[Corrected]

Hey!

Here's the first chapter of my crossover. It's the first one, and this chapter is really "soft" because it's all about Katniss and blah blah blah. I just hope you enjoy it.

I want to clear out that my mother tongue isn't English (it's Spanish), so I'd appreciate if you tell me if I had any spelling mistake or something like that so I can fix it as soon as I can.

PS. It's an 'AU' where Katniss's 16 years old.

Summary: On the hundredth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that trust is what took you to the ruins, we will slip the amount of tributes with The Factions Nation: A society we trusted in the past, a society that betrayed us. And Katniss Everdeen is the only one who'll represent District 12.

THE FOURTH QUARTER QUELL

Factions before blood?

That won't work here.

Chapter 1:

Time is infinite, so the years go by… but not alone. They pass with wars, celebrations, deaths, new lives. Without all these aspects, time wouldn't pass.

Seconds turn into minutes. Minutes become hours. Hours join and form days, which form weeks, months, years… decades.

One hundred years ago, something terrible happened. One of the worst tragedies in our history.

The Dark Days. The Rebellion.

They hit us all where it hurts the most, but it doesn't matter. Not anymore. One hundred years is enough to forget, or at least my father used to say that… but the Capitol doesn't want us to forget, I think it still wants to remind us that we are its puppets ―that it will always control us.

Tonight, the rules of the Fourth Quarter Quell will be announced.

The previous ones were massive killings as usual: in the first one, the tributes were reaped by votes, they doubled the amount of tributes in the second one… and they reaped the remaining victors in the 75th games.

That last Quarter Quell was… disgusting.

I'm sitting among the dinner table, looking at my sister while she's looking for the TV remote. My mother's sitting next to me, eating an apple I brought from the woods this morning. Her hands are shaking and make me nervous.

Prim takes seat at my left, presses the main control's button and the TV turns on.

The great seal of the Capitol shines across the room, and my mother shudders. The symbol turns on itself four times, until a sudden image dazzles us. I narrow my eyes, because the colours are too shiny for me. I look to my left and my little sister's covering her eyes with her tiny arms.

The Capitol in all its glory leaves, and we can see a man with fiery hair and a red glimmering outfit ―suit―, exaggerated smile and huge white teeth: Caesar Flickerman.

He must be around 70 years old but he still looks as young as when he was 40. Caesar slides across the stage, joking and laughing with the crowd. He always does that and people love him because of his humor ―he tries to make the games don't seem as cruel as they really are.

I wonder what he injects to himself to avoid getting older… But of course, he's a Capitol citizen, so I guess he has medicines for everything you can think about. He might have gone through many surgeries, too.

"We should stop joking and get into the point. Get a little bit more serious…" he says, sitting on a huge armchair in the middle of the stage. "This year, we celebrate the Fourth Quarter Quell." His tone isn't cheerful, but people keep clapping.

I don't think there could be any reason to celebrate, but people who live there see the Games as entertainment not like us ―the ones who live in the districts, the ones who starve.

"One hundred years… Wow, that's a lot of time. And that's why our dearest President McMillan will introduce us the rules for this special year through that box," he points at the boy who's holding a golden chest. Caesar sighs, looks at the sky and smiles again. "Hopefully, these Games will be pretty interesting, don't you think, folks?"

The audience stands and claps him, until he touches his left ear. Caesar Flickerman smiles again, but he does a gesture with his hand, ordering to sit down and stay quiet.

"I've just been informed that our President is ready. Let's give a warm welcoming to our President Emolee McMillan!" He bows and the cameras focus on a woman with blue suit, standing behind a podium.

Her light brown hair highlights her green eyes, although they don't show joy and they look like if they haven't got emotions. The features of her face are deep and make her look even more fearsome than she's supposed to be.

She's forty years old, and she took place after the mysterious death of President Snow about two decades ago. Yes, she's extremely young for the job, but people say our nation is better now than two decades ago.

Anyway, I don't think like them.

She approaches the microphone and raises one hand, making everybody keep quiet.

"In the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children died because of their own violence, the districts had to hold elections and vote for the tributes that were going to represent them," she says.

I take the glass of water that's in front of my, and drink it. I can't imagine all these people, choosing to send their children into the Arena…

I can imagine how hard that could be… Or maybe not. Perhaps people just voted randomly, but all those tributes might have felt betrayed by their district because they were literally sent to the slaughter.

"On the fiftieth anniversary, "she continues "as a reminder that two rebels were killed for every citizen of the Capitol, all the districts sent twice tributes as usual."

The victor of these games was from our district. Haymitch Abernathy. I can't imagine how I could fight against other 47 tributes… And he was my age, and he won.

"In the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder that even its strongest members weren't rivals for the power of the Capitol, the tributes where selected from the group of victors."

Haymitch Abernathy died in that year. Since then we were without mentor (although the other one didn't use to do anything) until 10 years ago, when a 18-yeal-old boy, Albert Tomble, won the 90th Hunger Games.

He's some kind of playboy and I hate him a little bit too much.

President McMillan invites the boy to step forward. She puts her hand into the box and removes the envelope that contains this year's rules, marked with the number 100. She puts her fingers under the flap and pulls out a square of paper. Without hesitations, she reads: "On the hundredth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that trust is what took you to the ruins, we will slip the amount of tributes with…The Factions Nation."

Most women in the audience cover their mouths with heir skinny hands, and men look down, looking like if they were sorry for the tributes who were sent this time. The President closes the envelope back and looks straight to the camera. "That's it," she says after a long silence. "And may the odds be ever in your favor."

The transmission is cut, after showing Caesar Flickerman's surprise face and the way he falls, unconscious.

Prim looks at me, raising an eyebrow, but I keep concentrated in the rainy screen. My mother takes my hand.

"That means they won't choose us, right?" Prim whispers, half smiling.

"Yes." I say, dropping my mother's hand with abhorrence. "They'll only choose 12 from our districts, which mean 12 from them." When I say that, Prim's smile even wider. "I had read at school that they are divided in five districts… I mean factions. We don't know much more about them."

I swallow and stand up.

"What does that mean?" asks my mother, confused, after I reject her hand.

"That the ones who'll be selected, will be forced to make an alliance with one of them., I guess." Their faces show that they don't understand me, I notice in their blue eyes. "They say they betrayed us, that they were a district. Although one day, they decided to become independent, hundreds of years ago. Many time before the Dark Days. Through lies, they freed themselves behind the Capitol's back, so the Capitol killed many of them. They hate us as much as we do… because we trusted them when we tried to get independent…"

"…which means none of the alliances will be durable," Prim interrupts me, with tears filling her eyes. My mother tries to approach her, but I hold her against my chest first.

"They won't choose you Prim, okay? It's your first year… We better go to sleep now," she nods, so I take her hand and turn to our room. My mother's eyes meet mine. "Goodnight."

"Night…" she whispers, rubbing her hands.

Prim tucks in our bed and Buttercup jumps over her, slipping between the sheets. She hugs him and I sigh, looking away. I kiss her forehead before she's asleep. I go to the window and watch the moon.

I think about what happened today, the announcing of the rules…

For a long time, I've heard stories about the Factions Nation. It's said that, like us, they're divided into five districts, called factions, but they are governed by representatives of each of those factions. Some people say there are factions that are specialists in fighting, the peaceful ones, the intelligent, the honest and the boring ones. But those are pure legends, because no one has gotten into their area for some reason I unknown.

But I am sure they'll have their own careers, and they'll win this.

I start feelings tired, so I decide to lie in the tiny space that Prim left in hour bed.

I close my eyes and try to sleep… Gladly, everything turns black quickly.

END OF CHAPTER 1.

Spelling? Grammar? Mistakes? Something to tell me? An opinion?

It doesn't bother at all!

Camila.