Hello all, and welcome to my latest FanFiction! I've had the idea for a Nancy Drew/Hunger Games crossover in my head for a couple of months now, and I'm so excited to get it started! But first, some important information:

This is an AU in which the Nancy Drew game characters are teenagers living in the districts of Panem. Therefore, while you don't *need* to know about the Nancy Drew computer games to enjoy this story, it won't make much sense if you don't know the basics of the Hunger Games universe. In addition, because of its AU status, I've taken some liberties with how the characters are represented – for example, Nancy does not know all of the other tributes, and their ages have been changed. However, I've tried to stick as closely to canon as possible.

This story will be in multiple POVs, meaning we will see the games from the perspective of all twenty-four tributes. Nancy herself will still be the main character, but definitely won't appear in every chapter.

As the description says, there will be a lot of character death, so if you don't care for blood and violence, this probably isn't the story for you. Nothing will go beyond a T-rated level, though.

Regarding spoilers: the culprits from the games Secrets can Kill, Stay Tuned for Danger, Message in a Haunted Mansion, Treasure in the Royal Tower, Ghost Dogs of Moon Lake, Danger on Deception Island, Last Train to Blue Moon Canyon, White Wolf of Icicle Creek, Shadow at the Water's Edge and The Captive Curse will be made obvious in the story (the latter two less so). In addition, lesser plot points and the solutions to puzzles in nearly every game will also be revealed. If you have any specific questions about spoilers, please PM me and I will be happy to let you know.

Please keep in mind that I am a slow updater, especially as I have university to keep me busy. I am planning to have at least the intro chapters pre-written so they can be uploaded once a day or once every two days, but after that, don't expect updates more frequently than once a week at most. I want to let readers know what they're getting into so they won't be disappointed.

Whether you're a Jabberjay or a member of the Clue Crew, or both, or neither, I hope you enjoy reading this story!

~~0~~

Nancy Drew, 16, District 9

Hundreds of identical stern faces glower down at my friends and I as we wind our way towards the city centre. Each sign, screen and banner from here to the Justice Building bears the image of Coriolanus Snow, the new president of our country of Panem. The fact that this year's Hunger Games coincides with his rise to power has not escaped the attention of the Capitol or their cronies. Even at our vantage point a block from the town square, we can see government officials adjusting ribbons and flowers on the stage as Mayor Scallari unrolls the long Treaty of Treason.

"I hope she'll stick around after the reaping," says my friend Maya, fingering her notepad. "Otherwise this whole interview thing is a bust."

"For an intrepid reporter like you?" I nudge her with a hint of a grin. "Don't worry, scoop. If I know you, you'll get that story in no time."

Maya doesn't respond beyond a strained smile, so I don't press the subject. I know how much this means to her. She's almost single-handedly responsible for District 9's only high school newspaper, and even though it's usually subjected to quite a bit of censorship before the final product can be released, Maya's proud of it nonetheless. In exchange for letting her publish, the head of the school board requires her to write at least one piece of government propaganda per edition. This month's article is to be an interview with the mayor about the inauguration of our new President. Maya wouldn't normally be so nervous about pursuing a story, but reaping day is putting us all on edge.

The long line of teenagers gradually filters into the square, where a pair of cold-eyed peacekeepers waits to segregate us by age group. Bess, George and I are pointed towards the sixteens' section, while Maya and Ned are a year older. Maya departs with a weak wave and a suggestion for us to meet up later, but, just like every year, my boyfriend lingers to say goodbye. It's probably unnecessary – what are the chances that either of us are going to be reaped? – but never fails to soothe our nerves a little.

"Be safe," he murmurs, hugging my shoulders. "It won't be you."

"It's all right, Ned." As usual, he seems more worried about this than I am. "Only six slips, remember? I'll be fine."

"I know, but …" His voice drops. "They do rig reapings, you know."

"What, for small fry like me?" I force a brighter smile across my face, hoping to see his own ease up. "Amateur detective, remember?"

He sighs, shaking his head. "All right, all right. I trust you, Nancy. Just don't do anything … rash, promise?"

"I promise."

"See you after the reaping, then." His features relaxing slightly, he squeezes my hand and retreats off towards the seventeens' section.

I won't deny that he has good cause to be worried. He's overreacting, of course, but still. Obviously I'm not going to throw myself into the Games for no reason, but I've always felt a bit of an obligation to help those in trouble. It was just a small thing for years – tracking down someone's missing tools, uncovering petty theft, confronting a foreman for withholding a worker's fair wages. Over time, I found myself developing a bit of a reputation as a problem-solver. Then, about six months ago, things escalated. The head of the district's education system contacted me personally for help. A high school student had been found dead at the bottom of a flight of stairs. Rumors abounded that the murder was connected to a drug-smuggling ring. I eventually discovered this racket went all the way up to the highest level of the police. Head Peacekeeper Dillon tried to kill me. He ended up executed in the square.

Dad and Ned have been paranoid ever since, worried that the Capitol has it in for me. But I can't see that I've done anything they'd consider treasonous. True, the government hadn't exactly stepped in to prevent the drug-dealing, but they were just as glad to be rid of it as the rest of us were. Even if they disapproved, though, I don't think I'd have been able to give up the case. While it had been more dangerous than anything I'd expected, somehow I emerged more rejuvenated than frightened. Solving the mystery gave me a purpose beyond working in the grain elevators or the fields. For the first time I caught glimpses of a life in which I could truly make a difference – not to the Capitolians who rob us of our produce, but to the ordinary people whose problems the government deems beneath their attention.

Mayor Scallari soon finishes reading the Treaty of Treason, and the familiar escort, Simone Mueller, struts across the stage. Clad in her usual pale green, leopard-trimmed coat, with glossy black ringlets cascading to her shoulders, she makes a striking contrast to the masses below. We flinch collectively as a jolt of static crackles from the microphone; her voice, which follows, is no less grating.

"Hello, District 9!" the Capitolian exclaims. "This is Simone Mueller, reporting in for the reaping of the 30th Annual Hunger Games. Panem is watching, and they want to know – who here is excited?"

The obligatory unenthusiastic murmur starts up. George, whose boyish name matches her brash attitude, snorts and rolls her eyes. This earns her an anxious nudge from Bess.

"Be careful!" the blonde hisses at her cousin.

"What, and go along with her drivel? I don't think so."

"Better than getting shot."

"Like she's even going to notice. There's a thousand people here."

Bess closes her mouth sullenly, eyes betraying concern.

"She's right, George," I whisper. Usually I find it's best just to let them bicker it out – they'll get over an argument soon enough if it's kept between the two of them – but it's too risky on reaping day. "Just drop it for now."

George sighs, but doesn't otherwise protest.

Apparently satisfied with the reaction she's gotten – which isn't much, obviously – Simone continues on with her spiel. "In a few minutes, the name of your lucky female tribute will be revealed – and believe you me, every girl in District 9 will be wishing her name was on that slip."

Panicked breathing starts up to my left. Bess's round face is alight with fear, her hands twisting nervously through her thick hair. Their argument all but forgotten, George wraps an arm around her cousin, whispering comfortingly into her ear.

"It's okay … it's okay … it's not going to be you …"

Gingerly stepping through the crowd, I make my way to Bess' other side and stroke her hand. We've done this every reaping, the three of us huddling together in tense anticipation, not daring to move until Simone's announcement breaks the spell. And like every year before, the name won't be mine, and it won't be George's, and it won't be Bess' –

"Maya Nguyen!"

I'm so relieved not to hear one of our names that I don't process it for a second.

Bess freezes; George's grip on her intensifies; but I disentangle myself. Heart racing faster than the crowd will let me move, I struggle my way towards the fence separating our two sections. My gaze darts through the thicket of faces. I can't see her.

"Maya?"

Heads snap towards me, but I hardly notice. Where is she? Where is my friend?

I finally see her just as she emerges from the front of the crowd, supported by Ned. Her slim figure moves stiffly but resolutely, though the white pall of her face betrays terror. I call out again, and her eyes meet mine. Their fear hardens into fortitude. With a curt shake of her head she conveys a message – one I know I can't accept.

"I volunteer as tribute!"

"Nancy, no!"

She screams. I don't care. No matter what I promised Ned, no matter what Maya herself thinks, I can't retreat into the backdrop and watch a friend die. The crowd materializes in front of me before I'm even aware I'm onstage. Despite the omnipresence of their stares, all I take in are Bess' and George's horrified expressions, Maya frozen halfway to the stage, and Ned's face twisted in a mixture of heartbreak and betrayal. They're not even the worst. I can't make out my father well, but the sight of him standing at the back of the square with his head buried in his hands is too painful to bear. He's already been through this once before. Now it's me, not mom, who'll break his heart.

"Well, well, well – didn't I tell you?" Simone's enthusiasm has never been so unwelcome. A microphone intrudes into my vision. "And what is the name of our intrepid volunteer?"

The words don't make sense. Bess gives a shrill sob. Maya trembles in place. I can't look at Ned. I can't even think about my father.

"Excuse me, young woman." The escort's voice sharpens. "I believe I just asked you your name."

"Nancy," I mumble. "Nancy Drew."

"No!" Ned scrambles towards the stage, face blazing. Several burly peacekeepers block his path. "She doesn't know what she's doing. Do you, Nancy?"

Maya's stepped uncertainly towards the stage, mouth half-gaping in shock. That, more than anything, confirms my decision. She's plucky; she's smart; but she's contemplative, not impulsive. She takes the time to think things through. Faced with a difficult choice in the arena, she'd hesitate. She'd die.

I can't guarantee that I won't, either. But it's a risk I'll have to take.

Shifting my weight, I root my feet to the cold metal stage. Ned struggles against the barricade. Eyes filled with hurt bore into mine.

"I'm sorry, Ned. But I'm staying."

His protests are cut short by the butt of a rifle. A peacekeeper snaps his fingers, commanding his fellows to cart my unconscious boyfriend away.

"Well, there you have it, District 9!" Simone declares triumphantly. "Nancy Drew, your female tribute for the 30th Annual Hunger Games!" Out of the corner of her mouth, "We'll have to work on a stage name, though. Nancy Drew is so utterly forgettable."

Scattered applause rings hollowly through the square. Maya steps back into the crowd of seventeens, gaze locked on me. Bess buries her face in George's shoulder.

… What did I just do? What did I just do?

~~0~~

"What did you just do?"

I wince as Maya's hand flashes into the air. Before it can strike, though, it falls to her side and she lunges forward to embrace me. Tears soak into my cardigan. I'm not sure whether they're hers or mine.

"N-Nancy – t-thank you – you shouldn't have-" Her fist clenches against my side.

"I couldn't have let you die, Maya."

"There was no guarantee of that," George responds, though her voice is devoid of any bite. She runs a gentle hand through Bess' hair; the other girl hasn't budged from her curled position on the armchair since they were admitted to the Justice Building. "You never know what might happen in the Games."

"Well then," I can't help but retort, "there's no certainty I'll die, either."

Bess wails at the mention of the word. George shoots me a reproachful glance.

"Seriously, though," I press on. The numbness has begun to loosen its hold, hardening into an indignant determination. "I've got just as much a chance as anyone else. Maybe even more. I beat that peacekeeper last case, in case you've forgotten."

"By pointing an unloaded gun," George counters. "And you had help. But–"

"Yes, I 'had help' – because I figured out by myself who I could trust."

"That's what I'm getting to. There's no 'trust' in the Hunger Games! There's no 'helping!' It's either got to be them or you!"

"Then I'll go it alone!" That's certainly no problem. I've solved most of my mysteries without much help.

"That's not enough. You've got to look out for yourself and no one else. You're not getting out of the arena alive if you do this – this hero thing again!"

"Excuse me?"

"You know what I mean!"

We're both standing up now, faces alight with anger and tears, our voices raised to straining point. Everything about this is wrong. I shouldn't be in this room. I shouldn't be headed to the Games. More than anything, I shouldn't be fighting with George. I haven't before, and if this is really as dire as it seems, I can't let myself start now.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask, voice dropping. "I saved Maya's life. You're acting like that's a bad thing."

"It – it's not, Nancy." George releases a deep breath and slides her fingers through her short brown hair. "I just – we just-" Her voice hitches. "We don't want to lose you."

Bess nods vigorously through her sobs. Maya stares, even paler than usual, then in one swift motion tears her notebook in half.

"What – why did you do that?"

"Take a look." Her eyes blaze into mine.

Not sure what to expect, I pick up the ripped pieces of paper and lay them side-by-side on my lap. The questions Maya's written for her interview are scrawled across the page.

"Do you think President Snow will be an improvement over his predecessor?"

"What is your opinion of the recent sudden deaths of President Snow's political opponents?"

"Do you believe President Snow will decrease District 9's grain quotas due to recent local food shortages?"

"What chance do you think there is that President Snow will end the practice of the Hunger Games? In your opinion, would this have a positive or negative affect on the citizens of Panem?"

The full implications sink in immediately. "Maya … they could have had you killed for this."

"Yes, exactly!" she exclaims. "It was stupid, a-and rash, and I was just so angry, having to revise the paper all the time, editing out any sort of real opinion – I just wanted someone to say, for once, what they really felt – but I'm not going to do it now. Not when they might take it out on you. I don't care about heroics if they're going to stop you from getting home – and you shouldn't either."

Bess and George voice similar sentiments, and before I know it I'm enveloped in a group hug. The feeling of Bess' body shaking against mine is more than I can take. Tears surge up again, but with them comes increased resolve.

"I can't promise anything. But you know I'll try as hard as I can. I – I love you guys."

Someone raps at the door.

"One more visitor, Miss Drew. The rest of you – out."

Maya hastens to thank me again and again, barely audible over Bess' panicked screams as she's dragged from the room. George squeezes my hand tightly before breaking away, refusing to let herself look back. Once my friends have been removed, the new arrival is admitted and the door slams shut. For the first time since volunteering, I'm looking into the face of my father.

I'd expected to see fury or grief there, but they're only visible as traces, like the damage of a storm recently passed. Overshadowing them is one unmistakeable emotion: fear.

"Dad … I'm sorry." There's not much I can say to apologize for what I'm putting him through, but I have to try. "I was just trying to do the right thing."

"I know, sweetheart. I know."

All of a sudden it's the night mom died. I'm eight years old again and wrapped in my father's arms, with his hands stroking my titian hair and the warm, dusty smell of his jacket all around me, and I have no idea what's going to happen to either of us but I know, somehow, that because he's here everything is going to be okay, at least in this moment…

"I'm really going to try, Dad. I can do this. I can take care of myself."

His voice is right next to my ear. "That's what she said, too."

"You're never going to tell me what happened to her, are you?"

He pulls me into a seated position on his lap and stares me in the eye. Earnesty is written into his every wrinkle. "I would if I could, Nancy. But it's not safe, with things the way are now. Just know that she loves you very much, and so do I."

Breathing rapidly through my nose to dissuade further crying, I lean forwards onto his chest. "Where's Ned?"

"He woke up all right, but the peacekeepers wouldn't let him see you. Didn't like him interfering at the reaping. He told me to give you this, though."

From his pocket he withdraws a familiar object. A hand-carved wooden handle, slightly cracked glass pane, the whole thing endearing in its imperfection… It's a magnifying glass, made for me four years ago by Ned when I took my first novice stabs at sleuthing. A perfect district token.

Dad continues, "He wanted me to tell you that he loves you, and that his faith in you is stronger than his fear for you."

I half-laugh, half-sob. Ned's always been so cheesy, but I know that he means every word he says. In fact, can't think of anything more comforting right now than his special brand of sappiness.

"Thanks, dad. Tell him thank you – and that I love him, too."

"I will."

We both start as the door flies open. Several peacekeepers are there, accompanied by Simone.

"There she is!" the escort exclaims. "Well, girl, the paparazzi's waiting. All of them dying to see the brave young woman who wouldn't let her friend steal her spotlight. You know, I think we'll work wonders with that angle. You've got a promising career ahead of you."

Mustering up all my strength, I turn to say my final goodbye, but Simone won't shut up.

"As for that stage name, well, I've got a couple of ideas. Personally, I'm proposing Samantha Quick-"

"I'm proposing you back off."

I don't feel a twinge of regret as I slam the door in her face.

Charlie Murphy, 15, District 9

I shuffle my feet anxiously over the carpet, trying to focus on how it bunches up between my shoes instead of how close I am to throwing up.

I … I can't believe it. This doesn't feel real. Is it? I'd gotten up this morning trying to pretend this was just any other day, not knowing it would be one of my last. I guess that's what every other tribute thinks when their name comes out of the reaping ball. At least, unlike them, I don't have to deal with the worry about whether or not I'll come home. I already know I won't.

I'm just not Victor material. Average size, average strength, average intelligence. I'm not even that attractive, if the sponsors are going for looks. Same muddy-brown eyes and hair as most people in the district. I'm not much of a fighter, either. I guess I could swing a hammer around or something, but the idea of it colliding with something other than wood doesn't sit right with me. Maybe I'll be able to kill if it's life or death, but going out of my way to attack someone who's stuck in the same miserable situation as I am? I couldn't do that. It's just not me.

Unfortunately, my only other option looks pretty unpleasant, too. I'll try my best, but even if I get out of the bloodbath, it's only a matter of time before someone tracks me down. I suppose I could ally up, but I doubt I bring enough to the table for someone to consider me an asset. I can't even go to my own district partner for help – sure, she volunteered, but when we shook hands she seemed just as scared and defenceless as I am. More to the point, I don't want to rely on anyone else for help. I've been enough of a burden to others already.

Speaking of which, the door suddenly bursts open, admitting the two people I'll miss the most. Abby sweeps in to hug me, while her aunt Rose trails in more solemnly. No Louis, of course. It's kind of hard to come see me off when you've been executed last week for theft. Turns out he'd been behind a string of robberies in our area, including that of our own house. Even tried to pin some of the blame on me. Still, it'd be nice to at least have one more familiar face to say goodbye to.

"It's okay, Abby," I attempt, awkwardly patting her long red hair. "I'll be – well, uh-"

"You'll try your best?" offers Rose, with a brave stab at encouragement.

"Yeah," I say hollowly. "Yeah, that sounds right."

Rose and Abby. I owe them so much. I'd been on the streets for a handful of years, ever since the orphanage got too full and started shunting out some of us older kids. Jobs were easy to find – the Capitol can never have too many underage slaves, after all – but houses, not so much. Rent is pretty high and wages pretty low. I started sneaking into sheds and stables at night until finally stumbling across Rose's root cellar. She and Abby found me out after a while, but not only did they let me stay, they took me on as a handyman as well.

It was a decent life, for the couple of months it lasted. I was able to keep a roof over my head and have a hot meal every day while staying in school and working for a living. Abby and Rose run a boarding house, and believe me, with the district's substandard building materials and all the drunken brawls that go on in the evenings, there's no shortage of things for me to fix up. Louis came in every once in a while to 'help with the finances' – which, as Abby and I liked to say, was code for 'visit Rose.' Over time, we became almost like a family. Sure, Louis royally screwed us over, but at least the three of us were still together. At least…

"Is there anything we can get you as a token, Charlie?" asks Rose. Her face, already so tired, is creased with concern. First Louis and now this. "I could run back to the house if-"

"No, please don't bother." I hold up my hands. "You've already done so much for me – both of you – it should be me trying to make it up to you, not the other way around."

"Nonsense," Rose retorts. A hard edge creeps into her voice. "We only did what any decent person would do. An honest kid like you, out on the streets, all because of some-"

Abby shushes her with a cautious glance at the door. She's right. Rose can be outspoken at times, and we never know who's listening.

"Please, if you do anything," I butt in before Rose can continue, "just take care of yourselves. The peacekeepers are still poking around – don't give them any reason to target you for what Louis did. Don't waste any money sponsoring me. No matter happens" – I have to pause for a second so my voice won't break – "to me, don't do anything that'd get you in trouble. Promise?"

They look at each other uncertainly.

"It'll be a lot easier to focus on surviving if I don't have to worry about you two."

Rose shakes her head dejectedly. "All right, Charlie. We promise. Just – you try and win this thing, do you hear me?"

"I will." For all my other insufficiencies, I've always been a pretty good liar.

"Then we'll do anything," she pats my shoulder while Abby embraces me again, "to make sure we're here for you when you come back."

All too soon, the peacekeeper arrives to announce that visiting time is up. He moves to grab Rose by the arm, but she waves his hand away, stands up straight, and marches out herself. Her spine quivers as she goes. Abby lingers a moment longer, turning back to me as she passes through the doorway.

"You're a good kid, Charlie," she murmurs quietly. "We'll miss having you around."

Looks like I couldn't fool them both.