So, I'm a bit stuck on my other story, so I've started this one with inspiration from the Catching Fire trailer that came out last night!

Title: Eradication

Summary: "The Victors, they all think they're invincible."

Finnick/OC

There are three main things I like to avoid in my life. The Capital, its people, and prostitution. Sadly, all three are main aspects of my life as of right now. They have been for the past six years, ever since I was crowned Victor of the sixty eighth Hunger Games. But right now is the beginning of my grace period. On the train, speeding back to District Four. The Games ended three nights ago, when Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark were named Victors.

I've been contemplating their victory and what this means for Panem for the past seventy two hours. Bringing the cup of hot tea up to my lips and taking a slow sip, my eyes lock onto the scenery that flies by outside of the window. My leg is stretched out in front of me, the prosthetic rests against the hand rest of the chair I sit in. I lost my left leg at the end of my Games, but that's a story for another day.

My thoughts drift to home as I start to see the forest getting less dense outside. District Four is a place that I've grown very protective of over the course of my life. My District, my home, really all that I have left that I can say that's a piece of me.

I live in Victor's Village, at the end of the row of gargantuan mansions that the Capital so graciously provided us with. I live there by myself, having no family left to share it with, so it is too big for my liking. Though some nights I go over to eat dinner with Mags, who is the oldest living Victor in Four, on nights that she invites me. I purely accept the invitation to be nice to her, because whenever she invites me, she also invites over Finnick Odair, sex symbol of Panem (along with myself) and he was also my mentor.

Finnick Odair and I haven't had a real conversation, just the two of us, civilized, in the past five years. We talk nicely to each other at dinner, though the aura of the whole room is incredibly tense, and when we mentor each other, we'll put up with each other to a degree.

I set the now empty ceramic cup on the side table beside me and fold my hands in my lap. I change the focus of my eyes from the landscape to my slight reflection in the glass. My slight frame, broad shoulders, and tan skin I can make out. Slightly wavy light blonde hair stands out against the forest green button down shirt that covers my frame. I can't see my eyes in the mirror, but I already know there is not that much too see in them. They're a void. A deep blue of nothingness. No emotion, just numbness. And I don't even have to take some expensive ass drug to get the feeling.

Not that I have dealt with money recently. I get compensated for by my clients, who have the nerve to think that their gift will make the situation better for me, by having them tell me little things. Secrets. Finnick had given me the idea when I had first met him, after I asked him (rather rudely) how he pays for his whores. I regret it now, knowing that they bought him and not the other way around. But I'm not going to apologize for that now. Let alone speak to him when it is not necessary of me.

My head snaps to the side at the sound of a door sliding open and I nod silently at the avox who enters the room. She inclines her head slightly before standing back against the wall, waiting for me to ask something of her. My mind almost forgets she is there, my body stays relaxed, but I keep a small tab on her position in the room and any small movement that she may make. I am glad that she is not standing behind me; my mind can't stand people being behind me anymore. Not that I let that show when I'm in public. No one would ever notice it bothers me, though, I don't let those things show when I'm immersed with the Capitalites. Hell, they even think Finnick and I are friends. The great tribute-mentor bond is forever intact to them.

My thoughts drift and soon, I'm thinking of when I'll have to return to the Capital again, only for a weekend in about a month to meet with clients. What if I just didn't go? I've thought of the idea before, but then I figured it would not be tolerated. But now, they just let two kids become Victors in the Games. What if I did not go, just don't get on the train. What could they do?

They already took away everyone I love.

My knuckles turn white as the grip on my cup tightens instantly. The memory of what I came too, that sick, twisted image that I had come back to forever branded into my mind.

Opening the door to my home, to find my mother and father, sliced to pieces on the living room floor. The cup shatters in my hand, but I barely notice. The image of my little brother, hanging from a noose that was tied to the ceiling light, just swaying, back and forth, dead.

I had only said 'no' once. Just one little time, Snow had sent a representative from the Capital, Whittier had been his name. He said that certain people in the Capital would be very generous in exchange for my..services. Of course I had refused, ran him out of my house, even after he told me that the President would be very disheartened to here of my incorporation.

Snow had visited me a week later, saying he was very sad to hear about my loss. He made it very clear that it would be our little secret. And when he made the same proposal that Whittier had, I obviously accepted without thought.

I stand up swiftly up on my one leg, my eyes locking with the avox's and I nod down to the crushed ceramic pieces on the floor. "Clean that up, have someone fetch me from my room when we are nearing District Four." I do not wait for any recognition that she's heard me, since she obviously as, she has nothing else to do. I hop out of the room and down the hallway into my room, not wanting to take the time to put on my leg; I just let it drag on the floor behind me as I bring it along.

It's a simple room, by Capital standards at least. All white, white floors, white walls. My bedspread is white as well. Except for one section of a wall, right across from my bed. The reason that no one else but myself and avoxs are allowed inside my room. There, in black paint, I've written the name of every tribute I've mentored in the past six years.

Lando Faris

Annie Cresta

Vincent Tukhart

Molly Watik

Quinn Stevens

Poppy Sander

Maxx Val

Evelyn Howard

Michael Upton

Jade Xide

And the bottom two, this year's tributes, are different from most of the others. All of them but one are crossed out. Reminding me that we have only brought one tribute home since my victory. I go over to the desk drawer and take out the paintbrush and small container of black paint, stroking a line through the names of the kids who died just a week ago.

Titan Ocalo

Carly Tampas

Only Annie has made it home. And it was only that first year that Finnick and I worked together mentoring. We've split it up since then. I mentor the boy, he mentors the girl. They last about the same amount of time. We are good to Annie though. I go visit her often, though she usually is with Mags. Finnick sometimes goes to see how she is doing. She would be the one to have to mentor instead of myself, but after seeing Lando get his head cut off a week into her Games, she has not been the same. No one ever is, of course not, but she is worse than usual. So I go for her, it is the least I could do.

I move myself to my bed, lying atop the comforter, my back against the dark oak headboard. My fingers drum idly on the white surface, my mind just giving my body something to do as I think over the situation as of now.

I don't have to be a Capital whore any more. Not anymore. I have nothing to lose. What are they going to do? Kill me? I am sure the Capital citizens would just love to hear of that. For the first time in a long time, a childish grin spreads across my face. Similar to one that a kid would get if they just figured out how to reach the cookie jar that was put out of their reach. I feel like I'm my real age, of just twenty one and not fifty or older.

I can get away with almost anything.

It's about an hour later that a knock comes at my door, before the avox from before opens it, nodding slightly at me before leaving. I swing my leg over the side, reaching for my prosthetic and attaching it to my knee joint.

I test it out, swinging it back and forth, moving my 'ankle' around. Small shocks get sent up into the real part of my leg that I still have, but it always does that when I first put it back on.

I deem it good to go and push myself off the bed, walking out of my room and down the hallway. The ocean is already in view and the train is starting to slow.

When most people return to their district, they look out for the people who pick them up or come to greet them from home at the station. But it is different for me, because there is no one to wait for me, no one looking forward to the day I return home. I look out just because I love the sight of my home. The ocean, the beach, the sand covering the streets.

The train comes to a stop and the door slides open before me. I step off, into the warm sun and take a deep intake of the salty ocean air. No matter how many 'Ocean' scented candles I smell in the Capital, they never quite smell like District Four really does.

I make my way through the District from the train platform to my house without a problem. I nod my head to those who I recognize and those who greet me by name.

My home in Victor's Village by far way too large. The two story, white plaster brick home has three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a very large kitchen that has multiple things that I have no idea how to use, and a modern living room. And those are just the main components of it. I don't really count the library, office, and bare extra room as anything. It is too much for just me living by myself. But I got used to the home's loneliness years ago.

I open the door easily, vaguely wondering if I had even locked the door last time I left, but not really caring. That is, until I smell the roses. My nose scrunches up automatically at the stench and my lip curls upwards. I walk deeper into my house, and find the source on the table in my living room.

A single white rose, placed in a vase atop an enveloped letter. I walk over cautiously, eyeing the rose and scanning the room at the same time, before sliding out the letter, which is addressed to me.

'Ms. Stell Mere', my name, is written in fancy calligraphy handwriting. There is only one man this can be from.

And so I read the letter, once, than twice, and even a third time. At first I am shocked, and then angry, and then I am just pissed off. My hand is in a fist, the letter still legible but on crumpled paper, in my hand as I storm over to the house two doors down. I really don't give a rat's ass on if I bother him or not, so when I reach Finnick's door I just start pounding my fist against it.

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock

"What the-" His mouth stays open when he sees that it's me and I give him a tight smile that I am sure looks more like a grimace. I push past him into his house without an invitation to come inside before turning around to face him.

"We have problem." I say simply and his eyebrows go up into his hairline.

"What do you mean by 'we'?" His mouth skews to one side as his sea green eyes narrow at me.

"As in, both of us, together."

"So, you're saying-"

I shove the letter into his chest and let out a huff, "Shut up, sit down and fucking read it for yourself."

Good? Bad? Reviews are greatly welcomed!