The forest was bathed in sunlight; speckled through the leaves across the sparse underbrush. Red oak trees shook gently in the breeze as they towered high above the forest floor like ancient guardians. A few mockingjays chirped a strange melody and a squirrel could be seen weaving through the branches high above. The forest seemed as old as time itself, untouched throughout the centuries of humans that have wandered underneath the majestic trees.
The year was twenty two thousand and the world was in ruins.
Fifteen peacekeepers dressed in white jumpsuits ran underneath the gnarled oaks, the weapons clutched in their armored hands dappled in natural green light. Their faces were shielded by dark masks, enhancing an already sinister sight. Their heavy boots left a trail of deep footprints in the moist forest floor. They were spread out in a thin line across the old growth woods, out of place in the natural world. Their approach was marked by the fleeing of birds, conflicts from centuries ago still engrained in their instinct.
The peacekeepers communicated via speakers and headphones built into their helmets, but they were capable of hearing noise from the outside world.
"Report in at the slightest suspicion," the man in the center of the stretched formation reminded. Unlike the other members of the group, there was an impressive red badge sewn on the front of his jumpsuit. "If they get away now, you will need to find a different line of work. Don't neglect caution even if they appear unarmed. According to the reports, the man is highly experienced in several forms of combat."
"What about the child?" One of the soldiers asked. Unspoken was that such a small kid could not possibly pose any danger to fifteen heavily armed peacekeepers.
The apparent leader of the group responded, "That child is an escaped murderer."
"Who did he kill?" The same peacekeeper asked in a skeptical voice, trying to align the picture of the smiling dark haired child with that of a ruthless murderer.
"His own twin brother." The leader said mercilessly. "The corpse was found face down in a river, but the cause of death was strangulation. Another boy had seen the murder and reported it. Normally we wouldn't bother to intervene in such a simple case, but once the boy fled outside his District to avoid execution, we became involved."
"What do you know about the man?" A different peacekeeper asked curiously.
"He's an escaped avox." Avox were mute slaves created from former rebels and other troublesome characters. "We don't have any reports detailing how he managed it, but he's been on the run from the capital for three years now. I've heard rumors that he escaped by jumping out a small plane and has spent the years since then traveling from district to district, evading authorities and living off handouts from misguided citizens. A pitiful tale."
The peacekeepers took a moment to take that in. The older of the two outlaws they pursued sounded unreal, a fictional character from an old novel. Even with that, before their weapons, he would be nothing. That they knew well.
Continuing to run through the forest, they searched for the escapees robotically. It was almost as though they didn't expect to actually encounter the fugitives in such an unobtrusive location. Their feet made a squelching sound as they sunk into the muddy ground, leaving muddy footprints where none had been before.
These peacekeepers were the law itself. The country they lived in and fought for was the only remnant of human civilization. Many years ago a war more terrible than any that had come before tore across the world, killing over seven billion human beings. The few survivors gathered together in North America, the only country not rendered uninhabitable by nuclear waste and plague.
The surviving humans created a nation called Panem, which consisted of the Capital and thirteen surrounding districts. However, about two hundred years after the collapse of civilization, the districts led by District 13 rebelled against the Capital in what was later known as the Dark Days. Eventually, the capital bombed District 13 into oblivion, and the rebellion was ended. From that day onwards the Capital, fearing a second rebellion, was even more suppressive of the remaining twelve districts.
In order to keep the districts downtrodden mentally, the Capital started an annual event to showcase their power over them. This event was murder game where twenty four teenagers, one male and one female from each district, were thrown in a specially made arena, and forced to kill each other. Only one would leave alive. They called it the Hunger Games.
This had continued on for sixty four years, and no end was in sight.
Such had been the end of the once called Modern World.
"Over here!" One of the Peacekeepers called. There was a blue duffel bag laying tucked underneath some brush. The main zipper was partly undone, and some tattered clothing and preserved food could be seen peeking through. "I found some possessions."
The Peacekeeper prodded at the bag with his weapon, his face hidden by his mask. There was a clicking sound, and a picture of the bag and its location popped up on the screen inside each of the soldier's helmets.
"They can't be far," the leader said, a vague sense of relief coloring his voice. This had been a long hunt.
The Peacekeepers headed in the direction of the bag then, because it had been quickly abandoned and poorly hid. There hadn't been a lead on this level since they nearly caught the two fugitives working on the fields of District Eleven four months ago. The runaways were currently heading east towards District Five moment. They had stolen a land vehicle and made good progress that way, but two weeks ago it had been found abandoned and out of fuel.
"I- I see a heat signature!" A Peacekeeper called out. "Two of them. One's small. Like a child."
The rest gathered around her, picking up on it as well. They raised their weapons and proceeded towards the enemy with caution.
There were a few tense minutes of silence as the Peacekeepers slowly crept forwards, preparing for fighting to break out at any moment. They formed a tentative semicircle around the heat signatures.
Then, the leader gave a command, and they all burst out of the brush, weapons at the ready.
For a second the sudden increase in light blinded them, but when their visions adjusted they saw the sight they almost feared.
Before them was a small hill hit by sunlight like a large spotlight. The hill was small and covered in short grass, the occasional flower poking through. A small breeze ran through the clearing and the grass shifted gently. A few stratus clouds hung high above but did nothing to dispel the blinding sunlight.
On the far side of the hill was a cliff and a white water river ran underneath it, the pounding of the water the only sound in that clearing.
The man stood halfway up the small hill. His face was covered in deep scratches and he leaned heavily on a crude cane. He wore glasses that were so cracked there was no way he could actually see out of them and his clothes were little more than rags. Dark circles accented his icy eyes and one of his hands was wrapped in dirty bandages. His patched clothing waved in the wind and even in his sorry state he struck a rather impressive figure.
His uninjured arm rested on the shoulder of a young boy, who was scowling darkly. The boy had long dark hair that nearly reached his knees and loose clothing that was in a far better state than the man's. His eyes were narrow and his mouth permanently set in a frown. He had a few scratches as well, but they paled next to the man's abundant injuries. He couldn't have been older than twelve.
The fifteen Peacekeepers kept their weapons trained on the two wearily.
The leader of the Peacekeepers must have pressed a switch somewhere, because his next words weren't restricted to the helmets. "Surrender immediately and we might spare your lives."
Slowly, the man put his hand over his mouth and made a few complex gestures, as if to say he couldn't speak. Then he raised his arms in the universal sign of surrender.
He was clearly unarmed.
Seeing this, the leader gave the command to fire. There had never been any plans to take the two back alive. His only orders were to, no matter what, return the man's body to the Capital.
However, the plan didn't go as predicted, because at that moment the boy rushed towards the leader, like a gust of wind. For a second the boy's dark eyes looked red from the reflection of the shots the leader was firing at him. He easily avoided the panicked shots, twisting out of the way like he was dancing.
In only a second he was right in front of the lead peacekeeper, and for a millisecond they were frozen there, the boy crouched predatorily before the leader and glaring up at him and the leader holding the gun right in front of the boy's forehead, his face unreadable through the mask.
The boy's hand twisted dexterously and he grabbed the weapon out of the leader's hand even as he was fired on.
The boy shot the leader in the stomach, and the leader doubled over in pain, clutching at a slowly growing bloodstain. The boy then spun around to face the other Peacekeepers, his long hair trailing behind him.
A score of shots fired all around the boy, and he was kept on his toes as he dodged them and returned fire with an unexpected familiarity with the weapon.
However, he was overwhelmed by the large number of shots fired from either direction. His scowl deepened as he tried to back up. He made a mistake then, as a shot scrapped his leg. He stumbled, and in that second he had already lost.
The boy closed his eyes, bracing for the final shot. His dark hair swung in front of him as he fell backwards and the shots left trails of smoke and bright red flames. For a second his facial expression was peaceful and he almost resembled a doll with porcelain skin and flowing robes.
The sounds of tens of shots rang out all at once and the boy landed awkwardly on his knees, barely injured.
In front of him stood the man, breathing heavily. His makeshift clutch lay abandoned on the ground. For a second no-one moved, not even the peacekeepers who had been firing seconds earlier.
Blood started to run down the man's arms and seep out of his clothing, but he still stood.
He started to move his hands to 'speak' in a language known only to the man and boy. The boy watched him; stunned, terrified, but never sad.
Then the Peacekeepers recovered from their shock and resumed fire, cutting the man short. One of the shots ran clean through his neck, but still the man didn't fall. The boy glanced at him once more and in that look conveyed so many words he'd never bring himself to say, then turned and ran right past where the leader had been standing, abandoning the man to the soldiers as he had been instructed to.
The boy ran, and continued to run even as the sky turned dark and his legs numbed. Eventually, as the full moon cast an eerie light across the forest, the boy collapsed in exhaustion, his hair fanning out all around his small form.
"This... isn't over..." He whispered softly, in a language no living human should be able to speak.
Then he gave in and fell into sleep. Only nightmares awaited him.
Two weeks later he reached District Three. By then his legs were so sore he could barely move them and his eyes sunken even farther into his head. His robes were ripped, leaving trails of red thread through the forest that he had been too shocked to notice. In this world there are tales of messengers running for hundreds of miles, only to collapse dead upon reaching their destination. The boy didn't die, but when he collapsed in the slums of the technologically focused district, he sure looked it.
He was drifting in and out of consciousness when he saw him.
A boy, a few years older than him, with a similarly colored complexion and a dainty figure. This boy also wore red, but his were of a much tamer shade, simple clothes made for the working class. His eyes were slanted and dark and shadows hung over his face, but there was nothing threatening about him.
The runaway boy, despite being covered in mud and scratches, smiled slightly when he saw the older child, before relaxing and giving in to sleep.
When he next awoke he was lying in a cramped shelter. The walls were made of poorly sliced wooden boards nailed together chaotically. The roof was only a curved and ridged slice of tin. Taped to the walls were a variety of ads, chosen for color instead of content. The room was lit by a collection of small candles sitting on a wax covered table.
The older boy he'd seen earlier was sitting on the ground beside him, his legs crisscrossed and eyes closed in meditation. He opened one eye when he heard the runaway moving around.
"There's food on the counter." The runaway looked until he saw a piece of board sitting on two large rocks, and a bowl of grains on top it. He had at first mistaken the board for a bench. He stood, and wobbly slinked over there, his hair running across the ground. He didn't speak a word as he dug his hand into the grains and gobbled them, stopping only to catch his breath. When he saw the way the other boy was looking at him dubiously with a single eyebrow raised, he froze, a piece of grain stuck to his cheek.
"Hmph, were you ever taught manners?"
The runaway shook his head. The piece of grain fell to the dirt floor.
"Eat slower or you'll get a stomach ache. And get over here, I'll do something about your hair. It looks nasty." The older boy sounded like an exasperated mother.
The runaway nodded, and walked over to the older boy, carrying the bowl of grains with him. He sat in front of the older boy, who shifted onto his knees to be at a better vantage point. He began to string his hands through the younger boy's hair, clicking his tongue with annoyance.
"What were you thinking growing it so much? It could get caught on something." Ironically, the older boy's hair was also rather abnormally long, falling past his shoulders if untied.
"I know," said the smaller boy and these were the first words he'd spoken in weeks. "But I like it better this way." He said with an exaggerated pout, finally acting his age. "I used to keep it braided, but the guy I was living with couldn't style hair to save his life." He paused, somewhat melancholically. "It doesn't really matter anymore. You can cut it if you want."
"Then I will," the older boy said, as he turned around to sift through a box of odds and ends. He came back with a small pocketknife. "Hold still," he said, as he leaned forward and carefully took a handful of black hair in his hand. "It might hurt."
The younger boy squeezed his eyes shut tight as a huge clump of hair fell to the ground.
Seeing that the older boy frowned. "Let's go outside. It'll be messy in here."
Soon they were relocated right outside the door of the shack and another clump of hair was carefully chopped off.
His impromptu haircut was almost over when the runaway spoke a second time. "What's your name?" The younger boy's voice was soft and scratchy, but more prominently, he neglected to introduce himself.
"China." The older boy, China, said. "I live in this shack with my five younger siblings. You're lucky they weren't home. They can be very, ah, energetic."
"China, China, China," the younger boy whispered to himself, tasting the name. He then looked at the ground which was covered in pieces of his own severed hair. "It doesn't suit you."
"Names are a very important part of a person," China said as he cut off the last long strand of the boy's dark hair. "Yet you say mine doesn't fit?"
The boy turned and faced China, and looked him right in the eyes. Their faces were uncomfortably close by any standards, but China didn't flinch. "Doesn't fit at all. Not yet." The boy said. "But as long as you call yourself that," then he grinned and his face was nearly unrecognizable. "I'll definitely stay at your side da-ze~"
China instinctively jerked backwards, unnerved by the boy's sudden transformation. "I don't have room for any more mouths to feed."
"It's alright if you starve me a bit, I'm used to it!" He proclaimed with plastic cheer. "There was never any food at my house, and when me and that guy were traveling around, we just had to make due, you know?"
"You were traveling?" China asked with disbelief. "That's impossible." The citizens of the districts were imprisoned by large electric fences and heavily armed Peacekeepers. It was unheard of, especially in District Three, one of the most heavily guarded Districts, for someone to escape let alone return.
The boys shrugged. "We did. I might not have been able to on my own, but that guy was..." his expression morphed into a twisted type of frown, "really despicable." He trailed off, like he had forgotten what he meant to say. He fiddled with his newly shortened hair with one hand.
"Who was this man?" China asked suspiciously.
The boy smirked in strange recollection. "I called him Panem."
Overhead a brilliant constellation of stars painted the sky, dulled only by the moon, which looked almost red that night. There was a faint rustle caused by the wind running through the few trees inside the District. Some of the boy's severed strands of hair blew away. They would all be gone by morning.
Seven years passed.
"This year we're doing something different! Something original! Unique! By special order of President Snow, this year there'll be no gender division in the games! Kyaa! How exciting! This year will be the best in decades!"
Japan stiffened. "What are they planning?" he whispered softly to himself.
Beside him Korea smiled slightly. "Who knows? Panem sure is unpredictable, isn't he~" Korea had been so sure that Panem would pull something like this he'd put money on it.
Japan's eyebrow twitched at Korea's personalizing of the country and Korea had to hold back a giggle when he noticed. This Japan was refreshingly easy to read. It was especially funny because, at least around Korea, Panem had become almost stoic. How unnerving.
On the stage overhead, the escort dramatically poured the two globes of small folded names together into a lager one.
Then she gave Panem's speech, the one that he always complained was too long. "To remind the districts that there is no escape from-"
Korea glanced over to Japan, hoping to catch him with a funny face. Sadly, he didn't look terrified at all. Though they called each other brothers like all who lived with China, there was no love between them. Even Korea's true brother had a lot of problems with Japan a long time ago.
"And the first lucky winner is-"
Korea already had a good idea who'd be called. Simple deduction. He tried to pretend he didn't care.
"-China."
He couldn't.
He felt his body grow inexplicable weak and his vision blur. Beside him Japan's expression darkened. There's a way out of this, Korea thought. He could raise his hand like he'd been told not to and he'd go in China's place. It was so easy to think. So easy to do. He only had to raise his hand high, like trying to catch a star, then walk to the stage and take his adopted older brother's place.
Korea shook his head, trying to remind himself why he couldn't. It wasn't that he wouldn't die for China. He really, truly, would. To him, both of him, China was very important. Besides, Korea didn't even care about his own lives anymore.
Not since that night on the riverbank ten years ago.
"Remember, the second tribute could be someone of either gender! Please thank President Snow for this wonderful twist." The escort reached into the large glass bowl. "And put your hands together for" she took a deep breath, "the second male tribute of district three. Sorry ladies, looks like this isn't your year." The female members of the tribute pool let out a deep breath of relief.
He barely noticed when Japan's name was called.
Korea's vision went blurry, and they felt sick. They gripped their head, and sunk to their knees in pain.
Korea had never killed before that night on the riverbank.
He could still feel his brother's neck in his hands and the cold water lapping against their knees. Their baggy clothes heavy with water and he had lost a sandal in the ecstasy. The murder was spur of the moment and had seemed so inconsequential at the time, but it had ruined everything. For both of them.
Their head spinning, they had managed to escape from the District, fleeing from accusations of murder as painful as a rain of bullets.
That night in the woods they found Panem; broken and bloody and so very lost. It was like Korea had been saved in that moment, because the sight of Panem had been all the affirmation he needed.
They weren't insane. Because Panem existed, the Koreas weren't insane.
Once he had held Panem's arm tight and whispered to him, "What's wrong with us?" He didn't mean Panem and him.
Panem ruffled Korea's messy hair, "I don't know. No matter how much times passes, I'll never be you." Panem's grin looked as sick as ever. "I still can't understand you. That's one point I'll never reach."
Korea laughed, "You've actually passed me long long ago, right Panem? Or should I say—"
"Your threats are as meaningless as ever, North."
Korea (North) hated Panem more than anyone. However- he couldn't leave him. Because Panem was the only proof that Korea (North) existed and he was the only one that could remember Korea (South) the same way Korea (North) did.
So Korea (North) stayed by Panem's side, following him around like a duckling, and Panem never chased him away. Korea (North) knew that the reason Panem kept him despite everything was that he could still see a part of that Korea (South) in him. The one whose corpse was found floating down the river.
The last time Korea (North) saw Panem he was covered in blood and shielding Korea with his own body while signing them to run.
Similarly, the last glimpse Korea ever got of China was of him walking away to a murder game. Korea's vision blurred again and realizing with a start what they were losing, they started to run, chasing that disappearing affection. They slammed into people and stumbled more than stepped until they had an unobstructed view of the door China and Japan had left through. They slammed to a halt and bent over, catching their breath, their hands clenched against their knees. A stray tear hit the dusty ground.
Korea (Both) died before the Games started.