Chapter Text
Eden strides into the living quarters with an electronic tablet under one arm, and plugs it into the room’s main screen before turning to fix Mingi with a glare.
“Right,” he says, “I want you to forget everything you think you know about the games. Last year was child’s play. This year, you’re dealing with all experienced killers.”
Mingi is the only one at the table; the other District 8 tribute, an elderly woman who walks with a severe limp, has refused to join them for any discussion of training or alliances. All she’ll say is that she means to make a dignified end, no matter what the Capitol tries to force her to do.
Mingi strongly suspects that she’s planning to step off the start podium in the arena before the countdown finishes, opting for a quick death by landmine rather than the indignity of attempting to flee and being hunted down and hacked to pieces on live TV. He can’t say he blames her.
He’s only lived with the nightmares and survivor’s guilt from that awful arena for a year, but it’s enough to make him question if fighting to survive a second time is truly worth it. Still, he shakes the temptation away. He has to believe he’s fighting for something, even if it’s only an abstract idea of hope.
“Well,” he says, feigning confidence he doesn’t have, “What’s the plan?”
“Alliances will be key,” says Eden. “And you have one thing none of these others have – your medical experience. That makes you a great asset for any alliance. All the tributes with any sense will be vying for your attention when you step into that training hall tomorrow. You don’t have to decide who you want your allies to be immediately, but I’d advise figuring it out by the second morning.”
Mingi nods thoughtfully. He knows he’s definitely going to need others on his side, if he wants to hold his own against trained killers.
While he has basic fighting ability after his training before the last games, violence has never been Mingi’s forte. Although he comes from District 8, where most people work in the textile industry, he’d found himself in an apprenticeship with the local doctor. He has a ‘good head for numbers’, as his father has always put it, and is quick to pick up new skills, so he’d done well in the role.
His medical experience had kept him alive in the arena, the invaluable ability to treat his own injuries and those of Gahyeon, his fellow District 8 tribute. Well, until the girl from District 2 had run her through with a spear. There wasn’t much he’d been able to do about that. Except kill the District 2 girl of course, but that hadn’t made him feel any better. He still saw Gahyeon’s lifeless body in his mind’s eye when he lay down to sleep, clear as the day she’d died in his arms.
“So, how do I go about making allies?” asks Mingi, to take his mind off the thought of Gahyeon more than anything else.
“Well objectively, these are the main opponents you’re going to need to know, whether you decide to try and befriend them, or avoid them.”
Eden clicks his pointer, and the screen lights up with the image of an astoundingly handsome man with white-blond hair.
“Park Seonghwa, District 1. Your classic career victor. Trained since childhood, deadly with a sword. Handsome, charming, excellent networker. He’s stayed a Capitol favourite ever since winning his games, he’ll have the most sponsors by far. He got nicknamed the Prince of the Arena during promotions, and people ate it up.”
The pointer clicks again, to show the same man, slightly younger and with black hair instead of blond, in what Mingi recognises quickly as a parade chariot. He looks regal and handsome in a white military-style jacket with black lapels and black silk sash, decorated with silver brooches, and an ornate silver sword – presumably fake – at his side. The girl beside him looks pretty in a white silk dress dripping with diamonds, but Seonghwa undeniably steals the show, waving and smiling like benevolent royalty.
Mingi kind of hates him already.
“He’s the youngest and strongest out of the Careers,” says Eden, “Which may actually work against him, since the others have all been friends for longer. He has to know that when it comes down to it, he’ll be the first one the pack will turn on, and that makes him the only one who might be considering outside alliances. Whether you want to risk that or not is up to you.”
The screen changes to show a man with a young face but solidly built, staring into the camera with a closed-off expression.
“Choi Jongho, District 7. Strong, silent type. Insanely strong, actually. His party trick was breaking apples in half with his bare hands, Caesar had him do it during the interview and it gained him a lot of attention.”
The screen cuts to footage of the boy on stage, dolled up in an emerald green suit, doing just that. Caesar, his hair an obnoxious shade of yellow that year, makes a show of nearly falling off his seat in shock at the display of strength. Choi Jongho gives a half-hearted smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
Mingi winces.
“Good survival skills in the wild, clearly quite at home in the forest. Handy with an axe too, coming from the lumber district and all. He was on the younger side when his name was drawn, but he’d been felling trees and lifting logs for years already.”
“Well he sounds terrifying,” says Mingi flatly.
“Don’t write him off just yet,” says Eden, with a wry smile. “He seemed to be open enough to alliances last time. He had a small group that held together for about a week, until the others were caught in a landslide. No history of betraying any truces.”
The next tribute has sharp, defined features, and an intensity in his eyes which immediately makes Mingi wary.
“Choi San, District 10. Master of duality.”
“Duality?” echoes Mingi, and Eden nods.
“You wouldn’t guess it, looking at him now, but he managed to be the most adorable kid the Capitol had ever seen during promotions for his games.”
The screen shows some silent footage of San’s interview, and Mingi barely recognises the boy. Even though his appearance hasn’t drastically changed, his demeanour is entirely different. His face is open and innocent, and his feet are dangling, not quite touching the floor, which Mingi realises after a moment is a result of his sitting with his legs raised slightly, rather than San actually being small. He giggles shyly at something Caesar’s said, flashing a cute dimpled smile.
“Every woman over the age of 25 was ready to adopt him after this interview. He didn’t have any allies, but he was rolling in sponsors' support. They all kept him supplied with food and water while he hid for the first half of the games, and cooed over how cute he looked, sleeping in the treetops to stay out of danger.”
Eden shakes his head in disgust, and Mingi screws up his face in agreement. Only the Capitol could claim to love a child while sending him to fight others to the death.
“Then, about halfway through the games, the District 4 tributes came across him and attacked, and it was like a switch flicked. He fought like he was possessed, killed both of them with just a knife. They were so surprised by the change that they barely had time to react. Everything about him seemed to change after that – even his expressions and how he walked. He was almost unrecognisable. He won every fight he entered, anyone who attacked him got stabbed to death in seconds. His victory interviews and tour were awkward as all hell. No one knew what to make of him anymore, after seeing their sweet little boy go on such a vicious killing spree.”
“What did they expect him to do?” Mingi scoffs. “Curl up under a bush and sleep through the whole thing? Or would they prefer he just died?”
“You and I both know that Capitol citizens live with their heads in the clouds and believe whatever bullshit narrative gets tossed their way,” says Eden with a shrug. “San won’t get the same level of support from the audience these games, but he’s still undoubtedly dangerous, and unpredictable. Keep an eye on him, but I wouldn’t recommend an alliance.”
Looking at Choi San’s sharp, unreadable face on the screen, Mingi’s inclined to agree.
Eden clicks on to the next tribute, more footage of this year's reapings. The man is tall, maybe as tall as Mingi, with soft, handsome features. He’s holding his head high, but his large eyes are filled with tears, and something about the sight tugs painfully in Mingi’s chest.
“Jeong Yunho, District 9. He became a favourite throughout promotions, despite being from a farming district. Really fit the Capitol’s idea of the simple, honest workingman. He was friendly and cheerful while also looking very physically strong, always an appealing combination to the public. Received an astounding amount of gifts and sponsorship, just because everyone found him so likeable.”
“Was it an act?” asks Mingi, finding it difficult to drag his eyes away from the handsome face on the screen.
“Well, if it was, he’s never dropped it. He never attacked anyone who hadn’t directly attacked him first in the arena, and he went to surprising lengths to keep his other teammates alive and motivated.” Eden pauses, and smiles ruefully. “He’s also just about one of the only other victors I’ve been able to have a genuine, human conversation with. He hates it here, obviously, but he’s still somehow so optimistic. I was… quite sad to hear he’d been chosen, if I’m honest.”
Something is niggling at the back of Mingi’s memory.
“He seems… familiar, somehow,” he says slowly. “I feel like I’ve seen him before, and not just on a screen.”
Eden hums.
“Well, he’s been a mentor the last couple of years, the youngest one on the team. You might have seen him around last year?”
Mingi is struck with a sudden memory of the end of his own tribute parade, of one of the tributes from District 9, dressed in some ridiculous grain-themed costume, stumbling from the chariot with tears in her eyes as soon as it halted, and flinging herself into the arms of a tall man waiting on the sidelines of the loading bay.
Knowing what most people here were like, Mingi had expected the man to brush her off and tell her to pull herself together, but instead he had pulled her close and rubbed her back, murmuring soothing words that Mingi was too far away to hear properly, then held out his free hand to the shaken-looking male tribute, leading them both away gently.
The incident had stuck out in Mingi’s mind, although he wasn’t quite sure why.
“A strong fighter, obviously,” Eden is continuing, “Good with a range of weapons – he used a sickle in his own games, but he requested training with the bow and the sword afterwards, so he has more knowledge to pass onto his mentees. I’m told he has very precise technique.”
He clicks again, and the screen changes to show two other tributes, both young men. Mingi vaguely remembers hearing that District 3 didn’t have currently have any female victors still living, so two males had been chosen instead for this year. They’re both average-sized but athletic-looking, and both strikingly attractive.
“Kang Yeosang and Jung Wooyoung, District 3. Lifelong friends, since before either of them were victors. They won back-to-back games and will make an inseparable team in the area.”
Mingi frowns. “You mean they were friends before their games, and they both got chosen in the reapings? The odds of that are-”
“Next to none, yes,” says Eden. “And very few people who know of their history together are naïve enough to believe it happened by chance.”
“The Capitol rigged the reapings?” asks Mingi, surprised. “Why?”
“Yeosang’s victory was rather… unorthodox,” says Eden.
The screen changes to show Yeosang, significantly younger, during what must have been his interview. His hair is brushed down over his forehead, instead of parted and swept back like he wears it now, and the style makes him look even more childlike. If Mingi had to take a guess he’d say that the boy looked 12 or even 11, even though he knows that can’t be the case, since there’s never been any victors younger than 14. He’s pretty as a doll in his fancy clothes and makeup, but his shoulders are hunched like he wants to shrink into himself and disappear. Caesar is asking him questions, but Yeosang isn’t looking at him, just staring at the floor and nodding or shaking his head in response.
“He was overlooked from the outset,” says Eden. “Too nervous to talk during promotions, no allies among the other tributes, skill score of 4 out of 12. Everyone pretty much forgot about him. Whether it was intentional or not, we don’t know. But he certainly used it to his advantage.
“Yeosang’s games were shaping up to have one of the most interesting showdowns we’d seen. Instead of running together like normal, the Careers had gotten into some disagreement and split off, District 1 against District 2, each with their own allies, four against four. Everyone else was dead, except for Yeosang, but he was never expected to last more than a few nights in the wilderness anyway. He hid himself away in the forest as soon as the games started, the cameras were barely on him, and even his fellow tributes seemed to have forgotten he was still out there.
“It was the fifth day, and the scene was set. The two groups had run into each other in one of the main clearings, and it seems like a full-on battle was going to break out. Bets were being laid, everyone was on the edge of their seats, and then… bam!”
Eden makes a bursting motion with his hands.
“Blinding light, and suddenly all eight tributes were unconscious. And who should come trotting out of the forest to calmly slit all their throats while they slept, but the boy everyone had forgotten about?”
Woah, ok thinks Mingi. That’s fucking terrifying. He doesn’t voice the thought though, sensing that it’s not exactly helpful.
“How did he do it?” he asks instead.
“There were cameras on drones that year,” says Eden. “Yeosang managed to bring one of them down, and used the few days he had while the others were busy killing each other to somehow rewire it. Turned it into some kind of flash-grenade which stunned everyone. Only would’ve knocked them out for a few minutes, but that was all he needed. And just like that, the games were over.”
Mingi gives a low whistle. “Bet the Capitol loved that.”
“They were furious,” agrees Eden. “Yeosang robbed them of their entertainment. It was the very definition of an anticlimax. All the bets, all the upcoming drama, all the Gamemaker’s plans, wasted. They didn’t retaliate against him openly, obviously, they just congratulated him and sent him on his victory tour. But then the next year, whose name should come out of the lottery but Jung Wooyoung, Yeosang’s childhood friend.”
A shiver runs down Mingi's spine at the very idea. Probably the only thing worse than being thrown back into the arena would be watching one of his friends taken instead, knowing that it was his fault. Luckily, Hwanwoong and most of Mingi's other friends back home are already nineteen or older. Maybe the only good thing about this year’s games is that it means Dongju can skip his final year in the lottery, and all of them will have made it through. Well, except for Mingi of course.
“They reworked all the electronics in the arena that year, all the cameras and drones and such, so they couldn’t be tampered with again," Eden continues. "However, it turned out Wooyoung had different methods. He flirted and charmed his way into the Capitol public’s good books. He was attractive and cheeky in the interview, and everyone loved him.”
Mingi grimaces at the thought. He knows it's sometimes quite an effective tactic if done well (which Wooyoung obviously had), but it always turned his stomach to think of teenagers being forced to flirt with adults to gain support.
“He was quick at learning new skills too, like you, which always impresses the assessors. He was very handy with knives, managed to get a surprisingly high skill score. By the end of promotions, everyone was so impressed with him that he managed to strike up an alliance with the Careers. He benefitted from their protection and food stores until late game, when he stabbed one in the back and escaped, then hid until he was the last one standing."
“And then they both got chosen again? Was that rigged too?”
A wry smile pulls at Eden’s lips.
“Not exactly. Their reaping did cause quite a stir though.”
He clicks his pointer again, and a recording of the District 3 reaping begins to play, with sound this time.
Mingi watches as an announcer in an electric blue suit unfolds the scrap of paper and squints at the name.
“And the second tribute for District 3 is… Jung Wooyoung.”
Wooyoung’s shoulders slump, and he goes to step forward, but Yeosang is quicker.
“I volunteer as tribute,” he says, eyes hard and voice flat.
Wooyoung cries out in horror and tries to pull him back, but Yeosang shakes him off without looking, striding forward to stand beside the other man on the podium.
“Very well,” says the announcer. “The second tribute for District 3 is Kang Yeosang. And now…”
“Wait!”
Wooyoung is pushing forward past the peacekeepers, wild determination on his face.
“Wait! I volunteer too!”
The announcer blinks, confused.
“Your place has already been taken by a volunteer, you cannot overrule…” they begin, but Wooyoung shakes his head.
“I volunteer to take his place.”
He points at the first male tribute, a middle-aged man with a prosthetic leg, who stares back at him in shock.
A buzz of surprise runs through the crowd. Yeosang’s perfect composure suddenly evaporates, and he turns on his friend, expression tight with fear and fury.
“Wooyoung, don’t you dare!” he shouts, but it’s too late.
The announcer has nodded their acceptance, and Wooyoung is moving forward to take Yeosang’s hand in his and raise it high above their heads, glaring out at the crowd defiantly even as Yeosang continues to shout at him. The clip ends abruptly.
“That’s quite some friendship,” says Mingi.
Eden nods.
“Their greatest asset is going to be their partnership. Neither of them are formidable fighters, but they’re smart, and that makes them just as dangerous. If you do decide to ally with them, be aware that they will always put each other first.”
“And finally, District 12.”
The screen shows a small, sharp-featured young man, chin raised defiantly as he glares directly into the camera. Mingi recognises him instantly as the victor of the 73rd Games - the year just before Mingi's.
“That's Kim Hongjoong,” he says.
“The Pirate King himself,” agrees Eden. “He doesn’t need any introduction, I’m sure.”
Mingi shakes his head.
He still remembers watching the games that Hongjoong won – how could he not? It was the first time in years that anyone in his district had cared – really cared – about the victor once their own two tributes had died.
He remembers standing in the city square with his friends, watching as the lake which had started off small on the first day slowly expanded to flood nearly the entire arena as the days passed. Watching everyone fall except the Careers, who’d secured both of the life-rafts the Cornucopia had been stocked with, and the District 4 tributes, with their knowledge of boats and water.
And the scrappy, fiery male tribute from District 12, afloat in the turbulent water on a flimsy hand-built raft held together by nothing but frayed rope and sheer determination.
The careers had laughed when they’d seen his make-shift craft, and they’d kept laughing right up until he used it to sail close enough to attack, aiming not for their bodies as they were expecting, but for the weak points of their own boats.
Mingi remembers watching the boy from District 1 mocking Hongjoong for missing as the smaller boy’s sword swung past him and into the hull of the rowboat, splitting the wood apart. Beside him in the town square, Mingi’s friend Hwanwoong had clutched at his arm and whispered ‘Oh my god’ and Mingi had nodded in agreement, because from a distance, they could see what the District 1 boy could not, could tell what Hongjoong was doing.
He’d sunk them with terrifying efficiency before they even realised what was happening, leaving them to the giant mutated sharks circling underneath. He’d passed out from exhaustion as soon as his last opponent was gone, and they’d had to postpone the Victor ceremony for days while waiting for him to recover, he’d pushed himself so far past his limits.
When he’d finally woken and the golden circlet of the victor had been placed on his head, some bright spark in the audience had shouted ‘the Pirate King!’ and the nickname had stuck.
Mingi has a great deal of admiration for the man, and the thought of going up against him in the arena is downright terrifying.
“People always underestimate how resourceful someone can be if they’ve been raised having to scavenge just to survive,” muses Eden. “The kid basically grew up behind a rubbish dump, he seems to know how to make just about anything out of a couple of old planks and some wire. A formidable opponent, that’s for sure. He’s not averse to alliances though, if his first games are anything to go by. He had a small band of people he was helping, tributes younger than himself. He kept them alive far longer than they would have managed by themselves.”
Eden switches off the screen and turns back to Mingi.
“So there you go,” he says. “Any thoughts?”
“I want to team up with Yunho,” says Mingi decisively. He’s not sure why he’s so certain about it, but he feels an undeniable pull towards the other man. “He seems like someone I could fight beside. And… maybe Jongho, too,” he adds after a moment’s thought.
Eden seems surprised at the speed of the decision, but he nods approvingly.
“Good idea,” he says. “They’d likely make a dependable team, or as close to one as you can get in circumstances like this. They don’t have a history of backstabbing, at the very least.”
He gathers up his things, and Mingi sinks back in his chair, feeling overwhelmed. Eden seems to notice his sudden tiredness, and smiles sympathetically.
“Get some rest,” he says. “It’s the parade tomorrow, and then you’ll be going straight into training”
Mingi nods, getting to his feet and heading for the luxurious bedroom he’s been given. Tomorrow, he’ll be subjected to the tumult and chaos of crowds, sponsors, and his fellow tributes, but for now, he will enjoy whatever moments of peace he is offered.
There’s nothing else he can do for now but hope.