At long last, it is time to begin this story! I PMed all of you lovely people about this, and you responded by giving me amazing characters that I seriously don't want to kill off. But kill them off I will, because 23 must die before there can be a Victor...
But that's a bit premature, isn't it? We haven't even gotten to the reapings yet! They've still got ~some~ time.
I hope you enjoy this prologue! It's meant to explain the political climate in the districts and Capitol and will also hint at events to come... FORESHADOWING BAAAAH
Alright, that's all I have to say. I hope you'll enjoy, and I truly cannot wait to really get started... meyehehe
Prologue
Tris Garin, 24
Peacekeeper
The starched white of my Peacekeeper uniform clings at the swell of my chest and outlines the curves of my hips in stark clarity. I can feel Taego's eyes on me, drinking me in, but I don't try to dissuade him. He is Capitol-born, where there is no shame in looking at a woman (or a man, though I do not care to look at him.)
Between us is Ginger Jinnah, a smirk on her lips and a mischievous glint in her eyes. She has seen Taego's wandering gaze, but it only serves to amuse her. Sometimes I wonder how it is that we were born together in District Two. Surely she was made to be a Capitol woman.
Capitol woman or no, all three of us are far from home now. The electric hum of District Five is everywhere, and the air stinks of ozone. Taego smells it too; he pulls the standard-issue mask over his nose and mouth, and the wrinkles around his eyes smooth in relief. "You should put yours on," he says, when he catches me looking. His voice is clear through the paper that obstructs his thin lips. "It reeks."
I only shake my head. "We're to use the masks in the event of a chemical attack," I exclaim, stepping forward. "Not because of a smell."
Taego crosses his arms over his chest. "Don't patronize me," he snaps, narrowing his eyes. "I'm the leader of this team, Tris, not you. Put your mask on."
He is my superior, and I can't ignore a direct order. Reluctantly, I yank the mask up from where it rests on my collarbone. Once it is settled, the air smells much sweeter. But it is mostly pointless, and I will be making no concessions.
Ginger is now the only one without a mask, but she makes no comment on the smell. "We should go," she yawns, pulling back fiery red hair that I suspect has been dyed. "You have the maps, Tris?"
I nod. None of us have ever been stationed in District Five before; it is new to us. We have been told that our presence here is essential. We have barely arrived, and we are preparing for our first objective already. There was a riot, my case file said. Five Peacekeepers wounded, one killed. The file went on to describe the measures taken to discover the instigators, who are believed to be holed up in an abandoned factory in the electric district. With six Peacekeepers out of commission and the rest trying to stamp out the remnants of the protest, it falls to the three of us to make the arrests.
I pull a folded square of paper from the satchel at my hip and study it intently. "Straight," I say, "until we reach the main square. After that, we should be able to see it."
"Let's move," says Taego, walking ahead. With a slight shrug, Ginger goes after him. I pause only to replace the paper before following.
Ginger slows until the two of us are walking abreast. "A protest," she says, with a significant look. "Not very specific."
"I'm sure the details were unimportant," I reply. "The outer Districts are always complaining, aren't they? Not enough grain, too little medicine. And the Games. Always the Games."
Ginger raises her eyebrows. "How resigned you sound," she says. "Don't tell me you didn't want to train when you were a kid? I know I did."
"I always wanted to be a Peacekeeper," I respond shortly. "When they picked me, it was the happiest day of my life."
Ginger grimaces. "When they picked me, it was the worst day of my life," she complains. "I wasn't meant to be celibate."
"You aren't celibate," I reply, not even sparing her a glance. "You bought a Victor for your 21st birthday party."
She narrows her eyes, suspicious. "How do you know?"
"I was there."
"Oh, right," she responds. "That was fun, wasn't it?"
"I had a good time that night," I agree. But when the groping started, I beat a hasty retreat. Many Peacekeepers ignore the Code and do what they like in their spare time, but I swore to never be with a man (or a woman) and so far I have honored that vow.
"We're here," Taego calls. Ginger and I peel away from each other and survey the area. It is early morning, but the square is mostly empty. I see another trio of Peacekeepers marching a struggling man between them, but no one else.
"They must have cracked down after the attack," I suggest. "The people are frightened to go out."
"They should be," says Taego, in a tone he thinks is menacing. "If they're going to rebel, they have to be prepared for the consequences."
"It wasn't a rebellion," I remind him. "Just a protest."
He waves me away. "It makes no difference," he exclaims, and points. "See there? It's the factory. We'll be going in through the back door, so we'll take the back alley."
By now it's pointless; if they are watching for us with any sort of lens (as they probably are) they will have seen us standing here. But I know better than to argue. Ginger and I follow Taego around to the back. Taego flinches visibly when he notices that the back alley is crawling with filth, but he says nothing. After all, it was his idea.
We pick our way through the garbage in silence. The quiet is eerie. By the time we reach the factory, all three of us are mildly nervous. Taego practically throws himself onto the steps of the small back entrance; his relief is comical. Ginger and I share a look at that. When Taego sees Ginger smirking, his face darkens dangerously. With a growl, he swivels, lifts his leg, and kicks the door in.
The smile on my lips withers. I knew that Taego was a Peacekeeper for a reason, but I had no idea he was so strong. In the future I will keep a closer eye on him.
We move into the factory fluidly. It is silent and empty, and there is more than enough room for three or four people to be hiding. I remove my gun and jab it threateningly in the air, but there's no one to point it at. There is a walkway above, but no one is standing on it. Large industrial machines dot the area, but there are no sounds suggesting that they are occupied. Dim light filters from the strips on the ceiling and paints our uniforms a sickly green.
After several tense minutes, Taego lowers his gun in disgust. "They're hiding," he says. "We're gonna have to flush them out."
And then the real lights come on.
The effect is blinding. The emergency strips were nothing compared to the industrial-size globes that hang from the cracked ceiling. Ginger shrieks in pain and I can hear Taego stumbling into something. My palm is clapped over my eyes and my gun is extended. But I can hardly shoot if I can't see.
I open my fingers a crack and squint. My eyes are watering, but I can make out dim shapes. Along the wall, panels are sliding away and lean figures are pouring out. I grimace, raising my gun. There are more than three. There are more than ten. There must be at least thirty slipping out from the gigantic hidden vents, with more on the way.
Taego, still cursing, has raised his gun as well. He is able to squeeze off three shots before one of the people, a man with black hair gelled into spikes, grabs Taego's wrist and dashes his gun to the floor. Without pausing for breath, the man yanks a long knife from his belt, briefly aims, and plunges the blade through Taego's eye.
It happens so quickly. Taego jerks, mouthing words that have no meaning. Blood froths around the blade and the man pulls it out. Taego stiffens. He hits the ground with a dull thud. His cheek is smeared red.
I curse. My finger closes around the trigger and I fire, again and again. Ginger is doing the same, but a woman bowls into her and sends the two of them sprawling. The gun skitters out of Ginger's hand and vanishes behind a pipe.
Now it is only me. I raise the gun once more, futilely, and a blow catches me on the side of the head. I crash into my attacker and barely have time to process the heavyset man's green eyes before my gun is pressed against his nose. I yank hard on the trigger, and blood and bits of bone coat my face and hands.
Someone gets a firm grip on my auburn hair and pulls my head back. It is the man that murdered Taego, and his eyes are harsh and frozen. Someone else yanks the gun out of my hand, and I am forced to my knees. I hear no sound from Ginger but heavy breathing. She is still alive, I think, and I don't know whether to be relieved or horrified.
"I have her, Katarya," says the man whose fingers are firmly tangled in my hair.
"And I have one as well," adds the woman that captured Ginger. Her face is jovial. "What shall we do with them?"
For a moment, I can't tell who they are talking to. Then I spot the woman with fiery red hair like Ginger's, leaning against a wall with her arms crossed across her chest. She is wearing a suit that reminds me of a Peacekeeper's uniform, but it is in black. Her face is quietly triumphant, although she is not smiling.
She looks at Ginger, then at me. "Tell me," she says softly. "If I have questions for you, will you answer them for me? Or will you lie, or refuse to speak?"
I take a deep breath. "Torture me, then," I spit. "I'll tell you nothing."
Ginger hesitates. "I suppose you'll be killing us if we don't speak?"
Gravely, the woman who must be Katarya nods.
"I'm sorry, Tris," says Ginger suddenly. She looks back towards Katarya. "I'll talk," she says evenly. "I'm not planning on dying any time soon."
I sag, until the only thing holding me up is the man who has my hair. "Ginger," I exclaim. "You traitor." I only wish that I was surprised.
Before she can respond, Katarya moves away from the wall. "Is it really so traitorous to help your own people?" she asks quietly. "We are all of Panem. Why is it that you Capitolians consider us scum?"
"You are scum," I growl, ignoring the pain as the man yanks at my scalp. "If you'll murder the people who keep the peace, you deserve what you get."
She regards me sadly. "There's no hope for people like you," she says.
"The others know you're here," I warn her, although it is pointless. "They'll come to this place in droves when we don't return."
"They probably will," agrees Katarya. "We won't be there to see them." She reaches towards the man who stabbed Taego, and he hands her the knife. It is still covered in half-congealed blood and other fluids. I try not to flinch.
Katarya narrows her eyes at me, and grasps me firmly by the chin. My heart rate increases and I struggle for breath. "You're mad," I exclaim. "All of you."
"Maybe," says Katarya, placing the knife against the skin at the base of my neck. "But anyone who supports a regime that murders children is just as insane as I am."
With that, she plunges the blade into my neck and, with a pivot of her wrist, she slits my throat.
