Authors Note: This is my first fanfiction, so I don't know how it will turn out. It's a little slow in the beginning, but it will get better once they enter the arena. But thanks anyway to my best friend and not-as-nitpicky-as-me editor. She just came out with a really good fanfiction- it's called The Hunger Games: Capital Children Edition. Also, thanks to KatnissMaxThaliaZoey from mockingjaynet. I based my mentor control room after the one in Mentors for lack of a better idea.

If you are someone who is just starting this story and want to jump right into the games, I warn that you will miss important stuff, but go to chapter 8 for the games.

I suggest that you skip this if you already know about the quarter quells. It is really bad and not very necessary.

Disclaimer: I don't own the hunger games, no matter how much I wished that I did.

Prologue

"In honor of the 25th year of peace following the Dark Days, we will have a Quarter quell. On each 25th year after this day, there will be another Quell. The Quarter Quell games will be a reminder of the horrors faced during the Dark Days." President Snow does not even look up to see the puzzled looks on the crowd's face.

Yeah, I think sourly. The horrors that your stupid Capital created. But to voice this thought to Hawken-my best friend- sitting next to me, has the possibility of being overheard. And that could mean an "accident" might hurt, or more likely, kill me or my father. If I died, there would be nobody left to mentor the tributes of district 4. I could at least be replaced by someone from the Capital that they think is "perfect for the job" but actually has absolutely no idea what they are doing. If my father was killed, though, somebody would have to pay.

"Stop fanaticizing!" I tell myself fiercely under my breath. All this accomplishes is a lot of weird glances from the people around me. Shut Up! I think, extremely annoyed at myself. Picturing my father being killed and talking to myself cannot be helping anything right now, so I refocus on the new President's speech.

"All the Quell rules for the next 500 years have been recorded in this box," Snow explains as he holds up a small, wooden box just big enough for a stack of envelopes, and allows a moment for the cameras to focus on it. Then he quickly flips open the lid and pulls out a blood red envelope with the number 25 clearly printed on the front.

"Each Quarter Quell has its own special rules to enhance the experience. I will now read this year's rules." He runs his deathly white index finger underneath the sealed flap, and pulls out an index card just as deeply red as its envelope.

"In reminder that the rebels chose to fight their Capital, the male and female tributes will be voted upon by the people of their district, and no volunteers will be allowed."

Instantly, chatter breaks out among the citizens all over the City Circle. But we have nothing but grim looks for each other. It is bad enough to only have a chance of being drawn as a tribute, but knowing that you are being forced by your own friends, it could ruin a kid. Of course there will be the occasional tribute voted in because they are thought to have a good chance of winning, mostly in the Career districts 1, 2, and my own, 4. I truly hope with all my heart that the tributes I will mentor are not broken, rejected kids with no will left to live.

The President finishes his speech with a word to the audience, but most of it doesn't hear him. As he disappears into his overly-large mansion, followed by half a dozen Peacekeepers who were standing nearby, the part of the crowd that didn't hear the end of the speech takes the cue from the part that did, and begins to swarm down side streets in all directions.

All of the victors were invited-not that we had a choice- to the Capital for front row seats on the small platform slightly off to the side of the marble steps of the President's mansion where Snow was speaking. The only way off the platform is down a single set of miniscule steps, and with so many people going by, we have to wait 15 minutes before the City Circle has cleared enough for the 23 of us to walk to the closely guarded train station a block away.

Even though I have many friends among the victors, none of them are from home, so I board the train to district 4 alone. With a sigh of grief that is not just about losing a friend, I remember Morrison, my old mentor partner who died just over a week ago. One day, he got th flu, just like every flu common in the district of chilly sea breezes. But suddenly, the next day, he died. Not even the best healers in the area could figure out what had happened. Whatever had killed him, though, I was still alone to face the Hunger Games.

I don't even bother to check out the train car I'm in before crashing down on a couch and sliding into the welcoming forgetfulness of sleep.