Chapter Eight: The Quarter Quell

Sponsor Question: 73.

Author's Note: Well, I counted up the sponsor points and managed to get past that last chapter (I have bad cases of writer's block), and I started adding titles! The sponsor points are at the bottom of Chapter 2: The Sponsors. Anyways, here is another new POV, Tequi "Duke" Geneas, and his view on the Quarter Quell.

The name's Duke. Technically, it's Tequillo Dutch Geneas, but I just like to be called Duke. It's simple enough, and doesn't require a mouthful of words for someone to say.

I kick a littered piece of newspaper aside, and it tumbles down the side of District 6's sloping square, down towards the old stocks. A heap of rotting wood resides there, and the crumpled up newspaper bumps into it, dislodging a stick.

I hug my Dad's old leather jacket closely, the cold wind blowing past me. The square is practically empty, devoid of all the evil personalities I hate, all the murderous, thieving people of the slums who beg for money for morphine. I hate them.

I never really cared much for people, anyways. I'm an orphan, you see. My dad died in a robbery at a medicine store, and next thing I know, my mother committed suicide with rat poison from that very store. District 6's medicine sucks.

The large clock tower in front of me rings out, chiming multiple times and racking my eardrums back and forth as it happens. I cringe, covering my ears at the bells chime four times, and then suddenly stop with the quickness of a rabbit on steroids.

As the ringing of the bells echo across the town square, I start walking down the street behind me, towards my current residence: an orphanage known as Dawnfurth Orphanage, a bleak place filled with old crones slowing destroying the lives of youngsters and teenagers like me. I hate the place, but there's nothing I can do about it.

The trash in front of the orphanage comes into view, along with a few kids playing inside the gate with a broken piece of PVC pipe. Oh, poverty.

I couldn't care less for District 6. I couldn't care less for the Capitol. Hell, I couldn't care less for my parents, as they're just a bunch of idiots for leaving me behind with absolutely no funds to help me along in life. My uncle even abandoned me, leaving me behind for the Capitol.

Walking in the gate, I know I have to meet up with some of my friends, because the Quarter Quell is supposed to be announced in thirty minutes.

I share a room with Jason A. Dict, who is a severe morphling addict and gets extra money from medicine experiments he participates in. Currently, he has a large gash on his left arm that regularly oozes some dark liquid that he seeps up with medical patches. It's absolutely disgusting, but it's the only way he's managed to get money.

Jason motions for me as I come down the hallway, absentmindedly chewing on an old sandwich and wrapping a piece of gauze around his arm.

"C'mon, man, while you're eating?" I say. He laughs, tossing what's left of the sandwich towards our garbage bin and jumping a pile of trash into our room. I hawk a loogie and spit into the trash bin, and then follow him in.

The room is rather small and cramped, but at least we have a television, a small luxury that the orphanage decided to give the kids. I can hear little ones running down the hallways, screaming and shrieking with whatever new toys they've found. I brush my golden brown hair back, my striking green eyes searching the room for the remote for the crappy old TV. Jason brushes some drug paraphernalia off of his bed and lies down, flicking old bread crumbs past his pillow.

Eileen Fowler leans her head in the door, her long blonde hair falling down past the doorknob as she raps on the door.

"Yo, Dict." She says, nodding at my half-high roommate, who is still concentrated on flicking the bread crumbs.

"Hey, Duke." She mutters, walking tensely around the piles of clothes and discarded wrappers. "You guys need a house makeover."

"Like your room looks any better." I scoff, throwing aside more clothes, looking for that damn remote.

Eileen is about my age, 16, and has bright, shining blue eyes that go wonderfully with her blonde hair. I would've easily fallen for her, except for the fact that she's practically my sister. In fact, I haven't really seen anybody hit on her. She's a gem.

Eileen sits down on our only chair, pulling the remote out from the crook in the wall.

"Looking for this?" she says, teasingly.

"Oh, give it up," I grin, reaching for it, but she holds it out of reach. I lunge forwards, and my feet shift on the piles of laundry, and my chin slams into the edge of the chair arm before I fall and smack my face on the tiled floor.

"Fuck!" I exclaim, blood streaming from my mouth as I spit part of a tooth on the ground. Eileen bursts out laughing and Jason looks over and grins.

"Even I'm not that stupid." Jason slurs, almost falling out of the bed.

"Oh, shut up, you addict." I smile through bloody teeth. I pull myself up from the floor, and feel my teeth with my tongue. Part of one of my front teeth is chipped.

"God dammit." I mutter, taking the remote from Eileen and switching on the television. President Snow's young face is displayed on the screen, and a reporter begins to talk about speculation about the 100th Games. Small tag lines ran along the bottom, from "Coriolanus or Adrian Snow? Two Cousins Stuck With the Office," to "Fish Blockade in District Four." I thought about the first one. Coriolanus had suffered a heart attack during the 89th Games, and Adrian had taken over. Coriolanus disappeared off the face of Panem, and Adrian died during the 99th Games, and now Annabelle is our President, although we haven't seen much of her yet.

I don't even care about the fish blockade. I never even eat fish.

The reporter continues on about the 100th Games, and about how the Victory Tour is drawing to an end and how the theme for the Fourth Quarter Quell is going to be announced soon. The bulletin goes on for about another three minutes, but then it is interrupted by the Capitol seal, and the image of the Center Stage in the Capitol.

In the front is Annabelle Snow, standing in a snow-white pristine suit. Some guy named Fulcher (apparently he's the Head Gamemaker) stands next to her, along with two other Gamemakers: Chivera Raelix and Jessica Black. On the edge of the stage I can see Heron Rockon standing awkwardly, along with some other victor from District 1.

The signal on our TV fades a little bit, but then returns with the energy of a two-year-old.

"To the Twelve Districts of Panem...the Fourth Quarter Quell has started. Celebration and joy is everywhere, as we have made it one hundred years with no falter or other incidences." Annabelle glances over to the side of the stage. A teenage boy in a uniform rushes forwards, his hat practically falling off as he struggles with a large box. He arrives in front of Annabelle, who pulls out a clean, pristine card marked "100."

"For the Fourth Quarter Quell," Annabelle pauses for dramatic effect. "In order to symbolize that all rebels will be treated the same and with fairness, the Games will be held on a research facility, the rules will be drastically changed, and after two weeks...the remaining tributes will be released. But beware, as danger is much more imminent than previous Games, and that the facility's projects will be allowed to run loose."

Jason and I stare at the television, dumbstruck. It's rather hard to sink in, to think that there will be more than one victor. Immediately I guess it's a ruse by the Capitol, but there's no way of knowing. But then I realize that Annabelle isn't done.

"This research facility was owned by District Thirteen. Is owned by District Thirteen. And since District Thirteen have declined to make an appearance for the last ninety-nine games and are definitely rebels themselves, they are to be included in this year's Games.

The teenager holding the box drops it, sprinting off the stage in a bizarre display of anger. He throws a wild punch at a Peacekeeper and keeps running, and the camera follows him. Eventually, enough Peacekeepers arrive to hold him down and bring him back to the stage. As I watch, a girl is brought from the audience up onto the stage.

Annabelle announces the boy as Mim Quazi, an apparent District Thirteen spy. His hair is a reddish tone and his eyes are a deep amber color. He looks rather animated and his eyes flutter back and forth, eyeballing the audience.

The girl is Vellia Dachben, also apparently from District Thirteen. Her hair is a light brown and her eyes are green, a bit similar to mine. She looks about my age, as well. She struggles against the Peacekeepers holding her, but she doesn't look half-crazy like her counterpart.

I wonder how the boy managed to get onto the stage in the first place. I mean, what was the point? Being a spy?

And plus, since when is District Thirteen still around?

"Despite what the public may believe, District Thirteen still exists in small pockets throughout Panem." Fulcher says, taking the microphone. "The Glade is one of these places. It is where the Fourth Quarter Quell will be held." He nods and hands it back to Annabelle.

"Thank you." Annabelle sneers, before taking back the microphone.

"If you have any more questions, you are free to ask your District mayor. They will have further information. That is all." With that, a bunch of reporters swarm the people on the stage, and Eileen turns the television off.

"What the fuck." Jason says, reading my mind.

"I agree. Why is it so complicated? And what's this dealie with District Thirteen?" Eileen mutters.

"I don't know, and frankly I don't have much of an opinion. As long as they don't do anything to worsen the Reapings. Then again, the whole two week thing..."

"Dude. It's a freaking science facility. Some old canyon thing they supposedly bombed back in the Dark Days. No doubt mutts will be swarming over that place."

"How do you know so much?"

Jason laughs. "You don't know about the Glade?"

"No..."

"It's some old District Thirteen facility, with a whole lumber mill and a science facility. The place is a train wreck, filled with piles of junk and a bunch of decrepit towers that soar over the place. There's even a little cove, but I doubt the tributes will be catching any fish there."

"And the people from District Thirteen were still there?"

"Apparently."

"Stupid, if you ask me."

"Well, I'm not." Jason grins. Eileen sighs, throwing the remote at him. He catches it in midair, grinning like a maniac. "Well, if you two could leave, that would be appreciated. I'm gonna do...stuff."

I sigh, knowing he's going to get his morphling fix again.

"C'mon, Eileen, let's go." I mutter, and she smiles, following.

"Don't feel sorry for him," she whispers. "He's your friend. It's not exactly his fault that he's an addict. If you have to blame somebody, blame the Capitol."

"I already do." I smile, glancing back at Jason. He's not paying any attention.

"Well, let's go, then." Eileen leans out the door, checks the hallway, and then walks out, leaving me with a smile on my face and a lingering sense of romance.

Hell, who cares about romance.

I follow Eileen out the door with the stupid smile plastered on my face until we get to the common room. A blast of jazz music comes out of the small stereo in the corner, operated by Connor Bering. His twin, Heath, sits on the couch, reading a book. Lisa Appleton and Rick Testone talk together at the old card table in the corner. Derrick Dict, Jason's little brother, plays with a toy train in the middle of the rug.

Eileen smiles.

"Yo, Duke." Connor says, bumping knuckles with me. "Did you see that shit on the TV?"

"Hell, yeah. Don't get that District Thirteen crap, though." I try to ignore the drivel spewing out of my mouth. Everyone's IQ seems to drop 20 points while being around Connor.

"Did you see that dude sprint? Fast as a lion." Connor grins. Eileen snickers.

"Cheetah, you doofus."

"Oh...yeah." Connor bites his lip. "Heath, can you help me with this?" Heath looks up.

"Guess that's our signal..." Eileen grins.

"Oh, shut up, Eileen." Connor looks over his shoulder, then goes back to work with the stereo.

I glance over at Derrick, who is slamming two toy trucks together. Cute.

Eileen goes over to talk with Lisa and Rick, so I guess that's my cue to leave.

I exit the orphanage the same way I came in, my mind brewing over the Capitol broadcast. Everywhere, District 6 citizens seem to be talking about it. Every shopper is talking to their clerk, every beggar talking to passerby, every couple talking amongst themselves. It's like one idea – once it spreads, it can't be stopped.

I arrive at the candy shop, looking in towards the many sweets that I can't afford. I notice two candies right next to each other – a milk chocolate drop and an orange drop. That makes me think of the two rebels on the Capitol stage, Mim and Vellia.

Something about Vellia's face as she was brought up to the stage caught my eye. I didn't know what it was, but she looked extremely angry. I don't know exactly what to think.

"Hey, orphan!" Someone calls from behind me. I turn around to see Wexley Dorphin laughing, with Tyrone Tymen standing awkwardly next to him, just shaking his head.

"See ya at the Reapings, shithead!" Wexley calls, sticking his pierced tongue out at me. Tyrone chuckles.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you want, Wexley." I mutter, glancing back at the candy shop.

"That's what your mom said last night!" He calls, and I clench my fists.

"My mom is dead, you fuck!"

"Yeah, and?"

I scowl, turning to ignore him. I have to deal with this kind of stuff every day, so I might as well ignore it.

Might as well prepare for the reapings.

Author's Note: Agh, that cursing. Oh well, sometimes I have to use it. I took a bit too long on the end of this chapter, I don't know why. Tell me if you like Duke!

No sponsor question, sorry.