Chapter 1: 75th Reaping

I stride into Haymitch Abernathy's mansion in the Victor's Village of District 12, my game bag slung over my shoulder. The lingering shadows cast on the walls reflects the rapid setting of the sun and coming of evening - reminding me of the pain that I will endure with my fellow Victors tonight.

Tonight is the Reading of the Card for the 3rd Quarter Quell, or special 75th anniversary of the Hunger Games. My district partner, Peeta Mellark, and I won the death match last year.

And here he comes now, my district partner and our tiny Village's resident baker. He beams behind his blonde curls when he sees me. "Haymitch! Katniss is home!" he throws over his shoulder, before taking me in his arms and pressing his lips to mine.

I don't stiffen as much as I once did. Peeta and I pretended to be lovers to curry favor from sponsors in the Games. Only I discovered that Peeta's affections for me were real. The Capitol will expect us to marry in due time. Since returning home, Peeta has been less free in his public displays of passion towards me, as I am still uncertain how I feel about him. However, I do not pull away from him and let him kiss me. Though I do not kiss him back. In fact, I actually smirk when he releases me.

"Good evening to you, too," I grin, as I slide past him, trying not to think about how much I actually enjoyed the kiss. "Haymitch has the TV set up yet?"

"Nope," Haymitch belches, as he swaggers into the foyer, his palms bursting with liquor bottles. All for himself, of course. My alcoholic mentor sways a little on his feet. I turn back to Peeta and raise an eyebrow, bristling. Maybe I shouldn't have just let the Baker's son up and kiss me like that, if he wasn't making Haymitch watch what he drank... "We're watching it somewhere different tonight."

And Haymitch traipses out the door, Peeta and I following him curiously. The old drunk better not be going to my house. It will be stressful enough on Mother to just have to watch the programming with my sister, Primrose. Maybe we'll go to Peeta's place. He lives alone, as his parents and two brothers decided to remain at the Bakery in Town.

But it turns out to be neither, as I see Haymitch leading us to one of the empty nine houses ringing the Village. Every Victor's Village in Panem has twelve houses already built for winners of the Games. I can only think of a couple districts that have had nearly all those homes occupied: Districts 1 and 2, the Career districts. The rest are lucky if they have their Villages half full or less.

Yet, there is one house here in District 12's Village that was... once occupied. Cassiope Fletch, the only other woman to triumph in the arena other than me, became the Victor of the 16th Hunger Games many years ago. She lived here, by herself in exile, for many decades until Haymitch Abernathy came along and won the 2nd Quarter Quell at the age of 16. Cassiope has been dead since Peeta and I were born.

Cassiope's house sits abandoned, and the door is locked when Haymitch tries it. When a Victor dies, their old mansion is supposed to be turned into a memorial, or so I've heard. It's a tradition. Only District 12 probably didn't have the money to preserve much of it at all, being the poorest district in Panem. But the locked doors and windows don't stop my mentor. He circles us around the house until we come upon a storm cellar door. Peeta helps Haymitch bash the door in and we descend into the mansion's basement. It feels a little spooky until Haymitch turns on an overhead light, to reveal a battered TV sitting in the corner.

"One of the things you and The Boy are going to have to learn, Sweetheart," Haymitch lectures as he fiddles with the television, "is that the paparazzi are always anxious to get the Victors reactions to the new Quell twist. They might swarm into the Village to film us. Poor Cassiope suffered that twice, including the year I would win. But... they can't film us if they can't find us..."

Peeta pulls the cellar door - or what's left of it - to as the television comes out. The three of us gather on a beat-up couch as the seal of Panem appears on the screen, and President Snow takes the lectern. He gives the first two Quell twists - electing the tributes was the twist for the first, and twice as many tributes was the twist for the second. The latter was the year Haymitch won...

President Snow now opens the flap of the envelope handed to him, to announce this year's twist. "On the 75th anniversary, as a reminder that the Capitol's rule extends over even the strongest - all of the strongest - all the living Victors will be Reaped for the arena. However, to show the Capitol's mercy, the only exceptions will be those Victors who are still of Reaping age."

Peeta gawks. "How awful!"

Yes, I think. How awful. But not for us. Having won only last year, Peeta and I are 17 - still of Reaping age and with a year to spare. But does that mean we will be mentoring literally all alone? I should imagine that only the year or maybe two before ours feature Victors still of Reaping age. And why would Peeta and I be spared like this, if Snow thinks that our stunt with the berries has ignited a rebellion? Maybe so that he can keep a closer eye on us once all the other Victors are gone.

And then there's poor Haymitch, who I see is trying to hide the tears sliding down his cheeks. The only Victor alive who has been through a Quell, and he will be sent back in without his proteges. Without any kind of friend, since Cassiope is no longer around.

I steel my resolve. Even if Peeta and I are spared, we have to do whatever we can to help him. That means withdrawing him from alcohol, helping him train and act like a Career. We have a Quell title to defend.

In the history of the Hunger Games, there have been a total of 75 Victors. 59 are still alive. Haymitch is Reaped in less than a minute, and we are escorted to the train. The other Reapings are far worse, as we watch them with Effie Trinket, our district escort, on TV. Hordes of Victors are Reaped for the slaughter and hustled onto the trains like cattle about to be slain. Commentators go through each one, despite the sheer number of them, and paying close attention, Peeta and I come to realize that we won't be alone on the outside.

The Career boy from District 2 who won the 73rd Games, Wade Rankine, is only 18. He just made the cutoff. A hulking black boy, re-runs of his final triumph over his opponent are shown. Then, there is the girl from District 7 who won the year before Wade, the 72nd Hunger Games. She, too, is 18. Which means that she first became Victor at age 15. 15-year-olds winning the Games are rare, and has only happened a handful of times throughout history. Only one 14-year-old has ever been crowned - Finnick Odair - and that was a good decade ago.

That's it, then. 55 Victors being killed for fun, while the remaining four have to watch. This is going to be a long Games.

Getting off the train in the Capitol, it isn't long before the media drives Peeta and I together with these two colleagues. Wade is extroverted, cracking a lot of jokes. It is a sharp contrast to his hardened exterior and muscular frame. Calloused hands that I remember beating the District 10 boy - his final opponent - so brutally.

I can't help but feel awkward in talking to Wade, as I remember Cato, the District 2 boy Peeta and I beat last year. Had Wade mentored him? I surprise even myself when I ask this question aloud.

"No," Wade shakes his head. "Brutus did." He gestures back to a giant man in his 40s, probably a peer of Haymitch. "But I was here being trained as a mentor, learning the ropes." He leans in to whisper to Peeta and I. "Don't tell anyone, but I was rooting for you guys in the end. Old Haymitch deserved a win."

Pliny Arausio, the spared girl from District 7, has skin as white as the new fallen snow. An attractive face devoid of blemishes, and I find myself being self-conscious as she first introduces herself to Peeta. Her win at such a young age was astonishing, especially since Johanna Mason - likely Pliny's mentor - had won for District 7 the year previously. However, Pliny gives me a friendly hug. "I'm so glad you won," she conveys, and I can tell she's sincere.

Our quartet spend the day fielding interviews and placing initial calls to sponsors as our tributes are prepped for the evening parade by their stylists. Wade has to train seven of his colleagues; Pliny, four. Peeta and I actually start to feel lucky we only have to watch out for Haymitch.

That evening, the Tribute Chariot Parade is held in the City Circle. Wade guides Peeta and I to the VIP seatings for Victors in the stands. "Come on, I can get us really good seats!"

The Parade is the most disorganized I have ever seen, and I have seen Haymitch's parade via re-runs of his Quell on TV. Anywhere from two to seven Victors are all crammed into the chariots per district. Only Haymitch has the chariot all to himself and is pulled last. By the time our mentor passes by, the cheering has died down to quiet murmurs, as people observe the last Quarter Quell Victor. And how could they ignore him, when he has a golden crown on his identifying his status? President Snow makes a speech, and the tributes are whisked off to the Tribute Training Center.

I feel bad that three-quarters of the districts don't even have a mentor to help them. Wade introduces us to his colleagues, and I am chilled by how Brutus Gunn glares at both Peeta and I. We killed his tribute last year, I know, but he still unnerves me. I should only be grateful that Peeta and I do not have to encounter him in any arena. He is still in remarkable shape.

Pliny's mentor, Johanna Mason, is sarcastic and rude. I am surprised that Pliny takes her moody attitude so well. Blight Jordan, a male Victor from 7 who is in his thirties, is more polite. As are his other brothers-in-arms, Eero Nitva and Jago Portshore.

Over the next three days, all 55 of the Reaped Victors are in training. Even though it is against Haymitch's cantankerous nature, Peeta and I encourage him to try and make some friends. He must have some people he's close with - he's known some of the Victors for years, and spent a good quarter of a century welcoming new ones into the fold. However, this advice comes with a caveat from me: avoid the Careers. Wade will have the responsibility of looking after all of them, not just his home of District 2, and even though the black boy seems very friendly, he was once a Career himself. That status makes me associate with Wade wearily. And the Career tributes will surely be targeting Haymitch because of his Quarter Quell Victor status.

After the three days, the tributes Training scores - score after score after score - are announced by Caesar Flickerman. Most years, where there are only 24 tributes, reading off the scores takes but 20 minutes. This time, the reading of each score takes closer to an hour. Haymitch manages a score of 9, an excellent showing despite how he has been suffering from alcohol withdrawal. That Brutus fellow from Wade's district manages an 11, as I did last year. So does, remarkably, Johanna Mason, Pliny's mentor. 10 or below for the rest.

The fourth and final night are the interviews with Caesar. Name after name after name is called for their three minutes of fame. An ordinary slate of tributes takes just over an hour to get through. This Quell demands that Wade, Pliny, Peeta and I observe our colleagues for close to three hours - from prime seats in the front row of the studio audience. Haymitch is last of all, and Pliny has to nudge Peeta awake, who has fallen asleep against my shoulder.

"Your man's up!"

Haymitch is given quite a bit of interest, since he is the reigning champion of Quells. So it only helps that he goes last of all, out of all 55 tributes. He merely reiterates what he told Caesar in their interview from a quarter of a century prior: that even with the enhanced number of tributes, their perceived stupidity is the mitigating factor that will allow his odds to be roughly the same.

That night, Peeta and I hold each other in bed on the 12th floor - the penthouse - of the Training Center.

"Can we really watch Haymitch die?" I ask despondently of my district partner. Peeta kisses my temple.

"I don't think he will. He's the only Victor alive who has gone in with even close to these numbers. He's the Quell winner. Don't count him out. But... if he does fall... we'll be here to catch each other?"

And together, Peeta and I drift off into a fitful sleep.