1

I start running again. Not as fast as before my discovery but at a brisk human pace because I'm still in shock. Of all the grisly torture devices and methods the Capitol has contrived, the Hunger Games are by far the worst. Though the Games are gruesome and harrowing, they are effective at fulfilling their purpose: keeping the twelve districts in line. The districts in Panem have been quiet and subservient for seventy-four years, willingly sending their children to the slaughter and watching them die on live television. There hasn't been a single rebellion since the Dark Days. But we in District Thirteen are trying to change that. We wait for the day when the Capitol pushes the districts too hard, and they decide to fight back. After nearly seventy-four years, we know the day will come soon, but until then, we can only prepare the rebel forces and determine the moods in the districts.

Gauging the moods in the districts is part of my job as an extractor. I've been to every district, except 12, many times to observe the people's levels of dissatisfaction and anger. Assimilating in a district is nearly impossible—which is why I've never gone to 12; it's the tiniest district in Panem—but with my abilities, I'm the only one in 13 who can get in and out without being spotted. This goes for the Capitol, too.

Except for the last time I visited, which was right before I was captured and tossed into the arena.

I continue moving swiftly through the woods, cutting through the trees and swatting away low-hanging branches. I stop when I come across a small pond of cool, clear water. I bend down to drink, and the tall reeds surrounding the pond hide my location from anyone passing by. I cup my hands and fill them with water. Before I take a sip, I decide to be cautious and treat the pond water for germs. I focus on the water in my hands until small beams of energy appear in my palms. The blue beams are small and perfectly round like marbles, but they are hot enough to heat the water cupped in my hands. They only take ten seconds to boil the water, and I withdraw the energy back into my body before the water evaporates. I let it cool a little and then slowly take a sip. Though still warm, the water refreshes my parched throat and clears my head.

This is one of the benefits of being a genetically-altered superhuman. Enhanced speed, strength, the ability to fly, and white-hot energy blasts that shoot from our hands and can kill a dozen men with a single shot. We were built this way so that we did not have to carry weapons. We were the weapons. We were designed to be the ultimate killing machines. This was the Capitol's ideal Peacekeeper. That was the reason they sunk so much money into my mother's project. It's also the reason she wanted out.

Before I was born, my mother worked for the Capitol. She specialized in gene therapy, manipulating the genetic code in DNA to cure hereditary diseases. She discovered a pattern of chromosomes that when applied to humans gave them immense physical strength, speed, and stamina. In addition to heightened abilities and senses, the chromosomal arrangement perfected the human immune system. My mother uncovered a cure for disease—not just cancer or the common cold but for every known disease and probably the unknown ones, too. When she reported her findings to the Capitol, they placed as her head scientist of an assignment they called Project Vanquish. The Capitol told her they named the assignment Project Vanquish because they wanted to "vanquish"all illnesses. But they really wanted to use the chromosome pattern my mother found to convert their Peacekeepers into superhuman enforcers of the law. When my mother learned that the Capitol wanted to use her discovery to tighten their grip on the already oppressed districts, she defected and took all the information regarding the project, which cost them all the money they had put into funding the project and the technology to create genetically-enhanced superhuman soldiers. I am one of them.

I repeat this process until my thirst is fully quenched. I haven't had water since I was locked up in the Capitol prison, and even then, it was used for waterboarding, not drinking. I shudder slightly at the memory and glance at my reflection in the water's surface. The force field really messed me up. The electricity singed tufts of my dark red hair and when I run my fingers through it, they disintegrate in my hands. I keep sifting out the loose strands until I'm sure I caught them all. The hair still falls in my eyes and sits just above my shoulders, so I don't see a huge difference in its length. Usually, soldiers in District Thirteen shave their heads completely, but when they tried to do this when I was a kid, I ripped all the scissors in two and wrecked all the razors because I didn't want a haircut. They let me keep my hair in exchange for promising not to destroy any more equipment. Besides the damage to my hair, I don't find any serious injuries. The white shirt the Peacekeepers dressed me in is completely charred, so I rip it off and use it to scrub the dirt and ashes from my arms and chest.

For the first time since I realized where I was, I wonder what the hell I'm going to do. I had nothing coming into the arena but the clothes on my back and half of them are useless now. No food, no weapons, no supplies at all. That leaves me with nothing but a pair of baggy brown shorts to survive the Hunger Games. Great. I decide to get off the ground because I have no idea where the cameras are and don't really want any screen time. I straddle the nearest tree and climb all the way to the top. From there I jump to a nearby tree that's taller than the first and ascend that one until I reach the highest point. I continue tree-hopping until I'm at least 200 feet up. I don't know if there are cameras in the trees or if they can zoom in on me from the ground, but I know that no tribute can reach this high.

I lean my head against the slim trunk of the tree and try to sort through what I know about my situation. I am trapped by force fields on all sides. The cannon that woke me up earlier today is the cannon that announces the tributes' deaths. I counted at least eleven shots, so that's eleven dead tributes. This is the first day, and I must have slept through the massacre at the Cornucopia because none of the following days have as many deaths as the first. Eleven dead. Thirteen left.

Suddenly, I remember the Cornucopia by the lake, shining bright gold with its horn filled with supplies. Before I can stop to rethink my decision, my feet carry me from branch to branch in the direction of the Cornucopia. It takes a little longer to get back because I'm famished. The last meal I had was a stale roll, fed to me by a prison guard. Eventually, I reach the open field where the Cornucopia stands, the ground around the golden horn still spattered with blood from the morning brawl. I'm about to drop to the foot of the horn and root through it when I see a group of people gathered near it.

I move in closer, staying hidden in the trees, and take a closer look. Seven people huddle near the golden horn, four boys and three girls. Almost all of the tributes assembled here are solidly built and well-fed. These are probably kids from wealthier districts like 1, 2, and 4. They are the Career Tributes, the ones trained since childhood to compete in the Games and who believe that winning them is a great honor. These tributes often band together during the Games and hunt down the others, so seeing a pack of this size is not surprising. Many of them have blood on their clothes and bodies, but I realize that the blood is from the tributes they've killed. From what I can see, only one is truly injured, a stocky blond blue-eyed boy with bruises on his face, his arm in a bandage, and a slight limp.

I know I'm too late to pick through the supplies because the Career Tributes are moving all the crates and burlap sacks to a camp a short distance away from the Cornucopia. While the others transport the supplies to their camp by the lake, one bony pale-skinned boy digs for something in the dirt. I look closer at the boy burrowing in the ground and noticed that he's digging up the land mines set beneath the starting circular platforms the tributes stand on before the start of the Games. The Gamemakers deactivate the mines after the gong sounds to begin the Games, so they are unusable now. I watch as the boy unearths one land mine, carries it to a specific location near the pyramid of supplies the Careers are building, restarts the mine, and buries it carefully in the dirt. He does this for each of the twenty-four land mines and places them far enough apart that setting off one won't trigger the other mines. I can't deny that I am impressed. No one had ever thought of doing what that boy did before. I assume that he is from District Three since they specialize in electronics for the Capitol.

After securing their provisions, the Careers begin to arm themselves. The Cornucopia has provided them with a large cache of weapons, and the Careers make use of almost all of them. One ruthless-looking boy arms himself with a short, heavy sword, while a girl with dark, choppy hair lines the inside of her black jacket with an assortment of deadly knives. Another girl with flowing blonde hair and bright green eyes equips a silver bow and sheath of arrows. The injured blond boy takes a knife and a spear. The Careers leave the boy from District Three to guard their supplies and set off to track down the other tributes.

After the Careers leave, I move in closer to the pyramid and search for where they stored the food. The land mines are a perfect defense against animals and the other tributes, but they won't prevent me from pilfering their supplies. I inch closer to the pyramid and float down where the boy won't see me. I mean to get out of there quickly, so I only take a sack of apples, some strips of dried beef, a packet of crackers, and a bottle of water. I clamber up a tall tree and dig into my stolen goods. I probably should conserve some of it since I don't know how long I'll be stuck here, but I'm so hungry that I break down and eat all of the food I swiped. I curse my bottomless appetite but justify the meal because I can get more in the forest. The woods are alive with the sounds of life—and by life I mean food. I hear squirrels clambering up the trunks of trees, wild turkey gobbling on the ground, and rabbits sniffing. I can find all of them tonight. I decide that it's better if I stay in the trees during the day and hunt at night when the tributes won't see me.

I sit still in the branches of the pine tree, trying to understand the Capitol's motives. The truth is I can't see any logical reason behind locking me up in the arena. If they wanted to keep me contained, why didn't they just leave me in my cell? Why bring me into the arena at all? Also, conveying me into the arena while the Hunger Games are taking place seems especially foolish. If I'm onscreen at all anytime during the Games, all of Panem will be wondering who I am and what I'm doing there. They can't display me on television without revealing who I am. If they do, this will force District 13 to expose its existence to the entire nation and may trigger the nuclear war that the Capitol was so desperate to prevent nearly seventy-five years ago. They're taking quite a few risks just to keep me confined in this arena, and I can't see any benefits.

I can't understand any of this, and I wish I could talk to someone who could help me make sense of all this. My mother would know what to do, if she were here…

The thought hits me instantly like the flip of a switch, and it's so obvious I wonder why I didn't think of it sooner. In addition to unparalleled speed, strength, and laser hands, the genetic code gives the brain the power of telepathy. Soldiers with her chromosome pattern can communicate with each other without enemies overhearing or even knowing that they were exchanging information and strategizing their next attack. That was the Capitol's hope anyway, but this trait didn't take with most of the people recruited to be a part of the project. I am the only one with the ability; however, this doesn't render it a useless skill.

With this talent I can contact anyone anywhere by projecting thoughts to them. I think of what I would say to someone if he were standing right next to me, and he can hear what I'm thinking in his mind. The telepathy is limited in that interaction is one-way. I must be the one to initiate communication; no one can contact me in this way. Despite this one limitation, the ability is extremely useful for transmitting information instantly. This is why I am the best extractor in the whole district. I can relay entire files of secret material, images, even conversations that I overhear back to the leaders of District Thirteen immediately and without the Capitol knowing.

I had tried calling for help using telepathy in the Capitol prison, but it didn't work. The Peacekeepers injected some kind of light blue serum into my veins, and this serum apparently nullified my powers. Besides sending for help, I want to ask my mother about the mysterious blue liquid.

Mom, can you hear me?

I send the thought out and wait for a reply. The response is faint at first, but then I hear her mind more clearly.

Kevin! Thank goodness you're all right. We were all worried about you! What happened? Where are you? Are you hurt?

She continues on in this manner for several minutes and I can't get a thought in edgewise. I know she worries about me, but I think it's kind of unnecessary. If she worries this much about a kid who can't get hurt, can't get sick, and can't get in trouble, I shudder to think how much concern she'd have for me if I were ordinary. But I can understand why she worries considering what I was like when I was younger.

Mom! I interrupt, I'm fine. Have you guys been watching the Games?

Yes, we have them on right now. Why? What's going on? You were supposed to come home three days ago. Where are you?

Three days… That's how long I was in the Capitol. They caught me on the day I was returning to 13 and locked me in prison. I didn't have any way of telling how much time had passed while I was in there.

I'm in the Hunger Games, Mom. I'm trapped in the arena.

I wait for a reply, but all I hear is her stunned silence. Finally, I catch some sort of response, but her thoughts are so chaotic and jumbled that I can't understand them. After I give her time to process, she begins to recover her coherency.

That's not funny, Kevin. Tell me where you are. Do we need to send a hovercraft?

I know why she's having a hard time believing me. Trapping me in the arena is risky both for 13 and the Capitol, but I need to prove to her that I'm here or I'll never escape.

I'm telling the truth. I swear! What's showing on the screen right now?

Um, the cameras are following the kids from the top districts, mostly 1 and 2. Sometimes they show the girl from 12, but she's just walking through the woods… Oh wait! They just cut to their camp at the lake. There's nothing but the boy from District 3, though.

There will be. Trust me.

As she thinks of what's playing on the screen, I see a vision of the lake and the pyramid of supplies and the Cornucopia looming in the background. I jump off the branch I'm standing on and fly in the direction of the lake. I hope they keep the cameras on the camp a little longer or at least until I get there. I need them to show I'm here. I skim the tops of the trees, and the leaves brush roughly against my skin. While I'm at the Career camp, I should look for a shirt or some kind of covering. I reach the lake seconds later and land in a tree a stone's throw from the golden horn.

Are they still showing the lake? I ask.

Yes, but I think they might cut to something else soon. Not much is happening… What the-?

I listen to my mother's confusion as I blast one of the mines the boy from District 3 set. An earsplitting explosion echoes over the dry plain while dust and dirt billow up in thick clouds from the ground. I use the cover of dust to slip into the plain undetected. I hover a few feet in front of the Cornucopia and summon the blue energy to my right hand. I point my index finger and use the energy to carve my initials into the golden horn. I position them diagonally to each other and sear the letters directly onto the Cornucopia. The letters cover a large section of the front. Impossible for the cameras to miss or ignore. I even make sure to write them neatly, as if they are typed on paper instead of scorched into the gold, that way my mother will know that no tribute did this. Once I finish, I dart behind the pyramid and rummage for some clothes, but the clouds of dirt dissipate quickly and force me to leave empty-handed. I rush back to my tree near the Cornucopia and admire my handiwork.

KV

Not only do I see my sign with my own eyes but through my mother's thoughts as well. She associates the letters with fear and anxiety because now she knows that I'm telling the truth. I start moving deeper into the forest, keeping to the branches of the trees. I just gave my location away to the Gamemakers, and I'm not going to wait around here for them to strike.

Do you believe me now? I think quietly.

Oh, Kevin… Now you've done it. Claudius Templesmith is puzzling over what "KV" means.

She's right. I can hear Claudius Templesmith babbling on the meaning of "KV" through her thoughts.

"Killer Venom? Kick Vices? I don't have a clue what it is. Is this a sign from the Gamemakers?" Templesmith blathers on in this manner, but I ignore him.

What happened? she asks.

I recount what I remember about being caught—the Capitol prison and the blue serum—and how I woke up this afternoon in the middle of the seventy-fourth Hunger Games.

I can't get out.

The last thought is colored by sadness, and my throat tightens as my situation worsens. Night will fall soon. I still have no supplies and no idea how to escape. What's worse is that although my mother and probably all of District 13 know I'm here, the Gamemakers know I am, too. They may choose to retaliate with every weapon in their arsenal, and the devices in the arena are deadly enough to harm even me. Perhaps that is the reason they tossed me in the arena. They needed that serum to subdue me in the Capitol; in the arena, they have everything they need to kill anyone.

Blue serum… What shade of blue was it? Was it light blue? Like your energy blasts? my mother asks.

Yes, how did you know that?

Because I invented it.

Her thoughts have a worried undertone.

It's called nihilium. It neutralizes the effect of the genetic enhancements. It takes away your powers.

She invented it… then why does the Capitol have it?

You told me you destroyed all the data from Project Vanquish.

She explains that she couldn't erase all the records from the Capitol's databases, so she took the one piece of information the project was based on: the chromosome pattern. She stole the formula back and deleted all the copies. Without that, Project Vanquish couldn't continue and was shut down, to the Capitol's dismay.

I guess I forgot about the nihilium formula…

Why did you make that anyway? I ask, A cure to the cure for all disease?

When we started the project, I was looking for a way to isolate the genes that boosted the immune system, but the Capitol was so eager for human trials that I didn't have time to find that pattern. Instead, I created the nihilium as a fail-safe if things ended badly.

What she's saying is clear and logical. If you give people that much power, you need a way to subdue them or they'll go mad with power.But it weighs heavily on my mind. Suddenly, I think of something, a question that may bring up pain from the past, and I ask it before I can stop myself.

Why didn't you use it on me? You know, when I was little?

I can feel her cringe internally at the inquiry, and the hurt and shame in her thoughts are palpable. I regret the question instantly. Even after so many years, my parents cannot think of the Incident without reawakening feelings of anguish, sorrow, and regret. My mother's answer is choked with sobs, as if she is crying in her thoughts.

We didn't have any and it—it's very hard to make. We didn't have the necessary materials or enough power to run the nuclear reactor. But that means the Capitol can't produce much of it, either. They haven't touched their reactor since the Dark Days.

She manages to compose herself and hides any remaining pain from her thoughts, so I propose my theory of why the Capitol trapped me in the arena.

I think that's the reason they put me in here. They ran out of the serum but still wanted to keep me contained, so they tossed me in the arena where I can't escape.

Wait, they had you somewhere else before the arena? she asks.

Crap, she put two and two together which will only make her worry more.

They held me in one of their prisons in the Cap— I start to answer, but she interrupts.

And they used the nihilium on you? Kevin, did they hurt you? What did they do? Did they—oh Kevin…

Her string of questions ends in sobs, and I try to get a thought in to comfort her. I finally manage to calm her down and convince her that they only kept me knocked out on nihilium because I know she can't handle the truth. Stripping me of my abilities wasn't the only thing they did; it was just required for what they really wanted to do. They couldn't torture me if I was invulnerable. I shake my head to clear them of the too vivid memories and ask what I know is probably impossible.

So, what am I supposed to do? Can you guys get me out?

I know it's a long-shot, and my mother must know it, too. But she still answers with a tone that doesn't crush my hopes immediately.

I don't know, Kevin. If it weren't this year's arena… then maybe, but we can't launch a frontal assault on the arena, especially while the Games are going on.

So, that's it. The rebels in District 13 were my only hope of getting out, and now that hope is shot to hell. The problem isn't even getting out of the arena. The Games won't last forever, and I know I'll leave here eventually. The trouble is how to escape the Capitol's clutches. When I leave the arena, it will only happen because the Capitol has somewhere worse to transport me. If I can't figure out a way to escape before the Games end, then I'll spend the rest of my life trapped under the Capitol's control with a nihilium IV in my arm. I'm racking my brains for a way to break out when my mother suddenly gives me the solution.

I'll arrange a meeting with President Coin and see if we can't do something. In the meantime, talk to Plutarch. He may be able to help you get out of there, she thought.

Plutarch! I honestly forgot about him. He's one of our contacts in the Capitol and a Gamemaker. If anyone can get me out of this arena, Plutarch Heavensbee is my best bet.

Right. I'll talk to him soon. He can probably help.

This is the hardest part of telepathic chats with my mother. Hanging up.

I'll talk to you soon, I promise.

She realizes that I'm trying to end the conversation, so she—like any mother—throws in a thousand pieces of last-minute advice in an attempt to prolong our talk.

Okay. Be careful. Don't do anything to attract the cameras. Make sure you eat enough. But don't eat too much! Save some of the food for the tributes. And find a way to keep warm at night. You can expect some cold nights. Oh, and—

All right! Got it! I interrupt.

She sighs inwardly.

Okay. Stay safe. I love you, Kevin.

Love you, too. Don't worry. I'll be fine.

With that parting line, I sever our minds' connection and prepare for my first night in the arena.