Finnick POV

I blinked irritated, when I heard my alarm clock go off. So it was time again. Another pointless day leading to loosing two young lifes. Another event that would end in two families blaming me for the death of their children. Another reaping to show how powerless we all really were.

I got up eventually. There was no use in hiding here. I would be dragged out anyway. The luxurious room around me made me sick. It looked too much like the countless apartments in the Capitol I had seen this far. My hand found its way to my tousled hair and I let out a heavy sigh. I needed to get ready and put up a smiling face before I got out of here.

My motions were automatic, programmed. Every year for five years now I had learned to stand up and keep going. To keep standing up every morning especially through the games was the hardest part of surviving the games.

A look in the mirror showed my sleepy and unmotivated seagreen eyes, the bronze hair tousled and tangled. They might say I was attractive and desirable, but all I saw was a murderer. Someone not able to keep the last eight kids alive through the games and probably wasn't able to keep the next two up and running for long.

I dragged towards the bathroom letting the water of a hot shower wash away my doubts and replace them with fake confidence. To brush my hair into a style matching the cocky grin I painted on my mask.

I just made my way out of there set up and ready for another year of lies and games outside the arena when I heard a knocking sound downstairs. I hurried there with a fake, easy going attitude. It was Mags though. The old woman had been a help and friend to me since I won my games and I had learned to let her in. She was the only person I still kept a somewhat close contact to. The only person who truly knew a bit about Finnick Odair the victor of the 65th Hunger Games.

"Are you ready to accompany me?" Mags smiled warmly. She always was like that. Like a tough little grandmother. "You know the answer." I gave a small smile and took her arm to walk to the justice building with her. We would be prepared for the streaming off the reaping there. Those Capitol lapdogs of stylists would be there. They only ever cared for their glory.

"You look tired. Did you sleep at all?" Mags asked after a while of walking in relative silence. "Hardly. You can't blame me really though, can you?" I knew she was having a hard time sleeping sometimes too. All victors with a bit of soul probably felt that way.

She patted my hand and we passed the invisible line between Victor's village and the part where the life pulsed in District 4. I immediately put on my mask and we both knew this talk wouldn't be finished anytime soon. The few people who were already up and wandering through the streets mostly struck me as people I knew. They were always the same, going around the empty streets with lost faces. They were the people left behind by the tributes who had fallen in the games. The sight of them had scared me in the first year after my victory. I had looked into the face of murderers in the games but seeing those people made me feel worse than any physical threat ever could.

We passed them and entered the justice building. We both were late for Capitol styling standards, but the stylists always told me and Mags that they could hardly do anything with us. Mags was too old and they thought of me as naturally camera perfect.

Hoodge and Alistair already were sitting in the small room reserved for the victors. Mason Hoodge was what one could describe as a nutjob. He was in his midthirties and not that reliable anymore. It was not like he was completely mad and out of his mind, but rather like he simply accepted every little flaw and simply lived it. Despite that he was a nice enough guy though conversations tended to go weird with him. Alistair Grasto on the other side seemed oddly normal. He had a son and two grandchildren, whom he loved. They were a happy family, although he tended to drink after the games and not go out for about 2 weeks. They had been there for me as mentors in my games and had helped with coaching the other tributes since my victory.

„Morning. Finnick, Mags." Alistair smiled politely and nodded his head to me, while giving Mags a small kiss on both cheeks. „Late like always. I guess the real stars really come a bit later." I had to smirk at that. „Than I wouldn't have come at all. Your suite this year looks experimental as ever Hoodge." The slightly twitchy man turned around at the mention of his name and looked down at his oily black suit. It really had all the reflections of oil puddles you sometimes saw in movies from the Capitol. „It's alright as long as I don't have to wear socks."

Turning away with a slight headshake I sat down in the chair the Capitol stylist gestured me into. She was new this year. Young and surprisingly nice. She even made an effort to actually make conversation that was not filled with stupid Capitol nonsense like fashion.

It took only an hour to get ready and I was glad about that. I never really liked the styling and the getting pretty for people who looked at us like meat.

All us victors were arranged in a line so the Peacekeepers could walk us to the stage. Mags was first and then we were standing going down with the age. We were lead through a variety of hallways until we got to a door, behind it we could already hear the people on stage talking. I always felt like some bait being presented at a fair for newest fishing equipment. Just a new way to bait the Capitol people into buying me as long as I performed well.

The door opened letting in a gush of bright sunlight and we made our way to the stage. The people clapping. Some more enthusiastic then the others. I still couldn't think of how all this was supposed to be glorious. We sat down in the assigned chairs and I let my gaze wander over the people of District 4 that had gathered in the vast place.

In the crowd I could easily spot my mother. She always stood in the same spot. Off to the far right hiding in a shadow before the fishing shop. And as always she looked anxious and nervous. She had lost me through the games and now she didn't want the same to happen with my siblings. I send them everything they needed so none of them had to sign up for extra Tessarae, but still the fear was present.

I also spotted my little brother and sister in the place for the children. I felt worried sick, when I saw that little Glenn was crying and that Mick looked at her from the other area trying to console her somehow. Inside I prayed for them not be chosen, not to have to go through that horror and also selfishly that I wouldn't have to be the one failing at helping them in the arena.

I snapped back to attention when the first tribute was chosen. Boys were up first this year. The name didn't quite strike me as familiar. Matthew Fresud. He walked up the stage and it immediately was evident that he would be one of the careers. He looked like he had trained already. He was tall and muscular without being bulky. Normal persons probably couldn't see it but to me and probably the other victors it was evident that he would be a threat to the other tributes. It was something about his way of moving that made people like us want to defend ourselves immediately.

He grinningly took his place and seemed to know that he had a good chance already. Now the girl was to be chosen. This part always was especially tricky for me. I had seen Megan the girl tribute in my year be killed right at the beginning of the games and this printed the image of a weak girl tribute into my mind. I never gave them much chance to begin with.

Annie Cresta. I frowned I had heard that name before. At least the last name. It took a collective gasp for me to realise it though. The Crestas were a wealthy fishing family and I had seen the girl sometimes. She wasn't frail or anything, but something always registered with me as gentle when I had seen her.

She was surprisingly composed when she climbed the stage. Our eyes met for a second and only in her eyes could one see a flash of terror. Of real fear. She quickly turned away and faced the onlookers again.

It took a while for me to notice what was off about her fearful look. She hadn't been afraid of the situation. She had looked like she was afraid of me.

Afraid of the only person on stage that she had seen winning the games. The only killer.