AUTHOR'S NOTE: Welcome one, welcome all, to The 93rd Annual Hunger Games! This is the 3rd volume of my "Fire Without a Spark" series. The series focuses on what Panem was like if Katniss had never volunteered for Prim, and thus the 2nd rebellion had never happened. Those who have read my earlier installments might see a pattern with District 12 and District 2 here, but I assure you that this time is very different (and that the sequel will take a very different focus altogether), so fear not; I am not going to get too repetitive I hope. This fic obviously contains spoilers about the previous two (AKA who the victors of the 91st and 92nd games were), but other than that, you don't need to read them to understand what is going on in this one. This first chapter is kind of a prologue of sorts, and so if you want to skip ahead and read the story without worrying about "Fire Without a Spark" continuity, feel free to skip to chapter 2. Otherwise... Enjoy.
Please also note that the story "ends" with chapter 39, while chapters 40 and 41 (and/or any subsequent chapters) comprise an epilogue.

(Now complete, and with another sequel in the works. Reviews, Feedback, Compliments, or [Constructive] Criticism are both welcomed and encouraged, especially any thoughts about the characters, which is probably what interests me the most.)

PART I: BROKEN ODDS

Chapter 1: The Rebel

District 2 was well-known for its populous Victor Village, boasting a total of 16 victors over the last 92 years, most of which were still alive. Some of the oldest ones, like Lyme Golding and Leto Irizari, were in their 70s or 80s, but were still hale. There were statues and stonework all over this little community, for a lot of the victors were actually sick of fighting after returning home from the Hunger Games, and so they took up the district's (former) primary industry, which was Masonry. One of the best-known mentors, Clove Kazera, had erected a pair of large tribute statues outside of the Justice Building—a male and a female, which served as "model tributes" to inspire volunteers from the district for years to come. The male statue was inspired by Marcus Romero, a 6'6", 200-lb 18-year-old who had fought in the 92nd Annual Hunger Games, and taken 3rd overall. His partner Amy had been the victor that year. The female statue was a depiction inspired by Chel Colorado, a similarly massive 18-year-old girl towering at 6'5" and 182 lbs. She had been the female tribute of the 91st Annual Hunger Games, and had taken 2nd place. Her friend and ally, Aveline Togisala of District 12, had returned home the victor that year. Oddly enough, it fostered a very subtle relationship between District 2 and District 12—a striking irony to some, given that '2 was the district most loyal to the Capitol, while District 12 was the opposite—perhaps even moreso than District 8.

But who exactly was Clove, and why was she so popular?

"That's something I still wonder about, you know," Amy quipped, having popped that very question just moments ago while she was playing cards with Clove, as well as Enobaria Taos and Elroy Trujillo, two more past victors.

"It probably has something to do with the fact that I've been a mentor for 19 years now, and counting." Clove shrugged, "I'm not about to force Katsuo or Kaede to go back."

"Are you that against me going alone?" Amy shook her head. "It's not like I couldn't do it. Ava's apparently on her own mentoring, isn't she?"
"Aye, but there's a much larger victors' pool here," Clove chuckled,

"And Clove has an emotional attachment to the Capitol," Elroy quipped, elbowing the woman. "They have the best drugs for her."
"Shove it, Elroy," Clove slapped a card down on the table, "also, you're taking that queen."
Elroy swore and Enobaria chuckled. Hearts was one of those games that could turn around like that.

"But seriously," Amy tilted her head again, "not to act like the new girl all over again, but you always seem to try and dodge the question, Clove. Why do you like mentoring so much?"
"To be honest," Clove shrugged, "it just gets my mind off of things. I like getting out of the district. There's a part of me that feels like this District is going to break into a civil war at any time. If District 12 breaks off, I sense riots coming."

"It's doable," Enobaria raised her eyebrows, "The Capitol needs to be knocked down a peg more than meets the eye." This was banter that never left the victors' mansions, for not even they would be safe from the Capitol's wrath if they were heard speaking of rebellion.

"I take it you're still talking with Leto and Lyme about this?" Amy quipped,

"Why wouldn't I be?" the fanged woman retorted, "this isn't just about me, believe it or not. This is about getting the Capitol's grubby hands off of my district."

"Well then we need to teach you the art of subtlety," Amy insisted, "I'm an expert at it. I hate to say it, Ms. Taos… but you are not subtle at all."
"I rip throats out." The older woman shrugged. "subtlety is not my thing. Don't act like I'm so stupid that I'd blow cover right now or anything though."

"Fair enough," Amy cracked a small chuckled. "Let's keep playing." It was clear though, that despite no other words being said through the next several games, that all four of them had their minds on one rather prominent subject—revolt. This had been the exact kind of discord in District 2 which Chel had spoken of to Aveline two years ago.

Of course, if there was anywhere in Panem that had some serious discord, it was District 12, which was vying for the position of "most rebellious district" alongside District 8, and arguably (according to some Peacekeepers anyways) had ousted it, even. There had been a few small isolated incidents lately, but luckily not enough to make the Capitol crack down. In fact, all it did was make the district lose power much more frequency, as if the Capitol simply wanted to slap them on the wrist rather than get involved. At around 14,000, District 12 had the smallest population by a decent margin. They were not large enough to cause lasting damage on their own.

But, when Reaping Day came for them, the people of District 12 shuffled into the square without incident, and followed protocol all the way to the calling of the names. The four living victors sat down on a row of seats next to the Capitol officials behind the escort, their arms crossed as they quietly watched the ritual unfold before them. They were a close-knit bunch: Haymitch Abernathy, Katniss Everdeen, Vigo Zakatau, and Aveline Togisala all had the same stoic expressions on their faces. They knew that what was about to happen was not at all pretty.

Shortly after the usual propaganda film concluded, a pale woman with dark, spiky blue hair and vibrant red eyes strode onto the stage, her frilly knee-length skirts bouncing with each step. Despite the rather harsh feelings that a lot of District 12 had towards the Capitol, they did not show it towards this woman. This was Junichi Thatch; escort for the District 12 tributes. She dressed vividly, although never too garishly, and as long as she had not changed in the last year too much, the people were pretty sure this woman was still rather humble and down-to-earth—a surprisingly relatable woman.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome!" she beamed, going into a miniature speech that most people were sure was mandatory for her to give, before she cut right to the point. "And now it is time to choose our tributes for the 93rd Annual Hunger Games… and as is always—ladies first,"

Junichi stepped over to one of the large glass bowls that held the girls' names, running her hand through it a bit to mix it up to keep things fair for those who registered later. She did this for a few seconds, perhaps also to build suspense in the Capitol, or some might even say she was looking for a particular name, although a moment later she produced a slip of paper between her fingers. Gently unfolding it, she called out the name:

"Sacajawea Kwan!"

"I KNEW IT!" was the girl's exclamation as her name was picked.
"No, Saki!" a younger girl shouted. Clearly that was her nickname or something, but instead of a fight or some other commotion that might need to involve Peacekeepers, a large, 18-year-old girl stumped up to the stage without resistance, with skin as brown as her jacket and hair as black as the coal dust on said jacket. Junichi frowned for a moment, giving the girl a look of sympathy. There was clearly something going on here that was not being shared—some kind of wordless communication.

"And now for the boys…" Junichi stepped over to the bowl with the boys' names without any other subtle actions, and dipped her hand into it. She repeated the same motions as she had for the girls before fishing out a name from the edge of the bowl. She opened it up and read it aloud.

"Jeremy Pescado!"

A lightly tanned, brown-haired boy with rather long flowing hair similar to Vigo's stepped out of the crowds and came forward standing next to Sacajawea on the stage. There was a somber silence even as Junichi wrapped up.

"Ladies and Gentlemen..." she cleared her throat for a moment, "your tributes from District 12 for the 93rd Annual Hunger Games: Jeremy Pescado and Sacajawea Kwan!"

There was silence—a blatant lack of applause, but everyone raised their fingers in a respectful gesture that was commonplace among District 12 and District 11.

Saki and Jeremy's parents, as well as Saki's younger siblings, crowded in to say what was likely to be their final goodbyes. Jeremy noticed that Sacajawea's remarks did seem to be rather foreboding. As they were escorted to the car that would take them to the train station a few minutes later, Jeremy turned to his partner.

"you seemed rather pessimistic," he noted, "I've seen you around even if we've never talked. You've got what it takes to crawl out of this thing alive."
"I'm not counting myself out just yet," Saki admitted, "but there's this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that this year will be different."
"In what way," Jeremy raised an eyebrow,

"I'm not sure," Saki shrugged, "but it'll be in a way that few realize the magnitude of until it's too late to be stopped. The 93rd Hunger Games will be great and terrible, to say the least, and Panem will never forget them…"