Author's Note:

Hello there! If you couldn't tell by the summary, this is a sort of Pokemon, mostly PokeSpe, version of The Hunger Games, featuring the main characters of the manga and some from the games in the world of Panem. It's not going to very closely follow the plot of The Hunger Games, if at all, and it will in fact more similar to the plot of Catching Fire if anything, taking some elements from both. There will also be an arc similar to that of Mockingjay. Much original plot will therefore ensue, though many characters, events, and objects will have direct counterparts. I already have pretty much all of the counterparts lined up, including who comes from which district, and I already have a plan for this, so trust me, I know where this is going! Stay with me, and hopefully you'll enjoy the ride. :)

Much thanks goes to DainoChild, for inspiring me with her awesome fic Red Potter (which you should totally read, if you haven't already), reading over my chapters, and running through this crazy idea with me. She is seriously an awesome person.

Warning: There will obviously be some character deaths in this, and also some M/M pairings. Also, I didn't put this fic in the crossover section because every single character will be a Pokemon character, with none from the actual Hunger Games books. And the plot will be pretty different.

Before I go on, N wants you to know that he says, "GUYS I'M KING OKAY SO GIVE ME GOOD REVIEWS!" and cries sparkly tears for you. So listen to N. He's king.

So without further ado, Happy Hungry Pokemon Games, and I hope you enjoy!


Chapter One

"Sire, you cannot be serious about this."

The cape billowed behind him, jewels and patterns catching the sunlight and glittering with purple and yellow as President Harmonia turned, a smile already snaking across his pallid face. The scent of roses filled the air around him, and for a moment, Sage Bronius wrinkled his nose before remembering his place and bowing his head before the president. Ghetsis Harmonia would not take kindly to any signs of disgust, if he noticed.

"Ah, but I am." As Bronius watched, he could swear that Ghetsis's eye patch glistened when he smiled, white as the perfect, surgically altered squares of his teeth, each of their edges sharpened to an atom's width. Or at least, that was what it looked like. He shuddered, trying to hide the motion underneath his cloak.

"It's his time, Bronius. It's about time he was put to the test. The…final test," Ghetsis said, and a hint of shadow fell over his face.

Bronius looked up at the rays of sunlight streaming through the canopy of the president's rose garden, birds chirping pleasantly through the trees overhead. He watched Ghetsis's pale fingers as he picked at the stems of a rose on the bush nearby, stroking the petals lovingly and twisting their way around the thorns, skillfully avoiding their pricks. He saw the white petals drifting down toward the ground and opened his mouth, tentatively wetting his lips.

"Sire…I…I know that the rebellion…" Bronius swallowed. No, that wouldn't do; he would have to choose his words more carefully. "Or what the districts think is a rebellion…must be stopped as soon as possible…but does this use of the child…the boy…not seem like a little…" The Sage swallowed, his mustache drooping over his chin as he dipped his head forward. "…too cruel of a way to…to subdue the citizens of Panem?"

"But not at all, Bronius. Think about it, my dear Sage. He at least has a chance this way." The sneer curled further across the pale face, the worn, chiseled chin tapering into a point. Ghetsis's tone sounded almost amused, Bronius noticed with a chill, as if he were toying with him, toying with the boy's fate.

His own son…could he go so far? Would he? Bronius sneaked a glance at him; Ghetsis seemed unperturbed, smiling down at the flowers in an almost sickeningly childish way as he stroked their spines. For a moment, Bronius could see the barest flash of his son's features in his face. N. He pictured him in his mind's eye: the same pale skin, the green hair curling down his back. But the eyes—the eyes were different. Where there was only cold, steely green in his father's, N's wavered with a vulnerable blue, with something that more resembled emotion where in Ghetsis's, there was none.

Bronius shook the thought out of his mind when Ghetsis spoke again, the slow drawl of his voice rolling over him like a lazy gust of wind.

"The odds are, at least, more in his favor than they could be, if we chose to simply…dispose of him. One out of twenty-four is better than zero, after all, is it not?"

"Y-yes…I suppose so."

Bronius swallowed. It was true, he reasoned. If N won…well, it was unlikely, knowing the boy, and he didn't know what Ghetsis would do if it did happen, but he at least had a chance of winning, right? Still, what would the Capitol citizens say? They never blinked an eye at the Hungry Pokemon Games, but that was because it was the kids from the districts. Now, not only was it a Capitol child, but the child of the president himself. What if it was too much for even them to stomach? He licked his lips.

"But…won't the people of Panem question your actions, sire? Won't they wonder—and perhaps even protest—why the President is…sending his own son into the Hungry Pokemon Games?"

"Ah, but doesn't that make for an even better show?" The cape swept across the ground like a shadow as Ghetsis turned again, smirking over his shoulder. "Think, Bronius. Use your mind; use those impeccable gifts of wisdom that made you a Sage in the first place." In a single, deft motion, he plucked a petal from the rose and let it flutter to the ground, where it lay, white, only a shade paler than his skin. "That is what will destroy them most of all. When they see that the Games are such a force…such an inescapable power, a rule to this land…that even the president's own son is not exempt…that we are willing to even make the ultimate sacrifice for the good of Panem…then they will understand." He stepped forward, hovering his foot over the petal, and then brought it down on the flower, grinding it into the ground with his shoe. "That we will stop. At. Nothing."

Bronius tore his eyes away from the crushed petal and stared into the distant entwined branches, thinking, as Ghetsis had told him to. Twenty-five tributes this year. Like some kind of Quarter Quell. A variation, to punish the districts even further. To punish the Capitol. To punish them…with their own sympathies, because N would certainly win those. He lowered his head, and nodded. Ghetsis was right. The Games would go on. It was the best way, the way to show the districts that the Capitol meant what they said. And would not go back on their word, even when it was one of their own.

"Your genius never ceases to amaze me, sire."

"I know." Ghetsis didn't need to look up; Bronius could hear the smirk in his voice.

"But the boy…" he started, and the president shook his head with a dismissive snort.

"I will speak to him. Don't waste your energy worrying about him."

Bronius opened his mouth, and then closed it and nodded. "Yes, sire."

He felt rather than saw the shadow closing in on him as Ghetsis dropped the rose in his hand paced toward him, steps sending dull, wooden thunks across the ground. He heard his bated breath over him, smelled the blood and roses, felt his hand coming down to pat him on the head. "You're a good Sage, Bronius."

"Thank you, sire."

"Water my roses now, will you?" Ghetsis asked with a grin, and then, with another twirl of his cape and a fresh wave of blood-scent, he was gone.


N was sitting on the carpet in his room when Ghetsis found him, perched on his knees and playing with his toy trains for what had to be at least the thousandth time since he had been a toddler. Somehow, he still managed to find amusement in it, smiling down with wide eyes and making quiet "Vroom!" noises under his breath. Behind him, Zorua batted a colorful ball around between its paws, watching it roll up and down the yellow ramp.

Ghetsis rolled his eyes. How pathetic. Maybe it was a bad idea to send him into the Games this year—only because he would die too fast for it to have any impact on the districts.

"N," he said, sweeping his cloak around him as he entered. No need to waste any flowery words of greeting on the boy.

The effect was immediate: N dropped the train he was holding and dropped back on his knees, stiffening and straightening his back like a board. Wide, eager blue eyes stared up at him as N smoothed down the wrinkles in his brown pants. A curl of tea-green hair had escaped from his ponytail and was twisting back and forth around his cheek, the cheekbone the same chiseled shape as Ghetsis's.

"D-Daddy."

Ghetsis stepped forward and kicked at the trains with a clog, barely suppressing a sneer as they toppled over. "What are you doing, N? Playing with the trains again?"

"Y-yes…"

"We're not from District 6, you know. There's no Battle Subway. There are better things to be doing here in the Capitol."

N lowered his head, and Ghetsis could see from the lurch of his Adam's apple that he was fighting back tears. He could hardly keep the corner of his mouth from curling into a scowl. How pathetic. How could this boy come from the same blood as he did?

"S-sorry, Daddy. I can put them away—" The boy started to rise, but Ghetsis waved him aside.

"No need. I have something important to talk to you about today."

"Really?" It was almost laughable how quickly N sat back on his haunches again, the eager light returning to his eyes. The boy was practically bouncing on his toes. "What is it, Daddy?"

Ghetsis closed his eyes for a moment, letting the pause drag on dramatically.

"You know about the Hungry Pokemon Games, don't you, N?"

"What? Of course I do, Daddy!" Now N really was bouncing up and down, his eyes shining with recognition. "What is it about them? Do I get to see the Pokemon? Do I get to feed them again?"

Ghetsis couldn't keep himself from grinning. In a way.

He shook his head. "No, not today, N. Today is an even more special day. This year is going to be a special year. Especially for you."

If N's eyes widened any more, they were going to bulge out of his head. He was already starting to look like an Armaldo. It wasn't very attractive, Ghetsis thought nastily. "What is it?"

"Ah…well, N, this year…"

Ghetsis bent down, his cape pooling around him, so that the tips of his hair brushed his son's, mingling and entwining like the tentacles of a Tentacruel. N raised his head eagerly to meet his, and Ghetsis allowed himself one brush along the boy's cheek with his finger, watching with satisfaction as his eyes lit up with the motion. It was always enough to keep him going, what Ghetsis gave him. He always gave him enough hope to keep him hanging on, fingers tugging at the bottom of his robe, scrabbling for his attention, desperate for his love. For things he was never going to have. Ghetsis let his lips spread into a smile, the kindly smile he had perfected, full of a father's affection.

"This year…you're going to be in the Hungry Pokemon Games yourself."

He pulled back and watched the mix of emotions play over the boy's face with a deep, thrumming sense of pleasure: first the confusion swimming in the blue, then the shock, the way they snapped open for a moment, blank and static, and then the realization, the questions brimming behind his eyes. But never once did Ghetsis see that look that he loved so much to watch: the look on someone's face when they lose all hope. And that, Ghetsis knew, was because N didn't realize that he was sending him to his death.

N sat back, something that looked almost like a curtain of gauze seeming to tumble down and glaze over the blue.

"Me…I'm going to be in the Games?" he asked, very slowly, drawing his knees up to his chest.

"Yes, N. You."

"But I thought…I thought that was only the districts."

"It is, N. But Daddy can make exceptions. You know I can. Special exceptions."

N hesitated. "Does that mean I get to make friends with the Pokemon?" he asked carefully, wrapping his arms around his knees.

Why not, Ghetsis thought with an inward snort. He could indulge him and his stupid fantasies while the boy was still here. "Yes, N. You'll be in the arena with the Pokemon. You can…make friends with them, or whatever you want."

N nodded slowly, his eyes focused on something in the distance, mulling over what Ghetsis had told him. Behind him, Zorua had stopped playing. It was watching them, now, studying them carefully with its warm turquoise eyes as the ball in its paws rolled to the floor. For some reason, the look it gave him, so oblivious yet so full of apprehension, sent a shiver up Ghetsis's spine. Tearing his gaze away from the Pokemon's, he knelt down next to his son, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Think about it, N. This is for the glory of the Capitol! You show the districts what you can do. What the Capitol can do, compared to them. And it will all be you, my son. You who wins this glory for us. For Panem."

N bit his lip and stayed still for a very long time. Ghetsis didn't take his eyes off him. When the boy finally opened his mouth, his eyes were cloudy, unreadable.

"I'm not going to die, am I?"

Ghetsis let his mouth break into a smile again, patting the boy's shoulder. "Of course not, N. Why would you say that? Would I let that happen to you?"

N paused, eyes brimming, and then shook his head. "N-no. You're my daddy."

"Yes. I'm your daddy."

"And you love me."

"Yes. And I love you."

"Okay." N unwrapped his arms from his legs and let them fall to the sides, stretched his legs out in front of him. They were long, Ghetsis saw, longer than he had remembered. Had N grown so much already? Almost no longer a child, now, almost a man. It was right to send him in, now, Ghetsis thought. He was at the age when he could…when there was a risk, a remote one, but it existed…a risk that he could become too…out of control. He had been right, he thought again, satisfied with himself, right to send the boy into the arena. "Okay."

He leaned closer to his son, urging him forward. "Okay, what?"

"I'm going to make friends with the Pokemon." N's voice was strangely matter-of-fact, now. He was slipping into that strange emotionless daze that he went into sometimes, Ghetsis realized, reciting facts in his deadpan voice when things were too much for him to process. The corner of his lip curled in distaste. "I'm going to feed the hungry Pokemon in the arena. And fight for the Capitol."

Ghetsis stood up, satisfied, glee rupturing and bursting through his chest. See, Bronius? It had been easy, as it always was. Too easy. The boy's mind was malleable, was his, his to control, his to feed and fill with whatever he wanted, bending it to his own will. And to think that some of the Sages thought N was a satisfactory heir. How pitiful. Sooner or later, the day would have come when he needed to dispose of him. Now was as good a time as any. He allowed himself a laugh, merry and hearty and echoing from the depths of his chest.

"That's my boy," he said, clapping his shoulder, the sound ringing out loud and clear against skin and the white fabric of his shirt. "I know you'll prove yourself worthy of the name Harmonia out there. Make me proud." He grinned, imagining the perfect, flashing white of his teeth. "Make Panem proud."

He turned to leave, sweeping his cape around him, but the voice, thin and reedy and vulnerable, stopped him.

"Daddy?"

Ghetsis froze in his tracks. "Yes?"

"You're not going to hurt the Pokemon, are you?"

"No, N," he answered. "I won't hurt the Pokemon."

N nodded. "Okay. Okay, then."

"No need to worry," Ghetsis repeated, letting the smirk slide over his face as he turned around again and paced out of the childish room and away from his childish little son. "I won't lay a finger on them."

Only you, N. Only you.


When Blue woke up that morning, Blasty was staring at her with wry, reproachful eyes. For a moment, she raised an eyebrow at him, wondering what in the world he could possibly be admonishing her for. It couldn't be how she had slipped that one fish into her pocket from the dock the day before without giving a coin to the fishmonger, could it? Not that she was beyond reproach—she'd be the first to admit it—but it wasn't like he ever had much to say about her…frequent borrowing of other people's things. And it wasn't like she had been doing much of it recently. She had gotten better; she really had. She had been trying to be a better person. So what could it be?

And then she remembered.

"Today's the day of the reaping, isn't it?" she groaned, brown hair spilling over her pillow as she rolled over. "Great. Well, isn't that just wonderful. Better get up and get this over with, then."

"Blaaaaast." She could hear the dread in Blasty's voice, and beyond it, the hint of laughter buried in his gravelly tones. Blue couldn't help but smile. He wasn't reproaching her for anything, after all.

"Oh, be quiet, you old turtle, you." She rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him. "Anyway, there's not much we can do now, except to pretty up for the ceremony."

Blue swung her legs over the edge of the bed and climbed onto the floor, pushing the covers aside. Making her way over to the window, she drew the curtains aside and gazed at the view of District 4. Outside, alongside some of the lesser docks that she could see from the view of the back bay, where her cottage lay, on the cliffs, rocks jutted out from the shore, their rough, almost black surfaces shining with water, reaching for the ocean like angry fingers. Waves lapped at the shore as if returning the attack, their tips grazed with the pale golden sunshine of the morning.

Blue turned away and took from her dresser an aquamarine tank top and a red skirt, complete with silken legwarmers for the chilly morning. She pulled on her outfit and flashed a winning smile into the mirror by her bed, stained and weathered with salt and brine. Perfect. Remembering, she snatched her hat from her dresser, white with a red ring around the brim, and perched it on her head. Her smile had faltered when she turned back toward the mirror. Or at least, it was as perfect as it could be on the day of the reaping.

"Oh. And. A final touch," she said with a wink as she fastened a blue ribbon around Blasty's ears, winning a snort and a roll of his eyes.

Blue grinned back at him. She had found Blasty as a Squirtle almost two years ago, washed up on the beach one morning when she went down to fish with the others. He had been turned on his shell and was kicking his arms and legs, struggling to right himself. Smiling to herself, she had grabbed the poor Pokemon and set it right side-up on its legs, and instead of heading back into the ocean like she had expected, like she had urged him to do, even picking up the Pokemon and setting him into the foamy water, the Squirtle had followed her home.

Since no one else lived with her and he refused to go back to the ocean, she had let him stay with her and named him Blasty. Blasty helped her with her fishing, helped her zip through the water, quiet and powerful, with his sleek jets propelling them forward, faster than any Magikarp or Goldeen, or even the rare Seaking, that swam by. He would catch them between his teeth, snapping his jaws shut with a fierce grin, while Blue would propel herself forward and impale them on the end of her spear. The two of them made a far better team than she ever had on her own, even with the other fishers who helped each other, setting traps with their nets and hooks and moving in to spear them. Squirtle came from the water, after all, and it showed.

They helped each other: Blasty with the day's required amount of fish, and Blue with giving him a place to stay away from the predators in the ocean—the Sharpedo with their gnashing teeth and the poisonous stings of the Tentacruel. And, best of all, she had helped him evolve, something he couldn't have done on his own.

Most days, after the day's work was done, bathed in the orange glow of sunset, they would train on the beach of the back bay by her cottage, finding small Shellder and Krabby that had washed up on the shore to battle, and, on brighter days, swimming into the water to battle Horsea and Tentacool after Blue grabbed her goggles. Sometimes, they found the occasional evolved Pokemon, which hit harder, faster, and chills of excitement would trickle down her spine. Those battles were always her favorite: a challenge. In fact, every battle sent adrenaline racing through her veins. Pokemon battling was illegal; President Harmonia had outlawed it the moment he stepped into office. But Peacekeepers never cared to watch the back bay, especially at dusk, so Blue and Blasty were safe. Or so she hoped. They made sure to stay close to the cliff that jutted out overhead into the ocean so they could hide in case they were seen, but so far, it had never been a problem. Even if they were caught, Blue could always say that she was taking her Pokemon for a stroll. People did own Pokemon as pets, whether they were strays they had found or ones paid for by some of the richer families.

One day, after a battle with a rare Staryu, a silvery glow had begun to radiate from his cool blue skin like a fallen ray of moonlight, and Blue had backed away, startled, her footsteps sloshing in the water. She had covered her eyes as the light brightened, searing white and then a pale shade of aqua, and almost cried out when Blasty's body began to change shape. It must be a trick of the light, she had thought, as his ears lengthened and his shell swelled up and his tail curled and bloomed behind him, like foam from the ocean itself. And then, as quickly as it had begun, the light had faded, leaving behind a bigger, meaner-looking Pokemon, complete with claws and ears: a Wartortle.

"B-Blasty?" she had stammered, stepping forward cautiously. "Is that you?"

For a moment, the Wartortle said nothing. And then it looked at her, and the mischievous gleam flickered in its eyes, and it raised his new, strong paws in the air with a grin of triumph.

"Blaaaast!"

From that day on, they had trained even harder, venturing deeper into the ocean to seek out stronger opponents, now that he was stronger. They didn't run from the evolved Pokemon anymore, not even from the ones with stingers and teeth and claws to aid them. Blue had gotten a scratch on her leg from a Kingler, once, and the next day, she had lied and told the other fishers she had scraped it against a patch of coral. But finally, after months of work, the glow had shimmered on his smooth skin again, and Blue had swum back and watched him with proud eyes as the little Squirtle she had found that day transformed into the mighty, hulking Blastoise she knew today.

Still, they kept training, though Blue didn't know why. What were they training for? What was there to ever fight against? Was it out of some crazy hope brimming in the corner of her mind that someday, she could use her Pokemon's powers to combat even the power of the Capitol? She shook her head, snorting. Just the thought of it was ridiculous.

One evening, they had been battling a ferocious-looking Kingler, when Blue heard footsteps behind her. She had almost broken her legs tripping over herself as she and Blasty ran under the shelter of the cliff, but it was too late. Ducking out from underneath the shadow of the rock, they saw a man heading their way, taking slow, deliberate steps through the sand, his hair white in the glow of the moonlight. For a moment, the swinging white coat around his legs sent a dart of fear up her throat; she had taken him for a Peacekeeper.

But instead, as he neared them, her breath caught in her throat when she saw that it the mayor, Mayor Samuel Oak, of all people, who came pacing down the beach, his lab coat swinging around him, his steps leaving deep, square shoeprints in the sand.

"It's all right, Blue," he had called out, when she had shrunk underneath the rock, terror shooting up her throat. "You can come out."

"M-Mr. Mayor?" Blue had whispered as she crawled out from under the shadow of the cliff with Blasty in tow, his lumbering footsteps heavy behind her, her voice much smaller than she was ever used to hearing it. She had been so sure she was doomed. "How…how do you know my name?"

"Blue." The mayor looked down, a wry smile twisting his normally austere features. "To tell the truth, I've been watching you for a while. Ever since I saw you fishing down at the main beach, you with that Pokemon." Blue had watched with surprise as he turned toward Blasty with a smile that softened his features and sent a kindly light dancing in his eyes, a smile almost like the kind you would give to an old friend upon seeing him for the first time after years. "Hello, Blasty."

"Blast…" Blasty edged forward, his dark eyes glimmering with uncertainty. Slowly, tentatively, he stretched out a glistening blue paw toward the mayor. "Blastoise…?"

"It's good to see you've grown so much, Blasty," the mayor said.

Blasty looked down at his own body. "Blast!" he said proudly, meeting the mayor's gaze. "Blast Blastoise!"

Blue looked from one face to the other, shocked. "What…Mayor Oak, you know him?"

Mayor Oak gave her a smile. "Knew him, Blue, as a mischievous Squirtle who escaped from my lab one day. I looked for him everywhere, but it seemed I couldn't find him. It seemed he was lost. I'm glad to see that, in fact, he fell into good hands."

"Blasty was…yours?" Blue exclaimed, her mind racing. It made sense, then, why the Squirtle hadn't wanted to return to the ocean. He hadn't come from the ocean. He had come from an egg, hatched and grown in Mayor Oak's lab.

Mayor Oak nodded. "He was. I was using him for research."

Everyone knew that before becoming mayor, Samuel Oak had been one of the most renowned Pokemon professors in Panem, a position and prestige that had in fact won him the position.

"But…but will you report me for…" Blue swallowed. "For…battling…"

"How do you think I level up my Pokemon, Blue?" he said quietly, his face as stern as ever, but Blue could swear she caught a flicker of a smile in his eyes.

She almost choked right then and there. The mayor. The mayor himself broke the law and battled Pokemon. Everyone said that he trained them by giving them Rare Candies, since the Oak family was rich enough to afford them, but he himself had admitted…

"W-well…if you need Blasty back…" she started, her thoughts choppy and crashing against the barriers of her mind, though the thought of parting with the Blastoise beside her made her stomach throb with a hollow ache. Throughout the months, they had become inseparable. It was as if he had always been by her side, as if she had never fished without him. As if she had never lived alone.

"On the contrary, Blue." Mayor Oak smiled. "In a matter of months, you've gotten him to evolve not once, but twice, all the way to his final stage. You've given him a home, and proven that you can take care of him. And moreover, you've proven your prowess…as a trainer."

Trainer. The word had rung in the air and curdled in the breeze like the scent of treason. Chills ran down Blue's spine. Trainer. It was a word that hadn't been used in ages, not since President Harmonia had come into power, not since Pokemon battling had become forbidden and taken on the stigma of terror and faded into a faint memory of the past. Yet the mayor had just said…

"And," Mayor Oak continued nonchalantly, as if he hadn't realized the weight of the word he had just spoken, "he hasn't tried to escape. I think you've more than proven that you can take care of him better than I can." He smiled, and it took Blue a moment to find her voice.

"Th-thank you so much, Mr. Mayor!" she choked out, relief sagging through her veins and making her weak. He wasn't going to arrest her. He wasn't going to take her to the Peacekeepers. Best of all, he wasn't going to take Blasty away from her. She had seen the mayor many times, on all of the major events in the district, but she had never spoken to him. Why was he helping her now?

"Mr. Oak will do," he said with a wink, and then he turned around and paced into the night. Blue saw his figure retreating back up the cliff, a white dot disappearing in the distance. Blasty had taken her arm and led her up the beach and back to the cottage where they stood, now, preparing to leave.

"We've been through a lot together," Blue told the Blastoise, looking into his eyes. He stared back at her out of twin pools of dark blue. "We can do this. It's just another year."

"Blas. Toise." Blasty nodded, his voice deep and matter-of-fact.

District 4's reaping ceremony began at ten in the morning every year, as one of the earliest reapings in Panem. They were staggered throughout the day so that the citizens of the Capitol could watch each one live, from District 1 all the way to District 12, though they didn't necessarily go in order by the district numbers. The cameras set up around the wooden planks of the square were hard to ignore.

Blue was glad, personally, for the time of their reaping. The more quickly they got the reaping over with, the better. She couldn't imagine living in a district where the wait dragged on all the way until the end of the day, couldn't imagine the dread churning and curdling in the people's stomachs all day while they went about their business, loathing what was inevitable to come. She glanced at the clock perched on her wall, built in the shape of a Clamperl; it was nine thirty. About time to get down to the main dock, where the square was located, in front of the Justice Building that the Capitol had built in every district, and where the ceremony took place.

"You ready?" she asked him, sucking in her breath and tugging at the hem of her skirt.

"Blast." Blasty nodded.

"Well, Happy Hungry Pokemon Games," she drawled in an exaggerated Capitol accent, tugging at his bow and fixing it with a wink, "and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

His wry chuckle echoed through the walls of the cottage as together, they made their way down the wooden stairs that were perpetually damp with seawater, girl and Pokemon, and set off.

It didn't take very long to walk up the cliffs and around to the main dock, located at the other side of the town. Blue avoided going through town, because the truth was, she didn't want to see them—the faces of the people trudging over to the ceremony, families huddling together with the futile wish to protect each other. She didn't want to see the grim set of their mouths, their reluctant footsteps digging deep into the sand, the fear of the twelve-year-old children who clung to their parents' arms on their first year nearly palpable on their faces.

And then there were the ones who offered a bizarre contrast to the solemnity of the rest: the teenagers, unusually bulked up and muscular compared to the rest of the people, who plunged forward with grins of determination, whooping and clapping each other on the back, as if through their encouragement they were trying to scrape by a few last scraps of training, building each other's toughness, showing no sign of fear to the outside world. The Career tributes, the people called them. In districts like 1, 2, and 4, people trained for the honor of fighting in the Hungry Pokemon Games and, odds were, winning. They volunteered at the reaping to take the place of those who were chosen with the hopes of winning glory for the district and a spot in the Victors' Village, with enough to eat and live in comfort, if not luxury, for the rest of their days. It made Blue uneasy, to a certain extent, that they would want to enter the Games, but then again, they saved those who were reaped at random. For that, she couldn't help but to be grateful to them.

She looped around instead, where there were a few stragglers coming from their houses, around the edge of the cliffs where tufts of grass and weeds sprang up between the rocks. Blue stopped as she mounted the crest of one of the cliffs. There. She placed a hand over her eyes to shield them from the slanting morning sunlight. Below, she could see the square spread out before her, people filing in from all sides, lining up to register with the Capitol and then arranging themselves by age as routine dictated every year. Cameras were stationed around the roofs of the shops and houses surrounding, peering at them with clear, steely lenses. The Justice Building loomed behind, white and square and imposing, and beyond it lay the docks and ships that stretched out into the harbor, meeting the rolling waves of the ocean.

Peacekeepers were stationed around the square in their ridiculous-looking uniforms, white with hard silver encasings around their arms and tight black cloth underneath. White cloth draped over their shoulders and flared both in front and back of them like a cape. A blue P was emblazoned on their chests against the background of a crest, black and white with a blue zigzag around the letter. P for Panem.

Blue curled her lip in distaste. No one had any great love for the Peacekeepers. Some people called them Panem's grunts, sent to do all the dirty work the president didn't want to do himself with his pale, pretty hands. Behind closed doors and in whispers, of course.

She turned her eyes to the stage, where Mayor Oak was already seated. He had switched out the lab coat he normally wore for a suit, crisp and gray. District 4 always did well in the Hungry Pokemon Games, so there were six victors seated next to him out of ten total. But everyone in the audience, she knew, was only staring at one of them.

Volkner Odair, with his golden hair and piercing blue eyes, was the legend of not only their district but of the Capitol and all of Panem, with his remarkable beauty, radiating from the sweeping angles of his face, in that chiseled jaw and the fine tones of his lean, athletic body. Volkner had won the Games ten years ago at the young age of fourteen, not only a Career, but helped by the sponsors who had all but salivated over his looks. They had given him food and medicine and weapons, and toward the end of the Games, they had pooled their money together to give him a silver trident, the most expensive weapon ever given to any tribute in the arena. It had been all over after that. Volkner had sailed home in victory, almost unharmed. His beauty certainly hadn't been marred. Even from a distance, Blue felt her stomach flutter at the sight of him.

Next to him, she recognized a few other victors: Bertha, who she guessed would be around eighty now, who had mentored Volkner the year he won. And then, a few seats down, there was Jasmine Cresta, with her pale, vacant eyes—the young, pretty, timid girl who had won only a few years ago. She had gone mad after the Games when she saw her fellow tribute decapitated in front of her eyes. She had only outlasted the others because the Gamemakers had flooded the arena, and she, being from District 4, could outlast the others in the water.

"Come on, Blasty," Blue sighed, shaking her head, and the two of them picked their way down the cliff and toward the square. She tried to empty her mind. Hungry Pokemon Games did not make pleasant memories.

At the entrance, she signed in and then settled into place next to the other sixteen-year-olds, toward the front of the square. People lined up by age at the reaping, with the eighteen-year-olds at the front and the twelve-year-olds at the back. Adults and younger children, along with their Pokemon, if they had any, clung to each other around the perimeter. Blasty gave her a solemn nod that Blue returned with a hug and then lumbered toward the back, where Blue saw him sit down next to a Poliwhirl and a Shellos, dwarfing them with his size.

Their escort, Misty Waterflower, sat next to the mayor as well, fresh from the Capitol. Her bright red hair was straightened and pulled into a ponytail perched absurdly high on her head, where it bounced like a rabbit's tail with every movement she made. She wore a bright blue dress of shiny satin, the hem of it puffed up to a ridiculous extent and tiered, Blue assumed so that she resembled a wave. In fact, when she looked closer, she could see that tiny orbs of glass or plastic adorned the very edge of the fabric, the reflections on their surfaces as rainbowed and swirled as the surface of a bubble.

On a stand behind her sat two large glass balls, each filled almost to the brim with slips of paper. Upon reaching the age of twelve, every child was eligible for the reaping. At twelve, your name was entered once. At thirteen, twice, in addition to that. At fourteen, three times, and so on until you reached eighteen. Blue had counted: at the age of sixteen, fifteen of those slips read Blue Fisher.

That was the thing about her name, too. Since no one knew who her parents were, she had simply been named after her occupation: a fisher. Which conveniently worked as a last name.

When ten o'clock arrived, Mayor Oak stood and walked up to the podium. He gave the same speech that the districts heard every year: about the natural disasters that had ravaged the land, destroying so much of the resources until people had to fight for what little was left, until Panem rose from the ruins, one shining Capitol surrounded by thirteen districts. The Capitol gave its citizens peace and prosperity, until the Dark Days, when all of the districts had rebelled, taking lives of both the Capitol and their own. But the power of the Capitol had been too great; it had crushed all districts and completely destroyed District 13, restoring order with the Treaty of Treason. Not to mention the Hungry Pokemon Games.

The rules of the Hungry Pokemon Games were simple. Every year, two kids from every district, a boy and a girl, called tributes, were reaped by the Capitol and forced to fight to the death in an enclosed outdoor arena, full of death traps and weapons and yes, hungry Pokemon, all conditions that the Gamemakers could change at any moment, until only one tribute out of twenty-four remained. The tribute would be crowned victor and given a place in the Victors' Village back home, his or her district showered with gifts while the other districts starved. The Hungry Pokemon Games served as a constant reminder to all of the districts that the Dark Days must never happen again, reminding them of the power the Capitol wielded over them—the fact that they could kill their children at random, could destroy them the way they destroyed District 13, and that there was nothing they could do about it but celebrate.

"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," Mayor Oak said solemnly, lowering his head, and for a moment, Blue remembered that evening, the treasonous words he had spoken to her on the beach.

He's faking, isn't he? she wondered, staring at the shadows that fell over the hollows of his cheeks.

But she couldn't catch anything in the mayor's eyes, and next, he launched into a reading of the district's past victors, all nine of them, though only six were still alive. Volkner Odair received the heartiest applause, as usual. He lifted his head and smiled a winning smile that Blue would bet made nearly all the women and half the men's hearts lurch in their chests, and then sat back again, blue eyes calm.

"And now, to Misty Waterflower," Mayor Oak finished, inclining his head respectfully toward District 4's escort. Misty's red hair bounced and her sparkly blue high heels clacked as she stood and stepped up to the podium.

"Welcome, welcome, everyone!" she exclaimed cheerily, her voice blaring throughout the square and over the sound of the crashing waves behind her. "Happy Hungry Pokemon Games to you all!"

Blue barely listened as she went on. It was the same thing every year, almost the exact same words. "It's such an honor for me to be here today, among one of the most distinguished and popular districts in the Hungry Pokemon Games. I just love the ocean here, don't you?" Her face seemed to split in two as she beamed. "Anyway, today, we will discover—no, decide—the names of the courageous young man and woman who will be representing District 4 in the seventy-fourth Hungry Pokemon Games, and who will hopefully be bringing home another victor to this wonderful district." Misty pressed her lips shut, letting the air tremble with the pause. "And finally, the time has come that you've all been waiting for. May the odds be ever in your favor!"

She stepped back from the podium and clacked her way over to the two glass jars. "Ladies first."

Blue felt her stomach tighten as Misty reached a pale, slender arm into the glass ball on the left. Only fifteen, she reminded herself, fifteen out of hundreds and thousands of pieces of paper curled up and tumbling around inside the jar, at the full mercy of her fingers. Misty dug her hand inside, rummaging around, and reemerged with a tiny, folded slip of paper. The rustle sounded like a distant crackle of thunder as she unfolded it, taking her time, eyebrows furrowed in anticipation. And then something in her face relaxed, and she leaned forward against the microphone and read the name:

"Blue Fisher."

For a moment, Blue barely heard her name. She had been watching Mayor Oak's face, his head dipped low toward the podium, his brow furrowed and mouth a straight, careful, line. She hadn't paid him much attention, before, at the reaping ceremonies, but this year, after that evening, she wanted to see him, to understand him. What was he thinking? What did he think of the reaping?

And then heads turned, the crowd nearby swiveling around to stare at her, and the words registered in her head.

She could feel a disturbance at the edges of the square, footsteps hard and heavy; Peacekeepers in their white uniforms were already making their way toward her, the crowd parting before them like water whenever one of their boats sliced through the waves. It wasn't long before they reached her, grabbing hold of her arms. She shook them free. "I'll walk myself," she muttered through her teeth.

"Now, don't be shy, come up, come up," Misty urged cheerfully into the microphone.

I'm coming, Blue thought, annoyed, but she kept her mouth shut.

She felt no fear, honestly, as the Peacekeepers took her arms anyway and marched her up toward the stage. Blue made sure to keep her head held high, the brim of her hat shielding the rapidly brightening sunshine from her eyes. There wasn't much of a reason to be scared. Though of course no one ever acknowledged it, least of all the escorts, District 4 was considered a Career district, albeit not to the same degree as Districts 1 and 2. That meant that people trained all their lives to participate in the Hungry Pokemon Games. That meant that someone was going to volunteer to take her place. They had to. They did every single year.

Almost every year.

She could remember one year, when there had been a disease that had taken almost all of the fish in the sea, when the normally comfortable district had nearly starved, sunken cheeks and skinny limbs and gaunt stares all around the streets. There had been no children strong enough to train that year, no children who had enough energy to hunger for the glory of winning the Games when they were struggling to survive. Blue hadn't been alive that year, but she had heard the stories. That year, a tiny twelve-year-old boy had been reaped, his first year. Normally, someone would have volunteered; people always protested when tributes that young were chosen. But that year, no one could.

Needless to say, District 4 hadn't brought home a victor that year.

Blue had reached the steps, now, and she mounted them one by one, careful to keep her back straight and her head held high. The Peacekeepers let her arms go, and she stepped onto the stage and faced the audience, hearing her sneakers pad against the stage.

"Wonderful," Misty said happily. "I present to you our tribute, Blue Fisher!"

But she was barely looking at Blue. She knew the protocol, Blue thought wryly. This was a Career district, after all. So instead, their escort turned her gaze out toward the crowd. "Do we have any volunteers to take her place?"

Blue waited, scanning them with her eyes. There had to be someone. Wind whistled through the square, bringing with it the scent of salt, the only movement around her that dispelled the tension. She found the Careers, the few she had seen and recognized, clustered together in their age groups. Yes, it looked like there were more boys than girls this year, but there had to be someone. She eyed a heavyset girl with pug-like features. Her? Or maybe the one next to her, with bright blond hair and broad shoulders. One of them had to speak up.

But the seconds dragged on, heavy and suffocating, and still no one moved.

"No? No volunteers?" Misty looked disappointed. It must have ruined the show for her, Blue thought sourly. "Not this year?"

The shock was almost palpable as Mayor Oak cleared his throat softly behind them and shook his head. "Not this year."

Surprise flickered over Misty's face, and she opened and closed her mouth for a moment, like one of the fish she loved so much. But as Blue watched, she quickly regained her composure and went back to beaming.

"Well, then I suppose we can move on to the boys, now." She stepped back again, making her way over to the other glass bowl.

Wait, what?

Blue's mind was racing, her heart starting to pound against her ribcage. Adrenaline surged through her veins. No. It couldn't be. District 4 had volunteers almost every other year. They weren't called a Career district for nothing. No volunteers? How could there be no volunteers? She wanted to scream at Misty not to move on, to give them more time, because someone had to volunteer. There were Careers to take her place, damn it, all of those girls—she wasn't supposed to actually go in!

But Misty was already moving on, already reaching her hand into the jar, fumbling around with the slips of paper and pulling one out. Blue wanted to lunge out and stop her, but the Peacekeepers were all around, and someone would probably stop her or lock her up or worse, and there was nothing she could do because—

"Youngster Joey!"

She cut her thoughts short. The crowd was parting again, and Peacekeepers were heading toward the cluster of thirteen-year-olds, as the crowd parted to reveal a boy with a yellow T-shirt and a backwards blue baseball cap, a boy who looked as if he was about to cry.

"Come on up, Joey!" Misty said. "Don't be shy!"

Peacekeepers grabbed both of the boy's skinny arms, and as he swung his head frantically from one side to the other, Blue swore that he was going to cry. Tears were bubbling in his eyes, and he was craning his head as if he was looking for someone and opening his mouth to shout—

"Wait. I volunteer."

Along with everyone in the crowd, she turned her head at the sharp, cool voice that cut across the silence.

A boy with handsome, pointed features and light brown hair that tumbled over his forehead in a soft cascade of spikes was raising his hand from the band of sixteen-year-olds. He held up a hand toward the Peacekeepers who started toward him, and for some reason, they backed away. The curiosity of it was enough to quiet the panicking in Blue's stomach for a moment, enough to distract her. The boy began to make his way toward the stage with measured steps and the silken air of someone who was used to being noticed—and, for that matter, appreciated. A cute boy, Blue thought as she watched him, suppressing a giggle.

The laughter died in her throat as he neared the stage. There was something about him… She narrowed her eyes. He looked oddly familiar. Could it be…wasn't that Mayor Oak's grandson? What was his name? Purple? Orange? Green? Something like that.

Before she could lean forward to get a better look, Misty stepped forward to meet the boy as he mounted the steps to the stage, the blue, bubbled hem of her dress bouncing behind her with every step.

"Why, how wonderful!" Misty exclaimed, looking relieved. "It looks like we have a volunteer!" (As if you don't every year, Blue thought wryly.) "What's your name, honey?"

The boy hardly blinked, the frosty expression never leaving his face. His eyes curved upward slightly, Blue noticed, shining with a steady, disdainful light.

"I'm Green. Green Oak."

Blue bit back a smile. So she had been right. It was him, after all.

She had seen Mayor Oak's grandson a few times, lingering in the background, always wearing neatly pressed white shirts and the same serious face whenever his grandfather had to give a speech to the district. But today, Green was wearing a black collared shirt and blue pants, dressed up differently for the occasion—graver, she realized, more solemn. She fidgeted, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and hoping that the cameras weren't focused on her now (though undoubtedly they were). If only she could turn around, now, and peek at the mayor's face: his austere eyebrows furrowed as he watched his grandson volunteer, she imagined, a grave frown bringing out the wrinkles on his face.

"Green! How lovely!" Misty raised her head, beaming out toward the audience. "All right, everyone, let's have a round of applause for our brave volunteer Green!"

Because it was a Career district and there were kids who volunteered every year, Blue watched silently as the people in the crowd raised their hands, albeit slowly, one by one, and began to clap. A wave of applause rose around her, thunderous yet eerily flat. There was no love or enthusiasm behind those hands, she knew, only a grim determination. She breathed in, suddenly feeling short of air, and for the first time, drowned out by the noise, she dared to turn and sneak a glance at Green.

He had barely moved. He stood facing forward, watching them silently, his expression still unchanged, green eyes cool.

Normally, other volunteers would have spoken up at this point, but she saw their faces in the crowd, saw the would-be Career tributes exchanging glances and stepping back, their faces flat, and understood. No one wanted to volunteer against Mayor Oak's own grandson. In any case, Misty was satisfied. She strode back up to the microphone, taking Blue's hand in hers and Green's in her other and hauling them over her head.

"And now I present to you…the District 4 tributes of the seventy-fourth annual Hungry Pokemon Games…Blue Fisher and Green Oak!"

For some reason, the thunderous applause that followed and the stony look in Green's eyes, impassive, refusing to reveal a single thought, twisted Blue's stomach into a knot as something hot and liquid that felt strangely like grief slithered up the back of her throat. Green had volunteered to take the place of the youngster, but there was no one to save her. She fought the urge to bite her lip as she gazed out into the crowd. The odds just hadn't been in her favor this year, no matter what district she came from.

Even as she shook inside, Blue raised her head and shaped her lips into a bright, defiant smile.

I'll be all right, she told herself as Misty dropped their hands, slowly lowering hers instead of letting it fall numbly to her side. She had her wits, her cunning, with her. She had learned to survive on her own, without her parents or anyone there to help her. She had her optimism, her conviction to live another day. Her ability to smile even in the face of death.

And then the thought came to her, trickling through the confines of her mind: there would be no one to miss her. She had no parents, she had some friends among the fishers, but no one she truly knew. It was hard to know people when everyone was struggling to survive, in spite of, or perhaps because of, the wealth of their district. The competition extended beyond those who longed to be Career tributes; it was everywhere, permeating the picturesque ocean and cliffs of the district. That was why no one had volunteered for her, she realized. She was an orphan with no family, barely any friends, and no name, no major contributions to the district. No one needed her. The Careers had that, at least. She, on the other hand, was no great loss.

Blasty was the only one who would miss her.

Blasty. The thought made her almost washed the smile from her face. She clenched her fists, remembering the cameras, their lenses cold and sharp and unfeeling, and found him in the back rows of the crowd, fixing her eyes on him, drawing strength from the pure blue of his skin and the hulking strength of his shell. She would have to say goodbye to him. She would make sure he was taken care of.

I'll show them, she thought, rolling her hands into determined fists as she faced the crowd. I'll show them I am something to lose. I'll show them in the Games. I'll show them…by winning.

The anthem blared from the speakers placed around the square, and as soon as it was over, Peacekeepers in their absurd outfits grabbed her and Green's arms and steered them backward, down the steps and into the Justice Building behind the stage. The doors slammed shut behind them, and in place of the choking applause that seemed to have devoured her ears and everything around her, the ceiling closed over her, and there was only silence.