The Hunger Games: Multi-Verse

Group Session (Annabeth Chase)

Athena's daughter woke up and at first, felt nothing -- she felt as if she were waking up on a normal day. But then she remembered where she was, and immense tension and fear from the entire situation encased the young girl. She sat straight up in her bed. 

Group training sessions today, Annabeth thought to herself, And I have no clue what it's going to be like. 

She hadn't gotten much sleep. Annabeth had been rolling around late into the night trying to analyze exactly how the session was going to go today with the other tributes, what she needed to sharpen her skills on, and who she was going to associate with. 

The people from Camp Half-Blood I can definitely trust, and should. I'd be stupid not to. Right?, Annabeth wondered anxiously as images of Clarisse whipped through her mind. 

Annabeth hustled around, getting dressed into the plain black agility suit, brushing her teeth, and whipping her blonde hair back into a ponytail before heading to the main room in the tribute floor for a grandeur breakfast of every food Annabeth could imagine; croissants with creamy chocolate infusions, egg cakes with pieces of zucchini and summer squash embedded, and bacon-wrapped mango slices (with chopped parsley, of course). 

Annabeth felt sick to her stomach with jittering, quivering nerves, but she forced herself to eat only because she knew she'd regret not eating later. 

Charles Beckendorf sat down quietly at the table, followed shortly after by Clarisse LaRue. Both of the older kids were quite sullen -- Clarisse didn't touch any of the food. 

Nico DiAngelo, the son of Hades, walked in last and ate a couple bites of a croissant. But other than that, the heaps of gourmet breakfast remained unscathed. Annabeth vaguely wondered where all that excess food went to -- is all of this just wasted? Then her mind traveled back to the tribute's main event of the day. 

The demigods headed to the elevator. Their strange mentor wished them the best of luck, and told them to make sure to try new areas of combat as anything could be presented to them in the arena. The four of them stepped into the elevator and began the trip to the basement, where the intense training center was held. 

Most of the other tributes were already gathered. The demigods took a standing place near the back of the crowd. 

It was intimidating for small Annabeth, being around such intimidating adults and, for the most part, other teenagers. And then she didn't even know what to make of the strange Star Wars duo of the large furry creature and small, yellow, wrinkled creature with magnified eyes from her goggles. 

A woman began speaking to them as a group when the final group of tributes arrived from the elevators. Annabeth took a small step closer to Charles, becoming more and more nervous by the second. Just about every tribute was substantially larger than Annabeth. 

Good thing I grew up fighting monsters and training in combat at my summer camp, she thought with a barely audible sigh. 

"In less than a month, only one of you will still be alive from this group. How each of you spends the next four days in training could play a huge part in determining who that individual will be. Try to broaden you skills, seeing as you will need to be stronger in more than one type of combat if you intend on winning these Games. May the odds be ever in your favor." The woman then stepped aside, and the tributes nearly spilled over each other into the room. 

When Annabeth crossed the threshold into the large gymnasium she was taken aback. There were a few large screens accompanied by strange keyboards (like a test), there were several raised and lowered stations accompanied by employees and mats that were specifically for combat training, the walls were a dark metallic navy blue with a bright blue streak lining near the ceiling, and there were several simulated areas of nature in the corners of the room. 

"Well . . . Where should we start?" Beckendorf asked, looking around. Clarisse and Beckendorf seemed to be as awestruck as Annabeth. 

"Maybe we should walk around a bit and figure it out." Annabeth suggested. So they began a self-tour of the training center in order to get a good grasp of what programs this place had to offer. 

They walked by an empty station and stand with four short strands of wood, of different length, straightness, and color. They were small enough to be held in one hand. "Who are those pieces of wood for?" Clarisse asked in a quiet voice and judgmental tone. Not one of the four kids could provide a reasonable explanation or answer. 

They arrived at one of the survival station where the group of three huge teenage boys seemed to be stuck in an anxious conversation instead of training. Annabeth strained for a moment to listen. 

"I swear Jake, it's a true imprint." "I can't believe it . . ." "You have to. We have to get to her in the arena. I can't let . . . I couldn't let . . . Her die, or Demetri . . . I just can't, okay?!"

Annabeth glanced over to them and saw the smallest of the three boys craning his neck to peer over the shoulders of the tallest one. She looked to see what he was struggling to see, and only saw the youngest female Panem tribute -- the one with the angry and violent facial expression, brown hair, and bunches of freckles -- throwing a set of knives with pinpoint accuracy at a figure-shaped target. 

Annabeth could only shake her head and move on. She had no clue what any of that had meant. 

They reached a combat-specific portion of the center. Many raised and lowered combat stations surrounded the narrow walkway through the place. 

Annabeth stared as one of the Marvel tributes -- the large dark-skinned man with dots covering his body -- powered through simulated hand-to-hand combat with one of the employees. The fight lasted only a few seconds, as the man gave powerful quick kicks and lethally charged punches to direct target areas. 

I hope I never have to come across him in the arena, Annabeth thought with a sense of eeriness. 

But then, at the next combat station, another one of the Marvel tributes was excellently fighting an employee. It was the woman with short red hair. Her partner, the dirty blonde-haired man, stood and watched as she wrapped her legs around the neck of the employee, twisted in midair, and threw him on the ground with a hard smack on the mats. The man watching gave a small smile and a light clap of applause.

"So . . . Where do you guys wanna go?" Beckendorf pulled Annabeth out of her dreary trance regarding the other tributes skills and strength. 

Clarisse suggested, "Why don't we just get in some simple archery practice?" 

The group of half-bloods nodded halfheartedly and headed in the direction of the bows and arrows. Little did they know that Clint Barton of the Avengers and Gale Hawthorne of Panem would never, ever risk letting another tribute get a hand on the bow and arrows in the arena. 

Nevertheless, they practiced at the simulated shooting range for nearly the entire session, a little too scared to venture anywhere else, but also too scared to admit it to the others. 

Finally they returned back to the room. After a hearty yet quiet dinner, the half-bloods looked to their mentor for final words before the night's end. 

"I'm sure you knew how important this session today was for your Games. Hopefully you selected to practice a skill that will help your odds in the arena. But tomorrow is even more important. It is your individual training session. You must show the Gamemakers a specific skill in private. It will not be recorded, but you will be given a score from one to twelve and your score will be televised to the entire nation tomorrow."

After a few moments to let the big information sink in, the mentor added, "Now go get some sleep. You'll need your energy for tomorrow."

Annabeth rushed to her room, starting to get overwhelmed by the idea of the individual session and the fact that her limited days preceding the Games seemed to be passing by faster and faster. 

_____