Where Men Believe it Resides

"Power resides where men believe it resides. No more and no less."

Lincoln Tantalum, 12
District Three

It doesn't make sense. Any of it. I've been trying to make sense of it ever since the announcement, but none of the pieces seem to go together.

The Capitol wants to punish us for the rebellion. Okay, I can understand that. They won, and now they feel there has to be some sort of retribution. But wouldn't it make more sense, then, to choose soldiers for their Games? People who actually had some part in the rebellion? Why choose children?

Unless it's simply to scare us. To frighten us away from the idea of ever rebelling again. But then why dress it up like a game? Why not simply choose a few children and have them executed? Why pretend it's something we should enjoy?

Unless they think the people in the Capitol will enjoy it. And maybe some of them will – the ones who lost someone in the rebellion, who have a reason to be angry at the districts. But surely most of them will realize that the tributes are just children, and probably had nothing to do with the war at all. Even if they're careful to choose children whose parents were rebels, it wouldn't be their fault.

If they choose children whose parents were rebels. Maybe it's a cruel thing to hope for, but it would make sense. And it would mean that I'm safe.

That was the whole reason, after all, behind my parents' cooperation with the Capitol: to keep my sister and me safe. Near the start of the rebellion, emissaries from the Capitol came to recruit some of the district's leading scientists. Biologists, geneticists, experts in any field – but especially those related to animals.

A few refused, including one of my father's coworkers. But the Capitol quickly took care of them. They weren't executed – at least, as far as I know. Executions might be common in other districts, but not in Three. Here, people just … disappear. One day, they're here, living their lives, going to work, meeting their friends for dinner. And the next, they're gone, and everyone knows better than to ask why or where they've gone.

Maybe they're dead. Maybe they were turned into avoxes for the Capitol. Or maybe they're imprisoned somewhere, in some dungeon or prison, subjected to whatever punishment – whatever torture – their captors might think up.

Not knowing is definitely scarier.

But my parents – they went along with the Capitol's demands. And, as the war dragged on and we heard stories of attacks by mutts in the outer districts, I knew. They tried to protect me, to turn off the screen whenever news about mutts surfaced, but I knew. Those mutts – those monsters – were my parents' handiwork.

And maybe that's a terrible price to pay for safety. But if they hadn't cooperated, the Capitol would have found someone else. Someone who was willing. Someone who had even more to lose. There will always be people willing to do their dirty work.

Like the man onstage now, grinning, his short black-and-yellow hair matching his bright yellow shirt and black-and-yellow striped pants. A man who introduces himself as Leopold Royalle. He seems to be enjoying this, but is it an act? Surely he can't be happy that he's about to call two children to their deaths.

A hush falls over the crowd as Leopold reaches into one of the bowls onstage. Smiling – almost laughing – he draws a slip of paper from the bowl and unfolds it. "Carina Ellison!" he calls.

Most of the girls around me relax a little as one and then another realizes they're safe. Then there's movement off to my right, and an older girl steps out of the crowd. Seventeen or eighteen, maybe – very tall but also rather thin. I can't see her very well until she's onstage, but she seems like a good choice.

There's no such thing as a good choice, of course. Not for a fight to the death. But if it has to be someone, well, isn't it better for it to be someone older? Someone who can hold her head up high without a hint of tears in her eyes? Someone who actually looks like she might have a chance…

"Lincoln Tantalum!"

I can't help jumping a little as Leopold's voice startles me out of my thoughts. How did he know that's my name? How could he tell that I wasn't paying attention? How…

Then I glance up, and I see the piece of paper in his hands. The slip that holds my name. Everything starts to fall into place. He picked me. He actually picked me.

I should move. I should start walking. I should do something. But I can't – not until I see the Peacekeepers headed towards me. Slowly, my feet begin to move, but it still doesn't seem real. I'm shaking as the Peacekeepers reach me. One of them takes my arm and gives a tug. I start walking a little faster. Struggling to keep up.

Up the steps. Three, four, five steps up to the stage. There are tears in my eyes as Leopold motions me over, smiling broadly, as if for some reason he thinks I'm as good a choice as the girl.

But I'm not. I can't do this. Why don't they realize that? Leopold says something – something about shaking. I'm shaking. Carina apparently heard what he said, though, because she reaches out, takes my hand, and shakes it firmly before turning her icy stare back towards the audience.

Then it's over. The cameras switch off, and the crowd starts to leave. Carina and I are herded towards the Justice Building. My legs move, but it's as if I'm sleepwalking. Or as if I just woke up from a dream, and I'm still trying to piece together what was real and what was a dream.

But it's not a dream. Tears finally start to spill down my cheeks as the door shuts behind me and Carina. They chose me for their Games. Of all the children they could pick, they chose me. What did I do wrong?

Carina Ellison, 18
District Three

They're still acting – my father, my mother, my siblings. Still playing the happy family. The dutiful family. The family that wasn't torn apart by the war, the family that isn't missing a member because…

No. No, that won't help. There's nothing I can do about that. Not right now. The rest of my family simply pretends Isadore doesn't exist – maybe that she never existed at all. I can't do that, but I also can't afford to worry about her right now. Right now, I have to worry about myself.

No one else is going to, that's for sure. My father is sitting next to me, but he might as well be a world away, and the same goes for most of them. They're more concerned with protecting the family image than their actual family members. If I die, I'll be written off as a shame to the family – just like Isadore. And if I live…

If I live, maybe I can make it right. My sister, our family, the rift that was created when she was taken away. Maybe I can fix it.

Not that it's my mess to fix. None of this was my fault – or hers, for that matter. When the war broke out, our parents were quick to back the Capitol. My father's an expert businessman, a master at choosing the right side. He chose early and decisively, opening our house to both Peacekeepers and Capitol soldiers – those who had been injured in the fighting and those who simply needed a place to stay.

They always made me a bit nervous, to be honest, but we all went along with it. It seemed like a simple way to stay in the Capitol's good graces, and, for the most part, they weren't causing any trouble. They weren't hurting anyone.

Until one of the Peacekeepers starting coming on to Isadore. Subtly, at first, but then more forcefully. When he started getting a bit too physical, she fought back. He hadn't been expecting her to resist, and she quickly got the upper hand, managing to get a few blows in before his fellow Peacekeepers pried her off of him.

Father insisted she made a mistake. That she must have done something to encourage him, to provoke him. But we all know better. Her only mistake was assuming she could fight back and escape unpunished. A mistake any of us could have made.

A mistake I might have made in her place.

It was only because of my father's position that she wasn't executed on the spot. Instead, she was sent to an institution, declared insane and hidden away from the rest of the district. I used to visit, but, as the months wore on, the idea that she was crazy seemed to have taken root somewhere inside her mind. Maybe spending so much time with people who are crazy starts to have an effect, because, little by little, she's drifted farther and farther away from us.

The rest of them ignore her. They pretend. They still give off the image of a happy family. A whole family. They'll do the same if I die – go on as if I never existed, pretend that I did something to deserve this.

Maybe I did. It wasn't an accident, after all, that they chose me. After Isadore was locked up, my friends and I became much more sympathetic to the rebels. We did whatever we could to hinder the Capitol's efforts – setting fires, distracting the Peacekeepers. Maybe it wasn't much, but it was enough. Enough for them to label us as rebels. Enough for me to be reaped.

It isn't long before my family leaves. Maybe they realize it, too. The Capitol doesn't choose anyone by accident. They do everything for a reason – and those reasons are never good.

The boy's family certainly realizes it. My own family left of their own accord, but his lingers until the Peacekeepers come for them. His mother, father, and a younger girl who can't be more than five or six – all of them crying.

And maybe I shouldn't be jealous. We're in the same position, after all. And, all else being even, I have a much better chance than he does. He's barely five feet tall and rail thin, and his eyes are already red with crying. He doesn't stand a chance, and they all seem to know it.

But there's a part of me that can't help but envy their honesty. They're not hiding their feelings. They're not pretending to be happy. Because there's no reason for them to be happy. They have no image to protect. The two of us are about to be competitors in a fight to the death. It's frightening. It's horrible. It's terribly unfair. And the fact that they realize that, that they don't mind acknowledging it and expressing their dissent – even in as small a way as crying over a child who's going to die – it's oddly refreshing.

They won't forget him. If he dies – no, when he dies – his parents won't shrug it off and pretend he never existed. They won't come up with some story about how he deserved exactly what happened to him. They won't go on with their lives as if their son didn't die a horrible death at the Capitol's hands.

Finally, the Peacekeepers drag them away. They're still shouting to him as the door closes behind him – shouting that they love him, that they'll always love him. And he's at the door, shouting, crying, promising that he'll do his best to come home.

But he won't. He can't. Because I have to. And if I'm going to come home, then that means he has to die. The little boy who's now crumpled in a heap by the door, weeping, begging for another moment or two with his family, has to die. Maybe I'll even have to kill him.

The thought makes my stomach turn – not just because it would mean his death, but because it would mean giving the Capitol what they want. They want us to turn on each other. They want us to kill each other, to feel like we have no other choice.

But the truth is we don't have any other choice. We have two choices now – all of us. Kill or be killed. Fight or die. And I don't intend to die.

Aubrey Ryans, 17
District Ten

"At least they can't kill all of us," I point out as my friend Hannah and I slowly make our way towards the crowd that's gathering in the square. "Two children from every district. Probably ones with rebel connections, but, still – they can't kill all of us."

Hannah shakes her head. "Of course they can't. That's the point. They can't kill all of us, so they're hoping that killing a few of us at random will do the trick. That the rest of us will be scared back in line by the thought that next year it could be us – any of us. Or maybe they're hoping that we'll start to cooperate because we know rebels are more likely to be picked."

"If rebels are more likely to be picked," I remind her. We can't say that for sure yet – not really. It's just a rumor. An assumption that the Capitol would want to target those who were more involved in the rebellion.

Which would be bad news, of course – for both me and Hannah. My family was killed by the Capitol's bombs, her family by a pack of wolf-like mutts that were set loose on the edge of the district. We met when we both joined up with the rebels, looking for … what? Revenge? Purpose? Something that would fill the gap that was left when our families were stolen from us?

The rebels became our new family. A family we would kill for. A family we would die for, if need be. Both of us were lucky enough to escape the last wave of fighting alive, but there were others who weren't so lucky. Other friends who fell victim to the Capitol's thirst for blood, others who died in the name of freedom.

And there are times when I wish I was one of them. It would certainly be easier. Easier than trying to figure out how to get by now that my friends are gone, to figure out what to do now that the war is over, now that there are no more battles, no more armies, no more soldiers. Hannah and I both went to work in the slaughterhouse, both tried to go back to a normal life. But how do you go back to simply living from day to day, trying to earn enough to stay alive? How do you go back to that once you've seen people come together to fight for something more?

Quietly, Hannah and I join the other teenagers in a roped-off area in front of the stage. The crowd quiets as a woman takes her place by the microphone. Her icy blue hair marks her as a Capitolite, but, aside from that, she doesn't look so different. And she certainly doesn't look happy to be here. But someone has to be here. Someone has to choose two innocent children to fight in their stupid death match.

Just as long as it's not me or Hannah. I may not like what life has become here in Ten, and I may sometimes think everything would have been simpler if I'd died along with so many of my fellow soldiers. But I have no desire to be part of their Games. I'd happily kill twenty-three Capitol soldiers, but other children – other rebels?

"I'm Athena Lancaster," the blue-haired woman announces, "and I have the honor of choosing District Ten's tributes for this year's Games."

This year's Games. They're already assuming that the Games will be a hit. That we'll be standing here, doing this same thing, next year. And the year after. And the next. And the next. For how long? How long before the districts decide they won't stand any more? It's only a matter of time before we rise up again, stronger than before. The Capitol can't keep us in check forever. They can kill us, but they can't kill what we stand for.

Athena waits until the crowd settles down a little, then reaches into the first bowl and draws a single slip of paper. "Aubrey Ryans."

Of course. Of course it would be me. I can feel Hannah's hand on my shoulder as I grit my teeth and take a step forwards. Fine. Maybe I should have expected it. Maybe part of me did expect it. I clench my fists as I keep walking towards the stage. One step, and then another. Soon, I'm standing beside Athena, and it's all I can do to keep from punching her in her smug Capitolite face.

Maybe I should. It's not like they can make things any worse for me. I've already been chosen for a fight to the death. What more can they do to me?

But something stops me. Maybe it's the look on Hannah's face as I glance back out at the audience. The Peacekeepers know she's my friend. If I did anything stupid, anything rash, there's no telling what they might do to her.

But there's something else. Something in her eyes. As if she's waiting – already waiting for me to come back. And if I'm going to have any chance of doing that, then I can't afford to start punching Capitolites – no matter how tempting it might be.

So I do nothing as Athena makes her way to the second bowl, then reaches in and draws another name. "Colton Hawkins!"

Hawkins. It's not a name I know. Nor does the boy look familiar as the crowd parts around him. For a moment, he glances around, eyes wide. Then he takes off – but not away from the Peacekeepers. Instead, he runs straight for the stage, nearly tripping over himself as he darts up the stairs, taking his place beside me. He's taller than me by at least half a foot. Somewhere around my age, probably – or near enough.

But as Athena tells us to shake hands, there's a strange look in his eyes – a look that's almost one of panic. He doesn't want to be here any more than I do. He doesn't want to kill, and he certainly doesn't want to die. He just wants to go back to his life.

And, as I take his hand, I can't shake the thought that maybe he has a life to go back to. Maybe he has a family – one that's still alive. Maybe he has people who care about him, people who would miss him if he was gone.

How can I kill him? How can I kill any of them? These children who never did anything to me, who are only here because the Capitol chose them, too? How can they expect any of us to kill each other? Have they considered the possibility – a possibility that seems very real now – that we simply won't? What would they do, I wonder, if we simply refuse to fight each other?

Colton releases my hand. Is he thinking the same thing? Is he wondering if he would have what it takes to kill me? To kill any of the others? What if none of us have what it takes? What if none of us want to play their Games?

Colt Hawkins, 17
District Ten

It isn't until we're alone in the Justice Building that it finally sinks in. The Games. The Hunger Games. I'm gong to be in the Hunger Games. They chose me for a fight to the death. Me.

Why would they pick me? They never announced outright that they would be targeting rebels, but there was a sort of unspoken assumption that the Capitol would want to eliminate anyone they still considered a threat. Which definitely isn't us. We don't like the Capitol any more than anyone else, but we're not a threat. I'm not a threat. Out of everyone they could have picked, why would they pick me?

Why? Why? It's not until Aunt Dixie grabs my shoulders that I realize I've been frantically pacing the room. Where did she come from? I didn't even hear her come in. What—

Ouch. A slap across the face brings my attention back to her. "Colt! Calm down. What's something you can see?"

What's something I can see? The question is familiar. "Your face." I can see her face. What's something I can hear? I can hear my own breathing – fast and ragged. Okay. Okay. What's something I can smell? Aunt Dixie. She smells like … well, like Aunt Dixie. What's something I can feel? My face. It still stings. Now what's the last one?

Something I can taste. But there's nothing – nothing except for the familiar taste of fear. Aunt Dixie squeezes my shoulders again. "Better?"

Better. There is no 'better' now. But I nod and sit down with the rest of my family. My parents, my two sisters, my aunt. "Promise me you won't do that in the Games," Aunt Dixie insists. "Promise me you won't panic."

As if it's that easy. As if it's something I can control. But I nod, anyway. I'll do my best, of course. I'll have to. Aunt Dixie shakes her head. "Promise me, Colt. I've already lost Russell and Robin. I can't lose you, too. Promise me you'll come back."

For a moment, the words stick in my throat. How can I promise that? With twenty-four of us going into the Games, and only one coming out, how can I possibly promise that it will be me?

But how can I not? How can I sit here and tell her that I don't have a chance? She's already lost so much. "I promise," I whisper. Then, louder, "I promise. I'll come back."

That seems to satisfy my family, and, when the Peacekeepers come to fetch them, they don't fight. They simply leave, along with a girl who came to say goodbye to Aubrey. "Was that your sister?" I ask without thinking.

Aubrey shakes her head. "My friend Hannah. My family … they didn't make it."

I nod. What am I supposed to say to that? I'm sorry, I suppose, but, after a year of picking up the pieces after the war, those words seem to have lost their meaning. But I say them, anyway, because there's really nothing else to say. "I'm sorry."

Aubrey nods back. "Russell and Robin – were they your brothers?"

"My uncle and cousin. They didn't make it out, either."

No need to mention the rest. That, when the war began, the Capitol army went through the district, forcing the strongest men to join their army or die. Russell and Robin didn't want to fight for the Capitol – who would? – but they also knew what would happen to their family – my family – if they refused. They went with the Capitol recruiters, and we never saw them again.

That was when Aunt Dixie made up her mind that it wasn't safe in the district anymore. She took a group of us – my parents and the three of us children – and we fled the district along with a few other families. For three years, we lived out there in the wild, in one of the forested areas beyond the borders of District Ten.

Technically, that's just as illegal as being a rebel. If they'd found us then, we would have been shot then and there, without a second thought. Every crack of a twig, every rustle of movement, every sound could mean that Capitol soldiers had found us, or that they suspected there were people hiding in the forest and had sent mutts after us.

But they didn't. They never found us. And when we returned to the district after the fighting was over, we assumed that the worst of it had passed. A while later, we received word that Russell and Robin had died fighting in District Four, but, while we were all saddened by the news, we'd expected it for a while. We just wanted to go back to our old lives. Back to the way things were…

"Colton?" My head snaps up to look as Aubrey takes a seat beside me. How long has she been talking?

"What?" I ask, trying to sound like I was paying attention. If she was asking me a question, I have no idea what it was. Way to make a good impression, Colt.

Except it doesn't really matter, does it? Making a good impression on her? It's not like what she thinks about me will matter once we're in the Games. We could end up fighting each other. Trying to kill each other.

The thought makes my stomach churn. I don't want to kill her. I don't want to kill anyone. I've killed my fair share of animals, of course – we all did, in the woods. But killing people…

"I was just saying that I'm sorry – about your uncle and cousin," Aubrey says quietly. But there's something else in her voice. Maybe a hint of jealousy. After all, most of my family is still alive. My parents, my sisters, my aunt – I still have them.

And maybe that's good. But it also means that if I die, more people will be hurt. She has her friend Hannah, but the rest of her family is already gone. If she dies…

Does that mean I deserve it more? That I deserve to win, rather than her, because I have someone to come home to? I have people who will care.

I glance away as Aubrey watches. How can I decide that? That I deserve to live more than she does? But I have to. I promised Aunt Dixie I would come home. I promised…

Wow, we're halfway through the reapings already. Sorry this chapter took a bit longer than the last two. On the plus side, the next chapter should be up rather soon, as well.

Thank you to everyone who's been reviewing! It means a lot to us.