Hello to my loyal readers. I know your waiting for me to update on Open Range. But that story has been put hiatus for now. However, I plan on continuing the story Alpha &Omega: Beginning of the End (A&O:BotE) soon.

I know that your reading my (and IHeartUCato)'s stories, so, to you quiet observers, review. It encourages me (us) to keep going. Plus I'd like to know your opinions on my writing and the story itself.

This is a story that popped up in my head while I was working on Open Range. It has sort of taken on a mind of its own. It may or may not have sequels.

I do not own or claim to own anything Hunger Games related- I'm simply borrowing from Ms. Collins.

Chapter One

I sigh as the water cascades down my back, working out the kinks in my tense and sore muscles. I pull back the shower curtain to glance at the small clock on the bathroom counter before leaning forward into the spray.

"How nice. You only left me with forty-five minutes to get ready to go," I mutter a bit sarcastically under my breath. "I am truly grateful."

As I begin to rinse out any remaining shampoo from my hair, my mind decides to wander. Father, having apparently managed to postpone his trip to the Capitol, woke me at four in the morning so I would have an extended training session.

Today, it seemed, was cause for an much more intense regimen. The simulator kept me moving at a breathless pace, dropping low to avoid incoming knives, rolling from the swing of a ax, to outright countering the slash from a sword with my chakrams, embedding one into the robotic dummy's head. From there we moved to target practice, switching between my most comfortable weapons, chakrams, to the smallest of knives and miniature throwing stars. Each time I hit my mark, though from the look on his face, you'd think I'd failed horribly.

We finished with the endurance tests. I started off doing well, but as I swung across the monkey bars, I could feel his eyes on me. I tried not to look, fighting the urge as long as I could, but it became to much. In my distraction, I missed the grab for the final rung. The momentum caused me to let go, ending with me falling from thirteen feet and sprawled out on the mat below.

"Alana! What in the hell was that!," My father yelled, storming over to stand above me. I glanced away from him in both irritation and shame.

"Do not ignore me! Why did you just stop near the end?," He asked again. My temper gets the best of me, fueling my response.

"Because I could feel the damn daggers you were throwing at me with your eyes! What is your problem today anyway?"

In the time it took me to blink, he managed to stoop down to my eye level. His eyes, normally a bright and lively green now were dark, several emotions raging within them. The most recognizable of them was fear. They held me in place, freezing me to my spot and silencing any response I might have given.

"What do you think my problem is? Or have you forgotten what day it is?," he said as he moved a hand to hold the bridge of his nose. He apparently caught my flinch at the tone of his voice, for his gaze softened and he reached out to stroke my cheek.

"I'm sorry sweetie. I'm not trying to take it out on you. It's just that I want you to be prepared."

"But maybe last time, it was just a coincidence," I said weakly, not for a minute believing it to be true. "Maybe it was chance."

"Alana, you know it was never up to chance. Not for this." His voice was grim, yet sure as he stated this.

But of course he would be. Who wouldn't forget a threat made by the President himself. My father had been a part of the start of a rebellion in the Capitol. Using his status as head gamemaker, he garnered the attention and backing of many well-known and respected members of the Capitol- many already enemies of Snow- to his cause. It is unknown to my father of how they were discovered, but, nevertheless, the President arranged for those involved to be killed during the banquet for the Victor of the 59th Hunger Games, Thadeus Fluxon of District Two. He willingly went along, taking blame for the murders and receiving a reprieve for having done so.

During the madness, my father had been beaten then taken to the President who, in so many words, told my father that he would be spared only for his ability for making unique Game arenas, however, he would pay for his betrayal to the Capitol one way or another.

Afterward, he was banished to reside here in District Three where he met my mother, Jacqueline. I figured when he told me of his ordeal and began prepping and preparing me on my tenth birthday in his secret training center that he was just being paranoid; on my thirteenth birthday, Snow made a visit to our house. Whatever was said between the two left an impression on my father. Training became longer and increased in difficulty.

The next year, I was reaped for the Games. Before I could part from the crowd, my best and only friend, Chloe Coilton, volunteered in my place. The thought of her breaks me of my revelry.

Turning off the water, I step out onto the bath rug and dry myself off with a towel. I pause to wipe the steam from the mirror and briefly stare at my reflection. It's like I have just the right combination of my parents' looks; my mother's small nose and my father's high cheek bones. Their hair and eye colors have mixed giving me my hazel-ish green eyes, my auburn hair.

From the corner of my eye, the clock reads eleven thirty-seven. I toss my wet towel into the dirty clothes bin and walk to my room. I find my reaping outfit- a cinch collar sweater and tweed-patterned pencil skirt with black leggings- where I left it, strewn on the edge of the bed.

In the next fifteen minutes, I dress, style my hair, and slide on my boots and silvery grey microchip bracelet, before standing in front of the mirror and giving myself a once over. Pleased with the outcome, I grab my coat and make to leave, opening my door to find my father standing there, arm raised and hand poised and positioned to knock.

He lowers it and backs away so that I can exit. "Ready to go, sweetie? Want a quick snack?"

"As ready as I'll ever be and no, I'm not hungry," I reply. We make our way down stairs and head out. I wait on the walkway for the him to lock up the door. Once he's done, we get into his car.

We live in the small suburban area on the edge of the district that mainly the wealthy of District Three reside. Our house is just four down from the entrance of the Victors Village, which sits on small hill. My father goes there frequently, usually on business, to visit the Victor Beetee.

Every once in a while when I was younger, he would allow me to come along, where Beetee would allow me to play with his non-lethal devices or would even create toys that he'd let me keep to take with me and bide the time while, I assume, he and my father ran over different types of technology and designs for the Games.

Outside my window, the scenery changes from lavish houses with beautiful green lawns to the cold uniform gray of the district's factories, only a few in full operation.

On the sidewalks are people walking towards the town square, either dressed in their best attire or in the clothes from their graveyard shift. A few look up to watch us pass before losing interest and continuing forward.

"Have you heard anything at all from mom?," I ask looking out of the window.

"No I haven't. The last I spoke to her was around eleven last night," he answers. "She said she'd probably be be in about two in the morning."

He continues on after seeing my expression. "You know how she gets, always losing track of time and getting caught up in her work, not at all unusual."

I nod in reply and begin to worry my lip, letting the conversation drop from there. She usually calls or makes sure leaves a voice message if she gets the machine.

We pull into a parking deck about a block away from the square. Outside, my father veers off towards the opposite direction.

"Where are you going?," I ask confused.

"Just to check in on your mother and see if she's wrapped everything up at the office." He gives a half smile, saying, "I'll be back before you know it." And with that he's on his way, leaving me alone.

I continue onward, hands in pockets, thankful that I decided to grab my coat. While the cool breeze was tolerable standing outside my house, the wind was unforgiving in the district center, wrapping around the buildings' walls and blowing, full force, from different angles.

The town square comes into view, large colorful banisters and streamers hung up on the sides of buildings and balloons tied to the street lamps around, all of which flap haphazardly in the wind. In front of the steps to the Justice Building is a stage, with chairs off to the side for the past Victors, the mayor, and his family.

On stage, District Three's new escort, Elatia Bornia, seems to switch between an intense conversation with the mayor's wife and giving a brilliant small towards the cameras and crowd that has gathered.

I make my way as quickly as I can to join the census line. Several eyes follow me as I go, filled with either disdain or pity. My father's former status has made my family sort of pariahs, everyone else keeping their distance.

I keep my head up and forward, not looking at anything specific. Sooner than expected I've arrived at the desk.

"Hand please." I give the peacekeeper my hand and he jabs my index finger with a needle, pressing it to a piece of paper. "You can go now."

I walk to the fifteen year old section, lingering near the edge. I already know whose name will be called. The reaping soon begins with the same old boring video of the rebellion of the dark days, its ending, and the ushering of the Annual Games.

I zone out, instead try to spot my parents in the surrounding crowd. There's no sight of them from where I'm standing and I try not to let that get to me.

Elatia's perky voice finally breaks through, having my attention focused back on the stage.

"Happy Hunger Games!" Her accent, like my father's, seems fairly light compared to others from the Capitol. "May the odds be ever in your favor!"

The most of the crowd claps politely, only a few are completely motionless. She smiles a little, pleased with the response.

"Before we begin, let's give it up for District Three's Victors!"

More applause erupts, slightly louder. On stage, Beetee waves, Wiress looks far away somewhere else, and Lilah simply nods.

"Alright! Shall we begin?!" She makes her way to the girls ball first. The square is dead silent but for the whipping wind. Grabbing the handle, she winds it and the ball rotates.

By now the suspense is killing me, leaving my guts in knots. She stops the ball and sticks her hand inside, taking a slip of paper. She glances at it before raising the microphone to her lips.

"And the female tribute of District Three is..." she pauses for dramatic effect. "Alana Wen!"

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HG94