Survival Of The Fittest

So I'm back!

Hello again everyone, and welcome to my second Hunger Games story.

Premise: The Tributes are Reaped for the 75th Hunger Games instead of the 74th and forced to compete in a Quell where the rules are all different. With the Game turned on its head, no one is sure what to do, least of all Sky, a very unlikely Tribute.

This is a Cato/OC fic, with no love triangles or the like. There will be other romance pairings on the side of course, but Cato/Sky is the main one.

Please enjoy.

This is a slow, getting back into the flow chapter, and I hope to provide you with more soon!

Enjoy!


Chapter 1

"Please welcome the Victor of the 74th Hunger Games, Lora Bedantine!"

The voice calls out over the hushed crowd and dutiful applause breaks out as the beautiful girl from District 1 strides out onto the stage, her pale blond hair a halo around a face that is haughty and proud.

She waves, her smile a perfect stage smile as she looks over us, eyes skimming over the faces of the families to the side, the families of the Tributes who had both died this year. One at the teeth of a monstrous rat-like mutation, and the other in their sleep, stabbed by the Victor before us trying to get further in the game.

She begins her speech, an insincere recitation of how proud we must be of our brave Tributes, and I close my eyes, trying not to listen, even as the words reverberate in my skull.

The boy had been my age, in my classes at school, a sweet lad with a talent for deep dive swimming and finding delicacies underwater. He'd been a nice enough sort, always out in the sun, always near the sea, and he'd died in some Arena far away, with no deep sea water for him to hide from the girl in front of us. She'd slit his throat while sleeping, him and the boy from her own District, before fighting it out with the girl from 2.

I open my eyes, surprised to feel that they are wet, and even more surprised when a piece of cloth appears in my field of vision.

Glancing around I look up at the tall boy now standing beside me, dark hair, gentle blue eyes in a tanned face. I recognise him as Darrien, another boy from my year group, and a friend of the boy who'd died. We'd always been on good terms, but he'd stuck to his group of young men, and I'd…well I'd been a bit of a loner.

"Thank you," I say quietly, drying my eyes, before looking back up at the stage where the girl is continuing her speech, "It doesn't seem real does it…"

"No," he agrees; voice a low pleasant tenor, "It doesn't. But it is. What we saw on that screen…it happened. She was the one to kill Patric."

"And here she is," I say quietly, shaking my head slightly, "God when does it end?"

"The speech?"

My lips curl upwards briefly before dropping again, "Yes, but not only." I sigh, "She killed Patric, next year a Tribute from 4 might kill one from 1 in revenge…and so on and so on…it never ends…"

"This coming year will be different," Darrien says quietly, and when I glance up at him with a raised eyebrow he arches his own in return, "The 75th Games…a Quarter Quell."

My stomach knots at the reminder and I let out a low shaky breath. My parents and the Teachers in school had taught us about the last Quarter Quell, about the 48 tributes that had gone in, with only one solitary Tribute returning to be crowned Victor. I knew that the first Quell had a twist as well, that the Districts selected a Tribute themselves through a voting process, and for a moment I feel ill, imagining the Tributes sent away, not because of chance, or bad luck…but because their District chose them.

"Maybe it won't be so bad?" I say feebly and Darrien's soft scoff tells me just what he thinks of that idea.

"The Capitol loves new things, shiny innovations, and exciting twists. The Quells are all three." Darrien shakes his head, "It'll be bad."

"I salute the bravery of the Tributes from District 4." The girl onstage pronounces, almost as though speaking by rote, her face a mask of boredom as she looks out over the crowd, "They did their District proud, their alliance proud, and you their families should be proud of their sacrifice. I am sure they will be remembered."

"Do you think she even remembers their names?" Darrien murmurs quietly, his arms folded across his chest as he scowls at the girl standing on the stage, her golden hair waving glossily about her shoulders and her pale eyes heavy lidded with Capitol make up. She looks healthy and well cared for, dressed in rich fabrics, like a Victor…or at least like a Victor from District 1 or 2 usually looks.

I glance over at the parents of the fallen Patric, their red puffy eyes and the two little girls clutching their hands, staring up at the stage with strained expressions.

"I don't think that's something you can forget," I whisper back, turning my gaze back to the newest Victor on the stage where Finnick Odair and Mags Whittle, the two mentor Victors for our district are speaking to her, "I couldn't."

Darrien eyes me, blue eyes considering for a moment, "You're a bit of an odd one though aren't you Sky," he reminds me and my cheeks flush. I am an oddity here in District 4, among happy but intensely practical people, fishermen and sailors who live with the reality that any day on the sea could turn sour. There's no time for grieving or useless emotions like that when there is work to be done. It's why District 4 has done so well in the Hunger Games, comparatively to other Districts, and although we do not have an Academy for Tributes like 1 and the hyper competitive 2, we hold our own. I've always been strange, crying when creatures died, empathising with the strangest things, crippled with sentimentality. It's why I would make a truly appalling Tribute.

"I suppose so," I agree with him quietly as we leave the square, the two of us subconsciously falling into step and walking towards the sea, "I can't imagine how you could forget I guess."

"I dunno," Darrien sighs, sitting down on a rock by the shore, worn smooth by the elements, "It's hard to put yourself in those shoes without being in them."

I shiver, and so does he.

"May that never happen." I say softly, and he nods fervently in agreement.


I awake with a start.

For a moment reality is distorted around me, hazy memories of being trapped and the face of a blonde haired girl bending over me, sneering, dagger dripping blood in her hand layered over what my eyes see; the plain white weatherboards of my bedroom walls and the soothing sound of the sea just outside my window.

Slowly I sit up, disentangling myself from the sheets with a soft sigh and look out of the rough glass window, blinking up at the soft glow of pre-dawn. There is a soft mist hanging in the air, one that will be burnt off as soon as the sun truly rises, and for now the sea is bathed in soft blues and purples.

Slipping out of bed I slide my feet into my sandals, the only kind of shoe one could wear when traipsing in the sand, and get to my feet, tugging on a light robe as I pad out of my bedroom door and creep quietly out of our backdoor. Shutting it behind me I run lightly over grass, wet from dew and coarse from its sandy roots until I make it through the light tree cover and out onto the beach.

It's a perfect morning, almost glassy-calm on the water, and only the soft sounds of birdsong to disturb the peace. Normally boats would already be out in the bay at this time of the morning, heading out into the open waters, but it's Reaping Day, and no one really works on Reaping Day.

The Capitol declares it a holiday, that no one should have to work on such a day of celebration. It's a rare day of reprieve from work…but no one enjoys it. Not the little children…not the grizzled old men, fingers swollen from knot work and especially not the parents or the young people whose names are drawn, year after year.

This year is the year of the 75th Hunger Games, the Third Quarter Quell, and for months everyone has been uneasy.

The reason everyone has been uneasy is because usually, according to those who have been around for past Quarter Quells, usually the President announces the twist one or two months before the Reaping, declaring it to the public.

This year there has been silence, apart from the news filtered through that the Quell announcement will be made after the Tributes are Reaped.

If their intention was to unnerve us…they certainly have succeeded.

I sit down on a rock left exposed by the high tide and tuck my knees under my chin.

I am 17 this year, with my name in the bowl 6 times. It's a high count since as a food producing District, and a reasonably prosperous one at that few people exchange Reaping tokens for food. Next year will be my final time in the pool, and then after that I shall be free.

Two more chances.

I look up as I hear footsteps crunching on the sand and I smile as I recognise the young man walking towards me, hands firmly tucked in his pockets. I move over silently and he joins me, sitting like a warm fire at my side, blue eyes looking out at the rapidly lightening waters.

Darrien is my best friend, my first, real friend and I feel like I've known him forever, the brother I never had, and I know he feels the same about me

"I thought I'd find you here." Darrien's voice is soft and I look up at his pleasant face, lightly tanned from the sun, dark hair gleaming in the light of the new day's sun, "Fretting."

"I'm not fretting," I scoff at him lightly, and he shoots me a look of pure disbelief, "I'm not!"

"Uh huh…" He drawls the words and then laughs when I elbow him, "You know worrying about it won't change anything Sky."

I know it, of course I know it, but I roll my eyes at him anyway, "Of course not, it's not my choice, but…"

He shakes his head at me, "There is no 'but' Sky, either you will be Reaped, or you won't. Same with me."

I sigh, "You can't truly be that calm over this."

"Of course not." He wraps an arm around my shoulders and I lean against him, taking a small measure of comfort from his warmth and strength, "But there is nothing to be done about it."

"And if you are Reaped?" I ask softly, "What then?"

"Then I fight like hell for the chance to come back home." He presses a kiss to the top of my head, "I'm less worried about myself than I am about you."

"Because I can't even spear a fish without feeling guilty?" My words are flippant but the reality is not a laughing matter. He and I both know I would make a very, very poor Tribute. Along with my tendency to empathise with everything, I also suffer from a small genetic impairment of my eyes. It makes them quite weak, and I would suffer for it in any kind of combative situation.

Both of us know; if I am reaped…it is almost a certainty that I would die.

"We'll be just fine," he says it softly but firmly and I relax in his arms, wanting to believe it is true. No more needs to be said, and so we just sit there, wrapped up in one another, as the sun rises over the sea.


I'm startled from my memories by the sound of the train carriage door opening.

For a moment I'm disoriented, smelling the almost overpowering scent of rich, fresh baked foods on the tables behind us, feeling the warm velvet material of the chair I'm curled up on, the cold glass beside my cheek. None of it is familiar and my mind reels, scrambling to right itself.

Then I remember and I wish I'd stayed in that almost catatonic state.

"Schuyler Cavendish!" The escort had called out, and I'd staggered on my way up to the stage, collapsing as I went, held up by a peacekeeper on one arm as I threw up my meagre breakfast on the sandy soil, before the whole of Panem.

But that wasn't the worst.

"Darrien McNamara!" she twittered as I swayed there on the stage, and all I'd wanted to do was cry. I could see the looks of pity on the faces all around the stage, heard the soft gasps. We weren't a huge community here, and everyone knew everyone else, and knew that for the last six months Darrien and I had been inseparable.

Now…now we are tributes together.

I glance around and see Darrien rising to his feet, offering his hand to Finnick Odair and then to Mags as they come to join us. It'd been their entrance to the train carriage that had stirred me. Slowly I get to my feet as well, feeling numb and dazed as Finnick brushed a kiss to the back of my hand and Mags gave me a warm grandmotherly hug.

"We know this is a bit of a shock to you both." Mags voice was soft, full of the burr and thick brogue of someone raised on the ships of 4 could have, "All I can say is that both of us are here to help you…as much as we can."

"Do you know what the twist is?" Darrien asks, glancing at me worriedly, "Obviously it's not about the Tributes being reaped this time…"

"Obviously…" Finnick agreed, his green eyes also flicking to me, concern in them. I'm worrying them, I realise and try to gather myself back together, "Which presents a whole new set of worries."

"Like?" I ask softly, stepping closer to Darrien, and feeling his arm curl protectively about my shoulder, "Like what?"

"The twist could be anything." Mags says softly, eyeing the arm with a sad smile, "Anything at all."

"You mean anything unpleasant." Finnick corrected, also eyeing the arm, "It's never pleasant…and I'm sorry I have to ask, rude as it might be…but are you two…" and he made a rude hand gesture.

"Us?" I squeak, cheeks flushing horribly.

"God no!" Darrien looks horrified which makes Finnick crack up laughing, only to yelp as Mags smacks him sharply.

"Finnick!" She scolds him, "What a rude thing to ask!"

"What?" He holds up his hands defensively, "I had to know! He was holding her!"

"We're best friends…" I correct him, "He's like my brother."

"She's my baby sister." Darrien agrees, "Nothing like that….ergh… gross…"

I nod in agreement and Finnick chuckles.

"Duly noted. But it's a shame, could have been a great card to use…ah well…"

"The twist will be revealed tonight after they show the Reapings," Mags informs us, and I see even Finnick looks surprised, "The message came through just as we got on the train."

"Secretive…" I say softly and Finnick nods, frowning, "That's not good."

"You're right there sweetheart," he pats my shoulder, "It's not good at all."


Watching the Reaping's is like having teeth extracted.

District 1 is collected and composed, the girl beautiful and pale blonde like the Victor from last year, Lora Bedantine. I wonder if they have a similar nature, and watching her toss the waves of perfect cornsilk gold, and bat those pale eyes I think I would be foolish to underestimate her. The boy has an infectious smile and cheeky salute, winking at the camera as he is chosen. Both look unsurprised, and ready, and I lick my lips nervously, for the millionth time that day, rubbing them red raw.

District 2 is worse.

The girl is small, dark haired and intense. She's a condensed, fierce ball of energy, radiating her excitement and enthusiasm. She's excited to be chosen and her eyes gleam as she takes her place. She terrifies me even though a screen. This is a girl who is supremely confident, and someone who won't let anything get in her way.

The boy is worse.

A name is called and an instant later a strong voice is calling out, "I volunteer as Tribute!". The crowd parts and reveals a boy who is a head or two taller than most of the others, with huge broad shoulders and a coldly handsome face. He's fair, with bright blue eyes that look into the camera for a long moment before he strides onto the stage.

He looks like he could take me apart with his bare hands and all I want is to shrink back into Darrien and forget that this boy could be the one to end my life.

His partner looks tiny in comparison but she grins at him, a feral grin that says 'bring it on' and he returns the look as the cameras fade out.

"Damn…" Finnick whistles softly.

District 3 aren't memorable, the two young tributes shaking as they are chosen, looking petrified as their tugged from the stage.

And then it's our turn.

I look like a wreck, pale and terrified as throw up in panic, and I close my eyes in embarrassment. Finnick pats my knee lightly and leans over, "Look at it this way sweetheart, no one will be threatened by you. That's not a bad thing."

I shoot him a look and he nods back seriously. He means it and I feel a little bit better.

Just a little.

The rest of the tributes don't scare me like the ones from 1 and 2 but I do note the girl from 5 as well as the huge hulking boy from 11, as well as his tiny 12 year old District partner. Another 12 year old is Reaped at District 12 until suddenly her sister is there, calling out, voice strong and commanding.

"I volunteer!" She cries and I feel my eyes widening, "I volunteer as Tribute!"

"Wow…" Finnick breathes as she takes to the stage, and then the sweet faced boy who is her District partner, "You don't see that very often."

"Or ever." Mags agrees and we look at her questioningly, "There's never been a District 12 volunteer."

"Not ever?" I look back at the screen where the girls face fades from view, "Really?"

"Not ever." Finnick nods, and whistles, "Damn…this is going to be an interesting year."

"Don't say that yet Finnick," Mags scolds as Darrien takes my hand in his, "We don't know the twist yet."

"Well…we're about to," Finnick nods at the screen and the smiling face of Caesar Flickerman who is talking about the concept of the Quell. Like everyone doesn't know just what a Quell is.

I look at Darrien helplessly and he smiles weakly back.

"No matter what." He says softly, and I see Finnick turn to listen out of the corner of my eye, "I have your back, and I know you have mine."

I nod and I see Mags smile softly, "No matter what." I agree as the screen changes once more to reveal President Snow.

The leader of Panem steps up onto the podium and smiles beneficently at the crowd.

"People of Panem." He announces and my stomach knots in cramps, "Welcome to another Quarter Quell!" The crowd cheers and I lick my lips again, wincing as the raw skin tugs, "This year we will welcome another 24 valiant tributes who will struggle for glory and Victory!" he reached out and plucked an envelope from the box held by a slim, silent boy standing beside the podium.

He paused and I feel the room hold its collective breath.

"This year, the year of the 75th Hunger Games, and the 3rd Quarter Quell we wish to remind the Districts that only through strength and co-operation can we truly succeed and thrive." The president's voice seemed to reach into my very brain, "Therefore, this year, more than one Tribute can and will win the Hunger Games!" Gasps filled the hall and in our train carriage both Darrien and Finnick's hands tighten, one on my hand and the other my knee respectively.

"This year the Tributes will compete together, to survive one of the most deadly arenas ever constructed." The President announces to more gasps and cheers, "To win, they simply have to survive three weeks. Any tributes alive after three weeks will be a Victor and be honoured as such."

"Oh my god…" Darrien breathes.

I'm not so enthralled with the idea, my eyes fixed on the President as he raises his hands.

"There is one more condition. Each Tribute will be tethered to another, their lives to one another. If one dies…the other will perish as well. They have to work together…for if one dies then both die. The partners will be chosen by popular vote and cannot be from the same District."

He smiles at the camera, "Happy Hunger Games…and May the Odds Be Ever In Your Favor!"

The screen goes dark and the four of us sit there in stunned silence before Finnick breaks it with a soft whistle.

"Well…" he says, turning to us, "This changes, everything…"


To Be Continued...