A/N: Happy Monday, everyone. I only had 47 hours this weekend instead of the usual 48, so blame daylight savings if you aren't satisfied with this chapter. Although, I hope you will be.

Skylar Andronicus' small pale hands moved over the rough tree bark. She rested her weight against the tree and listened intently. She heard the distinct sound of metal on metal, maybe rusty hinges, and a man's voice; however, she was far away, and couldn't make out what he was saying. She listened until there were no more sounds.

She raised her hands in front of her and dragged her feet through the grass, as not to trip. She moved slowly, and could only hope that nobody was watching. She began to worry that she had set out in the wrong direction but she began to notice some darker color that wasn't there before. Most of it was green but there was a spot of grey. Suddenly she felt bumpy concrete on her hands. She crouched low, hands still on the concrete, and followed it around and around. She came to a corner, and turned it, and then continued. Eventually she felt her hands on a ledge, and stopped to listen. She could hear-very crisply now.

"Come on! Gimme soma it!"

"I don't have enough!" That was her mother's voice.

"Ah come on!"

"Shut up and play!"

"Fine! I raise."

"Come on, you got enough there for allaus! Where'd you get it?"

"Will you morphlings please shut up and play?"

"Mind your own business!"

"I fold."

Skye had heard enough. She moved around the building, feeling, until she felt something like iron. She felt around for a knob. She couldn't find it. She leaned hard into the door, but that was futile. Her twelve-year-old, eighty-pound body did very little to make it move. Skylar continued to feel around, and felt a metal knocker. She banged three times as hard as she could.

She heard the metal door swing open, but still saw only grey.

"Hey! It's some little kid."

"Mrs. Andronicus." She said looking up at the man with sightless grey eyes. There was no point in looking at him, except that Skye supposed it might unsettle him.

"Uhh… Come 'ere Misty!"

Skylar heard the man leave and her mother walk over. Her mother had an uneven gait that was her telltale signature. Skye could always recognize the sound of her walk.

"What are you doing here, Skye? How'd you get here?" Came her mother's voice.

"I followed you. Where are we?" She did an impression of innocence.

"Oh Skye, uh, hey, I'm just playin Go-Fish in there. Just a couple friends and I getting together."

"I think you're lying." Said Skye. "I heard people talking about morphling in there. I think you stole Cooper's money and spent it on drugs and gambling."

"It's none of your business what I do with my money, now go on home!" Her mother tried to shut the door, but Skye blocked it with her foot. Ow…

"It's not your money, it's our family's money." Skye insisted gritting her teeth.

"You got some nerve you little twelve-year-old bit—you know what? You want to talk about money? How bout all that money we spent trying to fix your eyes? I could do all the morph in the world and not spend that!"

Skye heard her words and then pulled her foot out of the door, letting it slam shut. Well, that went about how she planned. She didn't know what she thought would happen. Skye sighed. Damn it. Which way was it back to town? She got turned around circling the building searching for windows and doors. Hm. May as well pick a direction and start walking. She'd have to remember to listen for the hum of the electric fence, that could be bad.

She was lost. She was super lost. She had been wandering around for a long time, and could feel the damp night setting in. The green color became a dark yellow hue, which she recognized as sunset, and eventually dark purple. As she treaded through the purple mist, her feet eventually found the dirt of a trail, and she went with it.

"Hey! Skylar, what are you doing wandering around this time of night?"

"Whose there?" She asked.

"It's Peter Miller. Skye, do your brothers know you're out here?" She heard the man running up to her. She could tell that he offered out his hand, and she took it.

"Well, they know I'm not home I suppose. I just got lost."

"Alright, they're probably in town looking for you. Let's go see."

The man's hand was cold and clammy. She followed him for a ways, but she was pretty close to town already. She was confident that she could have found it herself.

"Hey!" She heard the man, Peter Miller, shout, "Titus! Over here! I found her wandering over in the hills." Her older brother Titus came over and thanked Mr. Miller. Titus sounded like he had been worrying, and Skye felt a little guilty. Okay, a lot guilty. The last time Skye had seen, really seen, her brother, or anything for that matter, was when she was five. Her brother Titus had emerald green eyes and her same light brown hair. She could remember what those bright green eyes looked like when they worried. She frowned. After Titus thanked the man again, the man left. Titus took Skye's hand and led her home.

"Skye, what's wrong with you? How'd you get lost?"

"I followed mom."

Titus stopped them in their tracks.

"You followed mom?"

"Yeah, I wanted to see where she was wasting our money. Drugs and gambling."

"Skye you need to promise you'll never do anything like that again! Don't worry about mom or dad. We all take care of each other, okay?"

Skye said nothing.

"Promise me!"

"…Okay." She said.

"Besides, we've got bigger things to worry about, like the reaping."


Track Deckman pumped a pedal on the floor that would speed up or slow down the conveyor belt of train parts in front of him. His job was to space the parts out on the belt as they went onto rollers that sorted them and sent them to another part of the machine. It was easy enough, although Track didn't really understand why he had to do it. He just knew it was his job. All the kids at the home had jobs. Track sort of wished he could go to school, because it sounded like it could be fun, but then again, his job could be fun too.

First, Track let all the way up on the pedal. The conveyor belt came to a halt. That wasn't what he meant to do. Track pushed the pedal all the way to the floor and watched the train parts stack up on the rollers, jamming them. Track watched the belt's seams go by faster and faster as the parts continued to pile up. Soon they began overflowing onto the dusty floor. The metal parts clanged loudly as they overflowed. Track giggled amusedly. He picked up one of the L-shaped pieces off of the floor, and held it like it was a peacekeeper gun.

"Die, District Six scum!" Track yelled. "Blam! Blam!" He twirled the L-shaped part around his finger and aimed at different windows. He rolled towards the wall and hid beneath a window. He popped up and pretended to fire his gun out the window. In his mind he was the head peacekeeper, holed up in a factory, surrounded by rebels. He took some pot shots at the imaginary rebels through the window, but couldn't get a clean shot. There were too many of them. The rebels peppered his position. Soon they would flank him and pour into the factory.

"Come and get me!" Track yelled out the window.

"Kid, what in the hell are you doing up here?"

Track turned around. A confused looking adult was in the doorway. The rollers were jammed with metal L-shapes, which were scattered all over the floor. Track tossed his imaginary gun down.

"Uh.. Sorry. It broke. I don't really know what happened. I tried to fix it." Track said.

The man sighed. "You're fired."

The factory door slammed behind him. So there Track found himself, sixteen and jobless, which, as an orphan, he couldn't afford to be. Track went back to the home that he and several other orphans lived in. he climbed up to the tinny roof and brainstormed ways to get back at his boss. He could burn down the factory or he could… or he could, like… do something else. Track couldn't really think of anything, so he let it go. At times like this Track just liked to sit on the roof and talk with the wind. But luckily he got some other company. His fluffy, Persian cat Greaser found his way to Track's lap.

"Hi Greaser." Track smiled. The cat looked snug in Track's tanned, strong arms. "We're not worried about that nasty old boss, are we?"

Greaser just purred.

"What good are trains anyway? People weren't meant to ride trains, were they Greaser?" Track pulled out a clump of his cat's long hair and shook it off, letting the wind carry it away.

"People were meant to run along the ground, among the animals." Track told him. Greaser agreed. Track closed his eyes and daydreamed.

Trolley, Track's sister, poked her head out the window and looked up at Track/

"What are you doing up there? Come down we're all making dinner!"

Track laughed. "We're better off up here aren't we, Greaser?" Felicia, one of the older girls in their home, was the usual cook. She wasn't very good. Yet she always insisted. She had the most practice, Track supposed, but he still wished some of the others could give it a try. Even thirteen-year-old Johannah might be able to whip up something better than Felicia's slop.

And nobody hated her cooking more than Greaser. But Greaser leapt out of Track's arms and went in the window.

"Alright, I guess you're right. If we want to get big and strong we've got to eat."


The day of the reaping Track could be found among the District Six boys. He hadn't remembered it was the reaping until that morning. The sun shone off of Track's greasy hair, and illuminated his vacant half smile. Next to him his friend Rusty, the oldest boy from their home, shuffled his feet nervously.

Rusty looked at Track and opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't get it out. Rusty swallowed hard and turned back round.

The Capitol escort was a lanky man, with a long pencil thing mustache, colored gold. He wore a top hat. He shot his skeleton like hand towards the names, and closed his meatless pincers around one.

"Ahem… Track Deckman!"

Rusty turned to Track with a look of alarm. Track's half smile remained on his face. Track didn't even blink. "Hm" was his only reaction, before striding down to the front of the crowd.

In the girl's section, young Skye Andronicus couldn't see the wistfully dressed escort, but she was annoyed by his voice. She had always found the Capitol accent a little repulsive, but this man's was terrible. Skye theorized that the difference came from eating. She had heard about the gluttony of the Capitol citizens. She'd heard about how they shoved their mouths full of food until they would be sick. You eat before you talk, she figured, so how you practice eating probably influenced how you talk. Well, it was only a theory.

The one color to accompany the sound of the man's voice was gold. Must be a bright day.

Skye's only real friend in the district was a seven-year-old named Hannah. She was too young to stand for the reaping, so Skye was alone.

"Skylar Andronicus!" Came the nasally, staccato voice.

Skylar choked. She almost couldn't process anything and tears wanted to stream from her unfunctioning eyes. She didn't let them. Normally she cared very little for appearances, but knew they eyes of Panem were all on her. The next thought that crossed Skye's mind was a dark one: at least I won't be a burden any longer. She took some solace in it.

Skye dragged her fingers along the backs of girls in front of her until she came to the aisle. Then she walked straight up to the stage without any help. She had to step very deliberately.

"Come now dear, make haste."

"Hm hm, she's blind." Track absentmindedly told the man.

"My goodness dear! You're blind?"

"But I'm not deaf. You don't need to shriek." Skye quietly said as she climbed up the stage.

"Hi. I'm Track. It's nice to meet you." He smiled.

"Hello." She said.

"Give me your hand." Track said. "Let's wave to them."

So they did.


Titus and Hannah were in Skylar's room in the Hall of Justice. So was Cooper, with her two-year-old sister, Sora, in his arms.

Cooper spoke first. "Sis, I know that every now and then I might give you a hard-time, but I want to make sure you know I love you. A lot. We all do." Cooper readjusted Sora in his arms.

"Yeah!" Shouted young Hannah. Hannah loved cheering Skye up, but couldn't find any words this time.

"Skye, I think… I think you're handicap might work in your favor." Her brother Titus began.

"Please. Don't lie to me Titus." She said flatly.

"I'm not lying!" Titus stammered. "You can gain the Capitol's sympathy. You can get sponsors. Find allies in the other districts. Survive with them. At least until the mutts come, and then, when they won't expect it coming… you'll have to do what's necessary."

"Yeah!" Came Hannah.

Skye shook her head. "Subterfuge isn't exactly my strong suit." She felt the scar on her face. She remembered when a wild dog had attacked her. She had been able to fight it off. It was one of the scariest moments of her life. She had a feeling there would be many more like it, before the end. "But that doesn't matter! I'm sure I can do at least as well as some of the other tributes."

The peacekeeper yelled to them that time was up.

Skye hugged them all one last time. As soon as she could no longer hear their footsteps, she burst into tears. No colors this time. Not even black.


Track sat in his room, comforting Trolley as she wept. All of Track's orphan housemates were there: Rusty, Felicia, Railer, and Johannah.

"How are you so calm?" Railer asked him.

"Oh. I already knew I would be picked. The wind told me." Said Track.

"Track, this is serious! The games are deadly!" Trolley protested.

"I know." Track said. "I know."

Just then Greaser pounced through the open window, meowing.

"Greaser!" Track yelled. "I knew you'd come to say goodbye."

"How did he find you?" Johannah asked.

"Did the wind tell him too?" Trolley asked sarcastically. Track looked at her with raised eyebrows.

"Hey!" The peacekeeper yelled. "No animals! Get out of here! Shoo!" He ran into the room and chased Greaser back out the window. "That's enough. Everybody out."

Track hugged them all as they walked out. After they'd left, Track turned to the peacekeeper.

"I actually find you pretty disruptive. Why do they call you peacekeepers?" He asked.

The peacekeeper shot him a look and brought his hand to his baton.

"Naturally."