Hi! So this is my new story! I just finished a long fic for Harry Potter and this is my new project - you know it's hard getting used to the smaller fandom so I greatly appreciate readers! And reviews! ;) I've been told I'm a wonder with OCs, so I promise you a good story here.

Other genres include friendship, drama, adventure, tragedy … Should be rather fun :)

Rated T for language, violence. I don't own Hunger Games, but isn't that obvious?

The Video Games

Video Games: my own super special training. Mind Games: of a crazy girl who either welcomes death or can't wait to kill me. Hunger Games: where the girl I fell for would become a martyr. The story of how I short-circuited the uprising in District 3.

Video Games. Mind Games. Hunger Games. I'm gonna start losing count of all these freaking games ...

Part 1: Mind Games

Chapter 1

It was the final stretch. Three left out of twenty-four. Atticus had been wiped out days ago, and I was the only one left to bring home the glory.

And this time, I really thought I would.

We were playing one of my favourite arenas. It was cloudy, dusty. Barren land and concrete. The grey skies reminded me of home. My health bar was seriously low, my stamina not bad, but thankfully I had spare water and berries in my pouch. Absolutely feasting, I was. My weapons were: slingshot, bow and arrows, Master Sword. (And God, I loved that sword.) I had a shield, too, but only wooden, and handmade like the slingshot.

Still, I thought I was doing pretty well today.

I walked along with a grin on my face, tracing my steps back to the Cornucopia. He was waiting for me. Career. Boy #2, or so the words hovering above his head told me. I had no idea where Girl #7 was, but for now I'd just have to deal with each of them as they came.

He seemed to be in perfect maintenance, which was always the case with Careers in the Game. I had been trying to tell Atticus to fix that glitch for ages, but he liked the fact that it was so much harder this way. He'd think differently if he was the one facing them every damn time.

And then came the confrontation.

I got quite a lovely close up of the ugly brute's face. "Any last words?" he snarled.

I had long given up trying to make conversation with the other characters. There were astounding limits to the variety you could get out of them, but I had been at this for years. "Sorry, princess, no time to chat!" I said, as I went straight up to the Career and came crashing down on him with my sword.

He had a proper shield, my sword fell over it and hit no flesh. I met the ground and tumbled swiftly behind him, turning in an instant and wrenching my sword into his back. He staggered and I made a random swipe, slashing his shoulder. In the moment it took me to reorient myself, he had lashed out and bashed his heavy shield into me, knocking the air out of my virtual lungs. I managed to drop my sword as I grabbed either side of his shield, pushing it back with as much strength as I could muster, and then twisted it around to catch him off his feet. He fell, but my stamina was lost and I stood immobilised for exactly three seconds before the bar began to fill itself again. And that was all the time he needed to get to his feet, reach for his sword and sink it deep into my side. My wooden shield had snapped right in two, and I brought one of the pieces down hard against his skull.

I fell to the ground in exhaustion and couldn't move for another couple of seconds. Boy #2 staggered again, but only staggered. Then he threw his sword down and took out a knife. But my slingshot was already in my grasp, and an invisibly fast Deku seed hit his meaty knuckle. The knife fell right out of his fingers and bounced on the hard rocky ground. I laughed out loud in astonishment. He really wasn't the brightest, this one. The next seed went right into one of his small, dumb eyes. And then the other. Strength was next to nothing without sense, and the Careers were thick as shit.

It was almost over, I could feel the excitement welling up in my chest as I got to my feet and found my sword. Boy #2 had fallen to his knees, clutching his hands over his bloodied eye sockets.

What a loser.

I stood over him, kicking off his armour ruthlessly. I raised my sword, holding it straight up in the direction of the midday sun.

…

And then the world flickered around me and I was back in my room, standing with my arms in the air, my hands clasped around nothing. On the TV screen, the Career was still writhing in pain, blind and weaponless. And my character fell limply to the ground. Dead.

"What the hell?" I yelled.

Then the Career spasmed and went still, too. I ran at the screen, pressing my face to it as the words YOU LOSE flashed tauntingly in red letters.

The screen split. On the right, it showed the winner. Girl #7. On the left it zoomed in on my character. Curly hair of darkest brown, and pale skin. Incredibly good-looking, of course. There was a dart in his neck.

I stared furiously at the TV, clenching my teeth.

From beside me, Atticus said, "Hard luck, Sparky."

"Man, your game sucks," I snapped.

The image faded into black and the words MAY THE ODDS BE EVER IN YOUR FAVOUR glowed in eerie florescent white.

Just then, my mom walked in.

Atticus and I jumped up. He spun around and blocked the TV from her view as I lunged for the flick to change the channel.

Mom blinked and looked at us suspiciously. "Hi, boys."

"Hi, Mrs Clarke," chirped Atticus.

I paused for a moment and then hastily ripped off the headset and gloves.

Mom looked at me. "What game were you playing?"

"Uh … Zelda," I replied, super casual and all. "I still can't get past the balance puzzle in the Temple of Time."

She nodded knowingly because she had no idea what I was talking about. Zelda's even farther in ancient history than she was. "There's cookies downstairs. Are you staying for lunch, Atticus?"

"No thank you, Mrs Clarke. Gotta be home by two anyway."

"Of course," she said softly, smiling her worried-mother-on-Reaping-Day smile. She sighed slightly pathetically and looked at me. "Your new clothes are on the banisters, Kale. Don't forget to clean up."

"I won't, Mom," I said impatiently. She got the hint and left us alone, shutting the door carefully behind her.

Atticus looked at the TV, where some prehistoric sitcom was playing. He pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Wanna rematch?" he asked me.

"It's always the same!" I complained. "It's those sneaky ones with their stupid sneaky mind games. I can never beat them."

Atticus looked at me and shrugged. "At least it's just a game."

I nodded, turning off the game station and flinging myself onto my bed.

It was just a game. But the Hunger Games it was based on were very, very real.

I was still thinking about it as we marched into procession around the Town Square. Straight shoulders and brave faces. I should have been thinking about the real-life reaping today, only minutes away. But I wasn't, I really wasn't.

It was the Game. It was all I ever thought about.

Every time I played, the same thing happened. I knew how to handle the weak ones. I knew how to handle the fast ones. The sneaky ones. The strong ones. I could pick them off with arrows from a distance, fight in direct combat, slit their throats in their sleeps and track them down in any terrain. I knew their weaknesses. It had taken me years to figure it all out. Some would hide, you had to find them. Some would run, you had to trap them. And some would fight. I was hopeless against Careers in the beginning, but over time I learned how to wield a weapon. Use their strength against them. Find their vulnerabilities. A massive guy from District 2 was nothing if you took away his eyes. He'd actually be more dangerous if you didn't know how to handle it, but I did. They would do anything to kill you blindly, but they never learn how to use their ears. And that's how you win.

The problem was, I had never actually won before.

It was Atticus's game. He invented it, or whatever you want to call it. I was the tester, and I played it relentlessly. We presumed it was illegal, the Hunger Games were not to be taken lightly and we were practically making a mockery of the occasion by playing it on a game station every single day. It was shocking. Outrageous. TOTALLY insensitive. That's why we kept it a secret.

It was the first video game I had ever played that I could not complete. I blamed him for that, for programming it to be impossible. He insisted it wasn't.

I just wasn't a winner.

Yeah. WHATEVER.

It was the clever, unpredictable ones that caught me out every time. There was always one tribute that you couldn't quite define; one who had no obvious skill or tactic that you could pinpoint and overcome. They could play games in your head, even in the Video Games. I never knew how to defeat them.

You might think this game was a great training method, but to be honest it would be no help whatsoever in the real Hunger Games. Unpredictability was an even bigger problem in real life. Atticus was a computer genius, but even he couldn't programme such complex consciousness into each tribute to compare with real working minds. That's how I knew I'd never survive the real games. My one weakness was central to reality.

I played it because it was a game. And I, a gamer.

I needed to WIN.

I was a little obsessed. Maybe.

I didn't even care about the reaping, I really didn't. My mind was on the virtual reality set back at home. But I forced myself to nod supportively to the other eighteens from District 3, listen to Mayor Horwell tell the tale of our history. The history of the Hunger Games. I can't even remember when I stopped being absolutely terrified for my life. Maybe it had something to do with the virtual death I died on a daily basis. At some point the Video Games had become reality for me, the Hunger Games just make-believe. The reaping really was just another day of the year.

I had seven slips. Oscar was at the podium. Happy Hunger Games, he was saying. Ladies first, he was saying. Skipping to the glass bowl, skipping back to the microphone. I just wanted to go home.

My eyes followed the turning heads to a girl I hardly recognised. She heard them call her name, and wrinkled her brow as everyone around pulled expressions of sympathy. The other girls tried not to look too relieved for her sake, and the boys simply took a moment from varying states of pure frozen terror to look a little brave. I mean, what else could we do?

I forgot her name almost instantly. And she didn't move, just raised her chin to frown thoughtfully at the sky. Just before the Peacekeepers were forced to come over and pull her away, she looked around and grinned.

Yeah, that's right. She actually grinned.

Now there was a surprise. The unpredictability of real people!

That must have been a first from our District. And it wasn't a manic, I'mma kill ALL you bitches! kind of Career smirk or the typical, Don't worry, Mom, I'm going to be all right little smile. It was just a grin. She looked sort of happy. Or relieved, maybe.

She simply shrugged off the Peacekeepers and let them direct her up to the stage. She looked around her as she strolled up with her hands in her pockets, as if casually going up there to accept her prize from the raffle. Satan's Raffle. First prize: your head on a platter. To be served at the Capitol!

She never looked into anyone's face.

Oscar welcomed her warmly onto the stage, and the girl sort of cocked her head ironically and chuckled. Oh my God, she was crazy. TOTALLY INSANE. That was the only explanation.

Everyone watched on painfully. I felt sorry for her. I mean, of course I always feel sorry for the tributes because it's a pretty shit thing to happen. But this one … Well, she was different. She clearly wasn't right in the head. It was sad. Poor Crazy Girl.

"Congratulations, Annelida!" Oscar rolled on excitedly. Oscar was the escort for District 3. He was a massively tall, massively fat man who always looked rather dapper in pastel-coloured suits. I always liked Oscar. He clashed so nicely with our grey factory skies. Some interference echoed out from the microphone for a split second. "Am I saying that right? Annelida?"

"Yeah, perfect," the girl said, sounding bored. "And thank you very much." She grinned widely again, looking out into the crowd. Then her face immediately set back into the tiny frown she wore when she first heard her name, and she stared up at the sky.

Ah, very interesting. So she was either completely loony … or she was Playing the Game.

The Crazy Girl (as I so christened her) was skinny and small but must have been around my age, at the older end of the reapee spectrum. Maybe it was her last year in the big glass bowl. That's pretty shit luck. She didn't look like she'd know much about how to survive in the Games. But she didn't seem too fussed by it all. Then again, maybe that was just what she wanted you to think.

Yeah, there was definitely some serious game being played here. She was pretty cool, standing up there with her teeny frown and her confidence. Arrogance. I began to expand my two earlier hypotheses. One: she was literally insane and really couldn't wait to stab a knife into the first person that came anywhere near her. Or two: she was acting tough in order to be taken seriously.

It was one thing acting like you didn't give a damn, but I just didn't think it was believable. She couldn't possibly be that confident.

And what was with the smile?

Maybe she was crazy.

And sadistic.

Crazy sadistic bitch.

I vaguely realised that Crazy Girl was exactly the type I could never defeat.

Suddenly, everything went quiet and every head was turning again. Shit! I had been so distracted (reminding myself to take note of Crazy Girl's strategies later on while watching the Games from the safety of my sitting room) to even hear Oscar call out the name of the male tribute from District 3. And, you know, that was the only one I really gave a shit about. No offence, ladies. (And don't call me insensitive because I really don't care what you think.) I looked around dazedly. The kids behind me were looking ahead, but those in front were turning around to look behind.

I glanced to my right. "Dude, who is it?" I tried to whisper, but to be honest I never really learned that skill. (And yes, it's a skill.)

Atticus was staring right at me, his eyes ridiculously huge behind his square-rimmed glasses. I spun around, and the guy on my other side met my eyes as well.

At first I thought it was because I had spoken too loudly and out of place.

But then I realised that no boy was making his way up to the stage.

No.

What?

More people were staring at me now.

Why were they staring at me?

At me …

Oh shit. Wait, what?

I glanced back at Atticus, whose breaths were coming like an asthma attack right now.

"Dude …" I said slowly.

"Kale Clarke?" trilled the voice of Oscar Plumpton. "Where are you, kid?"

…

Oh. Holy. Christ.