(A/N): Hello, and welcome to the wonderful, peaceful world of Panem! Bathrooms are on the left, execution rooms are on the right, I hope you enjoy your stay! (Because you can never leave.)
There are going to be a few chapters of setting stuff up before we get to the pre-games festivities, so bear with me.
...Oh, remember that propaganda speech they play at the beginning of the Reapings? Might wanna look that up after you read this. Or before.
Palace Gardens, the Capitol.
It was late at night, far too late for me to be awake. I'd had a nightmare, and couldn't go back to sleep, so I'd gone looking for my father. I was just outside the rose garden when I heard him whispering softly. I quickly ducked behind the boundary wall, listening close. He was talking to the roses, which he only ever did when something was bothering him greatly. He spoke quietly, and I had to strain my ears to hear him.
"...Will not fall like before. They're stronger now, with help from the others..."
He moved closer to my hiding spot, my heart pounding against my ribcage. But it didn't seem like he'd found me yet. He resumed talking, brushing a hand against the white petals. I stayed and listened, scared out of my wits, for what felt like an hour. Finally, after plucking out a rose, father got up to leave. But just as he was about to cross the gate, he stopped and turned around. I wasn't so sure I was hidden then because, when he spoke, his voice was different, much softer. It was the tone he reserved only for me.
"Enjoy all of this while it lasts," he said, looking around at the palace grounds. As he turned back to me, what he said sent shivers up my spine. His voice carried fear I'd never known him capable of feeling.
"There is only so much time until it all comes crashing down on our heads."
I didn't sleep that night, my little six-year-old brain trying hard to figure out what he meant. Of course, by the next morning I had forgotten all about it, and father never spoke of it again. That night just faded away among an ocean of memories, and life went on as usual. Nothing came crashing down on anybody's heads.
I should've known that my luck would eventually run out.
Presidential Palace, the Capitol.
"d-did you like it?"
I glance down at the steaming cup of light brown liquid in my hands, then back up at the trembling cook standing with hands clasped. He's clearly terrified.
"It's wonderful," I lie, gritting my teeth as I take a short sip.
"I t-thought it'd be a nice boost for your run..." the cook explains, twisting his finger nervously.
"Mhm," I mumble as I force the drink down my throat. My eyes fall on the clock on the wall. Five forty-five. If I don't leave soon, the sun will come up and everyone in the city will be awake.
I quickly gulp down the rest of the coffee, wincing as it burns my throat. "Thank you for that," I say with a forced smile, handing the empty cup back to the cook. He takes it and hurries off into the kitchen. I rise from the chair, pick up my water bottle and hook it onto my belt, and head out of the house. At the front gate I run into Cassius Renton, the new Head Gamemaker for this year. The last one was sacked in his second year itself, for killing off too many tributes via mutts. But father trusts Renton, so he must surely be good. I politely nod as we pass by each other.
"Going for a run?" he asks.
"Yep!" I reply, bouncing on my feet. The coffee is already getting to me.
"How about you swing by the Plaza and bring me some muffins while you're at it?" he asks, flashing a grin.
"Only if you'll tell me what this year's arena is!" I counter. Renton tilts his head back and lets out a hearty laugh. He pretends to wipe away a tear.
"No chance. All I'm allowed to say is that it's going to be very close to all our hearts," he says, smirking.
I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. Close to our hearts? What could that mean?
"Anyways, I should get going before the ruckus starts," I say, excusing myself. Renton waves, then heads off towards the front porch. I step out onto the road outside the gates, looking around. Something unusual strikes me: there are no guards. Usually there are a couple of machine gun-loaded peacekeepers stationed just under the boundary wall, but their posts are empty right now. Oh well, maybe father changed the shifts.
Once outside the palace grounds, I set off on my usual path: along the chariot roadway, around the city circle, stopover at Cicely Plaza for a short rest, then turn around and follow the same path home.
I start at a slow jog, picking up the pace as I go along. Even at this time in the morning, there are a few people roaming about. I pretend to not see them.
As I'm approaching the other end of the chariot roadway, a feeling of boredom creeps over me. I've been following the same path for three whole weeks now, and it's becoming too familiar. I need to find a new path, somewhere I don't go regularly.
I stop just at the corner where I turn towards the Cicely Plaza, going over the map of the city in my head. I spot a bridge on my right, connecting the city circle to the outer fringes of the Capitol. My instincts immediately tell me not to go there. The outer fringes are where the...less fortunate live. They're still better than the districts, but there are reasons for their exclusion from most of the important clubs and parties.
But then, that's pretty much the only place I'm not familiar with in the Capitol. Besides, I don't really have any valuables on me. What's the worst that could happen? I'll get my water bottle stolen? This isn't district twelve, you know. Nobody's that desperate.
I cross the bridge, strolling at a calm pace to look around. The streets here are narrower, the buildings much smaller. There's the occasional fountain or statue placed here and there, but it's very clear that this place isn't nearly as rich as the main city.
I move deeper into the outer fringes, an eerie silence hanging in the air. I know it's early in the morning, but there's no signs of life here. Every window is either blackened out or has the curtains drawn.
I kick a stone lying on the ground, sending it flying down an alley. I wait for the sound of it hitting the pavement to echo, but that doesn't happen. Instead, I hear someone yelp in surprise. I look up and see a man fallen down, clutching at his temple. I sprint over and crouch down next to him.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't see you!" I cry as I help him to his feet. "a-are you fine?"
He shrugs me off, looking nervously to his right. I follow his gaze, to one of the many stairwells that lead down to the underground network. That's where all the supply trains to the districts run from. This man looks too... rugged, too hard-edged to be a government official. Why would he be going down there?
As if in response to my thoughts, a peacekeeper suddenly appears from around the corner. She has her gun drawn, aimed straight at the man's head. Before she can pull the trigger, I jump in between, holding my hands up.
"Slow down. What's going on?" I ask, trying to sound calm. The peacekeeper hasn't lowered her gun. Doesn't she recognize me?
"Step aside, kid. That man is dangerous," she warns, her voice seething with resentment. I can't help but feel like some of it is directed at me. I turn around to glance at the man. He's glaring past my shoulder at the peacekeeper, eyes filled with defiance.
"What makes him dangerous?" I ask. I don't know why I'm defending him. Shouldn't I be on the peacekeeper's side?
The peacekeeper moves closer, her gun almost pressing against my forehead. "He's a rebel. He's stolen information from the Capitol," she says.
I take an involuntary step back. Suddenly, I feel a strong grip on my shoulder, and my feet leave the ground as I'm tossed aside. The man charges at the peacekeeper, knocking her gun out of her hand. He tackles her to the ground, and the two begin wrestling to knock each other out.
I watch from the sides, confused. I felt something tug at me when the peacekeeper said the word 'rebel', something I have rarely ever felt in the seventeen years I've lived: excitement.
But I'm a Snow. Rebels are our enemies, brutes who just want to plunge Panem into chaos. Aren't they? I don't know.
The man punches the peacekeeper. She catches his fist and twists his arm.
Father always told me how much we lost in the Dark Days. How many soldiers died to keep the rebels at bay, how much of the city was damaged.
The peacekeeper worms her way on top of the man. He yanks away her helmet and smashes her nose in.
But what about the districts? The ones we mercilessly gunned down and bombed into oblivion? Didn't they lose so much more than us? We're not the ones starving to death. Are they really the bad guys?
The peacekeeper has the man pinned down. She brings out her knife, ready to plunge it into his chest. My Capitol, ready to plunge its glimmering, spotless blade into the beating heart of its twelve districts.
What was that speech that father always gave at the Peacekeeper initiation ceremonies? "It is our responsibility to safeguard the country's future, to secure peace at all costs". Does this qualify as peace?
The peacekeeper lifts her arm up high, the edge of the knife catching the sunlight and scattering it into hundreds of colours.
My hand brushes against something cold. I look down, and see the gun sitting in the dust right beside me. I pick it up, brushing the dirt off of its handle.
The peacekeeper snarls at the man, a wicked grin on her face.
I lift up the barrel, carefully aiming it at the spot where her skull joins her spine. I'm doing what I was always told to. I'm remembering the past. I'm safeguarding the future. For all of Panem.
The peacekeeper drives her arm down.
I pull the trigger.
(A/N): Let me know how it was down in the reviews. I've got some big things planned for this story.