As Kelia Wann:
After receiving Tribute status and flying all the way from Quebec with three pathetic excuses for tributes (if anyone heard this, they'll poke my eyes out; wait, is that Anon... ... uh-oh "Ouch! What are you doing here? This is my narrative; get out!" ...okay, moving on). As I was saying, I had finally arrived at the giant army base of a tournament center, contained within an even larger city center. (I mean a huge tournament center, as I had landed in its own international airport.) After I stepped out, I was greeted by our province's mentor, Quebec Mentor (no joke, this is her real name; turns out that the tournament gathered a group of people together to form the Mentor family, and 95 offspring were produced and named after each state, province, and territory involved in the tournament), and all four of us tributes were sent to the Remake Center.
After hour after excrutiating hour of watching an oddly-dressed prep team cleanse me in different ways, the head stylist of the Quebec prep team came in, and like the other Tournament Residents (the official term for people such as Quebec Mentor) he had a Tournament-authorized name, Quebec F. A. Stylist (The F.A. is for "Female A", as in the first female of the state chosen for the tournament), and he led me into his office to talk.
"So, you're Kelia Wann," he began. "I've been researching your biography for a while."
"Wait, my biography?" I interrupted, surprised by the sheer fact that I even had one in written form.
"Yes," he answered. "You must have not known that biographies are written about Tributes after they are chosen. I should buy you one."
"No," I told him.
"I insist," he responded.
"No, I can't," I countered.
"Sorry, but I believe you have no say in this," he informed. "Look, I've already bought the book. Here, it's yours, like it or not." He gave me a book with my portrait on the front, the flag of West Virginia in the background, and the title: "Kelia Wann: West Virginia Tribute, Spring 2011".
"That's just the pre-Tournament edition," he warned. "That same book will be updated after the Tournament is over, or after you die, whichever comes first." I looked up from the book.
"As for tomorrow, you have the introductory parade to take part of," he continued. "It's mandatory for all Tributes. You and the other Tributes will have to ride through the city to the City Center and back, wearing the stylist's outfit of choice representing their state and background."
"What have you decided for me?" I asked.
"I have something in mind," he started, "but you have to wait until tomorrow morning to find out. Until then, you can stay in your room already designated in the Quebec section of the complex."
"Okay," I stated.
Quebec Stylist pointed me to the guards, each within 6 feet in height, each wearing blue and white uniforms, each with a handgun lapped on their belt. "Until you know these parts, these guards will escort you from place to place," he informed me. "These two will be your lifeline to the complex. They will inform you about where to go and what you have to do. Until later, Kelia." I stepped back, expecting him to let me go. "Officials, please show her to her room."
The officials were about to send me to my room, when Quebec Stylist added, "By the way, Kelia, don't forget about Skype."
I didn't understand what he meant, but I couldn't ask, because the officials already sent me down the hallway toward the lounge in front of my room.
As Nomin Dregg:
After all the repetitive "readjusting" the Remake Center stylists did to me, the officials showed me the way to the Newfoundland and Labrador section of the complex, and I took a tour of the lounge first.
It reminded me of a hotel suite, but somewhat different. It had a table at the center of the circular room, with four two-seat couches and four single-seat recliners facing the table, with the pattern going one recliner, one couch, one recliner, one couch, and repeat. Outwards were four consoles where it's supposed that people can order things to their rooms and receive them in less than a minute. Across from the entrance lay four doors, each with a nametag alongside them, representing the Tributes assigned to them. I opened the door marked with 'Nomin Dregg' and went inside.
It was a pretty large room, with a full-size bed, a table set, another console, a walk-in closet with pre-assigned clothes in it, a window opening up to the city (or at least the tournament complex) and a closed Dell laptop computer with a note attached to it.
The opening title for the note was, "How to open Skype".
I moved the note aside and turned on the laptop, entered my name in the login window, and was asked to set up a password. After setting the password up, I got through the setup instructions in under a minute. The computer ran on Windows 7 Ultimate, and apparently a screen somehow popped up saying that it had 8 GB of RAM, a 1TB hard drive, and a 64-bit CPU, which almost seems like this complex is pampering us.
However, once I crossed that thought, another window popped up saying, "The Tournament is now tracking your computer's location". It looks like I may find it even if I lose it. As for the note, I've picked it up and read it. I've used Skype before, but I was never given unlimited access before. Once I've accessed it, I've seen that someone had left a message saying to call her. I had decided to respond by giving her a call.
"Well, I had no idea that the tournament would start out with such a welcome, but--" I started with while talking to Kelia Wann, my fellow Tribute, over Skype, with webcams broadcasting not only our voices, but our physical actions as well. However, a sound tone on Skype interrupted me for a moment.
"Do you mind if I make this a three-way with this guy?" Kelia asked. I nodded. Skype added an extra screen displaying Nomin Dregg, a Newfoundland Tribute.
That's when Kelia started yelling at the guy.
"WHAT DID YOU THINK YOU WERE TRYING TO DO WITH YOUR BETRAYAL TO YOUR OWN FAMILY AND DECIDING TO KEEP YOURSELF CLOSE TO YOUR FRIEND AND CHANGING YOUR LAST NAME AND defending him from any potential attacks and killing me before we start the Games and... and...?!?!" That pretty much ended her endless rant.
Nomin countered, "You decided to keep me from meeting my friend again, so your antics practically pushed me out of the house!"
"Well, you can't stand an hour without chatting with him. In fact, you don't even sleep anymore!"
"I can't sleep knowing that you're already tossing our friendship down the garbage chute!"
And through all that, I kept laughing my head off. In fact, the shout-off stopped when they noticed that I was laughing uncontrollably.
"Please, hang up," Kelia commanded, aggrivated.
"Yeah, you're getting into our conversation," Nomin agreed.
"Okay, I'll log off," I announced defeatedly. I ended the call between them and let them have their important conversation. As for me, I've decided to contact someone else, preferrably someone to ally with.
I whispered into the microphone. "Send me a random caller."
A second later, someone picked up on the other end. "Hello? Who is this?"
I responded, "This is Anon..., and who are you calling as?"
I heard the person respond, "This is Lelt Dregg."
"Okay, Lelt. Let's start with a few things," I started. "First, are you aware that Nomin, your so called friend, is out to kill you in the tournament?"
"Yes," Lelt replied. "I can't stand that thought. He says it's for my own good, but I can't live with that."
"I think I can help you," I suggested. "Kelia Wann wants to get rid of him. If you form a secret pact with her, she'll help you through this."
"I guess," he shrugged. "However, just because we have a common goal, that doesn't mean she will ally with me."
"Who knows?" I told him. "If she knows how good you are in this Tournament, she might have you as a partner."
It took him a while for him to give me a response. "Well, I can try. I'll see you later. I have to contact her."
We hung up.
Well, what's left for me to do than sign off, tuck myself in the bed, and go to sleep?
"Okay, see ya, Stronton," I told him to prompt an end to our conversation.
"Okay, bye." he gave me.
We hung up.
I had just got out of a conversation with Stronton Melich from the Northwest Territories. In fact, not only did I talk with him, I wrote down a few facts about him. However, I had decided to order his biography before I read his 'fact sheet'.
46 seconds after I ordered the biography (wow, that was fast), an Avox showed up at my doorstep with the biography. I've picked it up and sent the Avox on their way.
Once I had returned to my room, I opened the biography right away and added the notes alongside it. I've read the introduction first:
"As required in the Tournament, each Tribute is required to have a biography published after them, the first edition published once they are reaped, the second edition published on the time of their victory or death. Each edition is required to contain the history of the Tribute's life from their birth throughout their years in their life, leading up to and including the Tournament."
Yeah, I had just realized how boring this was getting to be, and as a result, I skipped the rest of the introduction. So, I began on Chapter 1 and went from there.
* * *
Okay, so I only got to Chapter 8, but this is what really captures my attention:
On September 28, 2009, he competed in the Whitehorse-Yellowknife Skiing Grand Prix, a race across 700 miles (or over 1,120 kilometers) of Canada's harsh terrain from two relatively isolated northern Canadian cities. However, because of an avalanche caused by a cheating Dural Celan from North Dakota (who happens to be a Tribute in these games), he fell out of the tournament in mile 692, and Resen Havar from Montana (she is also a Tribute) won the race. And, even though he got even by winning that same race one year later, he still won't let it go. In fact, he plans to ally with the Careers to take both Resen and Dural out of the Tournament.
Well, that's something to look forward to. Since I need to have an ally, I think I'll ally with him first thing tomorrow.
As of now, I think I'll continue the book in the morning. I have to sleep.
* * *
Okay, so I woke up a few minutes after, but that's because I realized that I had to manipulate the other Tributes into losing, and I know where to start.
As Jesus Chavez:
I had a busy day after being reaped. Dozens of Tributes had asked me to ally with them, another few sent me hate mail, and still more sent me congratulations. In fact, it was 10 PM local time when I had decided to go to bed, but my last call of the day postponed my sleep plans. This time, the call was from JERealize and FableWarrior from California. "Hi," JERealize greeted me.
"Hello, Jesus." FableWarrior complied.
"Okay, it's nice to meet you two," I addressed causiously. "So, what's the purpose of your call?"
"We just wanted you to feel welcome, since you must already have had a rough day, and we also wanted you to know at least some of the competition," JERealize stated, "just to keep it fair."
Just then, I heard a knock on my door. I opened it, and an Avox passed me two biographies, one about JERealize and another about FableWarrior. As the Avox left and I was left keeping the books in my hand, I wondered, how could they do this to themselves? They're going to kill themselves!
I returned to the computer and, keeping out my feelings of worry, said indifferently, "Thanks."
* * *
After I ended the call, I skimmed through the two books, and found some good factoids about these two.
JERealize (real name Julian Espinoza) is a seventeen-year-old Mexican-American autistic savant (I never knew he was autistic; in fact, he acted normal to me), and FableWarrior is one of his friends from school, with one grade level higher than JERealize is, and possibly more athletic. So far, they look like they might make it past the first day, but I might need to read more. However, I have to wait until tomorrow. They were right. I have had a rough day.
"Would you like to attempt a call merger?" I heard the computer ask me and my new friend.
"Elivaalova and I replied, "Yes."
Elivaalova and I were conversing with each other about our lives before the Games, following along on each other's biographies, when Elivaalova received a message from JERealize (a Tribute from the same state as we were), asking all four Californian Tributes to meet online. We both answered yes.
Now we're watching as Skype links us with JERealize and FableWarrior, our fellow Tributes.
"Okay, so let's start off with introducing ourselves. I am known as JERealize by the Nickname Movement and I reside in Porterville in California," said the person by the same name.
The other male Californian responded, "And I'm FableWarrior, also from Porterville."
"Well, I'm Elivaalova," I heard my friend say, "and my friend here is InsertRandomnessHere. Why are you contacting us, anyway?"
JERealize started telling us. "Since all four of us are from the same state, and we have yet to have our own strategies, I've decided that we need to have nightly meetings to discuss what we have seen and heard so far and what we can do to prepare for anything waiting for us."
JERealize stopped talking because someone else entered the call.
She announced, "I can't believe that all four of you gathered together to meet your fate. I hail from Maryland as RueRose."
Before any of us could say another word, Spype cut me off from everyone else. All that I had left was a message from RueRose.
It said: Maryland pwns California
As Peeta Mellark:
We were already tired after that lunch all three of us had: me, Katniss, and Gale. However, we have yet to find out what the Tournament planned to do to us, even after the damage we had already suffered. That's when a platform appeared where the table used to be, holding an object I can't begin to comprehend. It was of a hard, silvery makeup, with the word "DELL" printed on the top, and a crack running through three of the four sides, making it easy to open... that is, if we wanted to open it.
"I don't know why this turned up," Katniss started. "We don't have a single use for it."
"Doesn't it open?" Gale asked, pointing at the lines separating the top and bottom.
"It might, but do we risk it?" I warned. "The Games might have already begun, and there are an excessive amount of dangers out there."
That's when the mysterious block split in half, and while keeping itself intact along one side, it showed two contradicting sides. One was a shimmering blue screen with "Press CTRL-ALT-DELETE" on the screen, and the other was a set of pushable buttons in different formations. It was clearly a mechanical device, but we didn't know what it was for.
That's when a mechanical arm came out of the floor and swiped it away from us.
Katniss was about to crush the arm with her foot when the arm managed to reveal a white screen. From there, it typed the following phrase: "This is a laptop".
"A laptop?" I wondered.
That's when it typed us our instructions on what we have to do, possibly to survive.
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