Hey guys! I wasn't exactly satisfied posting just one chapter of this fanfic so I decided to just go ahead and post another. I hope you notice how the environment sort molds people, like how it molded Percy into who he is now. He's still loyal and caring but he's a...lot more intense. Just gonna warn you for furthur reference. Okay, so on with the story!

Percy

I wake up, the sunlight hitting my eyes in my very decrepit house of sorts and sit up, taking a deep breath. The smell of sour air and dust meets my nostrils. This really doesn't help my mom's sickness but it's all we've got. I've spent so much time trying to clean my brother's and mom's room that I don't think about cleaning mine of the dust and chipping wood.

I throw my blankets off, throwing my legs over the side of my lumpy, makeshift mattress and sigh, stretching my hands over my head.

I stand up, cracking my back and neck, groaning, remembering what day it was: the day of the Reaping.

I automatically reach over to my only pair of pants, shoving them on and reaching over to my belt that holds my daggers. I have to get up early to get the good meat to trade at the Hob.

I take each dagger, handmade from Tyson, my thirteen-year-old half-brother that is amazing at metalwork. I don't know how but he somehow transforms metal scraps from the trash or from the floor into amazing daggers or things like pans or spatulas or practically anything that I know that's metal. But we never get to use them because we have nothing to use them on. We can't afford food without me going to the Hob and trading game and selling them isn't an option without Peacekeepers executing us for "inciting a rebellion". My little brother's talent sadly can't be realized.

I swiftly put the daggers in their holders and tuck the belt under my pants and—since it looks a bit weird around my waist line trying to hide the daggers—I let my yellowing-white, loose shirt fall over it and button the few buttons left up. I pull a leather vest over it and put on fingerless gloves that protect my palm when I'm out in the woods and wielding a dagger. There was this one time when I was fifteen when I accidentally caught one of my daggers by the blade and it didn't end well.

I walk down the old, creaky stairs, slowly making my way to my mom's room. I see the opening of her room, the door was broken down so I had to take it off and she lays there in the thickest blanket in the house. Tyson and I both agreed to give it to her because of her condition.

My mother's illness has been affecting her for five years and since then I've had to get the house going and alive. I've been collecting medicine herbs from a healer farther up the Seam and hunt in the woods for four years.

The first year was a confusing year. What happened around me was all a blur. All I knew was that mom said she was getting sick and no one was making the food anymore. I didn't know what to do. I always expected mom to get up and make us some beet sauce or something but it just stopped happening. Mom was always stuck in bed, coughing and hacking, throwing up and her fever skyrocketing. I didn't know what to do, I was just twelve. I just kept going to school, the words looking like mush so I stopped trying. I had no one to motivate me. Tyson said that he was starting to get hungry and moaning complaints, whining and crying, saying he was starving. I didn't notice that I was starving also until I notice Tyson not get out of bed one morning. I walked into his room, looking for him when I saw him in his bed, saying that he was really hungry. I saw his emaciated body and then I felt myself slowly draining away also. I was just in La-la Land too long, waiting for mom to come back to notice. At first I felt anger toward my mom but then I notice that I'm the only one old and strong enough to actually do anything. It was all my fault that Tyson was like this. After going around, looking for a job for weeks and months, not getting anything and my brother and mom were barely alive, I was desperate.

That day, I just got rejected to work at the bakery. I hung my head low, kicking a pebble in front of me.

Then a girl ran passed me, practically shoving me to the ground. She looked back at me and her gray eyes met mine. Then, she just kept running.

I kept my eyes on her and then saw her run passed buildings and then gone.

Finding that odd, I followed her trail, seeing her go farther down and into the forbidden Meadow. I kept following her until she climbed over the fence and, as stupid as I am today, I followed. After waiting a couple minutes, I followed again just so she wouldn't hear me following her. I followed her throughout the day, seeing her meet up with a boy she called Gale and she was Catnip. I'm not sure what her real name was. But after following them, they come across a strawberry patch and my mouth watered. I waited until they were done picking and then they left. I picked out some for myself, about to bite into one until I remembered Tyson and mom. I took off my rag-jacket and picked a bucket load of blackberries and strawberries. After I was done, I followed the duo again, seeing them hunt actual game. The girl actually shot every single animal straight in the eye with her bow and arrows. I watched in awe of her gift. After they were done, they jumped the fence and I waited until they were passed the Meadow when I climbed the fence myself and ran home with the jacket-load of berries home. I ran straight to the kitchen, washing the berries of the dirt and just cleaning them so mom wouldn't have any other sickness passed onto her and took out a wooden bowl that Tyson attempted to make. He didn't do a bad job at trying but he only made one.

I filled the bowl with berries and rushed to mom's room, telling her that I found berries and she took them without question. I ran to Tyson's room to see him skin and bones when I gave him the whole jacket of berries. He didn't know what they were at first since he's never seen them before but when I tossed one in my mouth, savoring the sweet taste of the strawberry, he took a handful and ate to his fill. At the bottom of my jacket, I saw a couple left and saved them for myself. After I was sure my stomach was full, I realized that I still have hope. I secretly thanked those two kids and felt like I owed them my brother's and mother's lives. I've been going to the forest ever since, finding a makeshift knife that was actually a scrap of metal with a sharp edge and a deer antler that was sharpened to a point. Since then, I promised to always provide for my family no matter what. I visited the local healer and collected medicinal herbs for mom and still go every time we run out. I haven't seen those two kids as much, but every once in a while I hear them walk and make a bush rustle or talk.

When Tyson was at his full strength, he told me to go collect all the scraps of metal I can find with him picking some up on the walk home from school too. One day, he was hunched over a fireplace at the back of the house and I started to walk toward him, asking what he was doing. Before I could reach him, he told me to go away and that it was a surprise. I was fourteen at the time and I had to go trade at the Hob so I didn't think anything of it in my rush. Then a couple days later, I found him sitting cross-legged in my room, a big smile on his face. I narrowed my eyes at him. What is this trickster up to? I thought.

He pulled out ten perfect, beautiful, throwing daggers from behind him. I gasped at the sight, running my fingers over the beautiful engraved design along the handles and half-way down the edge of the blades. These are much better than my antler daggers. I couldn't have gotten a better gift from my little brother. Since that day, he's made my two knives and sharpened my daggers for when they dulled. Since I've gotten them, I've been getting better at them to the point where I don't even have to aim.

After I walk away from mom's room and go out the door, I run passed closed, gray shutters looking around at the empty streets. Well, the Reaping doesn't start until two, might as well spend as much time with your kid at home as you can. Today is Tyson's second year. I've had to get three tesserae every year and told Tyson not to get any. So his name is in twice and mine is in fifteen times.

I jog passed the Meadow, climbing over the fence and I decide to go get some blackberries from a rock ledge.

As I walk over there, I see a figure standing there. I freeze, my hand taking out a dagger and I get ready to throw it any time. As I stare at him more, I see his face and find him eerily familiar. Is he that kid Gale?

I tuck my dagger back in, groaning inwardly and deciding to head to the strawberry patch where Gale and Catnip have generously put a mesh net around it to keep the animals out and leave some fresh, not eaten strawberries for the guy that they don't even know hunts in the woods. I pick out a bag full of strawberries and move on, wandering around the forest.

I hear the sound of disturbed leaves and I look over, seeing a squirrel. I swiftly take out a dagger and quickly throw it, getting it in the head. I put it in my game bag and move on, catching a rabbit here and squirrel there and visit a beehive that I collect honey from after I make a small fire and let the smoke drift into the nest and try to make the job fast.

Then I hear a disturbed bush and I turn around, expecting a squirrel but I find a pretty good-looking stag. It has perfect build and everything. Good price down at the Hob. It'll be a bargain with Greasy Sae but maybe she'll be generous today.

I throw the knife, not needing to aim to know it's gonna hit its neck and it stumbles, giving out a wail of pain. I throw another at its head and then it goes down.

I jump down the boulder I stand on and hear hushed whispers in the wind. I slide the daggers out of its neck and head, looking around as I tuck them into my belt and then look back down to my kill. Better get it down to the Hob before people start swarming the streets. I haul it over my shoulder and carry it to the fence, miraculously getting it over without hurting its body. Greasy Sae is very picky about her products. If the knife wounds I made are the least ragged, she offers an anchovy for it.

As I go to the Hob, I immediately go to Greasy Sae and we have bargain war. We go on like that for about twenty minutes until we decide on a couple chunks of paraffin. I trade a jar of honey for a needle and yarn. I also switch the squirrels for new metal working gloves for Tyson and some good bread. I trade two rabbits for salt and the bag of strawberries for some potatoes. I'm thinking about making rabbit stew for Tyson and mom after the reaping.

As I head home, I notice two familiar figures. Gale, who I saw earlier today, and a girl. She looks familiar. Her appearance rings a bell. I shrug it off, heading off home with the rabbit, needle and yarn, potatoes and gloves. I guess I did good today.

I walk home, avoiding other people's gazes and see my house in the distance.

I open the creaky old door and see mom up, wobbly walking over to Tyson's room.

"Hey mom," I say, smiling at her standing.

She's been pushing herself to stand. This is the third time this week that she stands. I could make a good guess as to why she's standing up today. It's the Reaping.

She turns to me, her pasty, red with fever-ed face smiles warmly at me.

"Percy! Oh good. I thought you'd be late," she says, stumbling over to me and catching herself on the old table that could barely hold our food.

I hold her up, smiling at her and kissing her forehead.

"Hi mom. I've got a rabbit and potatoes and some greens. Maybe we could make some rabbit stew," I suggest.

"Yeah, okay. Now get dressed!" She rushes, nodding and shooing me to my room. "I laid out your clothes on your bed. Go put them on and then I'll make supper when we get back home," she says. I know that deep down, she actually wants to say 'when we all get back home' but there's no guarantee that me or Tyson will get back. But it'll most likely be me to not come home. Tyson has two of his names out of thousands. How could he get picked?

"Alright," I mumble, letting go of her as she goes back to Tyson's room, obviously trying to help him with a rip in his shirt. "Oh mom," I say. I go back to the things I got and take out the needle and yarn. "Here," I say, handing it to her.

She smiles warmly at me. "Oh, thank you, Percy. Just what I needed."

Tyson comes into the room, a smile on his face as he sees me. "What'd you get me?" he asks.

I cross my arms, looking him up and down in his best attire. A faded, blue button-down shirt with the rip and khakis. His shoes are torn and riddled with holes, but still somehow held together.

"How do you know I got you something?" I ask, raising a brow.

His smile disappears. "Well, I didn't want to assume. If you didn't get me anything, I'm fine with it—" he begins.

I laugh, ruffling up his hair as I hand him metal-working gloves. He gasps, fawning over them.

"I'll use them right after the Reaping!" he says, smiling and bounding away with mom struggling to stay on his trail.

Even though we don't say it, I guess we all sort of came to an agreement to just say that we were all gonna get home. That we won't get called and that everything will be fine. And it's been working since I was twelve. What's gonna stop it from working now?

I go to my room and see a pretty decent quality button down shirt and pants. I wash myself with a bucket of water as best I can and put the clothes on. As I button down the shirt, I walk down the creaky stairs and look at the only mirror in the house, looking at my blue-green eyes and raven hair framing my olive-tanned face. Average, typical District 12 person has dark hair and steely gray eyes but I guess my dad must've had a recessive gene. Tyson, however, was born with gray eyes but has sandy brown hair.

"You look so much like your father," mom's voice says from behind me. I jump, startled but turn around. She chuckles, coming up to me and working on my collar. "Sorry about that. Just one more year Percy then you'll be rid of this," she says encouragingly.

"But what about Tyson?" I ask.

She bites her lip, going over to the chair and running a hand through her hair.

"I don't know. Endure it," she says.

I open my mouth to say something but shut it quickly. One thing I've learned is that trash talking the system only brings you trouble. I used to terrify mom when I was small because of some things I've said. Then after a couple months I took a hint and learned to keep my mouth shut and keep myself indifferent to things. Soon that act sort of became natural for me and then it became me. I just can't seem to stop now, only when I'm at home.

I sigh. It sucks.

Tyson comes into the room, the rip in his shirt barely noticeable now and mom claps her hands.

"Alright. Let's go," she says, straining to keep a smile but Tyson and I don't bother to make one. There is no reason to make one. Twenty-four kids are about to be sent to their deaths in an arena in which we have no idea of what could happen. Only the Capitol people would smile. I find it revolting that they do.

We sullenly walk to the square, the only place that is actually pretty pleasing on any other day but despite the bright banners and decorations, grim sadness floats through the air like a thick fog.

I reluctantly leave Tyson to go line up at the front while he's at the back. I look at the perimeter of family members and see my mom stand next to a family friend, gripping her hand tightly as she sees me. She gives a small, encouraging smile and I smile back, nodding a small reassurance.

I look back at the front and see a boy at the front, stare at me. Guess who that boy is. It's Gale Hawethorn. What's up with him today? He's been staring at me at the Hob a lot thinking I haven't noticed. I've gone there four years and we've been in the same school for life. What's up with the sudden interest? I ignore him as I look forward toward the stage, watching the clock, willing it to go faster so we could get this over with but I have no such affect.

Then after waiting fifteen minutes in agony, the clock strikes two and Mayor Undersee stands up at the stage, smiling down on us as we watch him blankly.

I zone out in the speech. I've heard it five times too many. It's always about North America and how Panem grew in the ashes of it. Then about the Dark Ages and about how the annual Hunger Games was born. I know the speech all too well.

Then he lists off District 12's victors. Out of all victors in Panem, there are exactly two in District 12 and only one lives. Haymitch Abernathy. I watch as he staggers onto the stage and the audience responds with a dull applaud as I clap my hands lightly, not even paying attention. All I can tell is that he's drunk…again.

And then he calls up Effie Trinket, the way too hyper and happy escort for District 12. She goes up to the stage, sporting pink hair and a spring-green suit. Her blazing white smile sends shivers down my back.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" she squeals into the microphone, her happiness a glowing aura around her, looking foreign in our dull, gray grimness.

She makes her own little cheery speech about being honored to be here and all that crap. As she still talks, it's finally times for the drawings.

"Ladies first!" she says as always. She walks over to the ball holding thousands of girls' names. Of thousands, only one gets picked. One girl to go into the Hunger Games an meet their inevitable death.

She lets her hand linger over the slips of names before digging in deep and grabbing one. She walks back to the microphone and opens up the slip, her grin pasted onto her face.

"Primrose Everdeen," she announces.

I think nothing of it, waiting for the girl to come up but what I don't expect is a little twelve year old girl, her eyes wide in terror as she walks up to the stage, her steps reluctant and she tucks in the back of her dress shirt.

I watch, my lips parted as the little girl walks down the aisle, her face pale and her fists held stiffly at her sides.

"Prim!" a strangled cry comes from the crowd of sixteen year olds. I look back, seeing the dark haired girl with Gale at the Hob burst out of the crowd. "Prim!" she cries again, her voice clearer.

She runs up to the little girl, reaching her while she makes the first step and grabbing her arm, pulling her behind her and standing in front of her protectively.

"I volunteer!" she says suddenly.

I stand there, shell shocked, all my muscles stiff. Did she just say…

"I volunteer as tribute," she announces.

The crowd goes silent and there's confusion arising in the stage. It's been a couple decades since someone has volunteered. If people are as good as dead when their names are called, the people that volunteer are serving themselves on a silver platter.

"Lovely!" says Effie. "But I believe there's a small matter of introducing Reaping winners and then asking for volunteers…"

"Oh, what does it matter?" the mayor says, a pained expression on his face. I think he knows the girl. "What does it matter? Let her come forward."

"No," the little girl, Prim, mutters. "No, no! Katniss, no! No! You can't go!" she screams hysterically.

"Prim, let go," Katniss says harshly. Her face is angled in a way that I can see it clearer. There's something familiar about it but I just can't put my finger on it.

"Let go!" she repeats. Gale comes up to them and actually pulls Prim off of Katniss as she thrashes in his arms.

"Up you go, Catnip," he says.

My heart seizes and my blood runs cold. The sudden memory of that girl I followed into the woods suddenly comes into my mind and Gale with that girl. "Hello Catnip…" was his usual greeting.

She's the one that saved my family…and I still owe her.

I stand there extremely shocked at what I just discovered and what just happened. I don't pay attention to anything. All I am aware of is Haymitch yelling at the camera. Even then I have no idea what he's saying.

Then Effie walks over to the boy's bowl and my brain starts to fight itself in my head. It's a decision between rationality and craziness. So far, the crazy idea is starting to sound less crazy by the second. Effie draws out a name and takes it up to the mic.

"Peeta Mellark," she says aloud.

Before I could register, words come out of my mouth and I raise my hand in the air, bursting out of the group of seventeen year olds and into the clear aisle.

I just realized that I just volunteered. By the look on Katniss' and everyone else's face, they're just as shocked as I am.

"I volunteer as tribute," I repeat, not bothering to look at the rest but Effie. I can't make eye contact with people when I've done something that I know they'll find me stupid for doing. But no matter how selfish it is…it's for personal purposes only.

"Oh well…" Effie says, seeming surprised at how productive this day is. "This sure is an exciting day, isn't it?" she says.

"Come on up, darling," she says.

I walk up to the stage, trying my best to keep my face indifferent. I hear a voice call my name and I look back.