A/N: Hey, Sarah and Vivian here! Hope you enjoyed the last chapter, because here's the next one! (I will be switching POV's from Percy, Annabeth, and Katniss—maybe Peeta.) Thank you guys so much for our reviews! Keep it up, we love you! Disclaimer: I do NOT own Percy Jackson and the Olympians or the Hunger Games. All rights go to Rick Riordan and Suzanne Collins!

Annabeth~ I Meet the Purple-Haired Porcupine Vampire

I thought I was prepared for just about everything in the future-except, it turned out, a man with glittery purple hair and bejeweled eyebrows.
So the next time I regained my consciousness, I was lying in a dimly lit room on a cold mattress.

Looking out of a window, I could see that it was either dawn or dusk because the sky was tinged with a beautiful mixture of purple and orange and pink. I waited a few minutes and pondered my predicament.

So obviously, Apollo had sent Percy and I into the future for one main reason: rebel against an evilly corrupt government and bring it down. It wasn't easy, but it was-for the most part-simple. Daughters of wisdom could overcome any measure of difficulty in a task as long as we knew how to do it. Knowledge is power, right?
I thought I had a general picture of what we were up against: a cunning tyrant with a huge army and a large number of supporters. There would be a war, a very bloody war, similar to the American and French Revolutions. History has an uncanny habit of repeating itself, and I was going over tactics of how Percy and I could fuel a rebellion using ideas from the past when a sudden realization hit me.
Where was PERCY?
"Oh, no, no," I muttered to myself as I frantically scrambled out of bed, "Not this again."
I dashed out of my temporary room and into an adjacent one right next door. This seemed to be a kitchen and a dining room combined, but everything looked so dreary. The curtains were a dull gray color, and so was the rug on the kitchen floor. The cupboards were made out of a faded wood material. Everything in the room had a depressing feel to it, sad, even.
To my right was a doorway leading to another room, and I was going to explore it when I heard an odd sound outside. It sounded like... marching? The sound of heavy boots slamming onto asphalt, marching to who-knows-where. The sound of an army. I bit my lip and made a snap decision—

Let's go find out where they're headed. I thought as I stealthily slipped out into the cold.
I wished I had brought a jacket or a sweater because the only thing I was wearing was my camp T-shirt and a pair of worn down jeans. The weather outside was foggy and overcast, so I could hardly see ten feet in front of me. Now would so not be a good time to walk headfirst into a tree. That would be very heroic of me. That was something Seaweed Brain would do, not me.
I grew nearer to the marching as I hurried along by picking up my pace, sprinting a little. I thought I heard someone shouting orders in the distance, too. I debated whether I should put on my invisibility hat before the marchers saw me, but I then realized that I didn't even have it with me. That was weird. I knew I had strung my hat through the belt loops of my jeans when was getting ready just this morning. I remembered strapping my knife to my arm like I always did-thank the gods it was still there-, then packing my hat and an emergency bag of ambrosia in my pocket. It might have fallen off when I rode Blackjack with Percy, but I doubted it. I was sure one of us would've noticed it, and plus, I had complete faith in Velcro straps anyways.

There was no way my hat could've come loose from my jeans, even when the pegasus was doing so many loop-de-loops that it made me want to hurl, as in barf. Or hurl, as in throw, something at Percy. Like a rock.
Gods, I thought as I scrambled along the worn road, following the marching sound, I hope Mom doesn't assume I've become an Angels' fan now.
But that would be impossible. Athena never, ever assumes anything. It's a dangerous thing to do.
Finally, I caught up and the fog thinned out enough so that I could see a very confusing scene right ahead of me. I was right about the army, but when I said "army", I was picturing a legion of full grown men-tall, buff, imposing. What I didn't expect to see was an extremely large group of children marching in perfect, orderly rows, each wearing an olive green military jacket with words embroidered on the back that read "PEACEKEEPER TRAINEE". They also all wore solid black boots that made a heavy THUD each time they took a step, even the smaller children. Some looked years younger than I was, maybe eleven or twelve. What was going on?
I realized that if I ever wanted to find out, I would have to watch and wait.
So I tagged along quietly behind the "Peacekeeper Trainees", and after several more minutes, we reached our destination. It was some sort of town square, like the kind in the old-fashioned days. There were many adults milling around the area, and I realized that they were the parents of the group of marching children.
There was a big, fancy stage that was set up in the middle of the square. The stage was bright and colorful and held the first technology I had seen since I got here-a movie theater sized television screen on either side. In the center was a raised podium behind two huge glass balls, which held little scraps of paper. It reminded me of a lottery, but I couldn't tell if this was the good or bad kind. By the excited whispers of the children in front of me, the event seemed like something they had been waiting for a long time to come. Reaping ball, I remembered Apollo saying. He must have entered Percy and I into the drawing-for what, though, I had no idea.
"Hey," I overheard a girl whisper to another boy, "I heard Cato is volunteering as a tribute this year. Is that true?"
The boy nodded, grinning, though to me it looked more like a sneer. It was a facial expression that belonged mostly to Ares, the war god, more than anyone else.
Just then, a ridiculously high-pitched voice rang out at the front of the stadium. "Ladies on the right!" it said, "Gentlemen on the left! Quickly, now!" I craned my head above the crowd of kids to see who was speaking, and she-sorry, HE-caught me by absolute surprise.
If he hadn't been so tall, I would never have been able to spot him over the kids.

He was at least six-and-a-half feet tall, maybe even more, and very lanky. His skin was as pale as ivory, so I kind of expected him to start sprouting fangs or flash blood-red eyes at the audience any minute.
But the thing that about him that startled me the most was his hair. I mean, this guy had super spiky purple hair that stuck out in all directions, like he had a rabid porcupine attached to the top of his head. And, maybe I was imagining things, but it seemed to me that his hair had a weird kind of sparkle to it, as if someone had taken a glitter gun and sprayed it all over the porcupine, THEN plopped it on the poor guy's head. He almost reminded me of a purple Sonic the Hedgehog. I didn't keep up with fashion trends of the present, but I had a feeling this was one very drastic change. And, seriously, who in the world ever wore shimmery white bell-bottom pants with a black velvet vest and loafers? Except Apollo. Talk about scandalous.
None of the children at the square seemed to be paying any attention to him, though, so I decided it was time to find some answers.
"Excuse me," I asked politely as I could, tapping on the shoulder of a girl in front of me, "But what is this assembly all about? What's going on?"
She turned around and looked at me like I was some kind of slimy dead fish that had just fallen out of the sky and landed on her military boots, covering them with slime. A mixture of emotions crossed her face in a second: anger, confusion, disdain. Her dark eyes bore through mine, but I'd fought Medusa, a drakon the size of three school buses, and a psychopath of a Sphinx before.

This girl didn't scare me, she just irritated me. "Where have YOU been living, the moon?" she asked me scathingly. "These are the reapings for the Hunger Games, of course! Get your days straight, girl! And, why aren't you wearing your uniform?" the girl demanded.
"I'm, um, not from around here," I replied carefully, constructing a lie, "I just moved, but I might have lost track of the time when I was traveling."
"What district are you from? No, never mind, it doesn't matter right now; you're making us look bad! Oh, just come here!" she rudely shoved me in front of her to block me from view as music started to play from invisible speakers and a seal lit up the television screens. An informative video began playing, and it was all about how, nearly a century ago, one of the districts-they're sort of like states-of Panem rebelled against the Capitol. (Which was basically, well, the capitol of the country.) The video went on to say that the rebellion of District 13 lead to a long and hard war, fought over almost two decades, but eventually the district was destroyed, turned into nothing more than rubble. Since then, the remaining twelve districts would send one boy and one girl tribute from the ages of twelve to eighteen to the Capitol every year.
"These twenty-four male and female tributes," the woman narrator went on in a horribly casual tone, "Would fight in an arena to the death, a televised event solely for the entertainment of the Capitol citizens. Only a single child will make it out alive, and the victor will be the last one standing. This was, and IS the districts' punishment for declaring war and creating bloodshed on our country of Panem. And now, let the reapings begin." The music-I guessed that it was the national anthem-played again and the crowd cheered. On the other hand, I felt like I was going to be sick.
So this, I thought weakly, was the horrors Apollo had been warning us. This government was evil enough to gain entertainment from fights to the death. It's a wonder how no one has at least tried to rebel again.

The situation was even worse. I had seen shots of previous Games in the video clip, and there were things there that no single mortal could do. I saw fireballs shooting from the sky at a target tribute, a dam breaking and flooding a whole arena, thunderstorms and cyclones, and more flames. To say the famous "This is bad" statement from my Seaweed Brain would be a total understatement this time.
My thoughts were interrupted as the Mr. Purple Glittery Sonic Porcupine Vampire Man (who shall be henceforth known as "Mr. Purple") stepped out from behind his podium and spoke into the microphone, his high-pitched voice amplified a hundred times.

"Let's start with the gentleman, shall we?" he asked us giddily, which only I took as a major insult. Plus, I could almost imagine Terminus strangling him with invisible hands and yelling, "Where are your manners? Ladies go first, son! Someone get me the manual so I can have this fool sit here and read it the rest of the day! Yes, I mean it, and I mean it NOW!"
Mr. Purple reached into the large glass ball on the left of his podium and rifled through the strips of paper inside. His bony hand picked one out delicately on the top of the pile, and he opened it up and said, "Ladies and gentleman, the male tribute from District Two of the seventy-fourth Hunger Games will be Triston Gaites!"
A scrawny looking boy from the male section of the audience confidently sauntered up to the stage and took his place next to Mr. Purple. A few people even congratulated him, even though he looked only fourteen or fifteen. He had NADA fear in his eyes, and I wondered how that was even possible. Hello, you might be dead in three weeks!
"Ladies next!" Mr. Purple continued enthusiastically. Again, he reached into the glass ball on the right this time and shuffled the papers around a little, obviously enjoying all of the suspense he was creating. His hand picked a slip of paper out at random from the middle of the bunch and he pulled it out. It took him about a million years to unfold the paper, that drama queen. Finally, the Drama King took a deep breath and read, "Ladies and gentlemen, the female tribute from District Two of the seventy-fourth Hunger Games will be..."
That paused stretched on for a millennium. Time seemed to slow down, as if Kronos was messing with things again.
"Annabeth Chase."

I walked up to the stage like I was in a dream. I remember the other kids staring at me confusedly, some whispering and pointing.
"Who is she?"
"It's like she came out of nowhere..."
"I've never seen her here before-"
"Why isn't she wearing her UNIFORM?"
I held my head high. That was all I could've done as I silently climbed the steps on the side of the stage and stood on the other side of Mr. Purple. Some ADHD part of me noticed that there were small purple jewels tracing the tops of his eyebrows, sparkling in the morning sun. I was still in a daze when he asked, "Now, are there any volunteers?"
I didn't get what he was saying, but the question was apparently directed at the kids in the audience. But why would any idiot want to volunteer for a fight to the death? That was pretty much suicide.
Just then, a monstrous boy with blonde hair pushed his way through the crowd and clambered up onstage. He looked to be about eighteen, the oldest you could be to participate in the Hunger Games. "I do," he said in a booming voice, so loud that he didn't need to use the mic, "I volunteer as tribute!"
Mr. Purple looked delighted, pleased. For him, this was nothing but a very interesting dramatic episode. "And what would your name be, son?" he asked the blonde boy.
"Cato," the boy replied with a snarky smile on his face. "Cato Leerman."
"Well, Cato, it is a pleasure to meet you. Tristan, will you choose to step down?" the announcer beamed at the scrawny boy. Tristan nodded and smirked, heading back down the steps and disappearing into the audience. The blonde boy, Cato, sneered at me, like Oh boy, more people to kill! I glared at him and held my gaze. Like I said before, I don't scare easily.
"Any other volunteers?" Mr. Purple asked the crowd, "This is your last chance!"
"I volunteer! I, Clove Jaelyn, volunteer as tribute!" a voice yelled. The girl that had snapped at me earlier ascended the steps to the stage, pushed me aside, and stood next to Cato. She was older than me, probably as old as Cato.
Mr. Purple looked pleased. "Wonderful!" he exclaimed, "Annabeth Chase, will you step down?"
Part of me wanted to be relieved that Clove had taken my place. I didn't even want to go NEAR the arena of the Hunger Games. I didn't want to battle against twenty-three other tributes for a stupid "crown" or eternal glory. Percy had taught me a long time ago that too much pride could be dangerous, even fatal.
But on the other hand, I couldn't step down, couldn't hand over a my spot for some stuck-up girl of the future. Apollo had gotten me this far. I've just entered your names into the reaping ball, he had said. Apollo clearly intended for me to compete in the Hunger Games. Otherwise, why would he bother entering my name into the deadly drawing? I knew this was what he wanted me to do, and I wasn't going to be the one that messed up his plans. Maybe Seaweed Brain, but not me.
Oh, Percy? I thought helplessly, Where ARE you?
But in the meantime, I answered Mr. Purple's question with a calm and simple, "No."
Clove looked momentarily stunned. "Huh?" she asked intelligently to no one in particular.
"I said, 'No.' I refuse to step down," I told her.
Mr. Purple was clearly baffled, but he pasted a smile on his face nevertheless. "Well, then, it looks like Annabeth Chase will stay and play as a tribute. Clove Jaelyn, you may return to your place with the rest of the children." He was almost jumping with joy from all the drama, I noticed.
Clove gave me the REALLY evil eye and stared daggers. "Why, you little brat!" she screamed. And then she charged at me, only a dozen feet away.
Instincts took over me immediately. Quick as lightning, I drew my Celestrial bronze knife from my arm and threw it-at the ground. The blade impaled itself into the wooden stage with a sharp twanging sound, quivering a little. It was less than a millimeter from Clove's feet, and my message was clear: Stay back, or else.
Everyone was dead silent.
Clove's pale face had turned a dark shade of red. Determined not to embarrass herself anymore, she stormed off the stage, flipping her long dark hair over her shoulder.
Mr. Purple was the first to recover from his shock. "Well, ladies and gentlemen of District 2," he said brightly, "Here are your final two tributes of this year's Hunger Games: Cato Leerman and Annabeth Chase!"

Katniss~
Things would have been bad enough without a sort-of handsome son of a baker tagging along with me. I didn't remember much, but everything had happened way too fast for me to process.
I had gone to Peeta Mellark's shop earlier this morning to trade some squirrels for bread. I knocked and waited at the back door, agitatedly waiting for someone to arrive. Mother would freak if she found out I had been gone for so long.
Finally, the door opened. I had expected the kindly baker to greet me, but it turned out to be his son, Peeta, instead. His blue eyes found mine for a moment then, flitted away. "Hi, Katniss," he mumbled, avoiding my gaze.
"Hey."
"Did you come to see my father? He's busy in the shop right now, but I'm sure he'll spare you some time."
"Uh, yeah," I said awkwardly, "Thanks."
If you haven't noticed already, Peeta and I have a history.
I was so distracted though, that I tripped over the steps as I followed Peeta inside. He steadied me with a hand on my shoulder. "Careful," he said gently.
And then the world spun dizzyingly around us, and I blacked out.

The next time I woke up, I was lying in a lush, green forrest. I didn't mind it at all, but I tried to figure out what had happened. Did Peeta somehow knock me out kidnap me into the woods? That didn't really sound like something he would do, though...
Then I caught sight of him lying twenty feet to my left, unconscious. I rushed over to his side and checked his pulse, putting my ear to his muscular chest. Thank the gods, Peeta was breathing, alive. I had no idea what I would do if he wasn't.
Suddenly, a blinding white light flashed before my eyes, so bright I had to look away. It was just floating right there, a miniature sun. It darted back and forth, and after a few minutes, I realized that we had to follow it.
"Peeta," I whispered, "Come on. Wake up." Naturally, he didn't. My life tries its best to make me suffer.
Without a warning, the light drifted over to Peeta-and floated right through him. I stifled a scream, but right then, Peeta gasped and open his sky blue eyes.

"What...?" he asked, bewildered.
I hauled held out a hand and hauled him up quickly because the light was already floating away.

"No time!" I said, "I'll explain later! Follow that light!"

We raced after it, dodging trees and the occasional bird. We reached the edge of the forest and before me I saw a something that only existed in the past. I think the term was... a summer camp.
The bright light was completely gone. A man on a horse was galloping towards me, but it seemed like he was actually PART of the horse. From waist up, he was human with a bow slung across his shoulder, but from waist down, he was a pure white stallion, four legs and all. Running along side him was a frizzy red-haired girl, huffing to keep up with the man-horse. They approached us grimly, and I was still trying to get over my shock. I had a feeling Peeta was, too.
The two stopped right in front of us and surveyed us warily. Then, the man-horse turned to the girl and said, "So, Apollo really has done it. Rachel, is this really her?"
The red-haired girl nodded, "Yes, Chiron. This is Katniss Everdeen, seventh member of the Second Great Prophecy, daughter of none, and future savior of modern civilization."
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