A/N: Thank you all for sticking with this story since the beginning! This story is currently being re-written and this A/N will be removed when it's done! Please expect minor changes to the plot and characters but the majority of the story is the same as it was :)

Chapter 1: The Games, They Change You

It seems almost futile now to write down what happened. The world knows, I know. The Games were always there, they were a constant in the lives of every Panem citizen. You grew up here learning about the Games, why they happen. You don't understand as a child why people have to die, but you just nod and go back to normality.

And that's what life was like in Panem for 11 months at a time: normal. You went to school, talked, ate, slept like normal. Until the spring; until the Hunger Games.

"In penance for the uprising" "to remind the districts of the cost of their rebellion"

If that isn't the sickest lie you've ever heard you clearly need a reality check. A rebellion is worth to the ritual slaughter of 23 innocent children? Yeah, right.

I was naive back then, before I was reaped. I spent the majority of my time in the house, working odd jobs for my mother, a painter. I lived in District 6, right in the middle of Panem. We had what we needed in the District, we were close enough to the Capitol to receive enough attention but far away to still have clear minds.

We knew nothing of the world outside of District 6 and what the Capitol would show us. (Which wasn't much, mind you.). The Capitol liked to keep tabs on everyone, cameras everywhere: factories, schools, in the streets, some people reported some in their home. It kept the peace, and that's all I could ever hope for.

My mother was a frequent of Morphling, a powerful mind-numbing painkiller. But when I say frequent I mean it sincerely. She could have easily gotten out of hand with her addiction, like the majority of the District, but she kept her Morphling only for her art which kept food in my stomach and a roof over my head. She was inspired by Hector Steele, an artist whose son died in the Hunger Games. She started painting until she accidentally got pregnant and had my brother Gear with our father.

Gear was slender and very pale, even before the Morphling hit his system. He was a good brother and we were close (in age and likes). He was only a year older than me and a lot of what he did rubbed off on me:

He smoked cigarettes mostly, especially when he turned 15. I would hang out with his group of friends, they would all smoke and offer me to take a hit with them. I would decline, following with some kind of witty remark to defuse any tension. It would work, either because I was truly funny or they were too high to know any different... I got hooked off of the smell of burning cigarettes.

My mom took notice and hastily acted to protect me from ending up like Gear, I'm glad she had.

I woke up on the morning of the 72nd Annual Hunger Games to the sound of rain battering the steel roof of my house. We lived relatively well for the District, only a few blocks from the Town Square, close enough to see the Capitolian trains flash past the windows. I was afraid of the trains, the way they would bolt out of the station. Being from Six and having some knowledge of the trains I understood their basic mechanics. The trains were called maglevs, they would float between 1 centimeter to as much half a meter off of the tracks, which were charged with huge and heavy magnets. The trains were capable of 200+miles per hour, you could get to the Capitol in a few hours.

It was mandatory to work as a mechanic in District 6 for all applicable males between 18 and 24. Damn it, the working conditions were awful and I am grateful everyday I never had to work there as my father did. For the women, their work was split between being maids or to work alongside of mechanics as "Squeeze Girls", whose main job was to squeeze into tight spots whilst constructing a train, hovercraft, or car (all products of the district). Women weren't always required to work in the factories, and if they did they were safe. However, cases of assault against women where high in the factories, making them the least desirable job in the district.

My mother was a Squeeze Girl and that's where she met my father, who was good to her and gave her our house. He raised Gear and I as well as our younger brother Rom. Rom came four years after me. I had always referred to Rom as a "Wheeler", a derogatory term we used in Six for someone who was unnecessary or unneeded. In the factories, Wheelers were used to place train's wheels, now that we use Maglevs the position is useless.

As I got older, and as mother made me stop hanging out with Gear, Rom and I grew close to the point where we had become good friends. Rom carried the District Trademark of dark hair, and pale skin. He looked more like me than Gear, even though I had a dark brown hair. He was also always 1 foot 2 inches shorter than me, at all times…

I was lucky enough to have my own room, Gear slept on the couch and Rom with my mother. My room was adorned in my mother's paintings, posters of the Capitol skyline, and a map of Panem. I reached blindly for my glasses: thick and black, Capitol issue. I slid the frame over my eyes and my vision became sharper. I glanced at the digital clock, reading it at 10:50, I had an hour and ten minutes until the reaping…

At the time I was 16. My name would be in the glass jar 6 times, Gear's 7, Rom's 1. Every one of my siblings would be up for reaping, which gave me nightmares. If Gear was reaped, I'd be upset but I wouldn't overall care... That sounds rough until you see the state in which Gear is in. His skin literally looks like it's melting off of his face, it's the sickest shade of yellow, and covered with red and pus-filled boils. But, Christ, if Rom was reaped. I would have to volunteer. I couldn't let him get reaped, it would literally kill me. He would die like the other 11 year olds, quick and in the Bloodbath. Not saying tat I would get further, but still his life is valued over mine. I cringed in bed from the cold and the thought of seeing Rom standing on stage at the reaping, tears running down his soft face.

I spent a few more minutes thinking of the Hunger Games, seeing the dead and their victors. I realized then that many tributes go into the games knowing the odds are not in their favor. I couldn't imagine being reaped, having the eyes of my District look upon me to not only win but give them life-giving food for the year, let alone I couldn't imagine dying. What was it like? What does an arrowhead, poisoned water, the tip of a spear feel like?

To my displeasure, I would eventually know.