The Capitol

1002 hours

18:00:02:31

In a large room in the Medical Center at the heart of the Capitol, a team of a dozen doctors crowd around a long operating table. They wear white plastic suits, and oxygen masks are strapped across their faces. Urgently they cart tools and supplies to and from the operating table. They talk in hushed tones, casting worried glances at the table.

Strapped to the table is a boy of seventeen years. His blue eyes are open wide, but he is not awake. He has not been awake for three years now.

A form appears in the doorway. It is a man of medium stature with wild hair and dark green eyes.

"Lucretius." A doctor hurries over to him. "You shouldn't be here. This is no place for visitors."

"Head Gamemaker Ravine sent me," the man says. "She wants to know how it's going."

The doctor looks back at the operating table. "So far all has gone according to plan. We'll be jumpstarting his heart soon. Tell Ravine we'll send him to you as soon as we can. Now, please excuse me, I really ought to go back."

Lucretius nods, his eyes following her as she returns to the operating table. He crosses his arms, reclining against the wall behind him, waiting.

The doctor at the head of the table raises a gloved hand. He holds up three fingers. Two. One.

There is a soft click, and the boy on the operating table blinks, turning his head as much as he can in his constraints. He squints up at the faces above him, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What - "

The doctor behind him jabs a needle into his side, and he goes limp again.


The Arena

1139 hours

18:03:39:08

District 4 Male A: Tristan MacNeil's POV:

Today are the interviews. At some time today, a crew of Capitolites, most likely including Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith, will knock on the door of the little house my mother and I have lived alone in for three years now. My mother will be the only one there; my brother is death, my father is gone, and I haven't had friends for years.

My mother will have been watching the Games. She will not try to forget about me, I know that; when my brother Jake was reaped three years ago her eyes were practically glued to the television screen from dawn until Father and I forced her to get some rest.

She will know they are coming. She will be nervous, as she always is around cameras, which she calls the 'eyes of the Capitol'. They might as well be; all of the footage will be brought to the city for editing and then broadcasting.

There will be Peacekeepers in the crew, too. Like so many others, Mother is not fond of the Capitol's policing force. She will become nervous, and more likely than not she will stutter her way through the interview.

"It'll be fine, Mom," I say in case she is watching me now. Many others will be listening, too. I do not like the thought of my words for Mother being heard by thousands of ears, but how else am I to communicate with her?

Today and tomorrow may be slow. The Gamemakers usually try to avoid deaths when the family interviews are underway and the commentators aren't around. But once Caesar and Claudius are back, there will be an explosion of actions both as a welcome back gift for the commentators and to satiate the Capitol's thirst for blood.

But today I will likely not see another tribute. I glance down the abandoned street, turning my head when a blast of cold air hits my unprotected face. How near is the closest tribute, I wonder? Not for the first time, I wish I could pan out and see the arena from a bird's eye view, see the layout of the streets and the location of everything that walks them. The only thing I know about my surroundings is that I am roughly a mile from the Cornucopia, where the Careers are.

The Careers. All that is left of their once huge alliance is Sage and Gemini, from Districts One and Four respectively.

I knew Gemini when she was young. We were not friends, and her village was on the opposite side of the district from mine, but I knew her by sight. When we were younger, I saw her often when I was out on the waterfront, fishing or swimming with Jake. He would point her out to me, say that she was the best fighter in District Four's Academy. Only a small portion of District Four's youth attends our Academy, a much smaller fraction than in One and Two, but if you are respected in the Academy, you are respected in the rest of the district, too.

Of the seven others remaining, who have I to worry about? Theoretically, by this point the week have been weeded out, but there are several tributes I need not fear. The eight-year-old from District Six, for example - a little kid, untrained, at worst clumsily wielding some weapon he doesn't know how to use. And the mental kid from Ten - he's been successful so far, but he's unstable, slipping back and forth between kill mode and wouldn't-harm-a-flea mode. Not much of a threat.

And Gemini, Gemini would never kill me. If she did, she could never return to District Four. They would shun her, hate her.

But that leaves four tributes. Sage, a trained Career with too many kills thus far to count. Jeffane, a kid who is only twelve but from the looks of it won't hesitate to kill anyone between him and the crown. Naya, who doesn't look to tough, but I saw her in training. Anvil, a huge teenager who's even bigger than Sage and scored higher, too.

I touch my dagger and remind myself of my nine in training, a score equal to that which Sage received. I have no reason to doubt my ability, none at all. Confidence is key. If I go into a fight thinking I will lose, the odds will be stacked against me. When I close my eyes I can almost imagine my brother Jake standing over me, drilling the words into my memory.

"I'm going to win this," I mutter, ingraining the thought in my mind so I never forget it. "I'm going to win, I'm going to win, I'm going to win."

"It's good to see my advice hasn't gone to waste," a soft, familiar voice says.

I dig my fingernails into my palms, hoping the pain will distract me, blot out the memory of my dead brother. I inhale deeply, then exhale, focusing on the pain in my palms.

"You're just going to ignore me?" The voice sounds surprised, a bit irritated. "Tristan. Open your eyes. This isn't a good place to drown out your surroundings."

My eyes shoot open in surprise. A boy with tousled golden-blonde hair and blue eyes is standing before me. He is a few years older than me, about seventeen.

My jaw drops, and I stare at him in disbelief. I try to speak, but my words are stuck in my throat, and only a strangled gasp emerges.

The boy grins in surprise. "Hey. Wasn't expecting to see you here, and I can't say I'm too happy." His smile fades.

"Jake," I whisper, stepping away from him. "But...but you're dead."

"So I am." My dead brother examines his hands, his brow furrowed. "Or was, at least. The last thing I remember is the Career pressing her sword into my neck. The next thing I know all the blood is gone, all the tributes are gone, and I'm in a room with a bunch of doctors. I black out again, and then I'm being lowered into a different arena. I guess their technology has improved. A lot." Jake looks up at me. "Mind filling me in? You look older. How long has it been? What year is it?"

I am still in shock. "It - it's been three years, Jake."

Jake rubs at the spot just below his right eyebrow. "Ah. A while, then. The Quarter Quell, then? You were chosen?"

"I volunteered."

Jake turns on me, his eyes wide with surprise and anger. "You did what? I died, and then you went and volunteered? What were you thinking?"

"I volunteered because you died, Jake," I say. "After you died, Father disappeared, no one knows where to. Mother, she was never satisfied with me. I bet she wishes it was I who had been reaped, not you. I needed to win for you. I needed to show her I'm worth something." I forget all about the cameras and keep talking, telling Jake things I have never before told a soul.

When I run out of things to tell him, I lean against the side of the building, exhausted. "Now what?" I wonder. "Why did they put you in the arena?"

"To give me a second chance?" Jake suggests.

My eyes narrow as the words leave his mouth. I love my brother, but if the Gamemakers are indeed giving him a second chance in the arena, I will have to fight him. If I am to win for him, he will have to die, and if he is to survive, as I always hoped he would, I must die. How ironic.

I rub my aching temple. "Knowing the Gamemakers, I wouldn't be surprised." As I think of the Gamemakers in their deep purple robes, a possibility occurs to me. "Jake..."

"Yeah?"

I look into the sky blue, familiar eyes that grace his face. "Prove it. Prove you're him."

His eyes widen in surprise. "You - you mean..." The boy looks down, then back up at me. "I suppose I could ask you the same question. How do I know I'm not in some sort of twisted afterlife? Prove it to me."

"You first."

The teenager sighs. "What do you want to know? Your favorite color was navy blue, mine was green. When you were six or seven, Father gave you his old fishing pole, and it was black, but you kept insisting it was just a really, really dark blue. When you were little I used to take you to the beach every day, and we'd look out at the ships heading off into the horizon, and you'd say that maybe they'd make it all the way across to the Old World. Should I go on?"

I narrow my eyes thoughtfully at him. "The day before my tenth birthday. What happened?" It was a story we never told anyone else, a story we haven't spoken of since the day it happened. A story the Capitol could have no way of knowing.

Jake looks at me like I am crazy. "Tristan, the cameras."

I shake my head. "Go on. I need to know."

Jake exhales slowly, lowering his head. "You were nearly ten. I was twelve. Mother and Father were both busy. We got our fishing poles and went down to the dock. We took Father's little fishing boat and went out. We didn't really know where we were going. We caught some fish, just drifted. And then, after maybe an hour, the district went out of sight. One second a strip of lights on the coast, the next - gone."

I close my eyes, remembering the shock of losing sight of District Four, the nervousness in Jake's eyes. And then, looking out over the prow of the little fishing boat and seeing the island.

Jake is still speaking. "It was a tiny little thing, not much larger than District Four's Victors' Island. But it was beautiful. It had sandy beaches, with brightly colored birds singing in the trees. We were still pretty far out, but we could hear the birds. We got closer, and we saw the tops of little huts, little settlements, just over the ridge. When we were maybe a hundred meters from it, someone came out of the woods. A little kid, a toddler. Waved to us, beckoned for us to come closer. She was as excited as anything you ever saw..."

I had thought it was a boy, but Jake had insisted she was female. We were maybe twenty meters from the shore when the child's eyes shifted to the sky. She glanced back at us, then disappeared back into the trees. Not ten seconds later, a strong wind began to blow, pushing us farther and farther from the island. A storm grew, a storm District Four's weathermen had not predicted. The waves nearly rocked us from the boat. Eventually the island disappeared from sight, but the district was still shrouded in mist.

"We ran into it quite by accident," Jake says, his voice nearly inaudible. "The dock was deserted, the streets empty. We strung up the boat and agreed never to tell anyone about what happened." He looks up at me then, looking almost annoyed under his sadness.

I mutter an apology. I betrayed our agreement, yes, but it was necessary. I had no choice, and he knows it.

"Now what?" Jake asks after what feels like an eternity. "What happens now?"

I shrug. "Well, now I know it's you. No one else could have known that. I guess we just let things play out now."


2358 hours

18:13:58:46

It is late at night. In a cold, stone room on the second floor of a small building on an abandoned street, two boys are huddled. The younger, a child of eight years, is sleeping, his small fists curled around a thin blanket. His head, covered in dirty light brown hair, is propped up on a small knapsack.

The older boy, a twelve-year-old with long, messy dark hair and sad, tired eyes, is already awake. He sits next to his companion, clutching his knees to his chest, a dirty blanket draped over his thin shoulders.

It has been days since Jeffane Stoil last slept. He cannot rest, knowing that while they are together he is responsible for his young companion. Knowing that at the child will have to die if he is to survive the week.

"We've made it pretty far, huh, Jonan?" the boy murmurs, his hand grazing the head of his sleeping ally. "They'll be talking to our families today and tomorrow. You still have anyone for them to go to?"

His only answer is a soft snore.

A cold breeze wafts through the open window. Jeffane digs his shoulders into the wall behind him, moving as far from the window as he can. On the ground below him, Jonan shivers violently, pulling his blanket closer to him.

"I'm sorry this had to happen," Jeffane continues, keeping his voice low so the cameras cannot easily pick up on it. These words are meant for Jonan and Jonan alone. "All of it. You're a good kid. They all were. But now we're here. I don't want it to come down to you and me. If we stay together, if I continue to protect you from everything that comes our way, it just might."

Jeffane sighs, leaning over to pull up his ally's blanket to cover his shoulder. "It's been nearly three weeks, Jonan. That's a long time for the Games. There are eight of us left now. Things are winding down, and only one will make it out."

The ice cold wind picks up again, blowing so hard that the shutters on the windows of an adjacent building are smacked open, then closed again. Jeffane winces at the sound, and Jonan stirs below him, letting out a muffled sob, his eyelids fluttering.

"Don't leave," the eight-year-old mutters in his sleep. "Kaila said stick together...please, Jeffie..."

Jeffane recoils in shock as he hears the younger boy's words. He checks to be sure Jonan is still asleep. He is almost relieved, though, in a way - Jonan knows it is coming. He knows that they will have to part. When he awakes to find himself alone, he will be devastated, but not as shocked as he might have been.

Jeffie. It has been years since Jeffane has heard that name. His siblings call him that, Jame and Mika and little Chiny, before he grew weary of it and snapped at them if they dared to use it.

"I'm sorry, Jonan," Jeffame whispers. "I'm sorry, but it can't come down to the two of us. It can't."

Jeffane gathers his belongings, carefully placing his part of the food and supplies in his worn backpack. As he prepares to exit the room and return to the streets, his hand finds the hilt of his sword, which is strapped to his waist.

Perhaps he should kill Jonan now. The boy will have to die some time, and Jeffane could give him an easier death. One quick swipe of his sword, and it would be all over. A moment's pain, and then nothing.

Jeffane thinks back to the previous night, when the eight-year-old curled up with his blanket and let himself drift off to sleep just beside Jeffane, so trustingly. It would not be fair to violate that trust, Jeffane decides. Better for the child to wake up to an empty room than to never awaken at all.

Jeffane kneels beside the boy who he has spent the last several weeks with. The sole other surviving member of Kaila's alliance. He runs his fingers through Jonan's soft hair. He whispers one last farewell, then stands and walks away.

At the doorway, Jeffane pauses. He glances over his shoulder, taking in for the last time the sleeping child on the floor.

The reaping had screwed over the Stoil family. Not just one but all four children reaped, sent into an arena to fight to the death. Eighteen days into the competition, one remains.

Jeffane shoulders his pack and heads off into the mist.


District 1

2113 hours CST

It has been thirteen hours since the Capitol crew left District One. The two of Sage Lock's friends requested by the Capitol to report for interviewing have returned to their homes. The Lock household is silent but for the sound of the TV before Sage's father, the volume low so as not to disturb the sixteen-year-old girl slumped on her bed in the next room over.

Diamond lies on her bed, pain pulsing through her neck, her chest, her arms, her entire upper body. Her arms are clasped over her swollen stomach, and her pale face is beaded with sweat.

Diamond's mother sits by her side, her hand on her daughter's trembling arm. "You're only seven months in," Shine assures her. "Don't worry, you're not going into labor. Don't worry."

The sixteen-year-old does not respond. Her lips are slightly parted, and her breaths are short and ragged.

"Has it gotten any better?" Shine asks, her forehead creased with worry.

Diamond croaks out a single word: "Doctor."

Shine nods. "Right away." She leaves the bedside and grabs the house's phone from its resting place atop the cabinet. She frantically punches the numbers into the keypad, then brings the phone to her ear. "Shine Lock. We have an emergency. We - don't interrupt me! My daughter, she - I don't know. I don't know what happened, I have no idea. This afternoon she said she was getting light headed, said her chest hurt. She had to go lie down, and it's been getting progressively worse ever since."

On the other side of the line, a bored voice drawls, "Probably she's just hungry. We've already got a fisherman who got mauled by...I don't even know what, and a little kid who thought it would be a good idea to take a little drink of lye. We don't have time for a tummy ache."

Shine's face turns red. "I assure you, doctor, this isn't a tummy ache. And we won't be taking up your waiting room. She can't walk!"

"I'm terribly sorry, but I'm afraid you'll just have to..." The doctor stops. Shine waits with bated breath. After a moment, the voice speaks again. "There is a crew here especially for you. I'm not sure why they're stretching their resources for you, but it's not in my position to meddle. They'll be there as soon as they can."

Shine puts the phone down, her brown creased in confusion. "There's a crew coming, dear," she murmurs to Diamond, sitting back down on the bed. "They came especially for you."

Diamond's eyes flutter open. "It's two," she says softly, her eyes unfocused. "It's two of them, a boy and a girl. I just know it."

Shine frowns. "Diamond?"

Diamond's hazel eyes focus in on her mother's face. "It's two, Mother. She'll be Dayla. Like your mother? And if Sage doesn't make it...name him Sage."

"Diamond." Shine grips her daughter's forearm. "You can do this. You'll be here to name them. They'll make it, and you will, too. This will pass. There are people coming."

Right on time, a tapping sound fills the room, as outside someone lightly knocks the bronze knocker against the wooden door. Shine rises and exits the room, making her way to the front door. In the hallway she passes her husband. His eyes are fixed on the glowing television screen, oblivious to the visitors.

Shine pulls open the door and gasps. Before her stands a short man, a good head shorter than she, with bright purple hair carefully styled in a twist, not unlike the ice cream cones the district's few dairy farmers often sold in the summer months. Behind him stand two other Capitolites, a male and a female, with fancy clothing and grotesque facial modifications. Behind them are six Peacekeepers

"Hello," the man in front says pleasantly. "I am Doctor Emiker, a member of the Capitol's Superior Medicinal Department - one of the best, if I do say so myself." He gives a slight bow, then gestures behind him. "These are my coworkers. We are here for a certain Diamond Lock. I believe you are acquainted with her?"

Shine is speechless. She only nods, her eyes wide.

"Will you let us in?" Doctor Emiker says, his smile never wavering. "It's rather cold out."

Shine nods, stepping inside. "Why?" she gets out. "Of all the patients you could go to, why Diamond? I hear another boy swallowed some lye. He'll never recover from that. Why did you choose Diamond?"

Doctor Emiker only smiles wider. "Why, Diamond is special, of course. The sister of a tribute in this year's Games, yes? A potential victor? We would not have Sage return from the Games to find his sister dead. Now, where is she?"

Shine leads the doctors to Diamond's room, where the sixteen-year-old is still huddled on the bed, trembling, her face contorted with pain.

"They're here, dear," she whispers, patting her daughter lightly on the shoulder. Turning to the doctors, she says, "Do whatever you need to do. And please, hurry. She's in such pain."

"We will do our utmost," Doctor Emiker promises. "Now, there isn't much room in here, Mrs. Lock. We would appreciate it if you could step outside until we have assessed Diamond's condition and done all we can for her." When Shine begins to protest, he speaks over her. "Two of our Peacekeepers will escort you."

A white gloved hand grasps Shine's elbow and leads her from the room. She twists her head and gets one last look at her daughter's pale face before the door slams shut.

Fifteen minutes later, the female doctor sticks her head through the door.

Shine jumps to her feet. "How is she?"

The doctor shakes her head. "Heart attack. If she stays here with you, there is a good chance that she will die. She is pregnant, and that complicates things for her. Her best chance is with us. We can take her with us, and return her when we have done what we can."

Shine narrows her eyes suspiciously. "Take her with you? I don't think so."

"You would rather she die?"

Shine crosses her arms. "She stays. I don't care what you say."

"You can willingly give her to us, or we can take her without your consent," the doctor says, all pretense of friendliness gone. "We are required to do all we can for her. She will be returned, that we promise. You really don't have any choice."

"You aren't going to take my daughter anywhere."

"Very well." The doctor slips back inside the room. Shine rises, but before she can charge inside after her the doctors exit again. Behind them, the Peacekeepers hold a squirming body bundled in white sheets.

Shine lunges towards them, but the Peacekeeper at her side grabs her middle and hauls her back into her seat.

"Vince!" Shine shrieks, writhing in the Peacekeeper's grip. "Vince! They're taking her, they're taking Diamond!"

Across the room, Vince lazily gets to his feet, reluctantly moving his eyes from the television. "Oh, calm down, Shine. They're doctors. They're going to fix her up so she doesn't have to lie around moaning all day."

The Capitolites leave the house. Shine screams after them, fighting the grip of the Peacekeeper at her side, but he holds her fast.

Outside, the stout doctor takes a syringe from his coat pocket and jabs it into the blankets. The bundle goes limp, and the Peacekeepers shove it in the backseat of the car parked outside. The doctor clumsily stuffs the syringe back into his pocket, but as he brushes against his male coworker it falls out and clatters to the street.

The Capitolites climb into the car and drive from the Lock household. The syringe lies on the street, a thin layer of a cloudy white substance at the bottom, pointing towards the front door of the building.

Inside the house, Shine Lock howls.


A/N: Reviews have been going down a lot. So far we have nine reviews for chapter 51 and seven for last chapter. Please review, it would really make my day.

Questions:

Which POV was your favorite? Least favorite? Why?

What's up with Diamond?

Trivia: What is the last we hear of Gale in Mockingjay?