Marcus reached his arm out, ready to snatch up a javelin poking awkwardly out of the books. But before he could a gurst of wind blew pat him, so strong it knocked Marcus off balance. Then the paper being appeared before him.

Marus reeled back, turning back the way he had came. the paper being on his heel. Marcus had barely ran down most of the hallway when there was another gust of wind and the being appeared before his again, Marcus whipped around only to be stopped but the being again. Marcus turned, realizing that there was no way out. Then he realized that that wasn't entirely true. With a battle cry marcus threw himself at the bookshelf to his right, scrambling up the shelves as the bookcase began to fall.

Not thinking twice Marcus leapt off the falling bookcase, landing on another book case. Marcus began to run down the length of that book case, glancing back to see the paper creature rise up from the book case he had knocked over.

Macsu leapt across to another bookcase, trying to figure out what to do. That's when something between the bookshelves below caught his eye, in his surprise Marcus stumbled, grabbing the edge of the book case as he toppled over the side. He swung down, landing on his two feet.

Not wasting a moment marcus threw himself at the place in the bookshelves where he had seen what he needed. Marcus snatched a box of matches, opening and grabbing a match with silver quick fingers. He lit a the match.

No sooner had he lit the match then the paper figure appeared, a flurry of torn paper in its wake. Then Marcuse realized he had another problem. If he could get close enough he could throw the match onto the being and set it aflame. But there was no way he could get close enough without getting mauled by its sword.

scrambling in a panic, Marcus reached for a book, flinging the pages open. In one swift motion he set the book aflame. As the flames began to lick at his finger;s Marcus flung the book at the creature.

As soon as the burning book hits the creature flames licked up it's papery skin. Until it was a torch of raging flames, the heat searing Marcus's skin.

Marus watched in horror, instead of just burning dark blood began to pour from the being. Mixing and burning until it was only an mass of slick black blood and smoke. Before it fell onto the floor in a heap of ashes.

Marcus stared at the pile of ashes, and all at once he was reminded of his father, his horrible drunk and abusive father. Marcus had never loved the man, but as he saw the pile of ashes and thought of the dark blood Marcus couldn't stop thinking of the burning house that had killed his father. As horrible as he had been no man deserved that fate. Even a spirit made out of paper and words.

As Marcus watched the pile of ashes the image suddenly flickered, like a grainy TV screen. Then the ashes were gone.

Marcu doubled back in shock. So the beign hadn't been a ghost or spirit at all. It had been a hologram or something created by the gamemakers. It wasn't real at all.

Marcus took deep breath. Half relieved. And yet more on edge than ever. Marcus was going to try to win these games. Not for himself but for his siblings. For Saya, for his brothers. They needed him. But now that Marcus had gotten a taste of what he was going to be up against all hope he had of surviving was trickling away. He prayed he could win these games. He prayed he would at least have a fighting chance. And he prayed that the only ghosts he would have to face were the ones in his head.  

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District 13 Male: Nick Eckhart

At the time the books started to tower surround him; Nicolas's percepts had already been energized. He quietly watched the other players choosing their way, heading forward, none of them coming back.In front of him there were three paths. If he followed the common sense he would have taken the right one but fortunately he was smart enough to consider again and analyze his options.Flickering his eyelids from the darkness he found himself walking down the left path, ignoring the straight one. He looked at the handles of various weapons sticking out but immediately nodded negative holding his dragger which was inside his romper's sleeve. Book pages flew around him making him wonder what the content could be. He started walking quickly as suddenly the pages he saw before connected forming shapes of body parts, creating a some-how humanly figure which blocked his way through. He was not the only one there. People from the other tributes were fighting the monster putting all of their effort in the try. Nicolas judged various swings of its sword meanwhile picturing a plan in his mind, trying to find a way to surpass it. He studied concertedly its moves, disclosing his weapon blocking. As the time passed time he found it hard to respond to it as sweat started streaming down his face.Desperately he looked around him taking deep breaths trying to calm down. What could he do to slow down the monster's attack? It was made off paper. He hid between its legs slicing them, its time a wound open red blood gushed wetting the pages, destroying the material.'That's it' He thought as he started cutting to various places.

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Capital Male: Kolya

"Jesus!" Of all the things Kolya was expecting to see in a dingy old library coved in books a monster made out of paper was not one of them. He touched the hilt of the sword in his hand with joy, it was sharp and gleaming in the light and could not wait for that thing to reach him so he could test it out.

"Looks like turning left was one of the best guesses I've ever made."

Kolya stood there, tossing his hair out of his eyes and standing tall watching the monster lumber toward him. The boy was sure he could take it out because what good is paper and he was a soldier and a captain of an army.

The swords met in the air, the monster towering in his six-foot height over the Capital tribute. It was instantly apparent that Kolya was weaker but agiler.

It was like his fantasy world he lived in became real, all that were missing was his companions and his fellow soldiers. The libraries shelves and piles of books became the slum heaps where he would run off to find his followers and the monster was the enemy who had come to kidnap the cup of freedom from them.

The cup of freedom. A large grin spread across his face as the thought. A world without fathers or mothers who would control kids and a world where there were no fences or fancy clothes and the children would rule.

The boy darted away from the monster crowing in triumph when his sword nicked the things side. But then his eyes opened wide as he watched the blood start to soak into the paper and blur the printing.

Soon Kolya was running circles around the thing, looking for an opening and getting a few. But still the thing wouldn't fall and Kolya laughed softly as he thought what his sister would do is she came up against the same guy.

Probably scream and then hug it as she died, hey at least she would die happy, these piles of books! The boy never understood why someone would read and stay inside when you could make up your own world outside and have fun getting dirty and play with your friends.

"Come on!" He yelled in infuriation as the monster received another cut to its face but still wouldn't go down. But then it swung its sword down and Kolya felt its sword bit into his left arm.

It didn't really hurt at first, but then as he felt something warm trickle down his skin and then the pain come. He swore loudly and instinct told him to flinch away from the shout which would come from his father at such a word. None came and

Kolya realized that no he wasn't at home fighting with his friends and that no, he wasn't training with his father and that yes, this was the real thing and yes, he could very well die.

He felt fright then for maybe the first time in his life and as the boy looked to flee the books caved in around them, a fluttering bruising mess of books blocking his path. The only way was forward and the only way was toward that monster.

"Damn it." He whispered and slowly advanced his sword ready. But then he looked to his right where buried in a pile of books lay a knife. A tiny smile appeared on his face for a moment and he picked up the knife only to take aim and a few seconds later throw it with all his strength.

With a shrill yell which matched the roar of the paper monster, he sprinted forward with his sword raced. All or nothing, death or glory and within a few moment he felt the paper tear and watched the head of the monster fall to the ground.

He yelled again, this time in happiness and joy as he leaped over the thing's body, tossing his hair back once again he ran towards to door in front of him.

Within moments, Koyla was there and turning to see the still body of the monster he opened the door with a laugh and exited the library.