Forum Thread

Panem is a dystopian nation divided into twelve districts, ruled by the Capitol. As punishment for a failed rebellion many years before, each district must annually choose two tributes, one boy and one girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen, to fight to the death in the annual Hunger Games, until one victor remains. The event is televised across the Capitol and all districts, who are forced to watch. This year, there’s a little twist. People born with, or possessing supernatural abilities have been chosen. And something tells me…this time, the Games will be a little twisted. But surely it can’t be that bad….right?

Everyone knows what today is. It’s the day of the Reaping. Where two children are ripped from their homes to participate in a gruesome fight of survival. Though it’s guaranteed to be more interesting this time, for the Capitol has realized there exist supernaturals amongst them all.

---

“You fried gizzard feet! You stained my dress!! The custom tailored white lace one I got from France!!! Do you even know how much it costs???” Andrea flings her silk slipper at her flustered maid. “Sorry, miss.” She replies, trembling as she fumbles into a curtsy. The frightened maid had been dealing with her mistress’s fiery temper ever since one of the other maids spilt a drop of coffee on the carpet floor— an insignificant mistake that with no doubt pushed Andrea’s mood over the edge. She scoffs, flicking a speck of dirt off her shoulder, dismissing the maid with a haughty wave. Silver and gold bracelets wrapped around pale wrists, and pretty necklaces adorned her neck. She had an abundance of gold rings on her fingers, way too dazzling and way too elegant for someone just staying at home. But then again, Andrea always did things extravagantly. Despite all the bling, she didn’t look overdressed or out of place, her home as elegant as her figure. She was wearing a poofy black dress, so wide she could hid several dead bodies under it. Underneath the curtain that was her dress, an abundance of scrap metal lay, neatly packed for whatever ingenious ideas Andrea had. However, the thing that took pride of place and bunned up her long locks of jet black hair with white streaks was a ornate Damascus knife inlaid with gold, with a blood red ruby embedded in its handle of white marble.

[a little while later]

Soft white silk gloves slid gently across the table’s surface. Andrea put it up to her eyes, staring at it quietly, frowning when she spotted dust on her silk glove. “Anne!! Didn’t I tell you to get someone to clean this up? There’s dust! It’s not cleaned properly” She shrieks hysterically. Another small maid wobbles over, balancing a huge pile of laundry, and apologises hurriedly, scurrying off to go get someone to clean up the speck of dirt. Andrea was partially a germaphobe, she didn’t like it when there was even the slightest mess. She whistles, summoning the head maid over, and dismissing them all to go take a break after that mess was dealt with. The head maid nods gratefully, and Andrea sighs once the maids have all returned to their quarters. She rips off her jewellery and her gloves with scorn, letting her hair loose and slipping out of her dress to reveal decently normal clothing underneath. If you considered combat wear normal clothing, that is. Andrea walks in front of her floor to ceiling mirror, swiping her blood on the small scanner hidden in the mirror, as gears softly whir to life, revealing a pristine white laboratory, with all sorts of bubbling chemical brews poofing out colorful smoke. She selects a test tube with white solution inside, and minimal effervescence. Swirling it around, she nods approvingly, before pouring it into a bowl. She then takes out a mortar and pestle, and a clump of red looking rocks. Arsenic, and red metal cinnabar. She sprinkles a few dried leaves and a bunch more powders, checking it against some sort of journal. She pours it into a flask when ready, and pockets it. Next, she takes a needle, drawing out some of her own blood, and then gently uncoiling a snake from her shoulder. “Spit” she tells the snake, and venom trickles into the test tube. She empties the blood into a separate vial, then some of the venom. She watches the blood, then dropping a few jasmine leaves in it, a special orangey-purple flower, leaf pulp, Good. The venom was no longer effective. She smiles, having gotten her desired results. She curled the albino back around her neck, labelling the test tube. She steps away from experimenting for now, hanging her coat and lab goggles, before stepping into another section of the lab, scanning her thumbprint, retina and her DNA, as a small slit in the door turned into a handle, swinging open to reveal disguises of all sorts, intricate pieces of tech and a singular, simple needlegun. She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, then looks out the window. Hooray for the Reaping, she supposed. She cleans up, locks everything, and with one last look, she locks the lab and steps out of the mirror.

Tapping a few buttons on the small metal hummingbird, it whirred to life, following alongside her, wings flapping like a real one. With that, Andrea seemed to be satisfied, heading off to the Reaping

Sobble looks around and then at his map. The map looks old, as if it could crumble at the slightest touch. "So this, this seems to be the so called "Reaping" that I've heard about from others and from this map. Maybe I should focus training my rubber ability seeing as I can only control it partially." Sobble stretches his arm out to try reach a rock a few metres in front of him. His arm grabs the rock but then starts shaking as if Sobble has lost control.

"Dang it come on come on. Arghhh!" Sobble's arm quickly slows down and retracts. "Alright, I regained control. I'm making progress, what was my other ability again? Oh yeah, I can also make barriers that is made from energy." Sobble picks up the rock again. The rock has a smooth texture but some of the edges are a bit rough.

Aleksandr Volkov
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His palms were sweaty, knees weak, arms were heavy. or something like that.

The pasty-white, dirty-blonde-haired boy sighed, staring down at his little brother, Iliya Volkov, who was sleeping peacefully.

The crack of dawn, it was, and nobody in the house was awake. Not his 11-year old little brother, nor his 6 year old little sister. Not his stepmother, nor his damned father.

It was peaceful. The last of these moemnts, he guessed.

Something felt wrong. Very wrong. His sixth sense(the Volkov Sense tm) was going off, way too fast.

He had a bad feeeling about the reaping.

He sighed, as he trekked back to his room, pulling on a black hoodie.

"Alright. let's get this over with."

he muttered quietly.

he walked down to the kitchen, spreading jam upon a piece of toast, before exiting the house, silently.

---

Seraphina Weiss
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She awoke with a start, messy locks of purple hair flying in all directions as she sat up in bed.

She stared at the wall opposite her, before sliding out of bed.

She hummed softly, pulling on a jacket and tying up her hair, staring at the cracked mirror.

"...Looking good as ever, Sera!"

She clicked her tongue, shooting finger guns at herself, keeping the wide grin for a moment, before dropping the smile, sighing tiredly.

"Let's get going for the day, Sera."

She muttered quietly.

---

Wade Marwulf

---

xxxxxThe Morning, a hateful time. There was no time worse than the morning. The morning was the time where the warmest of bedsheets were sacrificed for the chill of the morning air, a full night of the wood burning stove being perfectly unattended, the flames within having devoured the fuel fed to it hours before, and died out slowly. Without the fire to heat the space of the house, the air grew angry and chilled, the hateful feeling of the morning embodied. It was there that Wade found his groggy, rather aggressive awakening, interrupted by the desperate urge to simply lay down and close his eyes again. Alas, his sleep way rudely interrupted by the shock of cold air stunning his skin. He gasped and sat upright, his eyes flicking quickly open, flinching at the beam of sunlight warming his face.. Covering his eyes, the gladiator squinted at his room, then saw his warm blanket on the floor next to him, cast aside by a tiny, insignificant movement in a nap he didn't know he'd taken. Groggy still, only now covered in goosebumps from the cold, Wade swung his legs out of bed, caught his blanket and tossed in back onto his bed, and stood to stretch. After a few audible pops from joints and the odd vertebrae, the unknowing competitor-to-be took a few brief minutes to change out of loose shorts and into his common work apparel; loose-fitting jeans, colored a lovely faded green, and a long-sleeved shirt which he rolled up to uncover his pale forearms. Wade made his way out of his own room, a relatively small space, and into the main space of his home, shared with his parents only. They were both still asleep, but they'd be along shortly. Marwulf stopped by the front door, tugging on a pair of black boots and tightening them, tying them and standing.. He seized some "breakfast", a slice of wheat bread with butter smeared across it, and made his way out the door. In a few moments, he was headed back in the door, looking around the entire house, aside from the room of his parents, eventually leaving once again with a small slip of forged steel. One end was slammed into a vague, crude screwdriver, the other end into a similar wrench. The multi-tool was tucked into a pocket, and Wade was gone again, vanished out the door.


xxxxxThe morning outside was fairly busy, though not busy in the typical sense. People shuffled, some dazed, others perfectly awake, towards a single goal. Of course, all knew it was the dawn that bore the Reaping, the haunting selection that terrorized every District at the same time, every year.. Wade was no stranger to it; he'd been selected once before, five years prior. His older brother had volunteered in his place, and died in the games to another victor from District 3. Wade had never forgiven himself. His parents had never forgiven District 3. Both parties were deeply disturbed by the loss, even those years later. Now, the event was a scar in Wade's mind. He recalled the day through a haze of fear every year, especially when the Reaping came to the Districts. The boom of the loudspeakers, his brother's hoarse voice nearly screaming, shoving Wade back.. The announcement of that death sent Wade into a deep hatred for himself. He became careless, self-destructive, obsessive.. That's when he first learned what his parents did, on the work of transportation, and he became obsessed with preparing himself to enter that same line of word...

“ɢᴇᴛ ᴜᴘ, ʙʟᴜᴇ ʀᴏʙɪɴ. ɪᴛ’ꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙɪɢ ᴅᴀʏ.” ᴀ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ʀᴀɴɢ.
ꜱᴄᴀʀʟᴇᴛ ʀᴇᴅ ᴇʏᴇꜱ ꜱʟᴏᴡʟʏ ʙʟɪɴᴋᴇᴅ ᴏᴘᴇɴ. ᴀ ʜᴀᴢʏ ꜰɪɢᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ɪɴᴛᴏ ꜰᴏᴄᴜꜱ.
“ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ, ʀᴏʙʙɪᴇ” ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ. ᴀꜱ ʜᴇʀ ᴇʏᴇꜱ ᴀᴅᴊᴜꜱᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʀɪɢʜᴛɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ, ᴀᴅᴇʟᴀɪᴅᴇ ʀᴏʙɪɴꜱᴏɴ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇᴅ ᴍɪᴍɪ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪʀᴛᴇᴇɴ-ʏᴇᴀʀ-ᴏʟᴅ ɢɪʀʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱʜᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴛʀᴀɪɴɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴄᴀᴅᴇᴍʏ. ʜᴇʀ ꜰɪɴᴀʟ ᴘʀᴏᴊᴇᴄᴛ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴘɪɴɢ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛʀᴀɪɴ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ’ꜱ ꜰɪɴᴇꜱᴛ. ꜱʜᴇ’ᴅ ᴘɪᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴘʀᴏᴍɪꜱɪɴɢ ꜰᴜᴛᴜʀᴇ. ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ɴᴏᴡ, ᴀᴛ ꜱɪxᴛᴇᴇɴ, ᴍɪᴍɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ɢʀᴀᴅᴜᴀᴛᴇ ᴇᴀʀʟʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴠᴏʟᴜɴᴛᴇᴇʀ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴘɪɴɢ, ᴡɪɴɴɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴀᴍᴇꜱ ɪɴ ᴀ ʟᴀɴᴅꜱʟɪᴅᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴇᴀʀ. ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴜʀꜱᴇ, ꜱʜᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴇʟꜱᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ. ᴛʜᴇ ɢʟᴏʀʏ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ᴀʟʟ ʜᴇʀꜱ ɴᴏᴡ.

“ᴛᴏᴅᴀʏ’ꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʏ, ʙʟᴜᴇ ʀᴏʙɪɴ. ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴀ ᴡɪɴɴᴇʀ, ᴏᴋᴀʏ?”

ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴀʀɢᴜɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴɪɴɢ ᴇɪɢʜᴛᴇᴇɴ-ʏᴇᴀʀ-ᴏʟᴅ ᴄᴀʀᴇᴇʀꜱ, ᴀᴅᴇʟᴀɪᴅᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴘɪᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇᴇʀ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʏᴇᴀʀ; ᴀ ʏᴇᴀʀ ᴇᴀʀʟʏ. ꜱᴜʀᴘʀɪꜱɪɴɢʟʏ, ᴄᴀꜱᴍᴇᴀʀ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀʟᴇ ᴛʀɪʙᴜᴛᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʏᴇᴀʀ, ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀʟꜱᴏ ᴀ ʏᴇᴀʀ ᴛᴏᴏ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ.
_____________________________________________________

ɢᴏʀɢᴇᴏᴜꜱ ʙʟᴜᴇ ʜᴀɪʀ ɪɴ ᴀ ꜱʜᴏʀᴛ ᴘᴏɴʏᴛᴀɪʟ ʙʟᴇᴡ ʟɪɢʜᴛʟʏ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ʙʀᴇᴇᴢᴇ. ᴀ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ʟᴀᴄᴇ-ᴀɴᴅ-ʀᴏꜱᴇ ʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴅʀᴇꜱꜱ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴀꜱᴛᴇᴅ ᴀ ᴘʀɪꜱᴛɪɴᴇ ᴡʜɪᴛᴇ ᴄᴏʟʟᴀʀ. ɢʟᴀᴍᴏʀᴏᴜꜱ ʏᴇᴛ ᴘʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴄᴀʟ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ᴘʟᴀᴛꜰᴏʀᴍꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀɴᴋʟᴇ ᴄᴜꜰꜰꜱ ᴀᴅᴏʀɴᴇᴅ ʜᴇʀ ʟᴇɢꜱ. ᴀᴅᴇʟᴀɪᴅᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ Qᴜɪᴛᴇ ᴀ ꜱɪɢʜᴛ ᴛᴏᴅᴀʏ. ꜱʜᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍɪᴍɪ ʜᴀᴅ ꜱᴘᴇɴᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ᴍᴀᴋɪɴɢ ꜱᴜʀᴇ ꜱʜᴇ ʟᴏᴏᴋᴇᴅ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴀ. ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ, ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ꜱʜᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀꜱꜱᴇꜱ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀɪʙᴜᴛᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴀᴅᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴡᴇᴇᴋ. ꜱᴛᴀɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴇᴘᴀʀᴇᴅ, ᴀᴅᴇʟᴀɪᴅᴇ ꜰᴏᴜɴᴅ ʜᴇʀ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰʀᴏɴᴛ ʀᴏᴡ. ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴘɪɴɢ ᴄᴇʀᴇᴍᴏɴʏ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅɴ’ᴛ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʜᴏᴜʀ, ʙᴜᴛ ꜱʜᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴘᴀʀᴇᴅ.

---

DANTE 'KEE' BIANCHI

pre-reaping

The sky was beautiful. A mix of blues and pinks, and a hint of gold and yellow. He watched the birds native to his district fly overhead, and with eyes closed, listened to the caws and screeches of the avians overhead. It was a beautiful sound. Oh how he longed to be a bird, sometimes. They just seemed so free. They had so much freedom. They could fly to and fro, into and out of the District.

They had freedom.

Something Dante had always craved.

He sighed, and laid his head on a large, mossy boulder, running his shaking hands through the grass. He lay still, eyes still trained on the beautiful sky above his head.

Maybe if he prayed hard enough, he'd suddenly sprout wings and fly away.

Sure, it was a childish hope, but what else could he really do?

What else could he really do? stuck here in the hell-hole of a District.

"...at least I have the birds..." he murmured. It was honestly the only thing he liked about his District. The precious few moments where he could escape reality and just feel at peace, listening to the birdsong.

Music to his ears.

He glanced down to his shaking hands. "Oh yeah..." He mumbled. "The Reaping."

Dante groaned again. He dreaded it. He hated it. He wished the ground could swallow him up and that he could never go to the Reaping.

He glanced up desperately at the birds, as if to say, take me with you.

Dante scowled. It was no hope, these petty ideas.

Petty, stupid, foolish, idiotic Dante.

"..stupid, stupid, stupid." He spat, kicking up dirt.

He began the long trek back to his District, fists balled up and a permanent scowl on his face.

The birds cawed once more as if to say, good luck.

Yet, luck was never really on your side, was it?

The odds...

Were never in your favour.

---

KEIKI MEYUMI


pre-reaping

"You're oh so hilarious, aren't you, Fawcy?" Keiki muttered, sticking their tongue out at the young girl.

"Buuu-uuut Keii-iii-kiii!" She pouted. "You'd look great in a bow!!"

Keiki rolled their eyes. "As much as I love you, Fawcy, I am not going to the Reaping in a bow, especially one that you've stolen from your poor dolls! How do you think Freya feels, now that you've taken her beautiful bow?"

The girl stopped and looked towards her doll. "I'm sorry Freyaa-aa!!" She wailed.

Keiki laughed. "You're so adorable, Fawcy." They whispered.

They smiled sadly, watching the child re-attach the bow onto the doll's head.

"There! All perfect~" Fawcy said in a sing-song voice. "Doesn't she look pretty, Keiki?"

Keiki nodded. "Super pretty, Fawcy. But not as pretty as you!"

Fawcy giggled.

Another sad smile from Keiki.

"How long will you be at the Rea-ping?" Asked Fawcy, struggling to pronounce the word.

Keiki shrugged. "Not long, don't you worry!"

Fawcy smiled. "Ok! We play hide and seek after?"

"Sure.

I'll be back soon, don't you worry.

We can play hide and seek together, and then we'll see what delicious food Mother's been making, how does that sound?

The Reaping will be so quick, it'll be gone in the blink of an eye!"

Fawcy nodded vigorously. "O-ok! Bye-ee!"

"See ya, Fawcy. I'll be back before you know it!"

"I feel like I'm getting the hang of this." Sobble stretches his arm out and grabs a small acorn in the trees. The leaves shake with the wind, the acorn feels smooth on most parts but some of the edges are a bit sharp. "Yep, I just needed to practice a bit more to get used to this ability, it's actually pretty useful." Sobble reaches inwards and drops the acorn at his feet.

Sobble looks around, the uneasy feeling of someone nearby. Sobble quickly hides in a nearby bush, Sobble does not know such things as Nen or Chakra or other anime battle systems like that. "Uh oh, I think I might have company." Sobble puts 2 barriers, one in front and one behind him. The area is now very tense, Sobble's eyes scanning the area for enemies or suspicious characters.

ᴛʜᴇ ʙɪʀᴅꜱ ᴄʜɪʀᴘᴇᴅ ᴍᴇʟᴏᴅɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ ɪɴ ᴅɪꜱᴛʀɪᴄᴛ 5. ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇʟᴇᴄᴛʀɪᴄɪᴛʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋᴇʀꜱ ʜᴀᴅ ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ʟᴇꜰᴛ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴀᴡɴ. ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ Qᴜɪᴇᴛ. ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴇꜰᴜʟ, ᴇᴠᴇɴ.
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ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟɪꜱꜱꜰᴜʟ ɪɴɴᴏᴄᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʙɪʀᴅꜱ’ ꜱᴏɴɢ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴀʟᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴅɪꜱᴛʀᴀᴄᴛ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏʀʀᴏʀꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ. ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴘɪɴɢ. ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴄᴜʀꜱᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ꜱᴜᴘᴇʀɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴀʟ ᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʀɪꜱᴋ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴅᴇᴍɪꜱᴇ. ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇꜱ.

ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇꜱ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴀɴ ᴀʀᴇɴᴀ. ᴍᴀʀʀᴇɪᴀɴᴇ ᴡᴀꜱɴ’ᴛ ꜱᴛᴜᴘɪᴅ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴛʜᴀᴛ. ꜱʜᴇ ᴋɴᴇᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴛᴇᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴀɢᴇ; ᴛʜᴇʏ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴄᴀʟʟᴇᴅ. ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ ꜱɪɴᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴄᴀʟᴄᴜʟᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴏʀᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ, ᴛᴏ ꜱʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪꜱᴛʀɪᴄᴛꜱ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢᴇᴅ. ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴀʀᴇɴᴀ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴀɢᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ɪɴꜱɪᴅᴇ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴏʀᴍᴇʀꜱ. ᴍᴀʀʀᴇɪᴀɴᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʙᴇᴇɴ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴏʀᴍᴀɴᴄᴇꜱ.
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ᴍᴀʀʀᴇɪᴀɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴏɴ ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ʟɪᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ʟɪꜰᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱɴ’ᴛ Qᴜɪᴛᴇ ᴀ ʜᴀɴᴅ-ᴛᴏ-ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜ ᴇxɪꜱᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ. ꜱʜᴇ ʟɪᴠᴇᴅ ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴇʀ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ʜᴀʟꜰ; ʜᴇʀ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴋɪɴᴅ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ. ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴅᴀʏ, ꜱʜᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ɢᴏ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇʟᴇᴄᴛʀɪᴄɪᴛʏ ꜰᴀᴄᴛᴏʀɪᴇꜱ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀᴀᴄᴋ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴀᴡɴ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴀʏ ꜰᴏʀ ʜᴇʀ ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ’ꜱ ᴇᴅᴜᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.
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ʜᴇʀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ‘ʀᴀꜰꜰʟᴇ’ —(ꜰᴏʀ ʟᴀᴄᴋ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴡᴏʀᴅ)—ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ-ᴛᴡᴏ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ᴛᴏᴅᴀʏ. ꜰɪᴠᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ꜱɪɴᴄᴇ ꜱʜᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴᴛᴇᴇɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴇxᴛʀᴀ ꜰᴏᴏᴅ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴇᴋᴇᴇᴘᴇʀꜱ. ʙᴜᴛ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇꜱ? ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅɴ’ᴛ ʙᴇ ᴀ ᴛʀɪʙᴜᴛᴇ. ꜱʜᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅɴ’ᴛ ʙᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴘᴇᴅ ᴛᴏᴅᴀʏ.

𝚁𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?

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Casimir waited silently outside of the factory. He could faintly hear the whir of the ever-working machines dedicated to sorting the ores that had been brought in by miners. He fiddled with a small splinter of wood he held between two fingers. As anxiety gnawed at his stomach, he watched District 1 thrive. It was just like a normal day, but there was an air of somber silence, children who had hoped to not have been chosen, and parents who had prayed to whatever god would listen.

His mind wandered quickly away, as people without any worry about the Reaping laid hands on his shoulder in a comforting, tender expression. He could see a pack of Careers, the lucky ones that had been trained specifically for the task. They were all sending silent glances to him. He had spent most of his life in the factories and overall doubted his chances of winning the Games. All he had hoped was that the other would win for their district.

He didn’t quite remember her name, only her family name. Robinson. Too much of a mouthful he thought. Robin would do.

He stood and went to the nearby medic’s house. As he walked into the quiet, sunbathed room, he gave his little sister a quick kiss on the forehead. She didn’t move. Maybe when she finally woke up after all these months, she would see that he was gone and be thankful that there would be one less mouth to feed.

It was too late to run. As he walked over to find the other District One tribute, he knew the other residents of District One could see him trembling with his head down. He could see a slight flash of dark blue hair. He called out to it.

“Robin? Robinson? Whatever your name is?”

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xxxThe whistle of a blade, the scent of rusted iron, the slight resistance of bone under his hand, pulling taunt fishing lines as it cut into callused flesh, drowning under everything that came with knowing the stakes of each passing day. Staring out into a beach awash with diluted red, the crashing surf battering against stiff ankles, lost in the sea of dreams that always could have been but never will be. The salty smell of disappointment, what a haunting delicacy. Lăcrămioara would never cease to tire of it, chasing after fleeting dreams with ephemeral pleasures

xxxThe crunch of the surf drew Viorel out of his musings as he turned around to watch as a classmate crouched beside him on the wet sands, the bottoms of immaculately pressed slacks picking up a little color. "You're going to be late, golden boy." Shiki noted, drawing a nonsensical pattern on the beach with a slender finger. Viorel only hummed tipping his head to the side where he could comfortably lay on the other's thin shoulder. His classmate had always been too thin for his own good, easy to sweep off his feet and overwhelm even if that slim stature came from years of free-diving, more suited to silent ambushes rather than head on confrontations. Next year, Viorel surmised. Next year, Shiki would be the one thrown into the arena and placed with the burden of winning honour and glory for their district just as last year's candidates were, just like Viorel and whatever girl who would volunteer alongside him were expected to bring home or die trying.

xxxHe didn't really mind the fact that he was being shipped off towards his death, it was something he had long since made peace with after rising to the top of his class, overpowering those older than him with mind games and careful words. At the very least, he planned to make his death as entertaining as could be, a grand final send off that included all the showmanship expected out of games made to entertain a very select group of wealthy pigs who gorged themselves on peasant blood. Districts didn't matter in the end; everyone bleeds the same colour anyways. A gentle nudge again brought his thoughts back into his body as sand crusted hands gently cupped Viorel's face as it was drawn up to face the sun backlit with golden radiance. "Vivi, come on. Let me say goodbye one last time." Shiki coaxed, lips that only spoke lies and promises gently kissing the red markings on either side of his nose, Viorel scrunching up his face in protest.

xxx"I see, you don't think I'll win, huh?" He pouted, angling his face up for a real drop of affection, spine cracking as he leaned into the fleeting touches. All he got in return was a harsh pinch against his scarred cheek as Shiki rewarded greedy advances with a chiding. There was comfort to be found between two warm bodies and in a school where such warmth sprayed across skin and twisted themselves into unnatural shapes, anything could be used against each other. The familiarity of violence was the only thing scarred hands knew how to offer even when given something else to hold. But even as they ripped flesh into ribbons and dug their teeth into shoulders, holding on until the last fang, the scolding slap of a gentle tap of fingers against smarting skin, they could well read between the lines of each word and action.

xxx"With how idiotic you are, I wouldn't put it past you to trip and fall on your blade." Shiki huffed, yanking him up with one smooth movement, unexpected given the other's stature. "But I won't be able to point and laugh if you don't get reaped." The pair stumbled slightly, the lapping waves shifting wet sand to undermine their balance but those who had trained to take lives as soon as they could be cognizant of such a fact would not be so easily toppled over. Tangled legs righted themselves and Viorel couldn't help but sink into the embrace, a sly smirk on his face as he brushed a hand over the other boy's face. Well, at least his final hours on home surf would be filled with a beauty.

xxx"No, no you won't." Viorel agreed, sliding steel past planes of muscle without much resistance, finding its place in a warm gut full of spilled blood. "Not if you don't get that looked at." Laughing as Shiki stumbled back, coughing wet red, Viorel turned on his heel and picked his way up the beach, ignoring the romantic sentiments of leaving the other with a knife of his own making lodged in his body. There were other things worth thinking about.

---

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Liro Alexandrite

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Liro clutched his game bag tightly with blackened hands as he took careful steps towards the Hob. Even now, at the age of fourteen, he still felt shivers run down his spine at the thought of going to the Black Market. Biting his lip, he pushed open the doors, glad that few people took notice of him. The least he wanted was to draw attention to himself.

“Morning, Gemstone.” A familiar voice spoke. Liro’s head whipped to his right, before his grey eyes met with those of a tawny brown. He knew those eyes from his younger childhood, and still winced at the nickname. “Mollie.” He greeted in return, passing her a squirrel. Mollie scanned his catch carefully, before nodding and passing him a small loaf of warm bread. He stared, awestruck at the trade before glancing up at her as if to confirm the sight. “Happy Hunger Games—”

“And may the odds be ever in your favour.” He finished, though a little bitterly then his usual mockery of the phrase. His name was entered 39 times, the odds weren’t exactly in his favour. One for each year he had been allegeable to fight in the Games and 36 for each month of supplies for his sister and father since he was twelve. For the amount of food available in the Capitol, they spared next to nothing for the remaining citizens. “Good luck.” Mollie said. He needed it.

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Celaine Airus

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Celaine tugged an old wooden brush through her fiery red hair, groaning at the strands that were pulled from her scalp. It was surprisingly painful; she hadn’t felt true pain since.. he volunteered— No, she couldn’t think about that. It would only distract her, if she was chosen. She swallowed her guilt and straightened her shirt, stained with hues from this morning’s crop that was once again shipped off to the Capitol. The mere thought of them make her blood boil, her face taut with disgust. Celaine would have them all thrown into the games by their wealthy, surgically modified ears if she was president; see how the games ruins their moral compass, their mind and their hearts.

A small, innocent face appeared at her door, complete with a delicate smile that played on her lips. “Ooh! You look pretty!” Rya whispered, though that was the only way she talked. “My Ma says that it’s time.” Her smile faltered for a moment and she bit her lip in worry. Shook her head. “You won’t get picked. This is your first time and I haven’t taken out that much tesserae. We’re one of the lucky ones. I’m not worried.” She gave a fake smile that seemed to pass, though she couldn’t deny her nervous conscious.

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"Alrighty, since there's practically no one around me it was probably just the wind. Besides it would make sense for me to get paranoid for this, man I don't think I'll go that far in the games. Whenever I participate in something elimination based, I always and I mean always lose first. No matter the condition or opponents, maybe that has to do with my skill level.

Sobble disables the barriers, losing a bit of energy in the process. Keeping track of his own limits was never a thing for him. As the barriers disappear from sight, the particles float down to the ground like small dimly lit flashlights. "Man, I wonder when this map was made. It looks really old, old enough to be made by someone who would be hundreds of years old. Weird thing is I got this from an antique shop, maybe I shouldn't say that out loud though."

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“ᴀᴅᴇʟᴀɪᴅᴇ. ʙᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴄᴀʟʟ ᴍᴇ ʙʟᴜᴇ ʀᴏʙɪɴ—ʀᴏʙɪɴ, ꜰᴏʀ ꜱʜᴏʀᴛ—ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴍʏ ᴄᴏᴅᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴄᴀᴅᴇᴍʏ. ᴄᴏᴅᴇꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ ɴᴀᴍᴇꜱ ᴡᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇᴇʀꜱ ʜᴀᴠᴇ. ɪᴛ’ꜱ ʀᴇᴠᴇᴀʟᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴡᴇ ᴛʀᴜꜱᴛ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴛᴇᴀᴍᴍᴀᴛᴇ. ɪɴꜱᴛᴇᴀᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅɪꜰꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴛɪᴀᴛᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴄᴀʟʟᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ʜᴇʟᴘ ɪɴ ᴀ ʙᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ, ᴡᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʙʏ ɪɴꜱᴛɪɴᴄᴛ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʟᴘ ɪꜰ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴄᴀʟʟꜱ ᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴏᴅᴇ.” ꜱʜᴇ ᴇxᴘʟᴀɪɴᴇᴅ, ʜᴏᴘɪɴɢ ʜᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴄᴀᴛᴄʜ ᴏɴ. “ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴄᴀꜱɪᴍɪʀ.” ʀᴏʙɪɴ ᴀᴅᴅᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴍɪʟᴇ. “ᴀᴍ ɪ ᴘʀᴏɴᴏᴜɴᴄɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʀɪɢʜᴛ?” ꜱʜᴇ ᴀꜱᴋᴇᴅ ᴡᴀʀᴍʟʏ.

ᴄᴀꜱɪᴍɪʀ ᴡᴀꜱɴ’ᴛ ᴀ ᴄᴀʀᴇᴇʀ, ʙᴜᴛ ꜱʜᴇ ᴛʀᴜꜱᴛᴇᴅ ʜɪᴍ ᴀɴʏᴡᴀʏ. ꜱʜᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ꜱᴘᴇɴᴛ ᴍᴏɴᴛʜꜱ ᴘᴇᴇʀɪɴɢ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴜᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪꜱᴛʀɪᴄᴛ 1’ꜱ ᴛᴇᴇɴꜱ, ꜱᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴘʀᴏᴍɪꜱɪɴɢ ꜰᴀᴛᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴀᴍᴇꜱ. ᴄᴀꜱɪᴍɪʀ ꜱᴛᴏᴏᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ; ʜᴇ ꜱᴇᴇᴍᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜱᴏ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴅɪꜰꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴀᴛʜꜱ ᴛᴏ ɢᴏ ᴅᴏᴡɴ. ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ɪᴍᴘᴏʀᴛᴀɴᴛʟʏ, ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ, ʜᴇ ᴋɴᴇᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪᴛ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛᴏ ɪᴛ, ᴜɴʟɪᴋᴇ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀʀᴏɢᴀɴᴛ ᴄᴀʀᴇᴇʀꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴜɴʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ.

ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴇʀ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ, ᴀᴅᴇʟᴀɪᴅᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴄᴀᴅᴇᴍʏ ᴀʀʀᴀɴɢᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴏꜱᴇɴ ᴠᴏʟᴜɴᴛᴇᴇʀ ᴛʀɪʙᴜᴛᴇ, ᴘɪꜱꜱɪɴɢ ᴏꜰꜰ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇᴇʀꜱ ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛʀʏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʟᴜᴄᴋ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʏᴇᴀʀ.
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ᴛʜɪꜱ ʏᴇᴀʀ’ꜱ ɢᴀᴍᴇꜱ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴀ ᴘᴜᴢᴢʟᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʜᴇʀ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴄʟᴇᴀʀ ᴠɪᴄᴛᴏʀ ʏᴇᴛ, ꜱᴏᴍᴇʜᴏᴡ. ᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀɪʙᴜᴛᴇꜱ’ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀꜱ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɢᴏ ɪɴ ꜱᴏ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴅɪꜰꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴛ ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ɪɴɴᴜᴍᴇʀᴀʙʟᴇ ᴏᴜᴛꜱɪᴅᴇ ꜰᴀᴄᴛᴏʀꜱ. ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀ ꜰᴏʀᴋ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ꜰᴀᴛᴇ ɴᴏᴡ, ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴏʙɪɴ ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ʙɪᴛ.
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ꜱʜᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀꜱɪᴍɪʀ ꜰᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴡᴀʏ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴇᴀᴛꜱ. ɪɴ ʜᴇʀ ʜᴇᴀᴅ, ꜱʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀɪʙᴜᴛᴇꜱ ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴘᴇᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʏᴇᴀʀ. ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪꜱꜰᴏʀᴛᴜɴᴀᴛᴇ ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʀɪᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴀᴡᴀʏ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟɪᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴅɪᴇ—ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀᴛ ᴀᴅᴇʟᴀɪᴅᴇ’ꜱ ᴏᴡɴ ʜᴀɴᴅ. ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʜᴀᴅ ɴᴏ ᴄʟᴜᴇ.

---

ꜱɪɢʜ
ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀᴜɴᴄʜ ᴏꜰ ꜰᴏʀᴇꜱᴛ ꜰᴏᴏᴛꜱᴛᴇᴘꜱ. ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ꜱɪɢʜꜱ ᴏꜰ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰʀᴏꜱᴛʏ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ᴀɪʀ.

ᴀ ꜱᴏᴍʙᴇʀ ᴀɪʀ ʜᴀᴅ ʙᴇꜰᴀʟʟᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪꜱᴛʀɪᴄᴛꜱ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ. ᴀɴ ᴏᴍɪɴᴏᴜꜱ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴄʜᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴀʟʟ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ’ꜱ ꜱᴛᴏᴍᴀᴄʜꜱ. ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴘɪɴɢ ᴡᴀꜱ ꜱᴏᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇɢɪɴ.

ᴍᴀʀʀᴇɪᴀɴᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴅɢᴇᴅ ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏʀᴇꜱᴛ ᴘᴀᴛʜ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪꜰᴛʜ ᴅɪꜱᴛʀɪᴄᴛ. ꜱʜᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ᴘʟᴀɴɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ʜᴇʀ ᴏɴʟʏ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ, ᴀᴛᴍᴏꜱ, ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀᴍ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ; ᴀ ᴛʀᴀᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴ ʙᴏʀɴ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴ ᴇᴠᴇʀ-ʟᴏᴏᴍɪɴɢ ꜰᴇᴀʀ. ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴀᴘᴇᴅ. ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴏʀᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ, ᴀ ᴘᴜᴘᴘᴇᴛ, ᴅᴀɴᴄɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴀɢᴇ ᴛɪʟʟ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴠᴇʀʏ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜ.

ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ, ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ʀʜʏᴛʜᴍɪᴄ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀꜰᴀʟʟ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴍᴇ ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇᴀʙʟᴇ. ꜱᴏᴏɴ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴇᴇꜱ ɢᴀᴠᴇ ᴡᴀʏ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴍᴏɴꜱᴛʀᴏᴜꜱ ᴅᴀᴍ. ᴅᴇꜱᴘɪᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀᴄᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴀɴᴛᴏɴ ꜰᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ ɪɴ ɪᴛ, ᴍᴀʀʀᴇɪᴀɴᴇ ᴅᴇꜱᴘɪꜱᴇᴅ ɪᴛ. ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀᴍ ʀᴇᴍɪɴᴅᴇᴅ ʜᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴘɪᴛᴏʟ. ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴀʟʟ, ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴘɪᴛᴀʟ. ɪᴛ ᴘʀᴏᴠɪᴅᴇᴅ ᴇʟᴇᴄᴛʀɪᴄɪᴛʏ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴘɪᴛᴀʟ. ʏᴇᴛ ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴘɪᴛᴀʟ. ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇʟᴅᴇʀꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪꜱᴛʀɪᴄᴛ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ꜱʟᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴀᴡᴀʏ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ ꜱᴜɴ ᴛᴏ ʙᴜɪʟᴅ ɪᴛ; ᴀ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ɪɴᴛᴇʀʀᴜᴘᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪᴠᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜰɪꜱʜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪʟᴅʟɪꜰᴇ ɪɴ ᴇxᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ꜰᴇᴡ ᴡᴇᴀʟᴛʜʏ ᴘɪɢꜱ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴛᴏᴘ-ɴᴏᴛᴄʜ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴛᴠ.

ʜᴇʀ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛꜱ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀʀᴜᴘᴛᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɪɢʜᴛ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇʀ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴʟʏ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ, ᴀᴛᴍÓꜱ ꜱᴏʟʀᴏɴ. ɪɴ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴋ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴀꜱᴛ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʀ, ʜᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀɴ ᴏᴘᴛɪᴍɪꜱᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀɴ ᴇxᴛʀᴏᴠᴇʀᴛ. ʏᴇᴛ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʜᴇʀ ᴏɴʟʏ ʜᴇ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴏᴏᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴʟʏ ꜱʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ꜱᴇᴇ ʜɪꜱ ᴡᴏʀʀɪᴇꜱ ᴅᴇᴇᴘ ɪɴꜱɪᴅᴇ.

ᴍᴀʀʀᴇɪᴀɴᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴅᴅᴇᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴀᴛ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ. ꜱʜᴇ ɢᴀᴠᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴀ ɢʟᴀɴᴄᴇ; ꜰᴏʀ ꜱʜᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ ᴏꜰ ꜰᴇᴡ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ, ᴛʀᴜꜱᴛɪɴɢ ʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴇᴀʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ꜱʜᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜱᴀɪᴅ.

ɪꜰ ɪ’ᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴘᴇᴅ, ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜰᴏʀɢᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ.

---

Everest Lamb
It was a beautiful day, really, Everest thought, looking at the sun shining above. It was like any other day in district 10, the dry heat clinging to his skin. It was the day of the reaping.

He had, of course, been up with the sun, making sure the animals didn’t go hungry on a day such as this. Really, these animals were much better fed than they were. Wasn’t that funny when you think about it, but Everest tried not to.

Right on clue, his stomach started to growl. A common occurrence, yet still annoying. The cow he had been attending to let out a low moo.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s fine” He said, resting his head on hers for a moment before determining that if he really didn’t want to be imprisoned for not going to the reaping, he should probably go now. “I’ll see you later.”

His name had been added to the reaping twenty four times by now. That’s what you get for needing to eat. He considered himself lucky. Some families were much larger than his. Still, having his name in that many times wasn’t very comforting for the odds. But again, he tried not to think about it. Just needed to make his way over to the reaping, watch his neighbors get selected to die, then return to the farm and continue his duties.

---

xxxThe burning chill of morning dew crawled up small hands, pins and needles bristling under delicate skin. The barest twitch of muscle against cobbled concrete and moulded walls boxing in the small figure drowned in shadows and dripping dew. Ibaraki shifted, the rough cut of sheepskin sliding off shivering shoulders as the child sat up to look around blearily, ignoring the budding migraine that would surely blossom arduously. The small shed that was considered the closest thing to "home" was empty, Dad having gone out to work the morning shift. Or was wasted somewhere.

xxxUncaring of the silence that weighed heavily against thin shoulders, Ibaraki clambered onto unsteady feet, ignoring the burning pain that sat snugly in a stuttering chest, a hollow hole carved out just for it. Hunger was a familiar sensation that gnawed away at hollow bones and sallow skin, baby fat that should still have hung off growing muscles all but gone as lethargy chained thin ankles into dragging depths. Clutching thin fabric over an erratically beating heart, Ibaraki's free hand came up to brush dirt off exposed muscle that stretched across grimy cheeks, golden eyes roving over the piles of old hay and rotting wood.

xxxNo one was there.

xxxNot even the animals that sometimes took refuge in the crumbling beams.

xxxSmall eyebrows furrowed in worry as Ibaraki stumbled out into the meadows that surrounded the shabby shack. Not even the workers who tended to the growing wheat and agriculture could be seen, the empty tilled fields where greenery was beginning to blossom so alien and foreign to a young child whose daily routine had never shifted ever since Dad had started to pull away.

xxxClutching the threadbare oversized shirt in a trembling hand, Ibaraki looked around frantically attempting to rationalize the sudden jarring shift in reality where everyone but the child had been magicked away in the dead of night. Each action sent bolts of discomfort running up shaking legs but the only way forward was to take another step, the fruitless search yielding only disappointment and new anxieties.

and a

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xxxIbaraki could feel the constrictions tying wheezing breaths up into bare puffs of air, spots dancing across a vision that could barely even see beyond the red that beaded along trembling lids. The pounding pressure behind closed eyes had grown into piercing needles, debilitating if not for the familiarity with which it invaded the senses. The buildup of fluid that should have only pumped life through such a young body only coursed pain through sensitive nerves and frayed receptors, leaving behind a shell of a child, waiting for the flare up to run its course, ravaging through shaking limbs and a weakened heart.

xxxBlinking away the spots that had danced across dotted vision, clearing away the haze that had blinded glittering gold, Ibaraki startled to see Dad kneeling on the ground, chaff sticking to frayed overalls. The sun reflected off his red hair as Dad started for a moment before standing back up, callused hands knocking away debris before it stretched out beyond Ibaraki's vision. "Come on." Dad commanded, gruff voice cutting through the pain and settling deep into weary bones.

xxxTaking the outstretched hand, Ibaraki glanced around to see worried gazes following the pair, workers who were picking up the last of the grain before the hour of finality drew close enough to be touched. Littered around the field familiar faces furrowed with concern, people who had taken care of the sickly child as their own ever since alcohol became a familiar scent on heavy breaths. These were the aunties and uncles and siblings who Ibaraki had grown up with all twisting their hearts as Dad led them towards the town proper.

xxxWhere.... had they come from?

---

Lilith Amberstar
Lilith sat patiently, brushing her doll’s bright red locks with a small brush. She hummed to herself, a small smile on her face. Her mother sat beside her, entertaining young Lilith’s antics, pouring pretend tea into dainty little cups for the dolls, as well as mini tea cakes, with a small jar of ‘honey’.

However, their peaceful playtime was soon disrupted by her father. Blundering into the room, roaring incoherently, meaty fists waving in displeasure. ‘Like a wild boar’ Lilith thought. Except to think this would be insulting to the boar. “Git up, you *****. Make yerself useful, a wife like ya is supposed ta cook and clean fir meh” He yells, slamming his fist on the table before clinging on to it for support, having nearly stumbled over his own feet in a drunken stupor. Lilith’s mother got up meekly to cook, not even daring to look him in the eyes, lest she spark another burst of unreasonable rage from the man. “And you, whaddya think ya doing, lazy *****? Playing dollies? What are ya, five? Stupid *****. Go help yer good fir nuthin mother in the kitchen, or I’ll beat the hell out of you.” Lilith’s blue eyes hardened, but she said nothing, quietly picking up her doll and heading in the direction of the kitchen. A whispered incantation, and her dolls came to life, helping her dear mother in the kitchen, chopping up vegetables and stirring the soup. Meanwhile, Lilith left the kitchen. Quietly, she observed her father from a distance, making sure that she stayed out of sight. Patience. Good things came to those who waited. And just as Lilith was about to return to the kitchen- her father started to look uncomfortable, before coughing violently, making mild choking noises. In between breaths, he still managed to sputter out “Oi! *****, get meh some water, ya stupid girl” Lilith steps out from her spot, walking over to her father, eyes shining in awe and fascination. This she had got to see for herself. Lilith looked on with a smile, as her father attempted to yell and lunge at her, only to fall to the ground, coughing away like his life depended on it. Mid-cough, he choked out a beetle. And then several more beetles. Lilith made no attempt to help, her smile growing wider. “Mama and I will never beat you in brute strength. But unlike you? I have brains. Know what you’re coughing up? They are genetically modified Dytiscidaes, to be precise predacious diving beetles. Modified with the best traits from each, their jaws are five times the size they should be. Their larvae have been thriving in your stomach ever since you ingested them about a week ago, together with your fancy red wine. Eating you from the inside out, searching for an escape route. Seems to me that they’re finally successful.” Beetles continue pouring out from his mouth with each cough, a seemingly endless stream. As he collapses, Lilith smiles, turning on her heel, leaving the house with her mother.

Wade Marwulf

---

xxxxxFootsteps. Scuffing shoes, boot heels. Bodies, wandering in the streets, too reluctant to go, but having nothing better to do. There was no energy this day. For the first time in about a year, the entire district was listless... Lifeless... The sun warmed the streets and the faces that looked up at it, the hairs of different colors which the light brandished gentle, hopeful attention at.. Yet none felt that hope. None felt the eagerness that the cheery sun felt, none felt the joy that the close star greeted the cold side of the planet with. Not a single soul smiled, nor gave any hint of anything positive. All was dark, aside from the sun. The Reaping, the infamous meeting of the whole district, was slowly growing, getting larger and larger, each member of a family holding their breath already, desperate to hear any name but their own. Wade approached that ominous gathering with a confused, suddenly fogged mind. Six. His name was in the drawing a mere six times. He'd needed to bring no extra food to his household, as they'd all been so willing to cut back heavily on what they ate after that death; half a decade prior, and it still shook them to their cores. Wade shuddered as he stood before the stage, staring emptily at it.

xxxxxIt was nearly as empty as he felt. That stage, bare and plain, with only a few things that stood out. A microphone. Two massive glass orbs. Several chairs behind all of those. Wade filed in slowly to his place among the other boys of his district. Masses of them all, lined up neat and orderly. Peacekeepers, all around them. In the center, leading up to the stage, an aisle, enforced by two lines of peacekeepers; they stood statue-like in the sun, their white uniforms pearly despite the dust that covered the entire district. Across that aisle, the girls of the district; many faces that Wade recognized. More that he didn't. They'd be called first. Then would be that chance. That tiny, horrifying chance. Six. Six out of... How many hundreds? Or even that many? Had any of these boys needed to take tesserae this season? Or the seasons before? How many boys had luckily turned 19 before the Reaping? How many had sadly turned 12? It was sickening, thinking about it all. Wade lifted his right hand, stared for a moment at the tiny wound left on his first finger. They'd taken his blood, just minutes ago. He didn't understand it. He didn't care. Six empty chairs. A microphone. Two glass bowls. District six. How ironic, Wade thought. Six times, and the sixth district. He hated that. He'd be the twelfth Tribute, if he was called. If those foul six times added up. Eleven other people, children, would be sentenced to potential death. And if not death, then guilt.

And if not guilt, inhumanity.

“*ahem. Live in ten…nine…”
Came a voice over the loudspeakers.

Adelaide Robinson sat in the first row of the plaza in the district’s center. Her shiny blue hair and sparkling ruby eyes glimmered under the carefully placed lighting. The performance would begin in a few seconds.

“Eight, seven…”

The decorated stage had banners and lights, aside from a microphone and two shining glass bowls, full of names. The bowls were never used, as every year valiant careers volunteered to participate in The Games. They were there for show, like many things in the districts and capitol alike.

“Five…four…”

Televised appearances were part of Robin’s training. Act confident; not cocky, graceful; yet not lofty. Her confident, kind act would be complimented well by her nervous partner, Casimir. Another reason why she, on behalf of the academy, chose him as the other tribute.

“Two, one…now. Welcome! It’s the hundred-fifth annual Hunger Games, this year with a special twist! This year, the supernaturally gifted…”

The lady’s voice echoed through the stadium, though no one paid genuine attention. She was just there as a performer; an entertainer. Actually, on the contrary, Adelaide—and the twenty-three other tributes, soon to be chosen—were the real performers. They were about to put on a show so spectacular; so captivating; so divine, that they would give their lives to the spectacle. The announcer was just there for the show. Just like the glass bowls. Just like the people in the plaza. The whole thing was a calculated and prepared set for the handsome little spectacle. For the performance. Boy, the capitol did love their performances.

”Now, some of the academy’s finest young individuals, chosen as tributes. First, in the female category…

It was her turn, but Adelaide zoned out. She suddenly felt a poke at her side. It was Mimi, reminding her that they were live and the performance was live.
“Oh, yes. I, Adelaide Robinson, volunteer as tribute!”

And just like that, The Hunger Games begun.

---

"I think this years Hunger Games will be worse than usual for me." Sobble thinks back, 1 day prior before he joined the annual Hunger Games. One of his friends told him about it. Excited, Sobble listens in. His friend yaps on and on: "This years Hunger Games has something new this time for once in their lifetime. The competitors all have special abilities, This is perfect for you seeing that you do have special abilities after all.

"I wonder what special abilities the others have. Maybe making alliances with them is a good idea." Suddenly an image appears in Sobble's mind, a person in grieves with a grey bandanna, lunges at Sobble and attacks him. Sobble gets chills down his spine, clearly this image isn't real but as he questions this, a voice is heard in his mind: "Whatever you do, don't trust anyone."