CHAPTER ONE:

District One Reapings

~~~Killer's POV~~~

Today was Reaping Day, and boy was I ready to kick ass. My life couldn't get any better. Mutilating kids on live TV? Piece of cake. It's not like I don't do that now, right?

Once I awoke, I trudged over to my closet, full of blacks, grays, and reds. I jammed on my skull rings, threw on my leather jacket, and stepped into my ripped denim skinny jeans. Personally, I didn't like skinny jeans (they were really uncomfortable, especially in the nether regions), but the ladies liked them, so why not? I decided it was worth it long ago.

My dresser was slick the overuse of hair gel and hair dye. The variety of dyes I had on my rack, ranging from blood red to pitch black, gave me a difficult choice every morning. Today, I went with the blood red end of the spectrum, and applied it to my hair. After waiting thirty minutes for it to dry, I dabbed red dye on the area where my eyebrows once were. There were now tattoos of daggers there, so I always made it look like they were stained with blood. This mixed with my full-facial tattoo of a skull, completed my appearance as a corpse. The full effect was garish, but I liked it, and so did the inhabitants of Districts One, Two, Four, and the Capitol.

Breakfast was set downstairs. My neighbor (she cleaned and cooked to the point that she was practically family), Leema, scurried around the kitchen cleaning up the mess she had made making breakfast.

I sleepily sidled into my chair and smothered my golden pancakes with warm maple syrup and light, creamy butter. I took a bite and stared absently at the newspaper laid out next to my plate. There was nothing new to report; typical. I yawned and I looked up at Leema, the singular human in District One I had never yelled at.

"Leema, these pancakes are delicious," I said as I absent-mindedly watched a pair of squirrels frolic in the backyard.

She opened a cabinet door, bringing out the spray bottle of disinfectant with a soft smile. "Thanks, Killer. I don't mean to brag, but I'm proud of them myself. Don't tell anyone," she said jokingly, pulling a finger to her lips, "but I splurged the other day and brought the super expensive sugar."

Such light-hearted small talk continued until every last bite had been eaten eagerly by me. Leema sat down finally, and the serious conversation began.

"Is today the day?" she asked.

"Yes it is, Leema," I said quietly. I looked towards the picture on the wall by the garage door. It was the most recent family picture we had taken before… Well, to put a long story short, they snuffed it when I was nine. It was a time when I was happy, a time before the world of the Goth took me over. I hated them, but I missed those days. I hate to admit that.

"Go and make them proud-and me for that matter." Leema said. She reached forward and gently cupped my big and beefy hands with her small, frail ones.

We sat there like that for a long time.

~~~Midnight's POV~~~

Reaping Day. The day triumphs, glory, and an eternal status as a celebrity began. The day the Hunger Games began. The day I started down my road to victory. Thirty-six like me had travelled down this road before-I was ready to be the thirty-seventh.

I, Midnight Drakon, was ready. I was sixteen now. I had had an ample amount of time training; nothing stood in my way.

My soft feather mattress welcomed me to stay in bed until my dying days, but I grudgingly got up. The silk nightgown I wore every night slipped off of my slender frame easily, and within moments I stood in a flowing blue dress, complete with stunning blue diamond earrings and a strap up pair of stilettos that finished the look off completely. I was aiming for a girly-girl approach, but I was ready to kill anyone at any moment. Mostly, I wanted to impress that Killer Catastrophe.

Yes, I was in love with that Gothic child. He bullied. He fought. He had a new girlfriend every week. He had a… Strong vocabulary. But I truly believe that beneath those hideous facial tattoos was somebody special, even if he was a year younger than I was.

I sat primly at my make up dresser and applied it with the most precision possible. An hour later, I opened my double doors and strode down the marble hallway, past the multitude of rooms, down four flights of stairs and emerged in our splendor of a kitchen as grandly as possible. My father, Brawl Drakon, sat at the kitchen table assessing the morning news. My mother, View Drakon, lay in the adjoining room, our sitting room, lying on our chintz armchair, her masseuse rubbing her naked back with a firm expertise. The moans of pleasure were typical.

"Good morning, Daddy. Have you received the post yet?" I asked sweetly. That wasn't exactly necessary, but he looked up nonetheless.

"My, does my daughter not look fine this morning? And no, Brock has not arrived home yet. After all, it is a rather large box of purses you're expecting Midnight."

As if on cue, Brock, my sandy-haired older brother, entered the palace I called home. In his hands was a four foot tall box. He was obviously struggling with it.

"Come on my boy, you were a Victor, weren't you?" My dad boomed. "Show a bit of strength. Here's the payment for her purse purchases, by the way," and he produced a crisp ten thousand dollar bill.

Brock silently took the money, pocketed it, and stomped upstairs to my floor.

"Thank you for buying me all of those purses, Daddy. I'm going upstairs to pick one out to go with my dress." I said, and followed my twenty-one year old brother towards my room.

As soon as he deposited the boxes at the foot of my bed, I turned on him. "And what on this planet could have made you so late? The Reapings are in two and a half hours; I only have an hour to put my bags away now!" And with that, I slapped him across his face with a perfectly manicured hand.

"Well, it took four mail carriers to put that box in the bed of my trunk, bitch. It's a miracle I didn't pass out trying to lug that thing up here. You're welcome, by the way." Brock said fumingly.

I ignored him and tore open the box. Fortunately, my ideal handbag was on the top. I unwrapped it from the mass of bubble wrap and showed it to Brock. I produced a second from my bed-side table. Planning what you wear to a Games is an enormous affair.

"So, which one goes better with the dress; the new alligator handbag, or the fuzzy purse? I couldn't decide." I asked, looking fondly at my two contenders.

Brock rolled his eyes and sighed. "Honestly Mid, I don't care. The alligator doesn't look like it came straight from the fields, though."

"Yes, it works well," I said, biting my finger. "I hate to agree with you, but I am going with the alligator skinned one."

"Great, Midnight. Can I go now?" Brock asked eagerly.

"You may leave, but you must look presentable at the Reapings. Mother does not want an ugly Victor, does she?"

But Brock had already left.

~~~Killer's POV~~~

I had a couple hours to burn, so I met up with my gang. All of them looked immaculate.

"Why the hell do you look like a freakin' peach pie?" I asked, pushing one boy down, getting mud over his khakis.

One boy, Drent Samson, stepped forward with combed hair, a tux, and very expensive shoes. "Because Killer, it's Reaping Day. We must look presentable, not like we just got off of the streets." He said, looking disdainfully at my outfits.

"Well, are you a fag now or something? Drent, seriously, if you're not going to dress up like somebody else, you might as well not come at all." I said, approaching him.

Drent held his ground, being two years older than I was, but not much taller. "No, we just wanted to make an impression on Panem should we get picked."

I yawned, staring at my black painted nails. "Well, you don't have to worry about that, do you? I'm Volunteering."

Nobody seemed surprised by that.

"Well, let's go." I said, shooing the group on.

We meandered through the streets, throwing curses at tiny girls, flicking off little girls, and picking up chicks along the way. By the time of the Reapings, I had a group of about twelve at my side, swooning over every word I said. God, I had them, hook line and sinker.

~~~Midnight's POV~~~

The family walked over to the awaiting limo in our best outfits we owned. We bid our nine story palace farewell, my farewell slightly longer, as I wouldn't be doing it for another few weeks.

My mother won the 11th Hunger Games when she was eighteen, and once she moved into her house in the Victor's Village, she sold it, earning the largest sum of money anyone had ever earned. She then continued on to marry my dad, one of her high school classmates, who had by then become a billionaire banker. Their next step was having children, so they settled on four. Each one was to become a successful Victor, creating even more revenue for the family. Brock won his, nearly doubling the monthly income.

But their second child, Spike Drakon, had yet to Volunteer or be Reaped. And this was his last year that he was eligible to Volunteer, the wimp. He said he would this year, but he won't once he sees me on the stage.

In fact, that was exactly what he came to talk to me about. I was lounging in the hot tub when Spike came over from his ping-pong match with Brock.

"Hey, Midnight, I should Volunteer shouldn't I?" he asked.

I sipped at my pineapple juice. "Of course you should. I mean it's taken you five years to realize that Mother's miserable." I decided to encourage him on his pitiful venture.

He puffed up his chest at this. "Yes, I'm ready."

The fourth member of the Drakon children, True Drakon, came over. "What are you two losers talking about?"

I stared at her with my specialty eye daggers. Nothing that concerns children. I can tell you that much, you twat." The poor girl thought being vile around her siblings brought her some sort of maturity. She was so insolent sometimes.

"I'm not a child. I'm twelve." She struck back. At that moment, Father walked over. "And what are my four wonderful children talking about today?"

True batted an eyelash and said in a little high pitched voice, "Nothing, Daddy. We are just encouraging Spike on his way to victory."

"Well, we'll be arriving shortly. Midnight, I think you may need to dry off. We are almost there."

"Of course, Daddy." I said, and unbuckled my seatbelt and emerged out of the water in my bikini.

Father walked away happily. In the background, I saw True slip me the middle finger.

I walked off into the restroom to get changed and to touch up my makeup. By the time I had finished that, I looked out the window and saw we were at the Square. We had made quite the entrance. I saw Drent with his gang, including Killer, and rolled down the window to yell, "Yoo-hoo! Drent! We're here!"

~~~Killer's POV~~~

That bitch Midnight was here. And she took away one of my gang members. God, I hated that girl. Fortunately, I used that to my advantage, and we used Drent to communicate back and forth. We made happy small talk, but love was in every word that Drent reciprocated.

Drent wandered off, and I looked back at my posse. Ten girls were left, but I felt the need to extend the short friendship. "All right, ladies, we need to go to our designated sections. Here's my number if you ever need to call a Victor when I get back." I held out slips of paper with my numbers on them.

But one girl, Shimmer, refused to give up. "Oh, Killer, do show us your abs, just one more time? Pleeeeeeasee?" She asked, her words overflowing with gushiness.

I smiled. "Oh, OK, but only once more." And with that, I unzipped my leather jacket and flashed them my perfectly toned and muscled body. All of them screamed and began caressing my body. With a quick movement, I was zipped up again, and ten future girlfriends walked to the eighteen year old section. That was utter sexiness right there.

Finally our escort emerged on the stage. The anthem played, all of that jazz. Finally, she said "Ladies first!" And reached into the glass ball and withdrew a name.

~~~Midnight's POV~~~

I readied myself for this moment. The escort called out "Shimmer Valencia!" but the dark haired girl in the back I saw with Killer couldn't step forward before another girl in the thirteen year old section called "I Volunteer!" and stepped forward. I couldn't believe my eyes.

True Drakon, my twelve year old lump of a sister had almost thrown her life away. I considered for a second letting her continue in the Games, but I decided to Volunteer. I said the same word not long after.

The hubbub of the crowd was immediate. Two Volunteers? That was good for the media. In the back, I saw my mother's eyes wet with admiration.

The escort, a peppy man with orange hair had to tap the microphone to get everyone's full attention. "Alright, why don't you step forward, Ms.…"

As I walked forward, I saw True's face full of hatred. I mouthed the words I just saved your life to her as I passed.

"My name is Midnight Drakon," I said. "I'm ready to win this Hunger Games."

~~~Killer's POV~~~

HER? What chance did she have in this thing? The stupid girl.

The boy's name was called. "Drent Samson." Our escort said.

"I VOLUNTEER!" I said as loudly as possible. I walked up to the stage. "My name's Killer Catastrophe."

The escort looked around. "Any volunteers? Well that settles it. Midnight Drakon and Killer Catastrophe are District One's tributes!"

The crowd erupted as we were led down an alley into a lavishly furnished room. I sat down on the sofa and my posse attacked me with hugs. I managed to calm them down, though. I could get used to this.

~~~Midnight's POV~~~

This sucked. I had to kill Killer? That will hurt me; it must be done though.

My family, except for True and Brock, hugged me and genially. Spike told me that he decided not to volunteer when I did. He said he's endure mother, and gave me a wink.

I wrestled with my gold bracelets I considered what I had just done.