It looks like some workers are under arrest in D11.
“You can swim, too,” he says. “Where did you learn that in District Twelve?”
“We have a big bathtub,” I answer.
“You must,” he says. “You like the arena?”
“Not particularly. But you should. They must have built it especially for you,” I say with an edge of bitterness. It seems like it, anyway, with all the water, when I bet only a handful of the victors can swim.
"let the 75th hunger games begin"
“Prim!” I cry out. “Prim!” Only another agonized scream answers me. How did she get here? Why is she part of the Games? (..) Her next wail rings out, clear as a bell, and there’s no mistaking the source. It’s coming from the mouth of a small, crested black bird perched on a branch about ten feet over my head. And then I understand. It’s a jabberjay.