AUTHOR'S NOTES: This fan-fiction series includes spoilers from all three books in the Hunger Games trilogy, especially the last. I recommend that you read all three books first.

Chapters will be posted upon writing, and all writing is subject to minor edits post-publication. Chapters bounce around between time periods and perspectives, and follow no real pattern.

You can follow me on Twitter ( veni3vidi3vici) for more updates. Comments/concerns/suggestions are greatly appreciated. Most importantly, thank you for reading, and enjoy! -S

Chapter Two: Boy Meets Girl (Finnick's POV, Past)

Only so many can survive. I am one of the "lucky" few. Glorified for savagely murdering my peers. It's sick. Now I have the "privilege" of mentoring the next victims from my district selected for the Games.

You'd think it'd be easier, coming from a district that's mainly career tributes. It's not. You put two killing machines who have trained together most of their lives and are friends, sometimes even family, into an arena, knowing only one maximum, sometimes neither, will come out alive.

It was easiest the first couple years, although neither sported a victor from Four, because I was still young – too young for Snow and his Capitol whores to get their hands on me – and arrogant. Those were the years before I met her, before she was chosen to go into the arena.

The day I first met her, as it was, was entirely as forgettable as any other Reaping. I was patiently awaiting the announcements of the newest tributes. That year my stylist had put me in a fitted suit of shimmery sea green material that matched my eyes, and I was fiddling with my tie.

"Anastasia Cresta." The first name was called. I looked up just in time to see the mousy-looking girl with startlingly wide doe eyes, the same sea green characteristic to almost all citizens District Four, step forward. Her hair, a wave of chestnut brown flecked with chocolaty and dark golden shades, fell past her shoulders in soft curls. I'd seen her before: In school, because she was only a year below me and a troublemaker until she dropped out. Now I saw her at work from time to time. I also vaguely remember Sammy pointing her out to me once.

I assessed the mouse girl as she took the stage. Relatively tall, I observed, with thin stilts for legs. Her posture told me she did not quite know what to do with them, nearly tripping over herself in her assent to the stage.

"Let's have a round of applause for this year's female tribute – Anastasia Cresta!" chirped Azure, our announcer and escort.

"Annie," corrected the girl into the microphone as the applause commenced, before taking her place beside me.

I got a closer look at her out of the corner of my eyes. Her skin was smooth and radiant, seemingly poreless from what I could see. She was dressed in a plain white frock and strappy gladiator-style sandals crafted from soft leather.

My eyes snap back up to catch the male tribute, Eliot Highwater, step forward. He looks young, probably only just turned twelve. He was rail-thin and by the looks of it, he hadn't even started training yet. I wouldn't count on him surviving the first twenty-four hours. But, then again, that's what some said about me, as young as I was when my name was pulled. Now my name is immortalized for beating the odds.

"Give it up for this year's tributes – Anastasia and Eliot!" Azure smiled.

"Annie," the girl mumbled.

I applauded politely, then turned to shake hands with each. Annie's handshake is firm, her hands calloused and her fingers long and slender. Eliot's is shaky. I clapped him on the shoulder to try and boost his confidence, but he lost his balance and nearly fell to his face. Annie caught him and righted him.

He gave her a look of gratitude. "Thanks."