Author's Note:

Wow, guys. So I'm back.

Thank you so much for all your encouraging reviews; reading them made me incredibly happy that all of you enjoyed this fic. I'll get back to each of them individually as well when I get the chance. Also, apologies for leaving you hanging for so long. I kind of took a two-year hiatus from fanfiction, but then I picked up Pokemon again recently and well, fell right back in love with it, and revisited this little document in my files, and before I knew it I was finishing Chapter Four. So the adventure continues!

In this chapter, you get some more glimpses of the other tributes, and moreover, you get to hear from some perspectives other than Blue's! Yay! I hope the massive break didn't affect the rhythm of the story too much. Reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated, especially while I'm still getting back in the swing of things.

So without further ado, here's your (very belated) next installment of the Hungry Pokemon Games!

Chapter Four

The Training Center rose twelve floors high in the City Circle, a stark, rectangular fortress that turned its silver sheen out for the whole city to see. Contrary to what someone might have suspected from its name, the center served as more than a place where the tributes trained before the Games began—it would also be their home, where they, along with their teams, ate and slept and spent whatever free time they had within its walls. The Center cast an impressive shadow at the perimeter of the City Circle, a distance away from the rest of the buildings in the Circle, where the most prestigious Capitol folk, and even President Ghetsis Harmonia himself, lived.

But there was something hard and steely about the building where the others only gleamed and glistened a harmless gold, something cold and sharp and fortress-like that hinted at the grim reality of what happened inside, what the building was meant to prepare them for, which was certainly more than leisure and good food. It wasn't like they could have enjoyed their time there, anyway.

White shivered as she and Black stepped into the elevator, ushered in by Skyla, their alarmingly cheerful mentor, and Austin Ace, their escort, a tall, thin man in his twenties who had flattened his hair and dyed it a bright shade of blue. The Panem anthem was still pounding in their ears from the whole ride of the opening ceremonies, her shoulders tight from raising her arms in the air for so long. She wrapped her arms around herself, conscious of the golden fabric crinkling around her shoulders.

"Oh, don't do that!" Skyla blurted. "You wouldn't want to ruin that pretty costume, now, would you?"

White blinked, momentarily stunned by the sight of the crystal walls of the elevator around them. There had been elevators back in District 6, sure—they weren't the transportation district for nothing—but they were purely utilitarian, rectangular and black and boxy like most things in the district. This, on the other hand, was a completely different matter. Rainbow flecks danced off each intricately carved ridge whenever the light fell against it, sparkling and shifting at every angle—and the walls were completely transparent.

When she looked down, she could still see the other tributes through it, eyeing each other suspiciously as their stylists fussed over them and their outfits. The Careers had formed a loose cluster, she noticed—the dark-haired girl, the brunette with the fangs, the blond boy, even the serious-looking boy and the pretty girl from District 4 edging their way over—and looked like they were eyeing each other appraisingly up and down as they started to make conversation. She was sure it was no coincidence. The Careers almost always formed an alliance in the Hungry Pokemon Games. Before ripping each other apart.

"Hello-o? Did ya hear me?"

"Oh!" White turned to see Skyla waving her hand frantically in her face and bouncing on her toes. "No, I…I guess not."

"Good!" Skyla beamed, and White wondered for a moment if she had won her Games by smiling other people to death. There was no way someone could be that happy after being in the Games, was there?

She turned her gaze back outside the elevator and toward the tributes, stylists fiddling with their costumes and taking some of the more cumbersome parts off to let their young charges breathe. A cold chill trickled down her spine as her eyes stopped on one of the chariots.

Right there, there in front of the elevator, right in front of them—there was N, with his bizarre black and white costume, the two halves of the dragon that had created Panem, as Black had pointed out to the others. He was openly staring at the other tributes with a strange look in his eyes that made White feel funny—something that looked like longing and curiosity, sure, but the kind of curiosity that scientists had when they were examining a Pokemon they had never seen before, not that of a tribute sizing up his competitors. His head was cocked slightly to the side, white-streaked tendrils of hair tumbling over his shoulder, and as White watched, he leaned over and murmured something to the odd man in the brown hood next to him. The man nodded and bowed his head respectfully when he answered, and N nodded back and went back to his unabashed staring.

The elevator started to rise, as smoothly as the train that had taken them to the Capitol had slid along the tracks, and White tore her gaze away from them.

"Well, anyway. We'll be staying on floor six," Skyla was saying in that loud, impossibly chirpy way of hers. "See, it's easy to tell where to go on this elevator—you press the number of your district, and voila, that's the floor you're on! Easy, isn't it?" Her voice filled the entire elevator, and White suddenly remembered that back in District 6, she had been in charge of flying airplanes back in Panem before she became a victor. Maybe that was why she spoke so loudly, White mused, since she had to shout over the roar of engines so often.

Next to her, Austin gave a peculiar shudder. "I'm not a huge fan of heights, to be honest," he said in his peculiar Capitol accent. "It's too bad they make these elevators so transparent!"

"Well, at least you only have to ride this elevator once every year!" Skyla giggled, her laughter bouncing off the walls.

"Pssst."

White turned, surprised, at the sound of the whisper in her ear.

Black was leaning toward her, a friendly smile on his face. He slid an inch closer to her and lowered his voice so that Skyla and Austin couldn't hear.

"Can you believe she ever won the Games?"

"What do you mean?" White whispered back.

He grinned, his brown eyes warm. "Actually, never mind, it's pretty easy to believe. If she's that enthusiastic about elevators, can you imagine what she'd be like about…y'know…" Black made a chopping motion with his hands, and gruesome as the whole thing was, White couldn't help but crack a smile.

"Yeah, I guess she would be pretty crazy," she whispered back.

She uncrossed her arms and promptly started shivering again, shoulders convulsing violently and making the golden sequins on her costume rattle.

The truth was, she had been trying to think about the Games and what they entailed as little as possible ever since she had arrived. Trying to think about anything else, really. She focused on the food, delicious and rich as it was, especially compared to the perpetually hollow sensation in her stomach of never having quite enough to eat, on the scenery zooming by outside the train windows, on how fast the trains went compared to the ones in District 6, on the bizarre Capitol fashions she now saw everywhere—and on Black.

Her fellow tribute was nice enough—a little impulsive, maybe, but he smiled often and made a seemingly genuine effort to talk to her. He had warm brown eyes and joked around during the whole train ride, opening up to her about his life as they sped through the plains. As he spoke, White had suddenly remembered seeing him around the Battle Subway a few times when she was working there, gazing up at the windows with a thoughtful, determined gleam in his eyes. She kept track of the people she saw walking by on the subway; it was good for business.

Ghetsis had outlawed Pokemon battling years ago, of course, but out of habit and tradition and maybe a pinch of defiance, the people still called the old subway system the Battle Subway, for the battles that people who rode it used to have on each car. The government had since renamed it the "Trans-Panem Subway," but it was no use; the old name had stuck, and no one except the officials had ever adopted the new name.

"I remember seeing you, too," Black had said suddenly with a friendly grin when she told him, and since she couldn't hide it, White had somehow found herself opening up to him about what she did back home.

White worked with Pokemon on the Battle Subway. It had begun a few years ago, though she could remember it as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. There were almost always musicians who lingered around the station, strumming their guitars and singing, and dancers who kicked their legs around, winning occasional hoots from the busy passerby—even the occasional artist, laying out their latest work for travelers to buy and winning a few coins just like the others.

At first, when she was young, White had been afraid—not of the artists, but of the Peacekeepers stationed around the platform who stared at them with narrowed, stony eyes. She had been terrified that they would hurt them for breaking rules, for taking money from the passerby, for making music, for Arceus's sake. But to her surprise, they had never lifted a finger, much less the guns and Poke Balls they carried on their belts. It seemed that even the Peacekeepers welcomed the break from the day, and since then, the Battle Subway had always been a place where people could relax, even for just a moment, just one smile, from the regime of the Capitol and from their daily, harried tasks, struggling to make ends meet just to survive in the greasy, smog-filled district, where they could hear music and see beautiful paintings and other signs of life, of hope, that she was sure the Capitol would have banned.

She remembered one musician who had been strumming on his guitar, when a pet Minccino that a girl had been carrying as she walked by leaped out of her arms, to her owner's alarm, and scurried over to the man. White had watched with fascination as the Minccino started to twirl in time with the man's strums, pirouetting across the grimy floor next to piles of trash and puddles that smelled suspiciously like urine. People around her had clapped and laughed as it started dancing, twitching its tail and leaping up and down in time to the music. Afterward, even when she went back to her usual place at the platform, she couldn't forget the sparkle of satisfaction in the Minccino's eyes, how proud it had looked as it took a last, flowery bow before scampering back into its owner's arms.

And so, she figured, why couldn't she be like one of the artists and musicians who laid out their goods around the station? Except she would do something different from them—she would let the Pokemon perform.

Pokemon, too, needed a form of expression, White realized, needed their own moments of joy in the spotlight. So she began enlisting Pokemon from various people she knew from school, people who were willing to lend their pets to her and watch them dance and frolic in time to the musicians' songs at the station.

To her shock, the project—or whatever it was—was a wild success. People tossed coins at her in flocks as they passed by, and if they could stop for even a moment, they cheered for every song. At first, her parents had been terrified that the Peacekeepers would come after her, but soon, they were thrilled when she dropped the engineering job she had worked before because she didn't need the money anymore. White slowly expanded her performances from songs and dances to include short comedy skits where the Pokemon acted scenarios out with each other. After that, people even volunteered to work for her gig, playing songs for the Pokemon to dance to, and to her delight, it had flourished into a company.

"And that's how the BW Agency began," she finished, brimming with a confidence that surprised her. She had been ready to cry a moment ago, but somehow, the memory of home had almost made her smile.

Black had nodded and listened to her intently, his brown eyes shining, and when White finished her story, she could hardly believe what she had said to him. She bit her tongue, but it was too late to take it back. She had sworn to herself that she would trust no one in the Games, and yet there she was, opening herself up to Black while he beamed at her and exclaimed, "That's wonderful! Really, that's awesome! I wish I could do something like that!", acting as friendly and animated as that Minccino had been on that very first day.

Even if he has to kill me later, she thought, the thought somehow managing to slip its way through, and felt a convulsive shudder ripple through her body again. I won't even be able to go back. I'll never see those Pokemon again. I won't be able to watch them dance, or clap for them, or see my friends and family ever again…

"Are you cold?" Skyla blurted.

"Um—um—" Instinctively, White crossed her arms again, and felt goosebumps raised along her skin. It was easier than telling the truth. "Uh, yeah, a little."

Skyla smiled sympathetically. "Don't worry, we'll get you out of that costume as soon as we get there. You can shower right away, and you can put on your new, pretty Capitol clothes!" She turned over her shoulder with a grin. "Right, Austin?"

Austin nodded, though he was still staring down at the distancing crowd, who now looked more like tiny Joltik than anything, with an apprehensive gleam in his eye. "Yes. We have her clothes all ready for her arrival." He dusted his hands. "Punctuality is everything!"

"Exactly!" Skyla turned back, beaming. "You'll see. They'll be gorgeous." She clapped her hands. "I just love the Capitol fashions."

Skyla seemed to be one of the victors who had adopted the fashions of the Capitol after winning her Games, White knew. Most of them returned to wearing the regular clothes from their districts, but Skyla could always be seen in the bright colors and eccentric cuts of the Capitol now. Though she seemed to favor the particularly skimpy outfits they had to offer. The light blue one she was wearing now left her stomach and her legs bare, pulling tight across her chest.

Still, White thought, Maybe she's not so bad after all, and then the crystal doors slid open with a short, musical hum.

Her breath caught in her throat, and next to her, she heard Black let out a hushed "Wow…" under his breath.

Their living quarters in the Training Center were simultaneously as plush and high-tech as anything she had ever seen, luxurious fabrics and designs covering every inch of the place, offset by the sprawling panes of translucent glass and dark, shiny marble that seemed to separate one room from another. They were facing what White guessed was the living room, thick velvet couches spaced out, with a huge window overlooking the Capitol taking up the entirety of one wall and a television nearly as large on the wall adjacent to it. A hallway stretched out on either side of the room, and behind the translucent glass pane on the opposite side of the room, she could make out what looked like a dining table surrounded by tall, ornate chairs and decorated with a vase of bright orange and purple flowers.

As soon as they stepped out the door, Skyla spun around and rounded on Black.

"Why did you tell them the legend?" she demanded, leaning down and pushing her face into his.

Black leaped back. "What?" he exclaimed, eyes wide. "What are you talking about?"

"I said, why did you tell them the legend? About Reshiram and Zekrom! You should have kept it to yourself!"

Black raised an arm to shield his face. "What—agh—but why?"

"For all you know, that could have been a useful strategy," Skyla bellowed, harrumphing and wrinkling her nose as she finally took a step back. He tentatively lowered her arm, then snapped it back up when she started talking again. "If you knew that N has some connection to the legend of Reshiram and Zekrom, that knowledge could have helped you in the arena! Too bad you gave it away. Now everyone knows. Fat use that will be for you in the arena." She took a deep breath, her cheeks swelling with indignation and turning almost as magenta as her hair. "And if they figure it out before you…"

"I'm sorry," Black muttered. "I just didn't see how that could help."

Skyla stood on her tiptoes, towering over him with her tall loop of magenta hair, and he shrank back.

"Oh, if President Harmonia bothered to dress his son up in a costume like that, you know it could be important. Besides, you never know with the Games! Anything can happen. Anything can help you. So you have to use everything you've got. That's Lesson Number One that I have to teach you, as your mentor!" She punched her fist in the air for emphasis, and Black backed away another step.

"Okay, okay, I get it." He thrust his hands out in front of his chest. "Sorry, I won't tell them anything else! I swear!"

As quickly as her outburst had begun, Skyla dropped her hand and smiled again, her eyes shining as if nothing had happened.

"Okay. As long as you know that."

Black backed away a few more steps and made sure she wasn't still watching him before turning toward White, his jaw dropping.

"See? I told you!" he hissed in her ear. "She's crazy!"

White couldn't help but giggle.

Still, her stomach was churning with dread as Austin emerged from the other room (looking much more comfortable now that he was on solid ground) and handed her the clothes she would be wearing in the Capitol—a flowy white tunic, embellished with soft, fluttering ruffles and an artful sprinkle of sequins, a pair of black leggings, and sleek black boots covered with sparkles. Despite herself, the mental image of herself standing in front of a camera wearing the outfit, a Tepig or two clutched in her arms, flashed through her mind. White thanked him as he piled them into her arms and pointed her in the direction of her room, toward the wing to the right.

The inside of White's room was no less breathtaking than the rest of their quarters—huge, spacious, pearly walls tinted with the lightest shade of pink. A balcony jutted out to offer a breathtaking view of the city sprawled out below, golden roofs gleaming in the sunlight. The bed was almost as large as her entire room back home. White couldn't keep herself from flopping back on the mattress, sighing with contentment when she sank a few inches in and running the silky sheets through her fingers.

The shower was in an adjoining bathroom, and when White stepped inside, she was sure she spent a full minute gaping at the wall. Countless buttons and controls covered the panel with over a hundred different options controlling water temperature, pressure, soaps, shampoos, conditioners, lotions, oils, and massaging sponges. Her mouth opened in a tiny O; what if she could use these on the Pokemon in the BW Agency? What fashionable starlets they would be! Almost smiling to herself, White held the image in her mind as she spent even longer showering and experimenting with each of them. When she stepped outside, she pressed a button that sent a warm wave of air through her hair, and it cascaded to her shoulders in a smooth waterfall of brown curls.

After she finished dressing, she pulled on a pink, shiny jacket over her shoulders that felt bizarre after the coarse fabric of the clothes from back home. Cautiously, she peered into the full-length mirror that hung from the door of her closet—already filled with rows of colorful Capitol clothes—and flashed her reflection a tentative smile. The ensemble wasn't as bad as she was sure it could have been, judging from the citizens of the Capitol, but she still missed her familiar black vest, shorts, and combat boots. They, at least, reminded her of home.

Soon, Black emerged from his room, sporting a blue vest and strange, pointy shoes that actually curled at the tip. He greeted her cheerfully, and White returned the gesture with a shy smile.

"Imagine trying to walk around at home like this!" he exclaimed, kicking one foot into the air and then the other. White couldn't help but giggle.

"The transportation district can't even transport people around on their own legs," she tried quipping, and was rewarded by a loud hoot of laughter from her fellow tribute.

The two of them settled on the couch, and spent the afternoon scrolling through the channels of the TV in the living room. They found that there was one channel for each district—unlike in the districts, when there was only the main, Capitol-controlled channel broadcast all day—and that there was even a special feature where they could pan across the districts, focusing in on places they knew. White felt a homesick twist in her stomach as they swept over a bird's-eye view of District 6, rolling over the beige apartment buildings and the grand roof of the Battle Subway. Black pointed out to her where his house was, and she showed him hers, swallowing the lump in her throat. At least they couldn't see the people.

It alarmed her how much she liked Black. She had trudged onto the stage in the square ready to steel herself against all of the other tributes, especially her fellow tribute, who, as all the tributes knew and dreaded, could very well be someone she knew—but even though he wasn't, something about him was so damn likable. His warm grin, the way he chattered away to her as if there were no barriers between them, as if they were old friends, caught her off guard. But she couldn't like him, no matter how friendly he was. Maybe it was his strategy, White thought. Or maybe he was trying to form an alliance with her. Alliances were good. But trust—too much trust—was very, very bad.

When Skyla loudly announced that dinner would be served in fifteen minutes, White wasn't sure she would have the appetite to scarf it down, as delicious as the Capitol food was. The sky outside had turned a bright orange, as if it was reflecting the gold of the Capitols' roofs through a distorted lens. What if, despite how potentially unstable she might be, Skyla was right? What if the knowledge Black had told the other tributes could have helped them, in some way or another? What if Black had ruined it?

The table was lavishly set by the time White arrived, her stomach squirming with an uncomfortable mix of hunger and dread. Someone had changed the flowers, and they now gave off a peculiar, almost spicy fragrance into the air. A lacy tablecloth was spread across the table underneath it.

"We have the best dish from the Capitol today," Skyla gushed, clapping as they sat down around the table, "just to welcome you here. Each floor has their own chef, you know." She gave White a once-over and beamed. "Oh, you look beautiful!"

She smiled. "Thanks!"

Black, too, had changed his clothes, she noticed, into a soft blue shirt that hung loosely over his lean frame and pleated green pants. He gave her a smile as she sat down next to him, and she hurriedly returned it.

"So you should both know that your training starts tomorrow," Skyla was saying as a delicious scent wafted into the room. White closed her eyes and sniffed, and a moment later, the doors swung open. Two tall, thin men filed in, their arms loaded with steaming platters, and set down plate after plate of food on the table. White took them in eagerly with her eyes; the sights of the food were nearly as pretty as they tasted. She noticed a colorful plate of salad, a bowl of crackers with delicately ridged edges, and a bowl of creamy soup at each of their places. Last came a tray of glasses filled with a dark red liquid. As one of the men leaned toward her to set it down, she gave him a smile, but to her surprise, he quickly lowered his eyes and turned away.

"Yes, that's wine," Skyla piped up with a wicked grin, catching the surprised look on her face. "Whaddya know, huh—come to the Capitol for the Games, and you get to have your very first drink."

"I don't know if that's—" White started, but she never finished her sentence.

At that moment, she and Skyla both turned at the loud clatter from across the table. Black had dropped his fork on his plate and was gaping up at the men who had carried their food in.

"Wait—I know you!" he shouted.

White didn't miss the way both Skyla and Austin's eyebrows shot up in alarm at his exclamation. She peered up at the two men and realized with a chill that he was right; they did look familiar. They had identical oval faces, one frowning, one smiling a smile that didn't reach his eyes. Both of them looked stunned and exposed, as if Black had suddenly lifted a curtain away from their faces.

White frowned. How had she and Black both seen them before? How was that possible? She couldn't remember ever having met them…

But then again, she didn't have to have met them.

"Right," she said softly, the realization dawning on her. "I remember where."

Skyla turned toward her sharply. "Where?"

White set down her fork, hesitating. It couldn't hurt to say, could it? She was almost sure… "In—in a textbook."

"A textbook?" their mentor echoed, furrowing her eyebrows. "How?"

"No, she's right!" Black exclaimed. "I remember now! I don't remember which textbook, but I remembering seeing them in it!"

"Oh, yes," said Austin disdainfully, as he took a sip of his wine and closed his eyes in appreciation. The atmosphere around the table seemed to have relaxed. "I suppose that could be true." He dabbed at his chin with a napkin and scowled. "Avoxes."

"Avoxes?" Black asked. "What's an Avox?"

"Oh, don't be silly, Black!" Skyla exclaimed, though a little too shrilly, even for Skyla. "An Avox is someone who has committed a crime. Here at the Capitol, they cut their tongues off so they can't speak, and they do all the random chores around here. Like bringing us food. So these two are probably traitors."

"No, it's true. I…I think I remember where I've seen them," White said, not even flinching when Skyla and Austin turned to stare at her. She was sure now. "They were in a textbook we were reading at school. We were studying the history of the Ba—I mean, the Trans-Panem Subway. These guys…they were the two Subway Bosses back in the day, weren't they?"

She could tell by the shocked way the two men's eyes widened as they stared down at her that she was right. White looked down, her stomach knotting into something that felt curiously like sadness.

"Ingo and Emmet, right?" she murmured. She couldn't bear to meet their eyes.

"Why, yes. Well, that would make sense, then." Skyla's voice was uncharacteristically steady and matter-of-fact when she spoke. "They were the worst exploiters of the…cruelties of the Battle Subway. Not only did trainers hurt each other's Pokemon when they rode on it, but when all that was said and done, they had to face these two at the end for an ultimate battle, injuring their poor, abused Pokemon all the more. So of course these men were punished."

"Yes. Traitors. They defied the Capitol and President Harmonia's laws. Let's not speak of them anymore; it's ruining my appetite." Austin flung his napkin aside and shooed his hand at Ingo and Emmet. "Well, you've brought our food, haven't you? You're dismissed." The two men nodded and scurried out as quickly as they could, heads lowered, their once tall, if White remembered from the books, postures now identically stooped.

Dinner passed quickly and awkwardly after that. Ingo and Emmet came back a few more times to deliver the entrée—lamb stew with plums—and to carry in a towering cake for dessert. White thought her appetite had come back, but now she wasn't sure if she could stomach the food, guilt settling where her hunger would have been. What if she had hurt them, somehow, by mentioning their names? By reminding the people of the Capitol just how hated they had been for putting all the poor Pokemon through so much trauma? Black tried to make conversation throughout dinner, as loud as cheerful and he was, but White could hardly bring herself to smile back at him, and even he seemed like he was talking too quickly for the occasion, even chatting with Skyla. She couldn't shake the image of their faces, of their silence, from her mind as she swallowed spoonful after spoonful of stew and soup and cake.

"I've been gathering sponsors for you," Austin was telling them in his wry, accented voice. "You'll be glad to hear that you got quite a few. The people liked your costumes, and the way you held hands was a good touch. I've been trying to come up with clever slogans—mostly telling them how you 'make Panem go 'round.' Not bad for the transportation district, eh?" He smiled, and White and Black immediately lavished their congratulations on him.

After dinner, Skyla treated them to an extensive lecture of the basics of survival, complete with loud anecdotes and motivational speeches where she jumped up from her chair and ran around in circles, punching her fist into the air. How to find shelter. How to make a fire—but not at night, when it would be like waving a neon sign of their location to the other tributes. How to hunt, and kill for food. How to find water. How to get through the training that would begin tomorrow. How more often than not, alliances were necessary in the earlier parts of the Games—but how, especially as the Games progresssed, they shoudn't trust their allies too much, or become too attached. White forced herself to keep staring straight ahead, all too aware of Black sitting right next to her, eyes wide and fixed raptly on Skyla.

After that, their mentor yawned. "I'm going to go to bed now, you two," she announced. "You should probably do the same, soon. Best to get a good night's sleep before the training starts."

White cast a glance at the clock. Skyla was right; it was getting late. Sleep probably wouldn't come easily, but she could at least try.

She and Black said their "good night"s, and then she trudged down the hallway into her room and changed into a pair of silken pajamas from her enormous closet. She curled herself in the impossibly soft, thick sheets and lay on her side, waiting for sleep to come.

It didn't. Instead, White lay awake, thinking, pressing her cheek tightly against her pillow. In the quiet, she could hear the Capitol folks celebrating outside like they always did during the Hungry Pokemon Games each year, their raucous laughter and music wafting up through her window. A few times, she almost burst into tears. Who could she trust now? Who could she turn to? Not her mother or her father, not the Pokemon or the human colleagues she had had back in the BW Agency in District 6. The only person she had was Black, but ultimately, as much as the thought made her want to cry or vomit, she wasn't sure which, he was out for her blood just as much as the rest of them were. District ties often translated into alliances at the beginning of a Games, but at the end, nothing transcended the fact that there would only be one winner out of twenty-four. Twenty-five.

Twenty-five.

Tribute Number Twenty-Five.

White jumped to her feet. That was it.

What she needed now was answers, she thought as she began pacing across the floor, her feet sinking into the luxurious carpet, adrenaline seeping through her veins. How she could possibly hope to win the Games, when she had never fought in her life, with or without weapons, and least of all in a Pokemon battle. When all she knew how to do was show business and the engineering she had learned in school. How she could possibly hold her own for even a day against twenty-three—no, twenty-four, she reminded herself—other tributes. Why there was a Tribute Number Twenty-Five at all, and what the old District 6 legends had to do with him.

And there was only one person who could possibly answer her questions.

The stars outside the window gleamed like a reflection of the city lights as she opened the door and tiptoed down the hallway to the other door, cloaked in shadows. The wooden floor was cold underneath her feet. She raised her fist and hesitated for a moment, hand poised in midair.

Maybe he was sleeping. He probably wasn't awake and panicked like her, his mind racing. Or maybe this entire idea was crazy and ridiculous. Scratch the maybe; she knew it was. She was trusting him far too much. But how else was she going to have any hope of surviving, anyway? It couldn't hurt her chances.

White bit her lip, and brought her fist down against the wood in a soft knock.

Almost instantly, she heard rustling and a murmur of "Hmm?" Footsteps thumped against the floor, making it vibrate under her feet, and a moment later, the door swung open, revealing a confused-looking Black clad in pajamas, his brown hair tousled.

"Hey, White, what is it?" he whispered, his eyes widening momentarily with surprise.

"Um…sorry," she murmured back, wrapping her arms around the top of her pajamas. No, this was crazy. What had she been thinking? "I was afraid you might be sleeping."

He smiled. "Sleeping? Nahhh. Like anyone could fall asleep tonight."

White dropped her arms to her sides, relieved. He at least didn't seem to think she was crazy. She opened her mouth, ready to tell him what she had been thinking—and then remembered where she was. This was the Capitol. Even if Skyla and Austin had gone to bed, even if it was quiet and peaceful here inside the Training Center, they could never know if they were being watched.

"It's stuffy here," she found herself saying instead. "I mean, I figured if we can't sleep, we might as well go catch a breath of air, right?" She laughed, and tried not to wince when it sounded horribly artificial. "What do you say?"

Black rubbed his eyes. "Well…sure," he said, sounding friendly but baffled. "Wanna go out on the balcony, I guess?"

"That'd be great." They'd probably be watching them anyway, but at least their words might be lost among the shouts of the Capitolites below, she reassured herself.

The balcony stretched all the way from her room to Black's and even toward the living room, White noticed as they stepped outside. It curved out in an elegant swoop, as golden and sun-bleached as the rest of the Capitol, though there was no sun to greet them now. A breeze billowed across their faces, making her shiver for what had to be the thousandth time that night. The sounds of the celebration below swallowed them, and White gathered her courage as she noted with relief, too, that it meant they couldn't be heard very well.

"Did you know, they have a force field built in here," Black said, his voice cheerful as he faced out into the night. "So you can't jump off, if you want to. It'll send you right back up."

White took a deep breath and faced him.

"Black…I think we should talk to N."

Black gaped at her. Her words seemed to have caught him completely off guard.

"What? N?"

"Yeah, N. N Harmonia. Tribute Number Twenty-Five, or whatever they call him." White tugged at the hem of her shirt. The words were starting to stream quickly out of her mouth, the way they did when she laid out her business plans back at the BW Agency. "I mean, after you mentioned the legend, I figured that talking to him might be our best bet. You know, to find out what's going on with that, and maybe to even help us in the Games."

"But…I don't get it," Black said, puzzled. "Why him?"

"There's something weird about him," White said, and then laughed at her own words. "Well, obviously. The President's sending his own son into the Games; you know something has to be wrong there. But I mean—he doesn't seem like the other tributes. I don't think he gets what's going on. He looks really confused, and…well, I dunno. Did you see him when we were getting off the chariots?"

"Well, I was kind of distracted by his costume…"

"Yeah, exactly, and that too!" White stopped herself and remembered to lower her voice. "I was thinking about what Skyla said, and well, I think she might have a point. Not about yelling at you, I mean," she said quickly as Black started making a face, "but about the Zekrom-Reshiram legend. We know that that's what N's costume was supposed to be, and it's a District 6 legend…which means there might be some connection to us." She took a breath. "I mean, we don't know that, but it could be true. And if President Harmonia's up to something with sending him in—which he obviously is—and there's a connection between District 6 and his costume…then maybe we can be the ones to get to the bottom of it." She paused, searching Black's face, half-concealed in the darkness. "Do you know what I mean?"

"I…I guess." Black was staring at her intently. A shiver ran up her spine. "No, I do know what you mean," he said after a moment. His voice was stronger now. "There's obviously some connection between his costume and our district and—"

"And maybe he could be the one to help give us some answers," White finished. "He might know something about the Games that we don't, Black. I mean, he's been brought up in the Capitol all his life. President Harmonia is his dad."

"He doesn't seem like it," Black muttered under his breath, then grinned sheepishly up at her. "I mean, in looks, yeah. Green hair and all, it's pretty obvious. I mean…the way he's using him." He paused for a moment, eyes lost in thought. "But how would we ask him?"

White had her answer immediately. "Tomorrow. At the Training Center. When all the tributes are together. We can try to talk to him." She paused. "Though I don't know how willing he'd be to talk to us…"

"It doesn't matter. We'll try!" Black sounded totally confident now as he clapped her on the shoulder. He smiled at her, and the starlight and the glow from the city lights below danced on his face. "We will! Y'know, I'm really glad you came to talk to me about this, White. Now we have a plan. A…way to get through this thing."

"A plan," White repeated, nodding. It was crazy, but in any case, her chances for survival were below zero, anyway. It couldn't hurt to try a crazy plan, if that was all they had.

She took a deep breath, breathing in the foreign, clean air of the Capitol and feeling the calm settle within her for the first time since she had arrived. Now she had a plan. A plan for survival. She swallowed, feeling the shaking within her stop for the first time since she had arrived.

And suddenly, without warning, the tears came.

"W-White?!" Black exclaimed. "Are you okay?!"

"Sorry…I…" White tried holding her breath to hide her sobs, but it ended up squeezing her throat tight, cutting off her airway and making her burst into coughs instead. She doubled over. "I'm so sorry. I just…"

Black stood there gaping at her for a moment, and all the shame rushed to her cheeks, warm with more than the exertion of coughing and crying. What the hell was going on with her? Now her weakness was fully exposed, and, vulnerable as she was, she'd be the first one killed for sure.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, unable to stop.

"Hey…hey." She felt a soft weight on her shoulder as Black laid his hand there, warm and comforting. "It's okay. What's wrong?"

Fighting to gain her breath and feeling his hand steady against her trembling back, White knew she shouldn't answer him. She knew it as well as she knew that in a few days, she would die, that she would never see her family or the beloved Pokemon of the BW Agency again. But as her tears dripped down the balcony and into the night and the celebration below—White pictured them trickling into the flutes of champagne below and diffusing into the liquid gold, mingling desperation with their ignorant bliss—something strange and contrary twisted in her mind. A reversal of logic.

If she knew that Black couldn't be trusted as well as she knew that she would die, then maybe, if there was nothing else she could do to turn the odds in her favor, if she trusted him, then she would…survive, somehow. What if he was genuinely as friendly and well-meaning as he acted? White was a businesswoman, after all, the president of her own agency. She knew how to manage connections and she knew how to manage people, how to read and understand them, the way she always had to when dealing with a new client who wanted their Pokemon to perform. She read the look in their eyes, decided how well they would work with the other performers, and planned her shows accordingly.

If she thought of Black the same way, it was like evaluating a potential business partner. As president, White thought, appraising the bright gleam in his eyes and the open, unguarded way he talked, she couldn't imagine that all of it was a ruse.

"I just…" It was an investment, White thought. Just like a decision she would be making any day at the Agency back home. The thought made her stop trembling, gave her the courage to voice the words curling in the back of her throat. "I just…I don't think I can do this alone, Black."

The word alone rang out in the space between them—not that there was much of it, what with Black leaning into her and peering into her face with his wide, concerned eyes. White fought the urge to turn away. Be strong, Skyla had told her. Don't show your fear. Even to her fellow tribute. Not, Confess all of your weaknesses in the far-flung hope that he might…

But this whole thing was…they were…no, she thought resolutely, this was definitely not how the relationship between each district's tributes was supposed to be. Black and White had exchanged their life stories on their ride into the Capitol; they had spent the afternoon watching TV together, laughing and talking and reminiscing an slowly growing more comfortable with each other. White couldn't even imagine the other pairs of tributes managing to speak a full sentence to each other without snarling.

So they were different. So they weren't following the rules, or customs, or whatever the Hungry Pokemon Games dictated. That meant they were different, that they had something to set them apart, even more than N's costume and the District 6 legend. Businesses that knew how to do something different flourished. Maybe that could be a good thing. An advantage.

Her panting slowed, and she breathed, pulling air in through her airway, which loosened slowly as she drew herself up. Slowly, the sobs began to ease. Black's hand stayed on her back until she was standing up straight, leaving an imprint of warmth behind. He left it there until the last tremor subsided from her shoulders and she turned to him with a bright, albeit forced, smile, eyes shining with the remnants of tears.

"Don't worry, Prez," he said with a tiny grin. Prez, she thought, surprised at the nickname. So he remembered her stories about the Agency, about home. Being President—that was her strength. "I got your back."

"I think I liked the pasta better," Blue quipped, wrinkling her nose at the steaming platter of fish that one of the silent, peculiar "servants," as she had come to call them, carried in and set on the table. Golden flakes crumbled from its surface, swathed in rich, creamy sauce, flecked with herbs of green and red. "I mean, this probably just came in from District 4 this morning. It could have been something I got weeks ago."

Green scowled at her, but Volkner only waved a hand and folded his napkin neatly across his lap. "Don't worry, there'll be other options. The Capitol certainly doesn't lack for food of all things, I assure you." His voice was light and harmless, as always, but Blue knew there was a sarcastic undertone somewhere in his statement.

The Capitol doesn't, but the districts certainly do, she thought, but all she did was let out an exaggerated sigh and drawl, "Good, because I'm tired of fish."

Green's mouth tightened, but he stayed silent, lowering his head to scoop another forkful of fish into his mouth. Blue sighed theatrically. Misty was dining with the other escorts tonight ("I'll get the inside scoop on how to help ya!" she had exclaimed, winking brightly), so, as it was, Blue was left with The Boys.

Both of her tablemates were much more taciturn than she was, sublimating all of their energy into their meals, Green's annoyance, Volkner's something like quiet contemplation as he stared idly at his fork. Blue found herself filling the silence with spurts of chatter, picking at the fish in between her talking—oh, who was she kidding, shoveling the fish into her mouth; they were starving district kids, for Mew's sake, this was no time to be a dainty lady—and thinking back on what had happened after the ceremony earlier that day.

The Careers always formed alliances, she knew that. But Blue had been surprised at how early it had begun.

Right after the District 6 tributes had finished telling their legend—they seemed nice, albeit friendly and wide-eyed and probably a shade naive, Blue remembered thinking before she shushed her mind—and the mentors and escorts had started shepherding them into the elevators in an ensuing mélange of colorful costumes scattering in all directions, it was almost as if 1, 2, and 4 had been drawn together by a Magnet Pull. A definite swagger in their steps, the Careers eyed each other with Fearow-like eyes and edged as nonchalantly as they could manage to pretend toward each other until they were gathered in a rough circle formation. Green crossed his arms next to Blue, assuming a defensive stance.

The District 1 girl with the long, raven hair told them at long last that her name was Platinum—though the District 2 tributes had had to pry it out of her, since she had insisted several times that she didn't "feel the need to give her name to commoners." But she was fine with giving them her last time—Platinum Berlitz—and seemed to enjoy reminding them of it several times in her haughty voice. She batted her eyelashes heavily each time she explained that the house of Berlitz was one of the wealthiest families in all of Panem, at least outside of the Capitol. Her fellow tribute called her Platina.

The boy from District 1 was rich, as well. In fact, his name was Draco Rich, and he liked to tell them that his family owned a huge mansion by the sea in some place called Undella Town.

Are all people from District 1 like this? Blue wondered. Yes, it was known as the luxury district, and the pets of the Capitol, but she hadn't known they prided themselves on it to this extent.

"I've never heard of it," Green sniffed after Draco finished bragging about his mansion and how he practically owned the town, and the four of them stared at him.

"Well, pardon me," Draco said sarcastically, whipping his magenta cape around him.

"What's so special about you, then?" the District 2 girl snarled, baring her sharp teeth. "Ya kind of seem like a sissy boy, ya know."

"My grandfather happens to be Mayor Oak," Green answered without a moment's hesitation, ignoring her latter comment. He paused and gave a nonchalant flick of his fingers. "Formerly Professor Oak. You might have heard of him."

The others tried not to look impressed, but Blue could see the District 2 boy's orange eyes widen momentarily, and even Platina's eyelashes gave an unexpected flutter.

But the other girl didn't seem fazed. "Well, my pa's a Pokemon professor, too!" she barked. "Professor Birch. And I'm Sapphire Birch." She bared her teeth again. "None of that matters, though, for me or you. Not when it comes to trainin' and fightin' in the wild."

"Well, if that's what you think," Green said coolly, not even looking at her.

"That's not what I think! It's true!"

"Whatever."

Blue saw Sapphire clench her teeth at him and yank at the bottom of her gladiator costume, fuming at his dismissive response. The gold plates jangled quietly against each other. She has a temper, she noted. That could be helpful to know in the arena, either as something to beware of or something to use to their advantage.

Their? Blue almost scoffed at her own thoughts. No, she couldn't afford to think of Green as an ally, at least not a permanent one. Her advantage, she corrected. She could use it to her advantage. Just like her…temporary alliance with Green, or mutual understanding, or whatever it was. She had had plenty of practice working alone in District 4; there was no reason to stop now, now that the stakes were higher than ever.

"Yeah, that's right," the blond boy from Sapphire's district bellowed, picking up her cue. He stomped his foot, advancing a step on Green. "That does nothing for you here in the Games. Here, it's every tribute for themselves. You gotta know how to fight. And we certainly do."

"Oh, really." Green barely looked up at the boy, still staring down at his own fingers with mild amusement. "And who are you, if you're so good at that?"

"Me? The name's Pearl." The boy glared at him. "And don't you forget it."

Blue let out a loud, tinkling peal of laughter, and the others whipped toward her, as if they had just remembered her presence. She put a finger to her chin and winked at Pearl.

"Oh, believe me, cutie, I certainly won't."

Pearl blinked, stunned, and Blue watched with delight as he straightened up and backed out of his aggressive stance.

"And who are you?" he demanded.

"Oh, you're asking about me?" Blue tossed her hair over her shoulder and flashed them her best charming smile. Which was quite a number, if she did say so herself. Oh, don't worry, all of you. She knew how to play this. "Who, little me? Oh, well, I'm…you know…no one special. No one you have to know." She winked, enjoying the baffled stares it won from each of them—except Green, of course, who kept on staring at his hands.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sapphire demanded, narrowing her bright blue eyes.

"I mean exactly what I said. You don't have to know, do you?" Blue giggled. "As long as you know I can fight. And help all of you win…or at least get as far as we can." She threw in a giggle for good measure. "Which, believe me, I can."

"You pesky girl," Green sighed, then, and for a moment Blue froze, terrified that he was going to expose her lie.

But instead, he said nothing, and she could swear that he gave her the slightest of nods, the fine point of his chin dipping toward his neck.

A warm thrill trickled down her spine. Green was the only one who knew her secret, and if he was helping her instead of giving it away… Only then had it hit Blue what a risk she had taken without even realizing it, trusting him and the other Careers. But then again, there wasn't much else she could do. She wasn't a Career, she was far from being someone famous or even related to anyone famous, but she could certainly act like one.

Are we working together? she wondered, unable to resist giving him a sidelong glance.

"Well, what's yer name?" Sapphire demanded. "You can at least tell us that."

"Well, if you must know…" Blue sighed dramatically, simpering. "I'm Blue. Just Blue. You can remember it because I come from the ocean."

Draco Rich snorted at that, tossing back his magenta cape. "You District Fours," he sneered. "Always thinking you're like magical merpeople or something, just because you come from the sea. Well, I live by the sea, too, and you don't see me pretending like I have some sort of magic on me."

"Oh, who said I was magical?" Blue laughed, and twirled slightly to the side so that the soft fabric of her skirt swirled around her legs. "Hoho, thanks, cutie. That's quite the compliment."

She could see Draco trying not to look, and smirked. Success. The others stared at her with mixed expressions of annoyance and flat-out confusion, until Platina brushed back a lock of hair and cleared her throat.

"Well, either way, you're going to need more than, ahem, magic to survive," she said matter-of-factly. "There's a lot of strategy involved in the Hungry Pokemon Games, you know. Strategy that some of you"—her eyes flickered contemptuously toward Pearl and Sapphire—"probably aren't prepared to use."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sapphire hollered. Pearl clenched his teeth next to her and curled his hand into a fist.

Platina shrugged, her lips curling in a small, sanctimonious smile. "Well, it's true."

"Hey!" Pearl lunged forward. "Say that one more time! I dare you!"

"Excuse me, excuse me." Two Capitol-accented voices swelled over their head as the crowd parted around them. Luckily, the District 1 stylists seemed to have finished with their last preparations at that moment, and they took Draco and Platina by the arms and gently towed them away, tunics and pink feathers and all flaring behind them. As they walked away, heads held high, Draco smiled smugly over his shoulder at Sapphire and Pearl, who were clenching their fists and seething after them.

"Don't think you've gotten away with that," Sapphire barked. "We'll get ya in the arena."

"Come on, now," one of the stylists urged, leading Platina, whose face was a perfectly composed mask, into the elevator. The crystal doors slid shut behind them, and she and Draco disappeared up the shaft.

"I can't believe them!" Sapphire was still fuming, glaring up at the spot where the elevators had stopped. Floor one, for District 1. "I'll get 'em for sure!"

Blue couldn't decide if conflict brewing between the other two Career districts was a good thing or not. On one hand, it meant they might destroy each other before they could destroy her and Green. On the other hand, discord within their traditional Career alliance early on in the Games was never a good thing. It opened up weaknesses for the other tributes to target them. And if it led to a free-for-all between the six of them…well, that certainly wouldn't end well for her.

That last thought made her shudder, and she turned her attention away from earlier events and back to her fish and to what Volkner was saying, scraping the last off his plate.

"You'll be happy to know that your costumes worked," he said matter-of-factly, reaching for his napkin, which had been folded elaborately in the shape of a Lapras. Probably by one of the Avoxes, as Misty had explained, though Blue shuddered at the thought of them, those poor speechless things.

He dabbed it across his mouth, and she, as she was getting used to, tried not to stare. At least there was plenty of eye candy around her in the Capitol, what with Volkner and Green; if Blue had to die, she would at least die happy.

"The sponsors have been oohing and aahing about it all morning," Volkner continued. "Not to mention the public. Elesa did her job well."

"Yes, they were beautiful," Blue agreed, and Green only grunted in acknowledgement.

"That was your first step, and don't underestimate it—it's an important one. First impressions are key in the Games. But now, we have other things to discuss. For instance, how your training starts tomorrow," said Volkner, impaling a piece of steak on his fork. Blue could easily imagine it was his signature golden trident instead. "You know how it works, right? You've got three days to practice together with all of the other tributes, and on the last day, you have to showcase your skills one-on-one in front of the Gamemakers. They'll rate you on what you can do."

Green nodded as if he had heard it hundreds of times before, but it was all news to Blue. She had always been hazy on what exactly "training" for the Hungry Pokemon Games entailed, since the training was one part of the Games that was never broadcast on television, aside from the training scores at the very end, given by the Gamemakers in the one-to-one sessions. As she took a sip of the wine, she paid careful attention to what Volkner was saying.

"You know what to do," he continued after he swallowed his mouthful. "They'll have different skill areas set up around the group training center—throwing knives, camouflage, weights, making fires, using the Safari Balls, all sorts of things like that." He stopped and pointed his fork at them, punctuating his words. "Don't show what you're best at in front of the other tributes—and don't show them your weaknesses either, of course. You don't want them to know your secret skills. Save that for the private sessions. Instead, try to learn new skills during the group training; they're all useful, anyway."

"More people usually die from natural causes than from wounds caused by other tributes in the Games," Green said in a flat, matter-of-fact voice, the kind people used when they were reciting something they had memorized. "Starvation, thirst, poison, disease, exposure, Pokemon in the arena." He wiped his mouth with a napkin. "They always said that back at the training place in District 4."

Blue turned to him, surprised. It was always bizarre to hear a Career talk about their time back at the training centers, and with Green, it only raised the question that had been bothering her since the reaping: why had Mayor Oak, who seemed anything but in favor of the Hungry Pokemon Games, allowed his grandson to train to enter them?

"Very good, Green." Volkner nodded. "Exactly. Everyone's always eager to get their hands on a weapon—or a Pokemon—but as you can see, there are more important things to focus on than that." He took a sip of his wine. "Now, I have a question for the two of you. Would you like me to coach you together or separately?"

Blue frowned, wiping her mouth with her napkin. "What difference does it make?"

"Well, if either of you have any secret skills that you don't want the other to know about, then I can coach you one on one." Volkner kept his voice carefully neutral. "But if not, then it would be easier for me to just teach both of you at the same time."

Blue swallowed. This was it; this was the moment of truth, wasn't it? Volkner looked at them expectantly, but she didn't know what to say. Were she and Green working together? If she said yes and he said no, would that make her seem vulnerable to him? Or would it be a way to tell him that she trusted her? Even if she didn't? Which she didn't, did she? And if she said no while he said yes, would that be destroying a potentially valuable alliance?

She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Green's calm voice cut across the silence.

"You can coach us together."

"Well, good." Volkner smiled smoothly, as if it had been the answer he had been hoping for all along. "Then we might as well get started now."