The price of your greed
Is your son and your daughter
What you gon' do
When there's blood in the water?

Thauk Hailarean

District 8, Male, 18

(7 Months Prior the Reaping)

...

I slip through the shadows swiftly, letting the darkness engulf me. Darkness has always been my friend, whether I'm using it to conceal myself or letting it take the lives of who hurt me, as a matter of fact, that's what I'm doing right now. My eyes set themselves on the target below and I aim to fire my rifle, unexpectedly, the Peacekeeper looks at me and begins to run.

I jump from window to window down the building and as soon as I get to the bottom, I waste no time to start running. The Peacekeeper doesn't get too far and I swiftly point my gun to his head as I catch up to him, causing him to stop suddenly. He turns around slowly to face me and is startled at the sight of my mask smiling back at him. "It's you..." He murmurs, I can see the terror in his eyes and it fills me with joy.

"Ready to die?" I ask, tilting my head to the side. He begins to shake franticly and I laugh at the sight of him, a Peacekeeper quivering at the sight of me could keep me entertained for days. "Kneel." I order and he does as I say, my gun continuing to point at his head. "Twelve years ago, your father stormed into my home and took the lives of my whole family in a vicious fire, he was just like you, a Peacekeeper. Has he told you anything about this?"

"Yes...he has many times, it is one of his favourite stories to tell me." He whispers. "I'm sorry about your-"
I cut him off and continue speaking. "No need to be sorry, your father will be punished for what he did."
"Please don't kill my father! I beg of you!" He shouts at me, taking his helmet off to reveal eyes full of tears, I laugh in the face of his weakness.
"I won't kill him, don't you worry. His payment for taking the lives of my family is...Well, it's you." I cackle maliciously and his eyes widen more than they were before, beads of sweat flood down his face and he quickly stands up and begins to run.
Poor, poor, boy thinking he can run from me, I think.

And then I shoot him.

He collapses on the ground, the bullet hitting him straight in the back, not a deadly shot but enough to give him the most pain he's ever felt in his entire life. His breathing is heavy and fast and blood pours from his back, he begins to attempt to crawl but I stick my foot on his back.
"Please, if you are going to kill me, make it fast and painless!" He cries and anger surges through my veins.
"Fast? Painless? Where was that mercy when your father burned my parents alive?" I spit at him and he chokes on a sob, tears continue to drop off of his face, flowing down like a river.
"And what about when they find out you killed me? They will imprison you! Don't waste both of our lives." I laugh at his attempt to make me regret what I'm doing.
"Silly boy, I have every politician in this goddamn District under my thumb, there isn't anything that anyone can do about this. You will be forgotten and unjustified just like my murdered family." I scream at him. "You are lucky to be killed by the one and only Mask."

I push my foot down harder on his back and take a large-bladed knife from my belt, it glistens in the moonlight. "As you know, The Mask doesn't usually use guns to end his victims. No, no. Knives are more my thing." I spin the knife around in my hand, teasing him, then I turn him around so he's lying on his back and touch my knife to his throat. He squirms but his strength is nothing compared to mine and I easily overpower him.
"Please, I have a son."
"And I had a Brother, I had Parents! Your father didn't care about them so, if anything happens to your son, you can blame your father for it." With that, I slit his throat cleanly and quickly.

I stare at his lifeless body for a few moments before I jump back into action, dragging his body across the street to a garbage bin where I squeeze him in. Someone will likely find him in the morning and he'll just be another victim of The Mask, like many before him.

Cyra Sloane

District 8, Female, 17

(Reaping Day)

...

I'm usually up early during reaping day, it's hard for me to sleep knowing I could be reaped for a death game. Not that I don't support The Capitol, I do, I even want to live there someday and carry out my dreams of becoming a stylist for District 8. I feel butterflies in my stomach just thinking about it and it motivates me to continue working on the reaping day dress.

I borrowed some fabric from my school's sewing club and it went from a small roll of blue fabric to a beautiful dress. It has straps and flows outwards at my waist and down to my knees. I finish putting on the final sequin on the rim of the dress and smile in pride and joy at what I've made. I'm so excited to try it on that I don't waste any time and quickly strip off, then slip the dress on as well as some white heels. My family isn't wealthy but we get by just fine and are mostly apart of the middle class, occasionally I get gifts such as these shoes.

I stare at myself in the mirror and excitement radiates from my body, I feel absolutely stunning.
"Wow." Someone gasps and I spin around to see my mother looking at me in the doorway. "Oh, Cyra. You are truly an amazing woman." I run up to her and give her a hug, my parents have always supported and encouraged my dreams which is one of the main reasons i work so hard for them.
"Is it time to leave?"
"Yes, dear. Here is an apple for the walk over there." She hands me an apple and I follow her downstairs and out of the house, my father meets use outside the front door.
"Cyra! You look amazing. Ah, I'm so proud of you." He sighs, spinning me around. My parents, as well as supporting my dreams, sometimes feel a little guilty that they can't do more to help with them. I don't mind though, nobody gets anywhere by not working hard.

We start the small journey toward the reaping and I can feel some blisters in my foot by the time we make it to the District centre. "Remember, we haven't taken out any tesserae and you still aren't even 18 so your chances are very low." My father says, kneeling down to me and giving me a hug.
"I know dad, I love you. I love you mom." I give them both one more hug before getting in line to get my finger pricked. My parents have always been my best friends, mainly because I struggle to make friends with my lack of social skills and shyness. Sometimes I really wish I had some friends to be able to talk to in situations where I can't tell my parents.

My finger is pricked and I join all the other 17-year-old females in our designated area. They continue to mingle and I stand awkwardly, waiting for the reaping to start. I'm very embarrassed at being alone but I push through and don't let it get to me. Soon enough, a woman dressed in all grey, with straight blonde hair exits the Justice Building.

"Hello District 8, my name is Edith." She says blankly, in the most boring tone I've ever heard. It's not just her voice that's boring, it's everything about her: her grey clothing, her straight blonde hair, her blank expressions. The complete opposite of District 8, that's for sure. "Your mentors, Onyx Spindle and Wendy Porter." Two of the Victors come out from the Justice Building, Onyx is our latest Victor, they won the 20th Hunger Games. As for Wendy, she won the 1st ever Hunger Games, she's kind of thought as a hero in our district.

"Let's get started. I'm going to reap the male first." She reaches over to the left bowl and plucks a name, without hesitating, she reads it aloud. "Thauk Hailarean." Most of the crowd gasps at the name, though most have never heard of it being used, everybody knows who it belongs to. A boy around 5'10 is shown on the screen, he hesitates for a moment and then makes his way to the stage. His height isn't the feature that stands out to everyone, though. No, it's the mask on his face.

When Thauk, or 'The Mask', has made his way up to the stage, Edith plucks a name out of the female bowl. Again, she reads it out as swiftly as she can. "Cyra Sloane." My whole world begins to spin, I feel like throwing up or maybe even running. I hear the scream of my Mother come from behind me and I want to scream back but my throat is dry. Peacekeepers see that I'm not moving and begin to drag me by both of my arms to the stage, I cry out and struggle in their grasp but my strength is nothing compared to theirs.

It's not just that I've been reaped for the Hunger Games but I've also been reaped with the most feared and merciless serial killer in the District. I feel like crying just being steps away from his ugly mask, blood stains everywhere on it.

"Your tributes from District 8, Cyra Sloane and Thauk Hailarean." She forces us to shake hands and I shiver as his cold hands touch mine, almost like all the evil in the world is pumping around through his body instead of blood.

With a final yelp, I make my way inside.

A/N: Here is another for you! Dang, I'm really powering through these reapings but they are just so much fun to write. Thank you to Luthien's Light for Thauk and Annabeth777 for Cyra, I really enjoyed writing both of them and I hope you like how they were presented. Questions:

What do you think of Thauk? Of Cyra?

Which of them do your prefer?

Out of everyone so far, who do you think is most likely to win?

- Neb