Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. That'd be the epic Suzanne Collins.

I also do not own Victory Lux or Evan Palmer, the characters you are (hopefully) about to read about.

Great. Now that that's settled, let's get on with it.

Victory Lux's POV

Why can I win the Games?

Well, I think it'd be easier to ask the question why I can't win the Games. But I'll humor you.

First of all, look at my name. Victory. Not only am I named after my grandfather who won within the first three days the Games began, but do you understand how high peoples' expectations are for someone named Victory? Pretty friggin' high, if you're not smart enough to catch on.

Second of all, I may be a career—who isn't in District One these days?—but I'm different from all the others. And I'm fully aware that everyone must say that, that they're sooo unique and interesting, but it's actually true in my case. I actually have at least a fourth of a brain cell that I am totally capable of putting to good use, unlike those guys in the training centre that laugh and shoot spitballs every time someone comes in to teach us about edible plants or whatever. Those guys will die. I don't care how big and handsome they are. They're just walking corpses.

Lastly, I want it. I don't just want the riches and the house and the boys proposing to me. I want to win. Money is irrelevant. Marriage is extraneous. I'll win, and when I do, I'll come back home to see the surprised faces of everyone that has doubted me in the training centre. Of everyone that's suppressed their smirks while I swing a mace at a dummy's head, and has whispered to their friends, "Look at little Victory. She thinks she can win."

Damn straight I think I can win. I know I can.

After a few hours of parrying in the training centre the day of the reaping—excuse me, the day of my reaping—and listening to Zeus and Gleam's flirting, which has completely ruined the friendship we've had for over ten years, I run home right in time to find my mother cooking my favorite breakfast: bacon and eggs. This manages to cheer me up a bit.

"Vicky," my youngest brother Lethal says as I take a seat at the table beside him. His name isn't Lethal for nothing. He's only eleven, and yet I'm pretty sure that he can beat me in a sword fight. "Kat says you said you're volunteering this year."

Through a mouthful of bacon I go, "Yeah, well it isn't like I'll be able to volunteer next year. And I'm ready."

Kat, my fifteen-year-old sister, snorts at that. She stands in the doorway to the kitchen in just socks, shorts and a baggy shirt, scratching one of her ankles with the other. "You're about as ready for the Games as escorts are pessimistic."

I snort back with a quick roll of my eyes. "And I'm sure you're very prepared, Kat. You haven't even gotten over puberty yet."

Lethal and Leo, my other little brother, burst into giggles. Kat scowls at them. "I never said I was. But when I'm your age, I will be. I won't be some blonde-haired blue-eyed chick that would rather read books about knots than learn how to use a bow and arrow."

"I don't know the last time you looked in a mirror, sis, but you are blonde-haired and blue-eyed."

She opens her mouth to retort but my mother steps in at that point. "Enough. Eat. Then you'll go get ready."

We all obey. Kat comes to the table and sits with the rest of us without wiping the frown off her face, forking the bacon and eggs down her throat, and then stands up and races up the stairs to get ready. I'm wondering what her sudden rush is until I hear a door slam and the shower turn on. Cursing, I leave my food and dart after her, banging my fists against the bathroom door. No use. Clearly she isn't coming out until we have to leave.

That's just lovely. I'm going to smell like sweat for my big day.

In my room, I look at the dress my mother has laid out on my fluffy white comforter for me. It's dark blue to match my eyes with a tight bodice, which then poofs out slightly once past my waist, travelling down to inches above my knees. It's my favorite dress. And it's going to reek by the end of today.

I slip it on, zipping up the back with some difficulty but eventually succeeding, along with some flat silver shoes with a bow at the point where my toes are. Now, hair.

I'm unable to do a lot with my hair considering a certain idiot is currently hogging the shower, but I run a brush through it and put Kat's homemade curlers in. She must have forgotten them before running to the safety of the bathroom. Once again, idiot.

Then I rub a small amount of charcoal over my eyelids to bring out my eyes even more and put some shimmery stuff on my lips, completing the look with blush on the apples of my cheeks, and admire myself in the mirror. I look good; there really is no point in denying it. If I didn't have a terrible odor emitting from me then I could be perfect. And I kinda need to be perfect. This is my reaping. Not Kat's. She doesn't deserve to ruin it for me.

I think I apply half of my mother's perfume bottle by the time she and my father announce that we're all leaving and whoever isn't outside in the next few minutes will have to deal with the Peacekeepers. I dash down the stairs and out the door, the first outside. Lethal is next in his dress shirt and tie adorned with swords. Then Leo comes in almost the exact same outfit as Lethal. And finally Kat. Who is wearing—

My dress. She is wearing my dress. No, she's in this dress. An exact replica of my own.

I blink at her. Then again. And again, only hoping that I can blink away this sight. How is that my fifteen-year-old sister, who wouldn't know an edible plant if she ate one, can look better than me?

—

I volunteer. I don't even have to think twice about it. Some guy I think I've seen now and again at training volunteers as well, and I know that he's my future ally and everything, but I'll just deal with all that later when I have the effort and the time and nobody winces when I shake their hand because of the heavy amount of perfume I've layered on. Not only must I now prove myself to my peers, but also my family, who probably thinks that Kat has more potential to win the Games than me. But oh, we'll see about that, Kat. We'll see about that.

Since I'd rather not look at her face again I refuse visitors and sit down in the lavish, plush room I'm stuck in, picking at my cuticles and awaiting the Peacekeepers who will lead me off to the train, to the arena, and to my victory.

Evan Palmer's POV

The Treaty of Treason is quite possibly the stupidest speech I've ever heard annually. And, in District One, we sure get a lot of annual speeches.

But making everyone suffer through it every freaking year is just unnecessary. Do they think that people actually listen to it? I have the whole thing memorized by now so even if I wanted to listen intently like some of the twelve-year-olds up front, I wouldn't hafta. Out of the ashes rose Panem… yadda yadda yadda, blah blah blah.

But, then again, I guess that that's the point of it. To be memorized.

"Dude," one of my friends Matt whispers as the mayor, some pudgy short guy, talks about the districts, "I'm going to volunteer."

Funny kid, that Matt.

"Are you?" I say quietly back, trying not to draw any attention to us. "I don't know about that."

He nods his head vigorously. "Nope. I do know about it."

I force a smile. The corner of my mouth twitches. "Alrighty. You do that then."

The escort Reetley, in her usual Capitol get-up with bright pink hair, pale pink skin and a sparkly pink dress, literally skips to the big glass ball that holds all the girls names. She plunges her hand through the small slips of paper for a while before picking one out and clearing her throat dramatically, trying to build up the suspense. Honestly. I've been standing here listening to that fat mayor for who knows how long and she just wastes more of my time.

"Jaylene—"

"I volunteer as tribute!"

The entire crowd turns to look at the eighteens section where the crowd is parting to let a petite girl through. She's small, but her chin is high in the air, with her bright blonde hair flapping behind her like a cape and eyes as wide as freaking saucers. I can't settle on whether the eye thing is attractive or just… weird. All I know about her is that she's smarter than most of the other girls in the district.

"What's your name?" the escort asks, jumping around on the balls of her feet like she's never seen a volunteer before.

"Victory Lux," the girl replies firmly, not taking her narrowed eyes off the audience.

There's a long, awkward pause. But Reetley recovers quickly. "Let's find out your district partner, then!"

She does the same routine she did before—prance to the other side of the stage, ruffle through the slips of paper, clear her throat—and before she can even read the name I yell out, "I volunteer as tribute!" at the exact same time as Matt. Dammit. I thought I'd beat him to it.

I feel all my other friends' eyes burning into my back as I stick out my leg and trip Matt. I'm all for friendship, but we'd discussed who was going to volunteer this year at the training centre. And you know who we all decided on? Me. It's embarrassing if, after I've volunteered, somebody beats me to it.

And maybe Matt is just as humiliated as I would be if I were the one sprawled out on the hard cement ground, but once I come back I'll make it up him and buy him a diamond-studded watch or something. Yeah. There we go.

I shake hands with the girl Victory and she tilts her head and gives me half a glower and half a smile, like she can't decide about if she wants to come across as friendly or menacing or somewhere in between. I just grimace back.

Once in the waiting room, my parents rush in. My mother embraces me while my father stands back a little hesitantly. He used to be a sword trainer for the tributes of the Games until he met my mother, who is a victor of the Games, and then, well, yeah.

"I'm sorry we made you this way," is the only thing my mom tells me as she holds me out at arms-length, and I'm about to ask her what she means by that when my dad pushes her out of the way and hugs me himself, slapping my back and telling me that I can do it, I can win it, and there's no other way to see it. He's always pretty optimistic about a lot, despite how he trained kids how to use a sword before they all walked away to their death.

I manage to murmur an agreement before the Peacekeepers inform them that their time is up. More hugs are exchanged. I think my mother might be crying, but I can't really be sure because, although the room is bright with gems and beautiful furniture, the lighting is faintly dimmed.

The doors shut with a click behind them and it feels like there's a sense of finality within that click. Like that may be the last time I see my parents, and that's that, nothing can be done to change it. But, no. It isn't the last time I'll see them, so I shake myself mentally before my crowd of friends barge into the room, nearly running over the two Peacekeepers who're guarding the doors.

There's Darian, David, Riley and Matt. Everyone besides Matt is speaking at once and I can't understand crap, but when he clears his throat like the escort did everyone shuts up to look at him, wondering what his reaction to my tripping him will be. I only cross my arms over my chest and wait.

"Good move," he finally tells me. "But you better come back or I'll bother you the rest of your life about how all that effort went to nothing."

I laugh, a little relief leaking out that everything between everyone and me is all right, and give him a man-hug, along with the rest of the guys who all wish me good luck, just about stampeding over the Peacekeepers who come up from behind them to guide them out again. Once everyone has left the room I allow myself to collapse onto a fluffy red couch horizontally, staring up at the high white ceiling with the tiny bumps on it. The Games. I'm in the Games. There's no turning around, no backing down—in a matter of days I'll be in that arena killing people.

And that's that.

A/N: Couldn't resist that little victory/Victory pun at the end of her POV. Sorry. xD

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